| Doing It
by Katja Qui-Gon Jinn, exemplary Master Jedi, leant across the table and touched his Padawan Learner, Obi-Wan Kenobi, on the arm. "Obi-Wan - would you like to...you know...do it?" Obi-Wan choked on his Lenarian sausage and Qui-Gon had to give him a rapid dose of back thumps to clear the obstruction. Eyes red and running and throat bruised by the lump of sausage, he croaked: "Master - did you just ask me - if I wanted to...you know... do it? With you, I presume?" "Yes, of course with me. Who else would I be asking for, Yoda?" Obi-Wan leant back in the chair which he then pushed himself back out of arm’s reach. “Master, that is the most … disgusting thing…you have ever said to me! What in the Force is the matter with you?!" "It's called lust, padawan. I’ve been lust with you ever since I saw you as a naked fourteen year old taking a bath. I have resisted my dishonorable urges for five years, but I’m beginning to think five years is enough resisting.” He gave Obi-Wan his most serene smile. “Don’t you think I’m handsome? "Master, you’re very handsome. For man of your mature years. If I were interested in any mature male Jedi Master it would be you." "Oh.” Qui-Gon’s face fell. “I’d felt certain I was picking up physical urges along our link." Obi-Wan leapt to his feet and backed towards the door. “I’m afraid I’ll have to report this to the Council….the Council….the Council... ...Qui-Gon came awake with a yelp and Obi-Wan rolled over to hold him as he shivered. "Qui-Gon, are you alright?” he asked sleepily. He stroked one shoulder and yawned. “You’re shivering. Did you have a dream?" "Nightmare…horrible nightmare..” Qui-Gon rolled over and pulled his lover into his arms. “Don’t want to think about it." "Hmmm….we have to get up early tomorrow for the Council Meeting,” Obi-Wan muttered as he snuggled up against the warm body. “Try to get some sleep." In a few seconds he was snoring softly against Qui-Gon's chest. But he lay for sometime, wondering where that horrible image had come from. //I didn’t lust after him when he was fourteen….and does he really think I’m …mature…what a horrible word….../// Closing his eyes, he hoped that particular nightmare would vanish back where it belonged, into his twisted night-time imagination. End Back to Fiction by Others
|