Wedding Gifts

by Merry Amelie (MerryAmelie@aol.com)

Archive: MA only
Category: Alternate Reality, Romance, Qui/Obi
Rating: PG-13
Summary: One family wedding leads to another, of sorts.
Feedback: Is treasured at MerryAmelie@aol.com
Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
For Alex

Quinn Masterson was an intensely private person. Weddings were high on his list of events to be avoided at all costs, but even his considerable diplomatic expertise was not infallible. The family wedding he was obliged to attend would be yet another test of his personal boundaries. Aunt Beryl had an annoying tendency to shout out "When're you planning to get hitched?" when she had one too many strawberry daiquiris inside her.

Quinn's apartment adjoined that of his lover, Ian Prentice, linked by connecting doors. The men had waited over a year to find the ideal place to be together discreetly. They got their chance when an old hotel was converted into condominiums, the interior doors left bolted on both sides but intact. Thus they came and went at will without observation, and every night was spent side by side in one of their bedrooms. A perfect solution for an imperfect world.

Quinn dressed for the occasion in 'his' bedroom; since it was a cousin's marriage, not that of an immediate family member, he hadn't had to wear his tuxedo. Ian sat on the bed, avidly watching Quinn's progress: pristine white long-sleeved formal shirt, midnight blue suit, newly polished black shoes. Ian regretted that clothing was going on, not off, but other than that, he enjoyed the process.

Ian went to the closet to pick out Quinn's tie; it was his small way of marking his territory, since he would not attend the wedding. Quinn's family thought of him as Quinn's best friend, so while he would be invited to Quinn's own wedding without question, a cousin's nuptials were too tenuous an occasion for them to chance going together. Ironically, Ian had first met Quinn at his brother's wedding a little over five years ago.

Quinn had been encouraged to bring a date to Adeline's celebration, but he knew that Ian was not who his relatives had in mind. He went dateless to family events as a matter of course, and the realists among them had accepted that he would remain unmarried.

Ian chose a narrow grey tie, expensive and understated in its silken sophistication. He had given it to Quinn as one of his fifth anniversary' gifts a few weeks ago. Quinn smiled as Ian turned putting on the tie into an embrace. The tie went over his head, with Ian keeping a loose grasp on the ends, which he used to pull Quinn gently to him for a kiss. They kept it light, not wanting all of Quinn's careful ablutions and preparation to go to waste.

Somehow it took Ian a full ten minutes to knot the tie properly for Quinn, whereas he tied his own in a tenth of the time. The extra minutes were spent lingering in Quinn's arms as he ran his hands over the silk of Quinn's hair and 'anniversary' tie.

"I'll try to be back before midnight."

"Your good shoes might just turn into hiking boots otherwise, eh?"

Quinn felt Ian's soft chuckle against his side. "I'm sure you'll enjoy translating the glosses on the Palumen manuscript more than I'll like the cake." He and Ian were historians whose specialty was 6th century Icelandic diplomacy.

"Too true. But you're a good Masterson and never miss a special occasion." Ian's eyes began to gleam. "Although I do recall the time I nearly made you late..."

Quinn held Ian at arm's length. "Don't even think about a repeat performance. I'd better get going." One more kiss, then Quinn headed for the door.

"Have a good time, love," Ian said, and went back to his books.

Quinn sat on a folding chair in the local park, looking fondly at his cousin Addy and her groom Kevin. He could not help but think of himself and Ian. Quinn pictured them up there, taking their vows in front of family and friends, a wistful smile on his face as he imagined it.

The ceremony ended in a flurry of hugs and tears, then the group went to the banquet hall in their separate cars. The Swan was an elegant catering establishment which specialized primarily in weddings. It boasted a white brick exterior, enormous chandeliers, a grand staircase, a room for hors d'oeuvres and one for after-dinner chocolate, and the main dining room, which had ten tables of eight set up around a large dance floor. A six piece band had already started playing "Just the Way You Are."

Servers started to circulate with trays of mini hot dogs, stuffed mushrooms, spanakopita, and caviar on toast points. Quinn remembered how he and Ian had made a game of scoring the most delicacies when they'd met at Monty's wedding. Quinn had won, but after all he had greater reach, even if Ian was slightly sneakier. There was an art to being in the right place effortlessly to snag the best selection.

By now, the open bar was indeed open, and Quinn took advantage of it to order a Guinness, the perfect accompaniment to those mushrooms. Smiling to himself, he cataloged everything to tell Ian later.

After about an hour, the newlyweds' family assembled in front of the guests. The father of the bride opted to give the toast when the guests were standing together before being seated at their tables. His voice was scratchy, and Quinn saw that he was overcome by emotion.

Quinn imagined his own father doing this for Ian and himself. He tried to believe that the pride and love would be there, but was unsure of it. This was the crux of the dilemma; hence, their premium on discretion.

He had negotiated his table placement with Addy, thus avoiding the thrice divorced and decidedly predatory Harley. However, Quinn could not avoid the standard boy-girl arrangement, and thus was paired at the table with a single friend of the bride. In this case, it was Debra, all blonde hair and shiny teeth and nails, and she was currently encased in one of the tightest sheath dresses Quinn had ever seen. Every girl seemed to believe that the ideal place for husband-hunting was at a friend's wedding. If Quinn were slightly more paranoid, he'd think it was a conspiracy.

Quinn made a valiant effort to talk to her without leading her on, all the while longing to be home reading on the couch with Ian's head in his lap. He allowed himself to daydream about discussing the Palumen Treaty with him, while she rambled on about who knew what.

Quinn realized that he was expected to dance with Debra at least twice, and got it over with quickly, even before they brought out the entrees. Somehow, he had contrived to be by the champagne punchbowl whenever a slow dance started. Luckily, he was able to lose himself in the memories of dancing with Ian on their rare excursions to a private club downtown. Quinn loved the thrill of having Ian in his arms, his hands locked on his hips to feel each sensual movement.

He didn't have to worry about his duty to Debra for quite a while then. As soon as she disappeared from his side, Quinn knew that the throwing of the bouquet was imminent. The decibel level in the room rose significantly as at least fifteen ladies massed around the dance floor, ready to pounce. Quinn's bet was on Debra. Sure enough, with the skills of a wide receiver, she broke through the wall of women vying for the prize, and caught it from a smiling Addy. Debra gave a meaningful glance to Quinn, which he managed to deflect by adopting a charming look of befuddlement.

Quinn remembered the day he had brought Ian red roses when he'd finished the translation of the Jedai treatise; his enterprising lover had removed the thorns, and thrown them on Quinn in bed that night. The memories of crushing them into the linen together still brought a smile to his face.

Next came the removal of the garter, reminding him of the time Ian had wrapped his winter scarf teasingly around Quinn's thigh and...pulled.

The food was delicious, though standard wedding fare: seafood crepes, mixed greens with raspberry vinaigrette, beef tenderloin in a brandy reduction.

The photographer came around for a table picture. Quinn smiled graciously, even when Debra slid a tad too close under the pretext of fitting into the shot. Ian had done this to him many times without needing any excuse whatsoever. His proximity, however, was welcomed.

When they brought out the five-tiered cake, Quinn knew he was approximately half an hour away from freedom. Looking at the bride and groom shove cake in each other's faces, he again put Ian and himself in their place. Ian had a mischievous streak a mile wide; Quinn could just see him wreaking havoc with the icing. Their tuxes would most definitely have to be sent to the cleaners. And well worth it, indeed.

Narrowly deflecting the offer of the centerpiece, Quinn went in search of the ornate washroom. Then only the 'goodbyes' remained. Somehow the maiden aunts were the ones who teased Quinn the most about being single. He'd never understood this himself; he would have thought that they shared a solidarity in staying resolutely unmarried. Using diplomatic skills acquired from his obscure studies, he made his way through the gauntlet, and finally emerged into the night.

The fresh air felt invigorating after the press of sweaty guests inside. As he drove home, Quinn thought of Ian waiting for him. Since Ian was in the middle of a translation, his books were strewn all over the desk in his office. It was almost midnight; Ian was probably on his second latte of the evening, with that pleasantly rumpled look that Quinn longed to see.

He hoped Ian hadn't fallen asleep at his desk; Quinn wanted to share the events of the evening with him, which was only fair because he'd felt his presence vicariously the entire time.

Ian smiled up at him from his desk. "How was it?" he asked, as he stretched and rose to kiss Quinn. "Mmm. I can taste the cabernet you had with dinner."

Quinn pulled him into his arms; ah, this was what he'd been wanting the whole night. "It was fine, but someone important was missing."

"Did Aunt Beryl miss her flight?" The humor never far from Ian's glance shone through.

Quinn's hold on him tightened. "No, she was there to give me her obligatory lecture; she wants me married by this time next year."

"And what do you want, my love?"

"You, Ian, only you." Quinn nuzzled his neck. "Are you finished for tonight?"

"I can't bear to look at another word." Ian put his arm around Quinn's waist and they walked to the living room.

"Do you have enough energy left for a dance, love?" Quinn grinned. I've been saving my best moves for you."

Ian returned his grin. "So you're all warmed up for me, are you?" He put his free arm around Quinn, and completed the embrace. "No wedding tunes, okay?" So saying, he led Quinn in a free-form dance around the living room, deftly side-stepping the coffee table and avoiding the easy chairs.

When they reached the bookshelf, Ian leaned over to flip on a Peggy Lee CD. The men started rocking to the music, both of them thinking of their first meeting half a decade earlier.

At Ian's brother Monty's wedding, there had been an uneven number of bachelors and marriageable ladies, so they'd set up an overflow table with an assortment of hard-to-place friends and relatives. Quinn and Ian had sat next to one another, discovering that they both shared a love of ancient Iceland and an instant rapport. Ian was finishing his dissertation, and Quinn taught at Mace University, one state over.

Quinn had experienced all of the wedding traditions with Ian then that he'd gone through tonight, binding them together as thoroughly as the bride and groom had been.

Tonight, dancing with Ian, Quinn felt the force that bound them to each other inextricably. He did not resent, precisely, the social strictures that had kept them from dancing at the wedding, but looked forward to the day when these limitations would be lifted.

Quinn began to scatter little kisses all over Ian's face. He led him in the direction of the kitchen, knowing that yesterday's dessert, mocha hazelnut cake, was still in the refrigerator. He disentangled from Ian long enough to grab the cake, while Ian, with unspoken understanding shining in his eyes, reached for the bottle of Pinot Grigio.

Seated cozily at the kitchen table, Quinn told Ian all about the wedding and gave him updates on his family. They talked about Uncle Tim's company baseball team and Cousin Bill's college prospects.

After pouring the wine, Ian raised his glass in a toast. "To us!" he said with gusto, and Quinn repeated it with a happy rumble.

There was no need to explain the significance of the cake to Ian. He started to hand-feed Quinn -- their usual table manners flying out the window -- and Quinn enthusiastically returned the favor. Ian exceeded Quinn's expectations in creative smushing, and not only got icing all over Quinn and himself, but also decorated the kitchen table and even an unlucky chair.

Quinn decided that weddings were a bit of fun, after all.

End.