by Hilary (padawanhilary@gonwan.com)

Rating: R (language)

Archive: M-A

Series: No

Categories: Q/O, first-time, PWP, chan, POV. Slut!Qui.

Feedback: please

Summary: Someone's been spreading rumors.

Warnings: Just the chan one, following Hippediva's example there.

Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to write for fame, fortune and glory. Today is not that day.

Notes: unbeta'ed; too small to mess with. Written for Gloriana/The Emu's "But your chastity...." challenge.

It was wrong: I admit it.

But you have to understand how painful it is to watch people fling themselves at him. And it isn't as though he's oblivious. Oh, no. He's fully aware of his own grace and style, the blue of his eyes, the sheer overwhelming power of his smile. Unfortunately, so am I.

So when he came home that evening, fairly stalking into the kitchen to confront me, I shrank away. Ooh. He was so angry.

"I have traced it back to its source," he said, with that really scary deadly calm of his, that demeanor that looks as though he could either fuck you or annihilate you and he probably wouldn't care which--neither would you, for that matter.

"Source?" I squeaked, in the middle of putting together a sandwich. He slapped his huge hand down over mine, pinning it to the counter, leaning down into my face with an amazingly... annihilative look in his eye.

"The source," he breathed, "of the rumor." The bread suffered horribly under both our hands. His was unrelenting, and mine was beginning to lose circulation.

"Rumor?" I tried again, going hot from chest to hair.

"The rumor," he pressed on dangerously, "that I am easy."

I opened my mouth, then closed it. /No, Kenobi, But you are is not a good response right now./

"Easy?" I whispered, no longer able to manage a squeak or a squeal. I wriggled my hand under his. He did not let up.

Oh, yes. I was definitely going to die miserably this time, nothing more than a buggy smudge on the sheer face of his wrath. Those rumors had been driving him crazy since the lunar cycle prior, when he'd been turned down for a date with a lovely female Senator.

"I prefer my dinner companions a little less... eager," she'd said disdainfully, and I was quite sure Qui-Gon had had her tone nailed when he'd repeated it.

"Easy," Qui-Gon repeated, bringing me back 'round to the present sharply. "Something I have always had the presence of mind--and the discretion--to escape having been called before, in spite of my numerous and very pleasant successes. Now tell me, Padawan, how it is that suddenly I cannot find anyone to touch me with a ten-meter pole?"

I resisted the urge to repeat his last word and stared up at him. /Fear leads to anger,/ I reminded myself, only in this case I was sure my fear wasn't leading anywhere; I wasn't going to last much longer. Master's anger, however, was going to lead to my very messy destruction.

"I'm sorry, Master," I said quietly, heart thudding in my ears. "I--it was meant to be harmless, a little... story, is all...."

"I had a very nice social life, Padawan," Qui-Gon ground out, never softening in the face of my terror. "And now I have people looking at me as though I never had any sense of chastity at all."

I let my eyes go wide with disbelief. "But your chastity--"

"--went unquestioned," he cut me off sharply, finally removing his hand from mine and turning away. "It didn't matter how many people I took to bed, Obi-Wan, it mattered that I was quiet about it. And now--" He made a frustrated noise and left the kitchen. I swallowed, staring after him. It might have been better if he'd just annihilated me on the spot, because his disappointment was always worse than anything.

Following him hesitantly, I found him sitting on the end of his bed in his room, unbuckling his boots. "I'm sorry," I told him again. "I only--it's so hard--"

He looked up at me sternly. "Padawan, it doesn't have a chance to be hard anymore."

I flushed but stepped forward, narrowing my eyes in spite of the fact that my insides were quivering. "Maybe I didn't want to see you get hurt."

"I can take care of myself, Padawan. Force knows, I do enough taking care of both of us."

I sighed and flicked my hand, turning away and muttering, "Then maybe I didn't want to get hurt."

"Don't you walk away from me," Qui-Gon ground out, and, powerless to resist him even when he was pissed beyond recognition, I stopped. "I never allowed my... dalliances to affect you."

"Didn't you? I've sat and watched you go out--wishing I weren't--and I've waited for you to come home--wishing I hadn't. And when you do, you don't just smell like sex, you radiate it. I've listened to you go on and on about how good it was. I've put up with you sulking when it wasn't good. Hair all disheveled, tunic fronts crooked, robe slung over you like it's always done in a hurry. Lipstick sometimes on the side of your neck. Or cologne everywhere." I was babbling slowly now, a sad litany of evidence that I didn't need. He was never dishonest with me about where he was going; that would be unsafe. The trouble was, sometimes he was just too honest.

He stared, wide-eyed. I could almost feel him wondering. "Why does this bother you so much, Padawan?"

I grunted out something incoherent and waved my hand again, flushing.

He tilted his head, and where he could have just strung me up, he kept his voice mild. "Being my padawan does not give you leave to dictate to me. I expect some rationale for your behavior."

I rubbed my hand over my face and sighed. I'd always known he was relatively clueless but this was insane. "I'm sixteen, and you're a fucking sex god. I need a reason? While rumors of your virginity were greatly exaggerated, it netted you more sex than should be possible. At least rumors of your slutdom puts people off you. You know how competitive the Jedi are when it comes to sexual politics. They don't want someone who will do people. They want to win someone they think won't. At least this way I can go to bed at a reasonable hour and not...." I flexed my right hand and a joined popped complainingly.

"I had no idea, Padawan," he said, unnecessarily.

I snorted but kept my mouth shut. I had only just stopped wondering why he hadn't cut me up for stir fry; now was not the time to press my luck.

"You..." he nodded toward my hand, "because of me?" He got up from the bed.

I nodded tiredly but my heartbeat picked up. He was looking at me in a way that made my stomach turn in on itself.

"Perhaps I should... be more discreet, then, with my padawan." Qui-Gon didn't so much advance on me as stalk across the room toward me--and I let him. He is, after all, the master.

"That would be... a kindness," I sighed, just before he kissed me, swooping down over me like a bird of prey, mouth covering mine. It was like something out of those trashy Corellian historical romances Garen was always reading--mouth plundering, tongue searching, teeth ravaging.

Fuck, it was good.

He pulled back abruptly, leaving me glazed-over and panting.

"Until I... regain my status as a chaste and proper Jedi," he warned, "I suppose I shall have to take out my frustration somewhere."

I gripped the front of his tunics. "I offer myself up, then, in repayment for my misguided actions," I said helpfully. "But your chastity..."

He snorted, "Fuck chastity," and kissed me again.