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"Go, Ian, go!"
Somehow, Ian was able to pick out his husband's voice amidst a chorus of cheers. He looked right at Quinn, seated in the front row of the arena with the families of the gym team, and gave him a jaunty wink. It was time for him to put on a show, as only he could.
The date was Monday, February 29th; since 2016 was a Leap Year, they had an extra day for all to enjoy this month.
And he and his gymnastics team were using the gift wisely.
It was a tradition for the Skyhawks to raise money for charity on Leap Day. This year, in honor of Coach Prentice, the head coach and Ian's teammates decided to contribute to Luke-Loves' "Every Child Deserves a Home" program, which combated homelessness among LGBT teenagers. Unfortunately, these kids made up a disproportionate percent of the homeless, because some parents threw their children out of the house when they came out.
Quinn himself would have been one of them, if he had told his folks that he was gay when he was in high school. It had taken almost two more decades and the advent of Ian before Ginny and John had finally come around.
So this charity was close to Quinn and Ian's hearts. Both the Mastersons and Prentices, along with Kathy and Monty, had sent generous checks to Luke-Loves, showing their staunch support. They'd all wanted to come to tonight's event along with Lelia, despite it being a week night, but they hadn't been able to get tickets, since the arena had sold out within minutes after they had gone on sale.
Ian had been given the honor of starting the team off on their "Luke-Leaps" fund-raiser. He and every member of the team would do tumbling passes on the floor-exercise mats and would raise ten dollars for each skill performed, plus a $25 admission fee for every member of the audience. Then, they'd put on an exhibition of all six events, saving high bar for last, going by the traditional Olympics order of apparatus.
Ian was dressed in the same uniform as the rest of his teammates tonight -- shorts and a cream-colored singlet emblazoned with a soaring brown Skyhawk -- rather than his coaching outfit. A good look on him, Quinn thought with pride, as he roared his laddie on.
The clamor of the crowd couldn't drown out Quinn's cheers, and Ian felt adrenaline coursing through him. Leaping, twisting, rolling, and flipping, Ian completed four diagonal passes across the mat. The sheer amplitude of his double layout was breathtaking to behold.
Quinn lost count of the handsprings and somersaults he was treated to when Ian nailed his floor routine; he went wild, along with the rest of the audience in the sold-out arena. His laddie was dripping with sweat, his hair darker than usual: glistening copper standing straight up like the bristles of a baby porcupine. In other words, just gorgeous.
Ian waved to the crowd, beyond exhilaration, and they responded with a standing ovation, which seemed to last for at least an eon. The rest of the charity meet passed in a blur for both Quinn and Ian. By the time Ian flew over the high bar with his dazzling release moves, Quinn was hoarse from shouting the Luke fight song.
And the donations were keeping pace with the athletes. The blue and green displays usually used as the scoreboard kept lighting up with more and more money earned. At the end of the evening, over 10,000 dollars had been raised, enough to rescue untold children from the streets.
Ian showered in the locker room with the rest of the team, put on his street clothes and parka, then met Quinn in the now-quiet arena. The only sound audible was the mellow conversation between Coach Rance and Quinn by the northern entrance.
Ian was a curious mixture of exhausted and exuberant; the last time he'd felt like this in the gym was when he'd won the gold medal on high bar at the NCAA Championships almost two decades ago. But it felt even better now, because Quinn was there to share it with him. He was engulfed in a bear hug by his husband, while Otto beamed at both of them.
Quinn beamed back, especially when he noticed that Otto was wearing a Luke-Loves rainbow button on his team polo shirt. The coach's stalwart support over the last decade had set the tone in the gym -- discrimination was a disgraceful thing to any Skyhawk, from the top on down throughout the ranks of the team.
"Good work tonight, fellas," Rance said with gusto.
"Coach, I can't thank you enough for all you've done for the kids." Ian's heart was in the grin he gave Otto.
"My pleasure, son. Your Stalder was the best one that I've seen you do all season." Rance clapped Ian on the shoulder. "First-class, all the way."
Ian's grin widened even further as he high-fived the coach. Such effusive praise was rare from Otto, and Ian savored it all the more because the coach had said it in front of Quinn.
"See ya tomorrow for practice, Ian," said Rance, smiling at him as if he knew just what Ian was thinking.
After waving their goodbyes, the professors walked to the Taton Hall parking lot a couple of blocks away. When Quinn reached over to pull up the collar of Ian's parka, it felt more intimate than even a kiss to his lad. Both of them were glad of the bracing cold after getting overheated during the exhibition, Ian with his fantastic gymnastics and Quinn with his roaring cheers. They'd taken the THX tonight, so Quinn got behind the wheel with a jaunty grin and asked, "Where to, m'lad?"
Still too hopped up on adrenaline to relax at home, Ian said, "How 'bout heading over to Rex's?"
"I like the way you think, darlin'," said Quinn, patting a muscular thigh before flicking on a CD of "Baker Street" to soothe Ian on the drive. Only then did he put the convertible in gear.
They got to the diner in slightly over ten minutes, and Rex gave them his usual warm welcome, along with a double hug for them both. Luckily, he also gave them their usual back booth, so that they could sprawl happily in relative privacy while they chatted and ate.
Ian knew better than to order his favorite Norman Rockwell vanilla shake -- or even a root beer float -- with the romantic two straws. The last thing he needed was a sugar rush after his natural high from performing. Instead, he opted for decaf coffee, along with a spinach-mushroom omelette and toast. He was delighted that Rex's followed the hallowed diner tradition of serving breakfast all day. In fact, he thought Rex's was just as good as any New Jersey diner, and Garden State diners were considered the best in the nation.
Hearing his herven tapping his sneakers against the tile floor, Quinn was relieved to see that Ian's order did not include sweets, even with the dessert case staring at them from across the aisle, with its Banana Kahlua cake just waiting for them to eat it. Knowing that Ian loved to poach food from his plate -- a long-standing tradition begun at the Mace University Cafeteria, back in 2003 -- Quinn also went for savory fare. He asked for a chicken-salad club sandwich with steak fries.
After more than ten minutes of chatting and decompressing, Rex brought over their food. Ian had calmed down a bit, by now.
"I'm so proud of you, laddie," Quinn said, reaching over the table to caress Ian's cheek tenderly.
Ian leaned into the touch, craving it more than the meal to come. "And I'm proud of our team. Go, Skyhawks!"
"Coach Rance told me that the President of the Skye Chamber of Commerce has promised matching grants for the money you've raised tonight."
"Oh, how wonderful," Ian said, blue-green eyes shining up at Quinn.
Quinn's eyes shone clear blue. "It's so satisfying to help those kids."
"Speaking of which," said Ian, "I just got an email today from Aaron Bernstein."
Aaron was a former student of Ian's, who had been disowned by his parents when he'd told them that he was gay. He and Quinn had invited him over for Thanksgiving in 2008 and made sure that he'd found a home with his aunt and uncle. He had also been a waiter at Rex's to pay his way through college, until he'd moved to Washington, D.C.
"How's he doing?" Quinn asked, then took a sip of water.
"Just great, ma herven." Ian sprinkled sea salt on his omelette. "Aaron has made associate professor at Georgeton..."
"I'll send him my congratulations tomorrow," Quinn said, not realizing that he had interrupted his husband.
"And there's an even better reason to congratulate him," Ian said enigmatically, relishing the surprise.
Quinn gave him a curious look, so Ian in turn gave him the big news. "Aaron's gotten engaged!"
"That's grand!" Quinn said, interlacing his fingers with Ian's. "I'm so happy for him."
"So am I," said Ian, squeezing his hand and marveling at how far Aaron had come in the last eight years.
"Who's the lucky guy?" asked Quinn, then took a bite of his club sandwich.
"His name is Lev Seneca. He's a former Air Force fighter pilot, who saw two tours of duty in Afghanistan, flying an F-16." Ian grinned at Quinn's whistle of admiration. "He now works as a curator at the National Air and Space Museum. He's part of the team that's trying to get the Boeing exhibit up and running by July. You know, that 'Milestones of Flight' Hall that we read about in the Smithsonian Magazine last month."
Quinn nodded, eyes bright with interest. "Can't wait to meet him," he said, dipping a steak fry in ketchup.
Ian, in an even bolder move than usual, swiped the fry right from his herven's hand, rather than his plate. "You will soon. Aaron wants us in the wedding party as ushers."
Quinn started to laugh merrily at Ian's antics and reached for another fry. "That's quite an honor. I'm looking forward to it."
"We'll be able to give our tuxes a whirl again," Ian said, shimmying a little in his seat. "Last time we put them on was about two and a half years ago, for Halloween."
Both of them remembered that special night in vivid detail. After escorting Lelia and Han as Jedi Knights for their trick-or-treating, in their family tradition, they'd decided to change into their tuxedos for the block party at Violet and Prudence's house. This had led to an impromptu dance around their living room, which had become so romantic, they had barely made it out the door to the party.
The professors shared a sizzling look that lasted a mere Moment but was a promise of glories to come in their bedroom later tonight.
Quinn asked, "Have Aaron and Lev set a date for their wedding yet?"
"They're thinking sometime over the summer, when Aaron has time for a honeymoon."
"That's perfect for us, too. Washington's pretty steamy in July and August. I hope they set a June date, instead." Ian recalled how sweaty he'd been while he was working on his own doctorate at Georgeton. His clothes would get damp just from the commute between his apartment in Arlington and the Lauinger Library on Prospect Street, even though the Metro was well air-conditioned.
"I'm looking forward to seeing all of your old haunts," Quinn said.
"And I'm looking forward to having you with me and seeing them through your eyes." Ian was brimming over with glee as he contemplated taking Quinn to his favorite restaurants on M Street, not to mention his favorite book stores. One restaurant in particular -- Clyde's -- was a must-visit for them. The atmosphere there reminded Ian of the inns of Colonial Williamsburg, and he knew Quinn would relish it.
"Aaron and Lev picked a perfect day to get engaged, lad," Quinn said, thinking of how Aaron had grown into a good man -- from a teenager needing the support of compassionate adults to an adult himself, ready to help others from the security of his newly tenured position. Things had come full circle.
Ian nodded in agreement, eyes at maximum sparkle. "You might even say that they took the leap on Leap Day."
Quinn groaned. Some things never changed, after all, and thankfully Ian's atrocious puns were a prime example of this axiom.