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    Summary

    Across the room, Healer Kenobi is dabbing at the green healer’s uniform shirt with a wet washcloth, trying to wipe away what Anakin knows are his cum stains. Force take mercy, let the floor finally open up and swallow him whole.

    “Testes were hard, descended, symmetric, nontender, and without masses,” the healer is saying to the other padawan in the room, and the boy is nodding, his expression unfazed even as Healer Kenobi continues to wipe as his uniform and Anakin wants to die. “Epididymis felt nodular and cord-like and within normal limits. Vas deferens was palpable and unremarkable. No scrotal masses or hernias palpated.”

    “Understood, Healer Kenobi,” the padawan healer nods, taking the washcloth when the other hands it to him.

    Healer Kenobi turns, walking back over to where Anakin is willing himself to die from asphyxiation on the table. He lasts about ninety seconds before he takes a breath, groaning as the healer leans against the table. “Please kill me,” he whispers.

    The older man just chuckles, having the gall to pat him on the shoulder. “Oh don’t be so melodramatic. You’re hardly the first person to orgasm on the table. You won’t be the last, either.”

    Language:
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