It wasn't getting any better.
A week after their arrival back at the Temple, Obi-Wan's deplorable behavior had scarcely changed. He knew his apprentice had suffered an ordeal, and he'd encouraged the boy to talk about it. But Obi-Wan didn't want to talk. He refused to meditate. He was moody, he cursed far too often, and Qui-Gon often caught the boy watching him with a suspiciously mischievous expression on his face.
And then there was the masturbation. Qui-Gon wasn't naive. He'd always discreetly looked the other way during his padawan's teenage years. The boy had been discreet about it before, even shy, but now...
Obi-Wan didn't bother shielding his feelings, and he didn't try to be particularly quiet. He took long showers, and at odd times of day. Qui-Gon tried very hard to ignore the situation, but the more he looked away, the more difficult it became to ignore.
And then one night, biting his lip to keep himself from stroking his own hardness in response to the sexual tension he could feel localized in the Force, it hit him: the boy was trying to get his attention.
Well, he thought, pushing to his feet and heading towards the door to Obi-Wan's room, he has it now.
He pounded his fist on the door and waited. The room was suspiciously silent, and after a moment, the door slid open. His padawan was standing there, ruffled and shirtless, and not trying very hard to hide the erection tenting his sleep pants.
He studied Qui-Gon's face for a moment and then smirked very slightly, leaning against the doorframe. "Something I can do for you, Master?"
There was more than a hint of suggestiveness in that tone, and Qui-Gon felt himself grow angry at the boy's presumption. "Yes," he growled, crossing his arms over his bare chest and glaring at the boy. "Shield!"
With that, he turned and stomped back to his own bed, not caring what the boy's response would be. This was not negotiable, no matter how hard the boy tried.
It was about an hour later, when he was still painfully hard and undeniably awake, that he realized Obi-Wan had indeed gotten what he'd wanted from him: a reaction.
He sighed and crumbled into himself, finally giving in, fisting his cock and stroking slowly, then spitting into his palm and stroking faster. He tossed the sheet aside and abandoned himself to the feeling, not caring now that the images flowing through his mind were those of his apprentice, clad in tight leather, smirking up at him through eyeliner and sucking his cock as if he'd never wanted anything more...
The mattress beside him dipped, and he inhaled sharply as he realized a hand had covered his own and was pushing his fingers away, stroking his shaft slowly. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and kept breathing. He didn't want to see, didn't want to think.
And then his cock was swallowed into warmth and wetness, and he cried out, bucking his hips up in response. He didn't want this, he kept telling himself, but oh, he did. He did.
Obi-Wan's mouth was perfect, and he was sucking him so hard, and it was warm and now there was a hand working between his thighs and he parted them wantonly, asking for it, begging for more, for everything, and then the mouth was gone and he was filled, legs pressed into his own chest, still not looking, just feeling, being stretched and pounded and--
And he felt his orgasm ripple through his body, tearing away his ability to control his limbs, just lying there as his apprentice pounded into him hard, grunting above him as he came.
Qui-Gon kept his eyes closed very tightly, knowing that if he opened them, he would have to face this. He couldn't face the fact that he'd lost control of this situation.
Or worse, that it was one of the best fucks of his life.
Obi-Wan shifted, pulling out and then settling beside him, snuggling down with his arm draped across Qui-Gon's chest.
"Good night, Master," he whispered, a bit smugly.
Qui-Gon swallowed hard and kept his eyes closed tightly, not sure what would happen once he found the courage to open them at last.