Massaging the Master

by KatBear

Title: Massaging the Master
Author: KatBear
Archive: MA, QJEB. Any others please ask.
Category: PWP, MMOM
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi, guest appearance by Qui-Gon Jinn
Feedback: Appreciated.
Thanks: To the beta reader who made this a better story (Tem-Ve). All mistakes are my own.
Summary: Answering the call of duty.
Warnings: If male-male sex bothers you, you shouldn't be here.
Spoilers: None, Pre-TPM time frame.
Disclaimer: The boys belong to George Lucas, I'm just playing with them.

Senior Padawan Kenobi picked at his food. Despite the noise in the dining hall for the popular mid-day meal, his eyelids drooped as he propped his head up on one hand.

"Hey, Obi-Wan, you're gonna fall into that soup if you don't watch it." Garen nudged his friend's chair with his hip before setting his tray down and plopping into his own seat.

Several other padawans settled at the table around the pair.

"Are you alright, Obi-Wan?" Bant asked.

Obi-Wan shook himself, took a deep breath. "I'm fine, just tired" he replied. "I had two big tests this morning, so I was up past third hour. Seems like there's just never enough time to get everything done and still get any sleep." He took a long drink of juice to help clear his head.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. And every instructor seems to think their class is the only thing we have to work on, so they really pile it on," Garen commiserated.

"Ha, you get enough sleep in class it's a waste that they gave you a bed," Bant sniffed.

Garen started to protest, but was interrupted by Jordel. "Never mind that stuff. Are you going down to the Healer Hall?" he blurted out.

"Healer Hall?" Obi-Wan stared as if the blond had grown a second set of ears. "Why on Coruscant would I want to go anywhere near the Healer Hall?"

"Didn't you get a notification? I thought you would be picked for sure," Grothan chimed in.

"I haven't looked at my mail for almost two days. What's going on?" Obi-Wan demanded.

"The Council wants us to go wank into a cup," Jordel leered.

"What *are* you talking about?" Obi-Wan took a bite of his meatroll. "The Council never does anything fun."

"It was on the general news feed this morning, although that is not exactly how they phrased it," Bant said. "About six months ago they had an epidemic of Truvoko Flu on the mid-Rim, spread across six systems, hit the humanoid populations very hard. They just figured out recently that the disease left over 70 per cent of the males sterile, so all across the galaxy they are holding sperm drives to rebuild the populations."

"Yeah, the Council had medical records screened to determine compatibility," Jordel added. "They sent notifications to everybody that fit the profile and strongly encouraged them to participate."

"The Council expects everyone to do his duty to help his fellow beings," intoned Grothan in a fair imitation of Mace Windu's bass. "Give early, and give often."

There was a general round of laughter.

"So the Healer Hall is going to be open extra hours for the next tenday to accept donations," Jordel said. "There's already a pool for who's going to give the most. And I intend to get a lot of practice with the five finger kata."

"I prefer playing the skin flute," said Garen loftily, "sounds more arteestic,"

"You wouldn't know art if it walked up and bit you on the ass," retorted Bant. She continued casually, "Of course, you can avoid all that work and mess if you just let them take the sample directly from the source with a needle. "

"Ewww!" A horrified shudder went round the table.

"Nobody's getting a needle anywhere near my balls!" declared Jordel fervently as the other males nodded vigorously.

"Suit yourself," replied Bant with a wink and a grin. "See you later, boys, that is if you're not spending all of your evenings at Healer Hall." She laughed as she picked up her tray and walked away.

"Never mind her," said Obi-Wan. "Who's running the pool and how are they going to verify the results?"

"Padawan Tlrrss is holding the credits and Healer Padawan B'votor has access to the records," said Garen. "Neither fit the profile, so they can't participate themselves."

"Sounds interesting. I'd better check my messages and see if I'm in." Obi-Wan downed the rest of his juice, then stood up. "See you around."

It was almost sixteenth hour before Obi-Wan was able to return to his quarters. His first stop was the data terminal; awaiting him was the hoped-for notice and request for support in providing genetic material to rebuild the devastated populations. He sat and considered his prospects as he reread the message. He felt that he had a better than average chance to take the pool, particularly given the large store of fantasy material he had accumulated to motivate his efforts, material that centered around one particular Jedi master. He glanced at the door to Qui-Gon's sleeping room and took a slow breath as he made his decision.

"Yes!" Obi-Wan suddenly stood up. "I'm going for it!" With a wide grin, he decided he had time to visit the Healer Hall before endmeal for an initial reconnaissance.

Obi-Wan was a little surprised that there was no one else in the waiting room. He approached the padawan on duty.

"Excuse me, is this the right place to report to provide help for that Truvoko Flu problem?"

"Yes, but the tenday to actually accept contributions doesn't start until tomorrow at sixth hour. As long as you're here, though, we do require an initial sample to verify compatibility and current viability. It will save you time later if we do it now."

"That sounds like a good idea." Obi-Wan nodded, pleased to be able to get a headstart in the game. "What's the procedure?"

The apprentice healer provided a datapad, cleanser and sample cup, then took Obi-Wan back to a small cubicle.

Obi-Wan filled out the questionnaire on the datapad, efficiently made a deposit in the cup and returned both.

"It will take about fifteen minutes to run the tests. While that is being done, we also need to do some general health checks. This way, please."

Twenty minutes later, Obi-Wan was back at the apprentice's desk.

"Everything looks excellent, Padawan Kenobi, and we are looking forward to your contributions." He pulled a white plastelzon bracelet with orange symbols from a small machine. "This contains your personal information and test results. Please bring this with you when you return. You just need to show it to the duty healer; they will scan it and set you up so you don't need to do any other paperwork."

"Thank you," said Obi-Wan with a grin, "I'll be back tomorrow."

Obi-Wan's competitive spirit drove him out of bed at an uncharacteristically early hour the next morning. He had visited Padawan Tlrrss the previous evening to get his credits in for the pool and scope out his competition. The reptilian senior apprentice had cheerfully showed him the initial list of pool contenders, and Obi-Wan knew he definitely needed to uphold bragging rights among that group. Tlrrss had promised that the top ten names would be mailed each night by twenty-third hour to everyone who had put money down.

A few minutes before sixth hour there was already a small group of padawans in the waiting room. The atmosphere was determinedly casual, at least until the conversation got around to the topic of why they were there.

"So, Jordel, you here to pop one off for the council?" asked Obi-Wan with a knowing wag of an eyebrow.

"More like choke a council member," muttered somebody else who had evidently had the pleasure of a recent mission debriefing before that august body.

"Yeah, I thought might do my good deed for the day by polishing Windu," Jordel leered.

"That's right, beat the bald guy till he pukes," Obi-Wan gibed back.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," interrupted a healer. "Are all of you here for the Truvoko Flu project?"

There was a round of nods from seven heads.

"Who has been pre-screened?"

Two hands went up to display white bracelets.

"Okay, you with me. The rest of you report to the desk for initial viability testing." He held up a hand, "And no, before you ask, whatever you provide for testing will not be included in the project."

Jordel and Obi-Wan smiled as they left behind the disappointed mutters of their peers.

In less than a minute the bracelets were scanned, labels printed, and the two padawans were heading down a hallway with their sample containers.

"Good luck, Obi-Wan," said Jordel with a smirk. "May the best man win."

"Luck will have nothing to do with it," Obi-Wan shot back as he went into his cubicle and settled down to work.

The turnout for the contest, er, worthy project, was heavy and the Council pronounced themselves pleased with the generous spirit of cooperation as it progressed. Numerous light sabers were polished, multitudes of Wookies were groomed and troops of purple-headed warriors were wrestled into submission while the solo symphonies from organs, skin flutes and five finger boogies echoed throughout Healer Hall. Within the first few days four cases of sprained wrists and three cases of friction burns were reported; the supplies of personal lubricants in the Temple stores reached the lowest level in years.

Midway through the tenday a clear group of leaders had emerged as well as a sizeable number of side bets, making the nightly top ten list a subject of considerable interest. By the seventh day a surge in quantity had whittled the group down to three: Padawans Jordel, Kenobi, and a surprise contender, a small, studious humanoid named Meicol. There was a minor uproar when it was discovered that Meicol's male lover had been sneaking into his cubicle and, so to speak, giving him encouragement. The grumbling was not quelled until Meicol was disqualified after Padawan B'votor was able to confirm that Meicol's friend had been providing more than just spiritual help.

Evening of the ninth day found Obi-Wan rustling up a very late endmeal with his master in their shared quarters, both having missed the closing of the refectory. He added a pot of thick bralla soup to the cheese and bread on the table and sat down.

"Thank you, Padawan," said Qui-Gon as he helped himself. "How was your day?"

"Good, Master," Obi-Wan replied absently as he dug into his food.

"This is an interesting flavor in the soup. Did you add some new herbs?"

Obi-Wan paused, not sure how much detail he wanted to go into about the concoction of stamina and libido enhancing substances he had used with a liberal hand. "Just an experiment, Master. Do you like it?"

"I think so. It seems to be oddly... invigorating." Qui-Gon paused. "Actually, I have noticed that we haven't been seeing very much of each other for several days except for our afternoon training. You've even been out early in the mornings, which is rather unusual. I don't wish to pry unduly, but is there something going on I should be aware of?"

"I have been very busy working on a project, Master," said Obi-Wan, happy to escape further inquiries about the food. "It will be finished tomorrow."

"Ah, I see. I've been helping with a project myself the last few days, but do let me know if you need any assistance." Qui-Gon reached for the pitcher of water.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan glanced up, then froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth as his gaze was riveted to the white plastelzon bracelet that was revealed when the sleeve of his master's tunic pulled back. I'll just bet you've been working on a project, he thought, as fascinating new ideas went racing through his head.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon raised his voice slightly. "Obi-Wan, is something wrong?"

"No, Master." Obi-Wan shook his head. "Sorry, my mind must have been wandering."

After washing up and completing his homework, Obi-Wan lay in bed thinking. When he had checked the latest list he had found that the two remaining co-leaders in Truvoko contributions were almost in a dead heat, and the final day would clearly be decisive. He gave a passing thought to how many times he could slip away to the medical wing between sixth and twenty-second hour, but he was more concerned with keeping up his output. He had been careful to use plenty of lube and eat well to keep his energy levels up, so physically he felt well despite a slight soreness in his penis. His bigger worry was getting his cock up; after visiting Healer Hall at every spare moment for nine days, unbelievable though it might seem, he was starting to run out of inspiration.

The first few days had been easy. Just thinking about Qui-Gon's long and sexy but unobtainable body was enough to move him to completion. Then he had imagined touching and being touched, kissing, fondling and caressing each other. By the fifth morning Obi-Wan had ratcheted up the intensity to include sucking and being sucked. When that paled he had moved his fantasies to different locales; blowing Qui-Gon in every garden and room in the Temple and the more exotic planets where they had had missions together. The final resort had been penetration the last few days, both imaginary and with a dildo. The results had initially been highly satisfactory despite his now-tender rear, but now Obi-Wan was feeling drained and whacked-out.

The thought of Qui-Gon actually having his own session with the wise master, though, maybe even in the very cubicle that Obi-Wan had used... now that was enough to get the juices flowing again. A shiver of excitement passed through the young man as he wondered if Qui-Gon would be going back the next day.

"This could get very interesting," Obi-Wan murmured as he dropped off to sleep.

Despite Obi-Wan's earlier than usual waking the next morning, he was chagrined to find that his master must have risen even earlier and had already left their quarters. The padawan hurried down to Healer Hall; finding no trace of Qui-Gon he stayed until the sixth hour opening anyway. He managed only an offering which he deemed mediocre by his usual standards and was further irritated by the smug smirk of his competitor, Jordel, as they both left.

By the time he reported to the training salle for his afternoon sparring session Obi-Wan was feeling quite depressed. His morning classes had run long, he had been waylaid by Master Yoda who had rattled on at interminable and incomprehensible length about an obscure facet of an upcoming mission, the line at midmeal had stretched back to the entrance, and he had managed only one hurried visit to Healer Hall. He was convinced his chance of winning the pool was rapidly slipping away, if not already vanished.

"Obi-Wan? Is something wrong?"

The padawan started. "Master?"

"I've asked you twice if you are ready to start the kata," said Qui-Gon quietly.

"My apologies, Master." Obi-Wan bowed contritely, then moved to the starting position, determined to regain his focus.

The session was shorter and less strenuous than usual, reviewing a few older katas and starting a fresh one, Qui-Gon walking his apprentice carefully through the new steps. Obi-Wan's disposition greatly improved as Qui-Gon seemed in a mood to linger over the proper positioning of arms and legs, his hands warm and strong. By the time they finished, Obi-Wan was feeling almost mellow.

"That will be all for today, Padawan," said Qui-Gon. "The rest of the day is yours."

Obi-Wan bowed. They had barely broken a sweat, so instead of heading for the locker room he went to the side wall to retrieve his cloak. He turned his head to watch his master and his heart leapt as he saw Qui-Gon sliding a white bracelet onto his left wrist. Obi-Wan quickly averted his gaze and pretended to adjust his tunics and cloak until Qui-Gon was almost out the door.

For the next fifteen minutes Obi-Wan carefully skulked through the Temple halls, dodging and ducking to stay out of sight as he trailed behind his master. A grin started to grow as it became clear that their destination was Healer Hall. He stood just outside the door to the waiting room, peeking around the edge to ensure Qui-Gon had finished picking up his container. Obi-Wan rushed in, got his own bracelet scanned and headed for the cubicles. He saw a tall figure disappearing into the small room at the very end of the hall and trotted down the passageway. Obi-Wan pulled open the door next to the end, startling a young red-haired apprentice who had just untied his leggings.

"Out!" hissed Obi-Wan ruthlessly. "Now!" He bared his teeth and glowered menacingly as he advanced.

With a small squeak the startled teenager grabbed his things and scuttled out, clutching his leggings.

Obi-Wan closed the door and quickly stripped off his cloak and utility belt, pulling a tube of lubricant from a pouch on the belt. He shoved the chair against the wall, then settled himself comfortably, ensuring his cup was handy on the small table near him. He leaned back and untied his leggings while letting his tunics fall open.

Letting his head rest against the wall separating him from his master, Obi-Wan closed his eyes. After a moment he was certain he could hear small rustlings and he licked his lips in anticipation.

Sagging a little further into his chair, Obi-Wan began slowly ghosting his fingertips along his ribs and belly. He let his breathing slow, soft and easy, in through his nose and out through his mouth, while his fingers roamed.

Obi-Wan pictured the scene so tantalizingly close: head back, long hair streaming down, legs spread, big hands skimming exposed pale flesh. He felt himself hardening, blood starting to shift and fill his organ. Obi-Wan lifted one hand to his face and slowly sucked each finger, his tongue swirling around the calloused flesh of the tip of each rounded digit.

A distinct groan from the next room sent a shiver down Obi-Wan's spine. His breathing hitched and speeded up, his pulse accelerated. His fingers crept to his chest, found the small protrusions of flesh which rapidly peaked to sensitive nubs under his twisting, twirling pressure, sending sparkles of electricity down his spine.

"Ohhh," gasped Obi-Wan. A chair squeaked beyond the wall... a boot thumped the baseboard next to his own. Little Obi leapt up and slapped the padawan's belly, stiff and eager for action.

Any thoughts of a slow and sensuous ride disappeared into a black hole as a muffled moan sparked a fire in Obi-Wan's balls and belly. He grabbed the lube and fumbled off the cap, then squeezed a generous dollop into his right hand before letting the tube drop to the floor.

Obi-Wan sucked in a gasping breath at the first touch of his hand around his turgid organ. He slid his fist loosely up and down the shaft, spreading the slick gel along the entire length. Root to tip and back, varying his rhythm, pausing occasionally to tease the generous slit. Obi-Wan's other hand slid down to fondle his balls, squeezing first one, then the other.

A needy groan from next door unleashed Obi-Wan's lust. He spread his legs wide and slid further down. The steady squeaking of a chair almost within touching distance ignited a rocket in his gut and sent Obi-Wan flying up the mountain of fire.

"Qui-Gon, oh Force... Qui-Gon... yes... yes!"

Faster and faster, fist flying.

Squeak... squeak... squeak....

Flesh sliding on flesh, blood thundering, chest heaving...

"Gods... Qui-Gon... do it to me Master!"

Squeaksqueaksqueaksqueak... deep groan and a thump... silence .

Obi-Wan fisted furiously as he soared into ecstasy. His balls tightened, warning him of imminent release. Obi-Wan retained barely enough presence of mind to snatch the sample cup and capture the white fluid jetting forth as he moaned his joy.

"Oooohhhhh." Obi-Wan breathed a long sigh of contented repletion. He took several slow, deep breaths to extend the moment of satiety before opening his eyes.

Obi-Wan gazed at the product of his efforts with great satisfaction. This was surely his best result yet, he gloated.

A small click dragged his attention upward.

Qui-Gon Jinn was leaning casually against the frame of the open door, a half-smile on his face.

"I thought that was you," said Qui-Gon. His gaze flicked downward for a moment before he continued softly, "You know, it's more fun without a wall in-between." He winked, raised his well-filled container in salute, then turned and sauntered away.

Eyes wide and mouth open, Obi-Wan sat stunned as the door slowly swung shut. He closed his mouth with a snap as his senses eventually regained their normal equilibrium and he was able to understand the words he had just heard.

"Sweet Force," the padawan whispered as he took his rapidly rising cock in hand, a huge grin on his face and rapturous visions of sparring with his master's lightsaber dancing in his head.

Finis