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It's been way too long since I actually posted anything to this story, or fiction in general, other than muse stuff. I hope this starts a trend for me to actually write something other than muse fiction, although I absolutely love doing that.
What Can't Be Seen Part 5
As Obi-Wan waited up for his Master to return, he was aware of a vague feeling of foolishness. The man was 25 some odd years his senior, no one scruntinzed Qui-Gon Jinn's activites, certainly not his tender young padawan.
Obi-Wan thought of how many times he'd come home in the past to find Qui-Gon dozing on the couch, a datapad laying forgotten on his chest. He thought back further to his younger days, when he could remember Qui-Gon actually sleeping in his own bed an entire night.
Was it overprotectiveness that drove him to give up half a night's sleep, or something else? Whatever it was, Obi-Wan sure hoped it didn't feel like he did, because it felt terrible.
He kept reliving the sight of Qui-Gon walking into the club and seeing him leaning against a wall, his cock buried deeply in a stranger's mouth. How was it that in all the time he'd been doing such things, he'd never had a sense of shame like he'd felt in that single second? Then when Qui-Gon had left with the red-headed boy he'd had a strange emotion of, what was it, betrayal?
His heart had sunk to his belly when Qui-Gon dashed out of the club, his well-fucked companion trailing in his wake, sashaying around the club and bragging that he'd been fucked by a Jedi. The feeling turned into more shame when another boy bragged that it was no big deal, he fucked a Jedi all the time, then indicated Obi-Wan.
Suddenly, he couldn't stand any of it anymore and left the club, hoping to find Qui-Gon at home. Their apartment was empty. That sense of emptiness grew as Obi-Wan waited. Somehow he thought something might have been broken and he was clueless how to fix it.
The door chimed and swished open, Obi-Wan twisted in his seat to face his Master, then slipped onto the floor to kneel before him.
"My Master."
As Obi-Wan waited up for his Master to return, he was aware of a vague feeling of foolishness. The man was 25 some odd years his senior, no one scruntinzed Qui-Gon Jinn's activites, certainly not his tender young padawan.
Obi-Wan thought of how many times he'd come home in the past to find Qui-Gon dozing on the couch, a datapad laying forgotten on his chest. He thought back further to his younger days, when he could remember Qui-Gon actually sleeping in his own bed an entire night.
Was it overprotectiveness that drove him to give up half a night's sleep, or something else? Whatever it was, Obi-Wan sure hoped it didn't feel like he did, because it felt terrible.
He kept reliving the sight of Qui-Gon walking into the club and seeing him leaning against a wall, his cock buried deeply in a stranger's mouth. How was it that in all the time he'd been doing such things, he'd never had a sense of shame like he'd felt in that single second? Then when Qui-Gon had left with the red-headed boy he'd had a strange emotion of, what was it, betrayal?
His heart had sunk to his belly when Qui-Gon dashed out of the club, his well-fucked companion trailing in his wake, sashaying around the club and bragging that he'd been fucked by a Jedi. The feeling turned into more shame when another boy bragged that it was no big deal, he fucked a Jedi all the time, then indicated Obi-Wan.
Suddenly, he couldn't stand any of it anymore and left the club, hoping to find Qui-Gon at home. Their apartment was empty. That sense of emptiness grew as Obi-Wan waited. Somehow he thought something might have been broken and he was clueless how to fix it.
The door chimed and swished open, Obi-Wan twisted in his seat to face his Master, then slipped onto the floor to kneel before him.
"My Master."
