Obi-Wan drowsed on the senator's shoulder all the way to his apartment. Inside, he stumbled and fell, and felt himself gathered up and pushed onto a couch. "Now, boy," the senator's voice said in his ear, "tell me what you know."
"About what?" Obi-Wan shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to focus on that face that he should know. Pal-something, he thought. Palpafreen, maybe, or Paltine.
"About pleasing a man," the voice whispered. "About feeling someone pound into you, hard. About wrapping that mouth of yours around a nice warm penis."
Obi-Wan let his head fall back, feeling the other man above him, pressing down on him. Slowly, he began to speak, detailing every fantasy, every dream he'd ever had of Qui-Gon, every intimate act he wanted and dared not try.
The senator moved above him, pushing his clothed groin against Obi-Wan's, his breath hot and panting as the young Jedi talked them both to orgasm.
The last thing that Obi-Wan heard was that voice--Palpatine, that was it-- whispering to him to forget...forget...forget...
He woke up alone and shivering on the sidewalk outside the Jedi Temple, and when he gathered his courage and went inside, he found he could not look his master in the eye. 'It was just a party,' he thought to himself. 'How come now every thought of him is tainted with ugliness?'
He didn't know, couldn't remember--but he knew something had happened that night: one night that had forever ruined for him the thought of Qui-Gon's touch.