by Kathye

Star Wars: TPM- Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan

Spoilers: none

Archive: M&A

Disclaimer: Characters portrayed within belong to George Lucas and LucasFilm

Categories: PWP, humor (I hope)

Notes: Inspired by the recent search for synonyms and discussion of cliches of shame.

Rating: NC-17, I guess (if they showed this in a movie, that's what it would be)

Summary: Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon discuss the naming of things.

Warnings: No beta, and I'm on cold medication. You have been warned.

"Yes, Obi-Wan! Oh, yes! Suck my cock! Lick it right there! Lick my cock, take my hot cock into your mouth! Oh.....oh.... Obi-Wan?"

Instead of warm lips, the Jedi master was feeling cold air caressing his erection and there was an odd vibration coming from the end of the bed. With an effort, Qui-Gon raised his head to investigate. Half laying over his legs, a hand covering his mouth, his apprentice was shaking with laughter.

"Do I amuse you, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan looked up at him, a broad smile on his face. "I'm sorry, master, but I suddenly found the word 'cock' to be incredibly funny. Cock, cock, cock, cock, cock." He laughed again. "I really can't explain it."

"Well, perhaps I should use another word? How about 'penis' or 'erection'?"

"Those are terribly clinical words. Now I feel like I'm in humanoid sexuality class again. I half expect to see Master De'Brini with her visual aids walk into the room." Obi-Wan continued in a higher pitched, quavering voice. "This, class, is a model of the human penis in its erect state. After an erection is achieved, it may be inserted into a woman's vagina, either gender's anus, or either gender's mouth. It may also be manipulated by hand. If you would like to take the model for closer examination, be sure to see me after class."

Master and apprentice looked into each others eyes, realized that they had made a mental connection between the tiny 120 year old Celthan woman and sex, and shuddered simultaneously.

"Well, there must be something I can call it that you won't make you laugh. I'll develop an inferiority complex if you keep laughing at it."

Obi-Wan examined the massive object that rose from between his master's legs. "You, inferior? This thing would make a Wookie feel mediocre."

"Be that as it may, I have to call it something. How do you feel about 'my 12 inches of love meat'?"

His apprentice raised an eyebrow. "You mean you've actually taken the time to measure it? You've gotten it into this state, then stopped and measured it with a ruler? I can't imagine the restraint it would take."

"Well, it's actually more of a rough estimate."

"Ah, that explains it, then."

"Explains what?"

Obi-Wan hesitated and tried to look innocent. "Just as an estimate, I don't think I would have said 12 inches, master. Ten, perhaps."


"Ten and a half, maybe. Let me get my tape measure, and we'll see for certain."

Before he could get off the bed, Qui-Gon grabbed him by the wrist and held him still.

The younger man sighed and pasted a resigned look on his face. "Fine. With no scientific proof and with the understanding that official objections have been lodged, I will accept 12 inches." Obi-Wan pointed a finger at his master. "But I must take exception to 'love meat'. That's too silly for words."

"Throbbing manhood?"

"I think I read that in a really bad Alderaanian romance that Bant lent me."

"Thrusting manhood?"

"What makes you think that changing the adjective will make it any better?"

"Meat case?"

"That seems terribly crude."

"Pale ivory tower? Honey-hued column?"

"Getting poetical in your old age?" Obi-Wan snorted. "You're a man, not a building."

"I'm beginning to run out of terms, Padawan. 'Little Qui-Gon?' 'The package?' 'The goodies?' 'The equipment?' "

His apprentice gave up and flopped out on his back, laughing again.

"Could you accept 'sex muscle'? What about 'the missile of love?' Would you consider 'my manpiece', if I asked you nicely?"

Obi-Wan was now curled into a ball at the foot of the bed, struggling to breathe, tears of laughter streaming down his face. Qui-Gon waited. Eventually his apprentice calmed down and sat up again, drawing in shuddering breaths. The master leaned forward, took Obi-Wan's face in his hand, stared deeply into his eyes and whispered, "Snack pack."

Obi-Wan howled with laughter, leaned backwards and fell off the bed with a loud thud. He swiftly reappeared and crawled across the bed towards Qui-Gon, a predatory expression on his face. He bent down and started kissing the inside of his master's knee, slowly drawing his tongue up the older man's leg. When he reached the crotch, he buried his nose in the wiry curls and inhaled deeply. He started to take tiny licks around the base of the object in question.

"I think I know what I shall call this, master."

Qui-Gon leaned back on his elbows, shuddering at each touch, breathing heavily. "Please ... ah ... enlighten me ... Padawan."

Obi-Wan placed light kisses up the underside of his master's shaft, then swirled his tongue around the head. In a husky voice he said, "I think I shall call it 'mine'." He took the head into his mouth and sucked hard.

"I...can.. live with.. that, Obi-Wan."

The younger man sighed and glanced up. "If you can still form coherent sentences, I'm doing something wrong."

"Perhaps I just need something to keep my mouth busy."

"Ah, your mouth and the little general will meet up soon enough."

"You call it 'the little general'? Why would you..."

All rational thought ended as Obi-Wan swallowed his entire length.

As his world dissolved into bright lights, Qui-Gon caught a stray thought. Ten and three-quarter inches, max. I wonder if I could get him down to the labs to use their calipers.

Beyond speech, the Jedi thought back, Best to let it remain a mystery, Padawan. We wouldn't want the little general to become jealous. He felt teeth lightly graze his cock, and his mind was sent to a place where the names of things did not matter.


I didn't come up with all of these lovely synonyms. Here's who did (or who I was inspired by). Anyone I've forgotten - I'm sorry - blame it on the cold medication that's keeping me up this late.

Fi 8 inches of throbbing meat

Wolfe Throbbing love muscle

'Pet Missile of love

Mac thrusting manhood

Pfyre manpiece

Mina64 Package

Michelle throbbing manhood and my 12 inches

Keelywolfe 12 inch throbbing love meat

Christy (or Christy's friend) package, goodies, equipment, meat case and snack pack

Francesca pale ivory tower and honey-hued column. Also the joke "They're men, not buildings"