Master Apprentice
Archive
A Symposium on Love
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Archive: MA only
Category: Alternate Reality, Qui/Obi, Romance
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Two professors fall in love at a Tolkien conference.
Series: Similar characters were introduced in Wedding Gifts. This is a quasi-prequel.
Feedback: Is treasured at MerryAmelie@aol.com
Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
For my friend and beta, Alex
Professor Quinn Masterson boarded the Amtrak train at Penn Station and looked for an empty seat in Business Class. This was not an easy task during Monday morning rush hour. Somehow, Quinn managed to look crisp and unrumpled in his navy suit, despite the heat outside and his commute to the station. He was on his way to Mace University in Windover, Massachusetts for a two day conference on Tolkien's wizards.
Quinn finally spied a seat covered with newspapers next to a flame-haired young man in jeans. "May I?" he asked, ever polite, although technically any free seat was fair game. Quinn tracked the man's eyes as they swept over him, higher and higher...and higher.
"Yes, of course," the young man answered, as he bundled the paper into the seat pocket.
The conversation was clearly over for Quinn, who pulled out a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring and began to read.
Professor Ian Prentice, the man beside Quinn, tried to stop himself from looking at his seatmate, but found his eyes continually wandering towards him nonetheless. No wedding band graced the hand holding the book. Ian noticed annotations in the paperback as he speculated about his companion.
Ian was a speaker at the Tolkien symposium, and wondered if the man were a fellow attendee. However, Tolkien was an omnipresent author, especially upon release of the movie series, so it was impossible to tell from the book alone.
Ian waited impatiently until the conductor came around asking for tickets. Yes -- the other man was leaving the train at Back Bay, mere miles from Windover. It still could be coincidence, but Ian now felt justified in taking a chance on talking to his tight-lipped neighbor.
Taking his courage in his hands, Ian cleared his throat. The other man looked up from the book, a mixture of attention and wariness on his face. "I was just wondering..." Ian barely kept himself from stammering under the scrutiny of those bright blue eyes. "Are you heading for the Tolkien conference too?" Ian forced himself to meet the fellow's assessing gaze.
Quinn visibly thawed as he recognized a fellow academic who shared his area of expertise. "Yes, I am." He put the book in the seat pocket, and extended his hand to Ian. "Quinn Masterson. I teach at Luke University in Skye, New York."
"Professor Masterson, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've read your monograph on Gandalf as 'Stormcrow'. I'm Ian Prentice, an assistant professor at Ken State in New Jersey."
"Glad to meet you, Professor."
"Just Ian, please."
"And you may call me Quinn."
"I'm giving a talk on Gandalf's sacrifice, if you'd care to attend."
Quinn rubbed his cheek. "I was planning to." He fished a copy of the conference schedule out of his back pocket, and pointed to the lecture description.
Ian saw that it was starred in blue ink. He was rapidly gaining confidence that they would be able to sustain a conversation for much of the trip. Ian smiled; he could feel the tension dissipating down to his toes. "So, when did you first read Tolkien?" Ian felt Masterson relax beside him as they both eased into their favorite subject.
"My parents gave me a copy of The Hobbit for my twelfth birthday and that was it." Quinn chuckled. "I read it in two days, then asked for the trilogy. Fortunately, Christmas was coming up, and my folks had been giving me books as gifts for years. They're also academics; their field is sociology." Quinn looked at Ian with a smile in his eyes. "What about you?"
"I took my brother's copies of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings to summer camp when I was eleven. I pretended I was a Brandybuck and that the river where we did our swimming and boating was the Brandywine. Unfortunately, I couldn't get anyone else to play with me in Middle Earth, but that's changed since." At this, Ian heard Quinn's rich laugh for the first time.
"I imagine that's what the conference is all about, Ian."
They kept up a lively chat throughout the ride. Around noon, they both started feeling peckish, so Ian volunteered to check out the dining car. Quickly determining that the microwaved hot dogs were the only things worth eating on the train, Ian bought two and used their ticket stubs for free orange juice.
Quinn grinned in approval when he noticed Ian's selection of condiments: sweet relish and Grey Poupon mustard. As they adorned their frankfurters, Quinn, a master of exegesis, couldn't help but relish the subtext.
The men tried to eat neatly, already interested in each other beyond their professional bond. This, of course, was impossible with mustard and relish dripping off the ends of their hot dogs. Luckily, Ian had brought plenty of napkins and Quinn's good suit remained unblemished.
Quinn got up to throw out the detritus of lunch, since Ian had been kind enough to get it for them. He took the chance to use the facilities, but did not sit down immediately upon his return. Quinn was treated to the sight of Ian in repose: the younger man lay with his head on the armrest, as sprawled as he could be within the confines of the seat.
Brought back to reality by someone trying to pass him in the aisle, Quinn quickly sat down and tried to calm himself. Although a few professors viewed a conference as an opportunity for hook-ups, he had never been one of them. His private nature and disregard for meaningless sex would never allow it. Yet here he was, enrapt with a man he had just met a mere few hours ago, reacting to him as if he'd known him for years.
And Ian himself was encouraging this: talking of the past as if it had been shared by virtue of their common interests, using the narrowness of the seats, without an armrest between them, as an excuse to brush arms and legs whenever he changed positions in the seat.
Quinn didn't quite know what to make of the situation. He had gone the thirty-two years of his life untouched by romantic love without missing it at all. Now he was speculating on where they'd sleep at the symposium and looking forward to the days ahead of them more as a chance to deepen his knowledge of Ian than for the talks themselves.
Ian stirred in his seat. His blue-grey eyes regarded Quinn alertly for one who had just awakened. "You know how it is the night before travelling -- five hours of sleep if you're lucky."
"That's just about what I got too, but I've never been able to sleep on a train. I like to read or watch the towns go by."
"Have I been keeping you from your usual pastimes, then?" Ian asked with a slight frown.
"Not at all. I much prefer this trip to the others." Quinn looked down at his hands. "Must be something to do with the company," he added softly.
Ian felt a shiver go through him at this. It was exactly the same for him. What was it about this tall fellow, of all people, that had captivated him?
By the time the men got off the train at the Back Bay station, it was clear that they were more than colleagues. They shared a taxi to Mace U., and were pleasantly surprised at the greystone buildings and treed campus. Using Ian's map, the two made their way to the only open dorm during the summer.
Up four flights of stairs (no elevators for the young and fit students) before they reached their rooms. The professors turned out to be across the hall from each other. They each had a single room with a bed, desk, dresser, and closet, and would share a common bathroom a few yards away. Both ceilings had slow leaks under which wastebaskets were accordingly placed.
Quinn winced when he saw the thin striped mattress. He had thought student beds uncomfortable ten years ago; what would one feel like now? Quinn hefted it to the floor, knowing his feet would be hanging off of it. He unpacked his few articles of clothing, then went to Ian's room.
Ian had finished putting his things away, and had changed into a tan jacket and brown slacks. He was ready to go to the reception which celebrated the start of the conference. The men walked over to Mundi Hall, the trees cooling their way. It was a stone building that looked to be two hundred years old in style and weathering.
Tables with wine and cheese were set up in the lobby and many of their fellow academics were already milling about, name tags on their lapels. Neither of the men knew the others, with the exception of one friend they had in common, since this was the first symposium about Tolkien's wizards on the east coast in a decade. They made their introductions, shoulders unconsciously together in solidarity. They looked for all the world like an established couple already. This disappointed not a few of the attendees, men and women both, but was accepted with equanimity.
Had the men known what the others were thinking, they would have been embarrassed. They had barely had a chance to come to terms with their new friendship as it was. But academia has always been a bit more broad-minded than society at large, and this worked in their favor. They could hardly have found a more congenial environment to pursue their interest in each other.
Quinn handed Ian a glass of merlot, and snagged one for himself. They sat at a table alone for a while, then were joined by their friend. Her name was Beth Ann Taylor, and she taught at J.A.U. in Cortica. They called her Bant, a childhood nickname.
Bant was quick to see a couple in the making before her eyes. She'd known both men separately for years, having Quinn as a professor and attending graduate school with Ian. Bant was currently kicking herself for not thinking of introducing them to each other. How could she not have realized that they'd be perfect for one another? They'd never had girlfriends, shared an intense fascination with Middle Earth, and were both lonely English professors. Well, some things were obvious in retrospect, Bant reflected. At least now she could nurture their developing relationship. With this in mind, she excused herself from their dinner invitation, deciding to dine at one of the local eateries rather than in the cafeteria.
Quinn and Ian slowly walked to the student union after the reception. Here they found a mixture of summer school students and Tolkien scholars. They stood in line at the cafeteria viewing the all too familiar fare: the ubiquitous tater tots, meat turnovers, macaroni and cheese, and a token attempt at a salad station, with wilted lettuce and sad-looking tomatoes. They set out to find the vegetarian line. Success! Their booty included some sort of vegetable patties, apples and pears.
The men picked a side room, used for club meetings during the semester, which they currently had to themselves. Effortlessly, they fell into conversation anew, as if they'd never been interrupted by the social hubbub surrounding them.
The ever-curious Ian wanted to know more about the origin of Quinn's fascination with Tolkien's wizard. "Why Gandalf? What sparked your interest in him?"
The question inadvertently touched on Quinn's lonely childhood. Seeing the warmth in Ian's eyes, Quinn decided to trust him with his past. "My grandparents lived in Ireland throughout my youth so I never did get to see them. I would pretend Gandalf was my grandfather, and we would go on adventures together. I imagined that he was with me when I went swimming and fishing. My parents were always working and I don't have any sisters or brothers, so it made me feel less alone." Quinn stared down at his plate self-consciously. He felt a hand steal over his in comfort, and looked up into Ian's sympathetic face.
"It's hard being left on your own so much as a boy. I have a brother, Gareth, and although sometimes I wished I were an only child," here Ian suppressed an ironic laugh, "I'm glad I had his company growing up." He touched Quinn's chin so they could meet each other's eyes. "I would very much like the privilege of your company now." Intimately, Ian thought, but it remained unsaid, though possibly not unheard.
Quinn looked at Ian in silence, noting the lines of compassion on the young man's face, the sweet expression lightening his mood already. He covered Ian's hand with his own, and something elemental passed between them, the sense that here was a friend.
"Do you have a Gandalf story for me, Ian?"
"I just liked the way that he chose the hobbits as his friends. He was comfortable dealing with all the peoples of Middle Earth, but he preferred to relax at Bag End. So would I."
They finished the meal in a nostalgic frame of mind. Ian showed Quinn his student trick of pouring a fourth of a cup of chocolate milk into skim milk for a relatively healthy treat, but they fell to the lure of brownies so moist that they stuck to their plates.
Ian reached over with his fork to grab some of Quinn's brownie after he'd eaten his own, saying, "The food on your plate tastes better."
After they left the student union, they were not ready to return to their rooms. Their brochures had mentioned a telescope atop the Sciences building so they set off for Galliant Hall. The night was cooler ten floors up, and they were glad they wore their jackets. The men took turns looking through the eyepiece; Aldeberan was faintly visible. Then they sat on the slate floor, looking up to the unmagnified sky, their slacks barely brushing.
"This reminds me of an old telescope we had at my parochial school. After our basketball games in the evening, I used to come out and fool around with it. I found most of the major constellations." Quinn's voice was as easy and relaxed as the man himself felt after his confession to Ian.
"Did you ever consider taking up astronomy?" Ian asked.
"No, but at one point I thought I had a vocation for the priesthood. The spartan life appealed to me and I had daydreams of becoming a Jesuit."
"What happened?"
"I realized that my drives and desires were incompatible with my calling."
"I'm sorry, Quinn."
"I can't be, now that I've met you."
The stillness of the night somehow magnified Quinn's statement; suddenly, the astronomy building seemed the only location where this conversation could have taken place. Warmth pervaded both men, though they sat on cool slate.
After Quinn's openness, Ian wanted to share some of himself with him in return. "When I was a teenager, I wanted to be a diplomat. We took a field trip to the U.N. to see the statesmen and their translators. I still remember the rainbow of flags billowing out along First Avenue."
"What changed your mind?"
Ian chuckled. "My guidance counselor told me that I spoke a bit too freely to be a successful diplomat," he said dryly. "I was the editor of our high school paper, and would let no injustice go unreported. That's fine in a student publication, but apparently unsuited to real life negotiations."
"Well, I'm selfishly glad that you changed your aspirations." Quinn threw an arm over Ian's shoulders, feeling them slump in fatigue.
Ian started to nod off after a full day of travel and insufficient sleep. His head dropped down to find a cozy nook on Quinn's shoulder. They drowsed for about an hour just like that.
Ian felt Quinn's breath in his ear before he understood what he was saying. "Get up, lad. It's time we headed back." Ian feigned sleep to see what Quinn would do next to wake him. Sure enough, his strategy paid off when Quinn started rubbing his shoulder. "C'mon, Ian. It's late."
Ian finally cracked an eye open. "What incentive do I have to move?"
Quinn caught his breath. His vivid imagination kicked into overdrive, and he was flooded with visions of Ian sharing his bed, of lazy evenings together with just this type of playful banter.
Fortunately, Quinn answered the current question, not the version in his daydreams. "You have a bed waiting for you with a mattress the consistency of boiled oatmeal," he said wryly.
"Well, when you make it sound so inviting..." Ian trailed off, giving Quinn his hand, clearly expecting to be pulled up. And pulled up he was, right against the not inconsiderable length of his companion. For a frozen moment, they clung to each other, ostensibly for support, but each knew that there was much more to it than that. The rasp of tweed jackets, the feel of strong arms, a hint of aftershave; both men were intoxicated by the closeness, unwilling to let go. Only propriety loosened their hold.
Quinn and Ian walked back to the dorm in silence. There were no words for what was happening between them. Occasionally, their shoulders touched, and both were glad of the contact. They reluctantly parted ways in the corridor and went to bed, paradoxically feeling more lonely than they had that morning.
The talks began at nine sharp on Tuesday. The men met outside their doors for breakfast at eight thirty that morning. Anticipation of the conference to come surged through them as they ate their pancakes and bacon.
"Let's try a restaurant for lunch today. It's got to be better than this," Ian said, prodding an overdone pancake with his fork. "There's an hour break between lectures at noon."
"The main street of Windover is Bruckton Avenue. Perhaps we'll find something there."
The men went off to Mundi Hall, sipping coffee as they compared their schedules, and discovering they were mostly attending different presentations. They decided to meet at Ian's lecture at eleven o'clock.
At five to eleven, Quinn walked through the door to Ian's classroom. There were already some twenty people assembled. Ian stood at the lectern going over his notes.
Ian cleared his throat to start the lecture, and Quinn spent the next hour enthralled. Ian's topic was Gandalf's sacrifice in Moria, where he stayed behind to fight the Balrog, urging the rest of the fellowship to flee. Ian highlighted Tolkien's expert writing, showing with quotes and explication that Gandalf had nearly vanquished the beast until his cruel whip slithered around his ankle. He drew comparisons with medieval epics, prompting nods from those familiar with Tolkien's translations.
The talk was impressive, and as they headed downtown for lunch, both men were deep in thought. By happy coincidence, they shared a yen for Italian food, choosing a little place called Roma for their meal. The server brought focaccia bread while they were still reading their menus. Hot and coated with herbs, the bread was finished by the time they ordered. Quinn had the veal piccata, while Ian chose the saltimbocca. Both meals came with salad and capellini carbonara.
Conversation waited while they tucked into their delicious food. No more cafeteria meals for them; Bruckton Avenue was their new refectory.
"Your lecture was quite convincing, Ian, but I still prefer Gandalf the Grey to his White incarnation." Quinn waved a piece of bread, which had been replenished by their waiter. "He seemed kinder and more friendly throughout the first two books than he did afterwards."
"I don't dispute that, Quinn. It's just that Gandalf needed more focus and drive to mount the final push into Mordor. He acquired that singlemindedness only after his transformation."
"Just as long as you admit that it'd be more pleasant to sit around blowing smoke rings with Gandalf Greyhame."
"Of course."
They clinked their water glasses and considered dessert. Chocolate mint cake was the clear winner. The waiter brought two forks and they set to it. Dark, moist cake enrobed in green icing had them scraping the plate in no time.
"Back to the grind," Quinn said as he unobtrusively picked up the check.
"Thanks, Quinn, and remember that dinner's on me."
The men just made it to the start of the next series of lectures. They attended only one together, a talk on Gandalf's friendships with Bilbo and Frodo.
Over tea at Mundi Hall, Quinn was still expounding on the Bagginses and their unusual status as bachelors in Hobbiton when Bant came over to join them.
"How was your day?" Ian asked her.
Bant grinned at them. "Quite enjoyable. I've managed to miss you both, though. I've been busy debating what role Radagast the Brown played on the White Council."
"He was a bit too ingenuous to be fully trusted by Gandalf so I'm sure he was marginalized," Quinn stated firmly.
"At least he was able to mobilize the birds and beasts to their cause. His alert to the eagles saved Gandalf from Orthanc," said Ian.
Bant grinned, enjoying their discussion as much as the seminar earlier. "But Radagast's message for Gandalf led to his capture to begin with."
Their congenial wrangling lasted all through tea. Bant then said she had a dinner date, in accordance with her plan to help get Ian and Quinn together. By now, it seemed as if no assistance were necessary.
The men strolled down Bruckton Avenue, looking for another good place to eat. After their big lunch, they were in the mood for something lighter, and chose a cozy sandwich place with old-fashioned vinyl booths and formica tabletops. It was a student hangout, all but deserted over the summer vacation. They ordered at the counter up front, and would take the food to a table themselves.
When Quinn heard Ian request a chicken salad hoagie, he thought they well might have been separated at birth. Letting their age difference comfort him, he asked for the same thing. The hoagies came on whole wheat rolls, had a minimum of mayo, and slices of provolone cheese.
After making sure they had the place to themselves, Ian launched into a topic that had been bothering him. "Do you think Bant's been avoiding us?" he asked, a crease between his brows.
Quinn smiled. "Definitely." Noting Ian's quizzical eyebrow, Quinn continued. "I think she's up to a bit of matchmaking, my boy."
Ian groaned and hid a charming blush with his hands. "Is the whole university talking about us, then?"
Quinn gently drew Ian's hands away from his face. "I doubt it, lad. She's a friend of ours offering a little misguided help, that's all."
"Misguided?" There was an unmistakable sadness in Ian's voice.
Quinn squeezed Ian's fingers, still in his. "We're perfectly capable of handling this ourselves, Ian, without calling in a yenta."
A cautious smile flickered on Ian's lips. "You are interested in a relationship, then, one that lasts beyond the conference?"
"I most certainly am, Ian, and I'm just happy that you're so close to me in New Jersey. There's not more than an hour commute between our homes."
Ian's tentative smile had gained confidence. "I'm glad, Quinn. I was dreading the end of the symposium, not knowing how serious you were about us."
"You'll be happy to know that I'm much more interested in us than in a conference I've looked forward to for over a year."
As promised, Quinn let Ian pay the bill and they strode into the night, eager to return to the dorm. Quinn's acute hearing picked up a mewling sound coming from the steps of a store closed for the day. A tiny kitten shivered on the top step. Quinn bent to take her into his arms. He wrapped her partly inside his jacket.
Ian stared at him bemusedly. "Is there something you want to tell me? Do you have a habit of picking up pathetic strays?"
"Well..." Quinn trailed off, realizing he hadn't told Ian about his menagerie at home. "How do two dogs and two cats sound? I've got a fox terrier, a chihuahua, and two tabby cats. Plus this new little one, of course, unless I can place her with one of the faculty here."
"I think I can deal with that," said Ian, "provided that's the lot for a good long while."
"I'll do my best to keep it to just the current whiskers, young man," Quinn answered wryly.
They went to the cafeteria to get some milk for the kitten, and were stopped by a woman they barely recognized. She cooed at the kitten, then remembered to introduce herself.
"I'm Debra Billson, gentlemen. You may be interested in my lecture on Saruman's hubris tomorrow. But who's this you have here?" The professor held out her hands for the kitten, and it was immediately clear that the little ball of fur had found a local home.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Ian walked beside Quinn to their dorm. This time, they didn't part in the hallway; instead, Quinn ducked into Ian's room.
He held out his arms and Ian came to him with his face upturned. Quinn touched Ian's temple. "Live in the moment with me, lad."
Their first kiss had all the sweetness Quinn associated with Ian, and left him wanting more. He kissed the sides of Ian's lips, then dove back in to taste him. They could feel each other begin to respond, and backed off simultaneously.
"It's been a long day, Quinn," Ian said apologetically.
"I could use a good ten hours of sleep," Quinn said, playing along. "Sweet dreams, Ian," he said as he shut the door softly.
The kiss had left Ian trembling slightly, amazed at his own reaction. The kisses he'd experienced before seemed like nothing but social pleasantries compared to the depths of passion stirred by Quinn. Strong bonds -- intellectual, emotional, and now physical -- were forming between them. Ian went to sleep heartened by the certainty that he would soon be joined by Quinn, and his nights would be lonely no more.
When Quinn emerged into the corridor the next day, he was almost stepped on by the harried housekeeper.
"Professor Masterson! This whole section of the dorm must be vacated by noon. The roofers are starting work this afternoon. There are a few vacant suites on the lower floors, if you don't mind sharing. Would you like a key to see one?"
"That would be a kindness, Mrs. Tinn."
"You'll tell your friend for me?" she asked, nodding at Ian's door.
"Certainly," Quinn answered.
Mrs. Tinn handed him the key, then rushed away to alert the other hapless residents of the change.
Quinn decided to check out the suite before waking Ian. It had two bedrooms connected by a common room, a kitchenette, and a shared bathroom. The greater intimacy of the arrangement appealed to him.
There was no awkwardness when Quinn knocked on Ian's door later on. Quinn enfolded him in his arms, and gave him a peck on the forehead. They stood there for a long moment simply enjoying the closeness.
Quinn quickly explained the move, and they got their few things together, then headed over to J2. They just had time to drop them inside the door before rushing to Mundi Hall for donuts and coffee in time for the first talks of the day.
Ian chose vanilla cream donuts, while Quinn went with cinnamon, and on that healthy note, they went off to different classrooms. Quinn's talk was at two that afternoon, a must-see for Ian.
They had a productive morning, taking notes on the talks and spotting common threads in the presentations. The enthusiasm of the speakers and their audience gave the conference a lively feel that Quinn and Ian would import to their classes at home.
The men met at noon again for lunch, this time striding into town to have as long as possible at the restaurant. Ian picked Cajun food, and they settled in to eat crawfish etouffee and bronzed salmon.
Quinn had brought his lecture notes, scanning them as they ate. Ian kept quiet, knowing how important it was to prepare without distractions. He looked back at the meals and events they had shared, and realized that Quinn and he had been dating ever since they met: a train ride for two, delectable restaurant meals, an evening under the stars. It certainly made the usual dinner and a movie pale in comparison.
There wasn't time for dessert with Quinn as preoccupied as he was with his intense preparation. Ian paid while Quinn's nose was still in his books and notes, then they walked back to the university, with Ian watching out for such mundanities as fellow pedestrians and traffic. It was this attention to their surroundings that allowed Ian to find an unusual rock in the grass by the sidewalk. He picked it up to study its smooth black surface. It was a river stone somehow lost in the grass a quarter mile from the nearest river. Ian ran his hand over it, feeling a tingle that he could not account for. Something told him to share it.
Right before they reached the campus green, Ian gripped Quinn's shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss. "You'll leave them wanting more, same as you leave me," he said in a breathy whisper. "I'll see you in an hour, love." Ian pressed a smooth object into Quinn's hand, then was off in a flurry of notebooks and paperbacks.
Quinn stood there before the gates for a few minutes, fingering what turned out to be a stone, trying to get his game face on again. Ian's endearment marked the first time either had said the word 'love' to the other. Quinn was surprised by just how powerful that word was, and the warmth which flooded through him as a result of its use. He had been obsessed over his lecture most of the day, but now concentrated that energy on the love he felt for Ian. This was not only beneficial on the emotional front, but it kept his mind off the impending talk. Quinn paid almost no attention to the one o'clock presentation he attended, thinking of their developing relationship instead.
At 2 pm, though, Quinn drew on the mental discipline of his years of study, and tightened his focus down to Gandalf and his role in the wars of Middle Earth. He gave a stunning talk on Stormcrow, as King Theoden called him, the harbinger of war. War was anathema to the ensorcelled king, but in this case, needed to be waged. Saruman and Sauron were two enemies who could not be ignored; their powers had only strengthened through the years of apathy surrounding their rise. Stormcrow, though used derisively, signified a call to arms that Middle Earth desperately needed.
When the speech was over, Quinn's face was flushed and he was more animated than Ian had ever seen him. All of this drive needed to be channeled, so the enterprising Ian led him to their temporary lockers at the swimming pool.
They worked off their nervous energy with twenty solid laps apiece, then relaxed in the water floating and lazing. This was the first time they had seen one another's chests and legs unclothed, and each was quietly delighted by the other's physique. Their natural restraint paid off, however, since there were many students using the pool with them, especially the lap lanes.
The men had missed tea at Mundi Hall because of their swim, but they had been too keyed up to enjoy it anyway. Ravenous after their workout, they hurried over to Bruckton Avenue for dinner. Since Quinn's favorite cuisine was Italian, he chose Mamma Depa's this time.
Ian and Quinn had a celebratory dinner; both of their lectures were given, turning the rest of the symposium into a de facto vacation for them. Spinach lasagna and raviolini tempted them that night. They sat there savoring each bite, in no rush for the first time since they'd arrived in Windover.
The men had a lot to think about. The conference officially ended that night with a reception at Mundi Hall at 9 pm. They'd drink some cabernet, chat with their colleagues, and receive pamphlets with summaries of each speech.
Of more significance to them was their imminent return to their home universities. Quinn had been mulling this over since soon after they met. Ian did not have tenure at his New Jersey school, and Quinn knew there were currently two openings in his department at Luke.
After the reception, Quinn asked Ian to walk with him to the astronomy building. They settled into their cozy corner, this time nestling even closer than before.
"Ian, I've been thinking. Have you any interest in teaching at Luke with me? There are a couple of positions available, and I think you might be happy there."
Ian relaxed under Quinn's arm. He looked up at Quinn, adoration plain to see even in the dim light. "I'd love it. I'll send in my resume as soon as I get back to my office."
Looking at the upraised face suffused with joy and love, Quinn bent down to kiss Ian gently, reverently. "What a gift you've given me, lad -- a future with you."
Ian deepened the kiss, giving Quinn everything he had within him and feeling Quinn return the present. They sat there for a couple of hours, nuzzling, kissing, and talking softly about their plans.
When the men returned to the dormitory, they didn't bother unpacking again since it was their last night at Mace. Ian got a good look at the suite, and was surprised by a feeling of deja vu. Something about these rooms felt familiar and comforting to him. He rationalized this by his awareness of Quinn at his side. In two short days, the man had come to mean home to him.
Quinn took Ian by the hand and led him to the nearest bedroom. The scorching look in their eyes promised that the rickety student beds stood not a chance. They were not thinking of the extraordinary luck that had brought them together or the conference which sealed their union. All they knew is that they needed each other body and soul, and looked forward to mapping out their new territory on this momentous night.
As Quinn and Ian would say, were they not more productively engaged, everyone knows that there is no such thing as a chance meeting on Middle Earth or on an Amtrak train.
End.