Most Popular Masturbatory Subject

by Leandra and Raina (nuttersincorporated@hotmail.com ; raina_at@gmx.at )

Archive: yes please, M_A; nuttersinc (elsewhere please ask for distribution)
Paring: Q/O
Category: PWP, Humour, MMoM
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Fiend in Flannel
Feedback: Always treasured. nuttersincorporated@hotmail.com ; raina_at@gmx.at

Summary: Polling leads to the Dark side.

Notes: This fic exists because we were both bored out of our minds and got to talking about the poll featuring Ewan as most popular masturbation subject. (Message number : 65963) The rest is history.

Thank you's: To whoever took the above-mentioned poll. To the poor soul who got that one rather explicit sentence over ICQ that was meant for Raina. To Tem-ve, our dear beta reader.

Numbly, Qui-Gon stared at the poll results on the LCD display in front of him. He rubbed his eyes, closed them, opened them again, but the results stayed the same. Now he knew why Yoda always claimed that statistics led to the Dark Side.

There it was, in black and blue. The results of this year's "What you'd never ask a Jedi" poll. Obi-Wan's name was on top of the lists, in the results of the female and male Temple population respectively. Even life forms known to be asexual had listed him on the highest rank. Second rank on the poll item "Who do you think about while masturbating" was occupied by "some red-haired Padawan" in the female and "pale and freckled apprentice" in the male section. Qui-Gon buried his head in his hands. He'd always known his Padawan's charm and good looks devastated whole generations of Jedi, but he'd never seen it put in numbers on a data pad before, never had to face the fact that half the Temple jerked off to thoughts of his Padawan.

The poll results deeply disturbed him. Weren't there enough other Jedi Padawans in the Temple one could think of while masturbating? Did it have to be his own, admittedly beautiful, apprentice? Grumbling about who wrote these stupid polls anyway, he banged his head on the console, slowly, repeatedly. Rationally, he shouldn't care about all that. Rationally, he should even be relieved that he wasn't the only one fantasising about his beautiful Padawan. But Qui-Gon was not rational, had never been where Obi-Wan was concerned. Thinking about all those wrinkly old Masters getting off while thinking about Obi-Wan disgusted him deeply.

Just as he seriously considered going out to take out some of his frustration and anger on some training droid, the subject of his contemplation entered their rooms, whistling and apparently without a care in the world. Taking in his Master's obvious distress, Obi-Wan halted in the doorway, frowning. As much as Qui-Gon tried to hide his emotions, he didn't succeed. "Master, what's wrong? You look like somebody sprinkled Toydarian chilli over your breakfast cereal."

Qui-Gon sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his aching eyes. At the moment he really wished a peppered breakfast was his only problem. For a split second, Qui-Gon contemplated retreat, but duty won out. He had to tell Obi-Wan about the poll result. With a wave of his hand, he pointed at the display in front of him. "The new 'Ask A Jedi' poll results have arrived." He was relieved when his voice sounded rather normal, not accusing.

"And that's upsetting you why?"

"Take a look."

Obi-Wan's frown deepened and he took a step closer, stepping behind Qui-Gon and leaning over his shoulder to read what was displayed on the screen. "Since when are you interested in such n...." Halfway through the sentence he cut himself off, hissing loudly. "Holy S..."

Qui-Gon could almost physically feel the wave of embarrassment that hit his apprentice. "Are you okay, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan still stared at the screen, mouth agape. When Qui-Gon's words registered, he audibly sucked in air, then nodded slowly.

Under normal circumstances, the change in Obi-Wan's facial expression would have been amusing, now it was merely painful to watch his Padawan go from frown to enlightenment as to the source of the problem to full-force blush in less than a minute. It was even more painful to see the smile spread on Obi-Wan's face only a few moments later.

"It IS pretty flattering in a way, I guess...," Obi-Wan said, amusement and embarrassment mingling in his tone.

"Flattering?" Qui-Gon's voice sounded almost like a squeak.

"Yes. I mean, all those people... finding me sexually attractive."

"That the whole Temple jerks off to thoughts about you is flattering? Don't you think it's disturbing?"

"Well, if you put it that way it kind of takes the compliment out of it...," Obi-Wan mock-pouted at him.

Qui-Gon crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked at his Padawan sternly. "I," he accentuated, "find it disturbing."

"Well, I don't know. It's a bit embarrassing, but I wouldn't call it disturbing."

Qui-Gon stared at Obi-Wan so incredulously that Obi-Wan broke out into laughter. "Master, don't look so shocked! I'm 22, I happen to find the fact that lots of young, attractive Padawans would like to do me kind of promising."

"Padawan, you lead in EVERY AGE GROUP! EVEN YODA'S!"

Obi-Wan blanched. "Okay. Now you managed to disturb me."

Satisfied, Qui-Gon gave his Padawan a pointed look.

"What?" Obi-Wan snapped, aggravation in his voice. "Who takes these polls seriously anyway?"

"Well, just a moment ago you t..." Qui-Gon trailed off when Obi-Wan fixed him with a death glare.

Uncomfortable silence ensued between the two of them and just when Qui-Gon was about to clear his throat to introduce a completely new topic, Obi-Wan spoke up again.

"What did you answer in your poll?"

"That is none of your concern, Padawan."

Watching him with intense scrutiny, Obi-Wan pressed on. "What did you say in your poll?"

Qui-Gon had thought as a Jedi Master he was beyond blushing. Unfortunately, he'd been wrong. "Um... Oh Force, will you look at the time. I should start to get ready for that embassy dinner..."

"Sure...," Obi-Wan said, biting his lips, still watching him intently as if he detected something behind the Jedi Master's tightly drawn shields.

It was obvious that Obi-Wan sensed that he had chickened out of the conversation like a frightened child, but he had no idea how to end the talk otherwise without embarrassing himself beyond recognition. He hadn't run away from battle in decades, but he found he still knew how one did it when he backed off into the fresher at record speed. He just had to get a door between himself and these inquiring intense eyes before he did something stupid like answering all those questions honestly.

Once behind closed doors, he sat down heavily on the rim of the bathtub and exhaled audibly. He shouldn't have started that conversation in the first place, but how could he have thought that his normally rather reticent apprentice would start to interrogate him about his sex life?

Well, Obi-Wan had always been unpredictable, which was one reason why Qui-Gon felt so drawn to him. His good looks didn't help. Or his charm. His warmth. Wit. Sense of humour. Skill as a Jedi. Intellect. Eyes. Laugh. Smile.

Qui-Gon sighed. Maybe that was why this poll bothered him so much. All these strangers fantasising about Obi-Wan, and not one of them really knew the person behind the -admittedly gorgeous - appearance.

He decided that a shower would be the best way to restore his usual confident self and he started to undress, trying to shed mental images of other people jerking off to thoughts of his - HIS - Obi-Wan as the garments fell.

But he could not shed the images forming behind his own eyes now, images that had been haunting his nights and dreams for years now, making his skin itch with a want he'd not been able to satisfy.

Stepping under the warm spray, he sighed at how good the water felt on his skin. It was just the right temperature, not hot enough to make him sleepy, but not cold enough to produce goose bumps either.

Pinpricks of water down his back, creating a myriad sensations on his skin, sensitive to every point of contact as his mind wandered further down well-known paths.

All those people thinking about Obi-Wan didn't know anything about him. Nought. Zero. They didn't have any right to indulge in fantasies about his apprentice. He, on the other hand, he knew.

What had he answered on his poll? Some meaningless, trite, polite phrase. A lie.

Unbidden, from the hidden depths of his brain, an image came to him. What he would have liked to say. The truth.

Obi-Wan on a mission to Cerelis 3, coming home from a party in the tightest leather pants imaginable.

Qui-Gon's thoughts back then, a million ways to tease those pants off. Peel. Rip. Let him wriggle until they pooled at his feet. His entire body tensed with the mere thought of it, his erection filling at the image of his Padawan's slender hips clad in tight leather.

Qui-Gon groaned helplessly, unconsciously trailing his hands down his stomach where his body demanded them to be.

Firm piece of pale arse, skin so soft.

Pearly laugh, ringing through a deserted courtyard.

Delicate curve of neck, calling to be bitten and marked and claimed.

He let his fingers close over his aching cock as he indulged in a hundred flashes of memory, of desire.

Obi-Wan, coming out of the fresher, Padawan braid loose and wet, clinging to his naked chest. Pale skin hot and fresh after a shower.

Smile so bright it could light the galaxy.

Obi-Wan's soft singing when Qui-Gon had been sick with Delurian Fever.

The sound of Obi-Wan's breath coming in short pants during sparring.

Qui-Gon's hand started to move up and down his aching shaft. In his imagination he replaced the touch of his own hands on his cock with those of his apprentice and, whimpering, surrendered to his fantasy. He imagined his Padawan's hands to be softer than his, less callused, stroking him with just the right amount of pressure.

How would it be if he had the nerve to confess desire? Flash of skin as Obi-Wan offered himself for a kiss. Soft laugh as hair tickled over sensitive ribs. Gasp, long moan, pleasure received and taken. Obi-Wan's voice calling out his name in that hoarse whisper Qui-Gon sometimes imagined hearing from his Padawan's room.

Obi-Wan's hands all over him, on every inch of skin, all the hidden places no one else knew about, the backs of his knees, behind his ears. He imagined Obi-Wan's lips there, imagined a Padawan braid brushing over nipples.

Driving himself into tight heat, thrusting, no, maybe a warm mouth on his cock, teeth nibbling softly, a tongue licking over the head. Heat everywhere, mouth around his shaft, hands in his hair. Searing heat of Obi-Wan's making consumed him, taking him in, swallowing him whole.

Movement of round buttocks in front of him, of Obi-Wan above him, around him, in him. Seeing incredible blue-green eyes look at him with want. With desire. With possessiveness. Obi-Wan biting his earlobe, whispering, "Mine!"

With a convulsive shudder, Qui-Gon came.

Slumping back against the cool tiles, he dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling, slowly releasing his own grip on his erection.

Yes, he had obviously lied tremendously in his poll. There was no denying it, he was fantasising about Obi-Wan Kenobi. Permanently. In fact, almost exclusively.

A knock on the door interrupted his reverie.

"Master? Are you still in there?"

Clearing his throat, and letting the water wash away the last evidence of pleasure from his hand and softening cock, he called out, "Yes. What is it?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if you were aware that you're broadcasting so loudly I had to turn up the sound of Temple news feed because of you..."

Paling, he closed his eyes, his knees suddenly weak and wobbly. Qui-Gon sank down to the floor in shock and embarrassment. Oh. Force. No.

"And... um, Master?"

Qui-Gon sighed, defeated. "Yes?"

"Would you like to know what I answered on that poll?"

"You're masturbating while thinking about yourself?" Qui-Gon suggested, humiliated beyond imagination.

A chuckle from outside the door. "Erm, not exactly. Actually, I'm masturbating thinking about you masturbating thinking about me."

End