Warnings: None, 'cept possibly that you shouldn't take a
mouthful of coke/tea/other-beverage right before reading this.
Summary: Qui-Gon has a problem with sex, and then a problem
without sex.
Feedback: Please.
Disclaimer: Every penny I'm making off of this goes to the true
owner of our boys, George Lucas. 'Course, since I'm not making
even a single penny, that won't be very much. And as much as
I'd like to own them, wishing does not make it so.
Author's note: Some of the lines herein may look familiar. Yes,
this is in response to the "Lines you won't see in a Q/O
slashfic"; and yes, of course I therefore had to stick 'em all
in. At least, I don't think I forgot any... And yes, this is
terribly random.
"Mace, I've got a problem."
Mace Windu blinked at the unusual panic in his friend's voice.
Normally, Qui-Gon Jinn was the epitome of Jedi calmness. Now,
he was...well, desperate. And even more worrisome, his tunic
seemed to be on backwards.
"You forgot how to get dressed?" Mace hazarded.
Qui-Gon glared at him, then glanced down at his tunic and
flushed. "I had to get out of my quarters in a hurry.
Look...Mace, I've got a horny nineteen-year-old Padawan on my
tail. Literally. All he wants to do is sex, sex, sex."
"That doesn't sound too bad."
"Mace!"
"Sorry. But it doesn't. I mean, Obi-Wan is very, ah,
attractive, and..."
"...and I'm a Jedi, not a sex machine."
"You sure about that? Ow." Mace rubbed his shin. "No kicking,
Qui-Gon. Fine, I'll help you. What do you want me to do?"
"Convince Obi-Wan not to keep wanting sex with me. I don't care
how you do it-- medicines, keep him in a healing trance for the
next twenty years, mind-whammy him, whatever. Just so I can get
some sleep for once."
Mace blinked dubiously. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You
know what Master Yoda says. 'Mind-whammying your Padawan,
dangerous it can be.'"
"Yoda never said that."
"Well, no, but he probably would if he'd thought of it. It's a
good principle, anyway. What if changing Obi-Wan's attitude has
other effects?"
"Like what, other than me getting some peaceful sleep?"
Mace shrugged. "Well, we'll find out, anyway."
"Thanks, Mace."
"Don't mention it."
As always, Qui-Gon had dinner in his quarters. Rarely, though,
was it this quiet. Qui-Gon smiled. "Well, Padawan."
"Yes, Master?"
"What do you want to do after dinner?"
The night before, Obi-Wan's answer would have been on the order
of sexsexsexsexsex. Tonight, he just shrugged, not looking up
from the meika fruit that was their dessert. "I was thinking of
perhaps spending some time reading."
"No sex?"
"Not tonight, Master, I have a headache."
Qui-Gon nodded gravely. "As you wish." /Thanks, Mace,/ he
thought, snickering quietly to himself.
Obi-Wan licked meika juice off his fingers, treating each with
solemn care. Qui-Gon suddenly felt his heart race. "Mmm.
Obi-Wan. Are you sure you don't want sex?"
"That's what I said, yes."
Qui-Gon felt himself frowning, and quickly reassembled his face
back into calm-Jedi-Master mode. This was what he wanted; time
without Obi-Wan chasing him like a cat in heat, time without an
over-energetic Padawan demanding sex at every free moment. So
why did he suddenly feel empty?
"Good night, Padawan."
"'Night, Master."
Sigh.
After a couple days, Qui-Gon's emptiness had turned out to an
all-out longing. "Sex?" he pleaded, looking at his Padawan in
what he hoped was a seductive manner.
"No sex," Obi-Wan said, frowning a little at his datapad. "I
have to study up on Therendian politics for next week's
mission."
"Please?"
I'm sorry, my job is more important than sex."
"Maybe just a little soul bond, then?" Qui-Gon asked hopefully.
"No, Master, I don't want to create a soul bond with you."
Obi-Wan sounded impatient.
"It's not that bad, really. I mean, I've heard it can be quite
nice."
"You're too old."
"That doesn't matter. The age is our bodies, but souls, who we
really are, last eternally; and therefore, our souls are
the same age."
"Actually, Master, age differences do matter. Perhaps for
casual sex, it matters very little, except that those who are
younger tend to be both more energetic and enthusiastic and
less experienced, which has more to do with physical age than
soul age. But for soul bonds, age is important. You are so
inconceivably much older than I am that, by tying my fate to
yours, I am more likely to die sooner than I would unbonded."
"But a Jedi's life is so unpredictable that you could die
tomorrow, even though you are still young."
"Even then, I am less likely to die on a mission than you are,
since I am young and quick and agile, whereas you are getting
older and slower and more vulnerable to attacks."
"Now I have a headache," Qui-Gon muttered.
"Sex, Padawan. Now."
Obi-Wan didn't flinch at the order. "I'm sorry," he said,
sounding not at all sorry-- or, for that matter, even
interested. "I can't get my boots off."
"You haven't even tried," Qui-Gon snarled, and used the Force
to yank Obi-Wan's boots off.
"I really prefer women?" Obi-Wan tried, in a high-pitched and
slightly insincere squeak.
"You don't blink at them, even when they're parading naked in
front of you."
"Has that ever happened?" Obi-Wan asked, momentarily
sidetracked.
"You didn't even notice?"
"Nope."
"I thought you preferred women."
"Guess not," Obi-Wan said with a shrug.
"Sex?"
"No, thanks."
"Master, have I ever mentioned I don't like long hair or
beards?"
"No," Qui-Gon said, not really processing what his Padawan
said. Words were so irrelevant-- particularly when a naked
Obi-Wan was nestling against him, nuzzling, and working his way
slowly down. It wasn't quite sex, and was rather frustrating
for the not-quite-ness, but it was a compromise Qui-Gon was
willing to take.
"Mmm." Obi-Wan ventured lower. "Master," he observed mildly,
"you have a very small penis."
"Do I, now."
"Yeah."
Obi-Wan's braid brushed against Qui-Gon's groin, tickling
lightly, and the sensation drove away any resentment at the
comment. Groaning, Qui-Gon thrust his hips up, needing more
contact. "Padawan-- Obi-Wan-- take me--"
"What?"
"You've done this before-- please--" and again, he thrust up,
wanting his Padawan.
"You don't expect me to put that--" Obi-Wan ran one finger up
Qui-Gon's cock, ignoring the shuddering moan-- "in my mouth, do
you?"
"Uh." Qui-Gon tried to think straight, but straight was more of
a squiggle. "Well. It doesn't have to be your mouth...there are
other places..." As words failed, he resorted to sending mental
images. Very detailed ones. Very nice ones.
"Oh." Obi-Wan blinked. "Oh. Um, ow? Master, I know I've never
told you this, but I'm frightened of anal penetration."
"I thought you said I had a small penis."
"So?"
"Penetration isn't that bad with a small penis, now is it?"
"Well. Uh. It frightens me anyway."
"If you say so," Qui-Gon said.
"...and rimming disgusts me."
"Indeed."
"You sound amused."
"Do I? Terribly sorry. It's just...you seemed to enjoy it so
much, before."
"Well, yeah, but that was before. Now, ew."
Qui-Gon sighed. "I'll have to have a talk with someone, I
think," he murmured. "Go to sleep, Padawan."
"Yes, Master."
"Mace."
"Qui-Gon," Mace said, looking innocent.
"Whatever you did to Obi-Wan, I want it undone."
Mace raised his eyebrows. "What, didn't it work?"
"It did. Too well. I want things the way they were."
Mace crossed his arms and smirked. "Now, what did I tell you
about meddling with peoples' minds?"
"I'm just setting things right," Qui-Gon said, just as
innocently.
"And have you learned your lesson?"
"Yes, Mace," Qui-Gon droned, "you're right, you're always
right, you're perfection itself, can we get on with it please?"
"Long's you remember that."
"...as right as bantha poodoo..."
"I heard that."
"Never mind. Will you help me?"
"What do I look like, Qui-Gon, a plot device?"
"Yes. Help me? Please?"
"Of course. I'm your friend." Mace smiled, bowed, and left.
"Glad to hear it," Qui-Gon muttered, and after a quick look
around to make sure no one was watching, he stuck his tongue
out at Mace's retreating back.
"Good evening, Master."
"Good evening, Padawan."
Qui-Gon waited, and then cautiously asked, "What will we do
tonight?"
"Well, we could meditate on the, ah, nature of the Force as it
pertains to the, er, Alkzzian ecological system."
"We could, indeed," Qui-Gon said, repressing a sigh.
"Or we could have sex," Obi-Wan said, straightfaced.
"That is, indeed, another possibility."
"Do you ever say sentences that don't contain the word
'indeed'?"
"Indeed not."
Obi-Wan swatted him, and Qui-Gon laughed. "So, sex?"
"Sex most definitely."
"We've run out of lube, we have to stop now."
"Oh." Obi-Wan paused briefly, and then smiled. "We don't need
lube for--"
"No." Qui-Gon nudged Obi-Wan's hand away. "No more, not
tonight. I'm an old man--"
"You're not old."
"Glad to hear it. But my body seems to think I'm old. I've
already orgasmed once, I can't get hard again tonight."
"You look pretty hard, Master."
"It's an illusion."
"I see."
"So you don't think I'm old?"
"'Course not. Oh, and I do like long hair. Sorry for
saying those things earlier. I don't know what came over me.
And anal penetration really doesn't frighten me. Much."
Qui-Gon nipped at Obi-Wan's hand. "If you keep doing that, my
hair will snarl."
"Sorry," Obi-Wan said, laughing. "Are you sure we're out of
lube?"
"Quite sure."
"Damn." Obi-Wan rubbed his hips against his Master
suggestively. "Well, we're Jedi. We're inventive. I'm sure we
can invent something."
"Not tonight."
"You said that. I think tonight's good." Obi-Wan smiled, very
very sweetly. "Oh, Maaaa-sterrrr..."
"Yes, Padawan?"
"Is that a lightsabre in your pants, or are you glad to see
me?"
"Grr."
"It wasn't that bad," Obi-Wan protested, laughing,
squirming out of reach of Qui-Gon's tickling hands.
"I'm not even wearing pants...and this looks nothing
like a lightsabre."
"Oh. Well, my Master knows best."
"Yes, and your Master says it's time for sleep."
"But I want sex."
"Obi-Wan. Dearest." Qui-Gon moved his Padawan's hand away,
again. "I, uh, I think you're handsome, but I'm in love with
Bant."
"Bant."
"Right."
"Well, let's see if I can change your mind." Obi-Wan's head
centered carefully over Qui-Gon's groin and then went down.
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