Master
Apprentice  Archive
Mind if I...
|
|
|||
Archive: M-A, or Jacynthe Demorae's
Series: none
Categories: Q/O, humor, PWP
Feedback: Yes, please.
Summary: Qui's got a problem.
Spoilers/Warnings: nope
Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to write for fame, fortune and glory. Today is not that day.
Thanks: To my own Padawan, who dared me. She said, "Write a story (any category or length) with the following first line: 'Master, do you mind if I masturbate?' That almost sounds like a pun, doesn't it?"
And to Sithdragn-- who fed me lines off a Viagra self-test. Make of *that* what you will.
Qui-Gon sighed. "Of course not, Obi-Wan. I'm sorry you're having to. Again." He rolled over. "I'm going to get some tea."
Obi-Wan stared at his master's back, wondering if it was disrespectful to toss off when one's master couldn't get it up. His gaze dropped to his master's ass, and he decided he didn't care.
"Master, I have something for you."
Qui-Gon looked up from his dataslate. "What is it, Obi-Wan?"
Obi-Wan bit his bottom lip and sank to the sofa next to his master. "I picked this up at the healer's the last time I was examined. You know. Just in case. Now-- I don't want you to take this wrong, or think it means I think less of you-- because it doesn't. I mean, I don't."
Qui-Gon kept his features still as he watched his padawan fret. "Obi-Wan," he said, by way of speeding up the fretting and getting to the point.
Obi-Wan opened up one side of his tunic and yanked out a pamphlet, thrusting it at his master quickly. He looked away as Qui-Gon took it.
"Don't be upset with me, Master, I know it's only been three days, but it's driving me crazy, and I know it bothers you, too. And it's not that I think you're old, Force knows, it's just that-- *you're* always saying you think you're old, and I didn't know if that was, perhaps, *impacting* things. You know, psychological--" He stopped, looking mortified.
Qui-Gon was staring at the pamphlet. It was an ad for a sexual stimulant, plain and clear. "Padawan," he said conversationally, not looking up, "are you quite finished stammering?" He turned the paper over and saw that it had a questionnaire on the back of it.
Obi-Wan bit his lip again. "Yes, Master," he mumbled, sure that he'd mortally offended Qui-Gon.
"Good. Because I'm ready to take this test. It might have been only three days, but damn if I don't miss sex."
Obi-Wan smiled brightly. "Yes, Master."
Obi-Wan got them tea and biscuits. They settled onto the bed, propped up close to one another on pillows.
"All right," Qui-Gon said. "Let's do this, Padawan. If I should be taking something, then I should be taking it. I'm too old to be proud about how my hard-ons happen, and too young not to have them."
Obi-Wan bit back a snicker and read the first question. "Okay, Master. Zero being the lowest, five being the highest: 'How do you rate your confidence that you can get and keep an erection?'"
Qui-Gon snorted. "Are there negative integers there?"
Obi-Wan leveled a stare at him.
The master sighed. "Right now? Recently? Two, maybe three."
Obi-Wan looked at the question a moment as though he disagreed with the very nature of it, then circled the answer and read, "'When you had erections with sexual stimulation, how often were your erections hard enough for penetration?' And the answers are, 'No sexual activity,' 'almost never or never,' 'a few times,' 'sometimes,' 'most times,' 'or almost always to always'?"
Qui-Gon reread the question. "Force, I don't know. What does that mean? This only started the other night."
Obi-Wan had a dreamy look in his eyes. "'Hard enough for penetration,''' he sighed. "Every bloody time."
"I remember, Padawan. Let me have that." Qui-Gon took the pamphlet, affecting irritation but secretly pleased that his lover was so fond of sex with him.
"'During sexual intercourse,'" he read, "'how often were you able to maintain your erection after you had penetrated your partner?' What kind of-- always!" He sounded a bit indignant.
Obi-Wan shifted. All this talk of hardness and penetration was starting to take its toll. He adjusted himself inside his leggings and said, "Yes. Always. Interminably." He looked longingly at Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon flushed under his padawan's intense regard, dimly aware that-- no, wait. He thought he'd felt a twitch, but-- no, it was gone. His imagination, apparently. Force, it had only been three days. He knew hair-trigger nature of the human psyche; almost anything could have caused this. A dream, something he ate-- Sith, it could have even been something Obi-Wan was thinking three days ago.
Qui-Gon rubbed his eyes. "I'm beginning to think this is for people with a real problem, a permanent problem."
Obi-Wan turned to look at him. "Master, you know I love you, and sex or no sex, I always will, but..."
"Yes, Obi-Wan?"
"Well, it's only that I miss-- you know--" He made a suggestive movement with his hips and sat up eagerly. "There are *other things,* of course, but--" He broke off, flustered, and sent several graphic images through the bond. Qui-Gon had to admit that yes, he *would* miss that.
Obi-Wan went on, nonplussed. "Whoever said sex wasn't important obviously never slept with you. I mean, Master, just how well, exactly, do you want me to get to know my hand?"
Qui-Gon read on.
"'During sexual intercourse, how difficult was it to maintain your erection to completion of intercourse?' Zero through five, 'did not attempt' through 'not difficult.'"
Obi-Wan's breathing was noticably quicker as he answered, "Effortless. Hard as diamond to the end, and sometimes afterward--" Abruptly he got lost in a memory of one such night and absently stroked himself.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon began to complain, but his padawan's reaction was quite distracting. He looked positively glassy-eyed. Those blue-gray eyes swung to meet his, and Qui-Gon was taken aback at the heat there.
"This is very-- interesting," Qui-Gon breathed. His heart sped up in a very familiar manner, along with his breathing. Obi-Wan leaned into him, pressing his lips to the side of his master's throat and nibbling as Qui-Gon read the last question.
"'When you attempted sexual intercourse, how often was it satisfactory for you?'" He groaned at the scrape of teeth on his neck.
"Well if they asked me," Obi-Wan breathed against Qui-Gon's skin, "all three times a night. Wait." He pulled away, looking at the pamphlet. "Don't they have anything higher than 'satisfactory'? Is there a contingency for 'explosive'? Or even just 'unbelievable'?"
Qui-Gon would have laughed but he saw that Obi-Wan was serious. "Unbelievable?"
Obi-Wan tipped his face up. "Oh, yes."
Qui-Gon thought about it. "Explosive...?"
Obi-Wan set aside their teacups and the biscuit plate, and straddled his master's thighs. "Explosive," he confirmed, grinding his hips forward. "Just the thought of it..." He kissed Qui-Gon hotly.
/Explosive,/ Qui-Gon thought. /Unbelievable. Hard as diamond. Interminably./ Obi-Wan's lofty perception of his prowess did his ego quite a bit of good. And, apparently, was doing something *else* a bit of good, too.
Obi-Wan felt it, purring. "I'll have to tell the healers how effective their pamphlet is." He ducked down and began to unlace Qui-Gon's leggings.
Qui-Gon released a humming sigh from his throat as Obi-Wan
descended over the now irrepressibly hard shaft. Replaying
the answers his padawan had given him, he read the questions
through again. And again.
End.