Where the Spirit Meets the Bone
Pairing: Qui-Gon Jinn x Fem. Reader x Anakin Skywalker
Word Count: 2,567
Warnings: Voyeurism, oral (male receiving), stalking(?), delusional!Anakin, vomiting, anxiety, unrequited love, hidden feelings, language.
Summary: Anakin has harbored feelings for you for a while, but has never found the right time to confess them. A bit of downtime with you and his Masters on Naboo is just what he needs, but when he stumbles upon your secret tryst with Qui-Gon, Anakin knows that he cannot keep his feelings hidden anymore.
Author's Note: I am back with a new fic! This is a little different than the stuff I typically write. It's more of an AU fic, one where Qui-Gon lives, obviously, duh. I don't know where this idea came from, it just sort of blossomed one night for one reason or another. Depending on its reception, I might make this a chaptered fic. Anyways, if you read this, I hope you enjoy<3
Edited.
divider created by @/v6que on Tumblr.
The captivating scenery of Naboo’s lakeside country held secrets even Anakin Skywalker was not bold enough to uncover, but even still did he try, when he thought no one else was looking. Lush, verdant greenery provided the perfect cover, shielding him from view or from what he knew he never wanted to see, but did not learn such existed until he had come face to face with what terrified him the most.
With practiced ease did he float through the billowing curtains, trained eyes following any movement as he chased shadows he didn’t recognize. He was supposed to be down by the lake, swimming with Obi-Wan, but there was a more pressing matter, and he rubbed at his eyes almost to emphasize the point to himself, to reiterate why he was here in the first place. There was a throbbing in the Force, an ache he had yet to identify, but it felt important, whatever it was. It made the backs of his eyes feel like they were pressing into his skull, his brain swollen, his hands clammy and his clothes stuck to him uncomfortably, prickling his already too sensitive flesh. Obi-Wan had worried he was with fever, but before the older Master had a chance to feel Anakin’s forehead, the young man was racing back towards camp, where he did not realize you were.
Anakin was told that you and Qui-Gon were heading into town for some supplies that had been forgotten and he had taken that at face value, but hindsight told him he should’ve insisted on accompanying you and he rubbed aggressively at his forehead, cross with himself, but mostly for not seeing the signs before they were staring him in the face.
He could not escape this feeling, and it was driving him mad, the potency of it through the Force was almost enough to make his knees buckle. Three more steps and it brought him to the ground, and he knelt there on the cool stone, concealed behind one of the fluttering drapes that hung loosely to the ground in front of him.
The four of you were staying in what could mostly have been classified as a luxury yurt, although the structure was not rounded. The layout was cabin-esque, with sheer curtains and thick drapes posing as walls, which offered little privacy now that Anakin had a chance to think about it and it made him want to spit with rage. Qui-Gon had chosen this spot, for what reason Anakin did not know, but he had a pit in his stomach and if he was being honest with himself (and for Anakin, that was rare) he wanted to give the older Jedi some serious grief over it the next time he had the chance.
Were there no private inns? Cabins? Livable spaces that had actual rooms with physical walls he could climb so that he did not fall victim to the desperate need to find out just exactly what was going on around here?
Quiet rage gnawed at him and his stomach growled in torment; he hadn’t been able to eat a thing since they’d arrived here.
The wind carried a sound to him, like that of a bird cooing the arrival of dawn, and he lifted his head, peering through the sheer material into the room diagonal to him and his heart nearly stopped altogether. Just as he hadn’t recognized the thrumming within the Force that had led him here, he also did not recognize what he was looking at.
Through blurred vision, it was like admiring an abstract painting from afar, the vibrancy of life exuding from every pore, each brush stroke twisting, gyrating, beckoning to him across the canvas of his mind’s eye. All that he could see from this spot were two nude bodies, one knelt on the ground in front of the other and, the other, he did know, better than the back of his own hand.
Qui-Gon Jinn, with his hair loose and cascading down his back and over his shoulders, his right hand fisted in the hair of the unknown body before him, hips shallowly thrusting forward and Anakin thought he might be sick on the spot, but his body had grown roots—he wasn’t going anywhere until he knew the truth. He watched the scene with rapt attention as waves of disgust radiated outward and, he made it a point to hide his Force signature, tamping it down beneath the violent edge that his anger had taken, not wanting Qui-Gon to be the wiser, not this time. He wasn’t about to get caught, knowing right then and there that he should have turned tail and ran back down to the lake, jumping in headfirst and hopefully giving himself amnesia in the process, but he knew he wasn’t lucky enough to suffer a severe enough head injury to take this memory out of his mind.
He scuttled along the ground, his dark Jedi robes lending to the secrecy of his movements. He was one with the shadows as he crawled forward, on hands and bruised knees, desperate to see more.
When he was close enough to see the other person who was with Qui-Gon, but not close enough to risk his presence being detected by the Jedi Master’s heightened senses, his pupils nearly swallowed his irises as his eyes widened to saucers. Hot tears of both anger and arousal pricked his eyes, burning him from the inside, as he saw you there, on your knees before the man that Anakin had come to trust the most out of anyone in the Order. Your plush lips were wrapped around Qui-Gon’s rigid cock as he thrust into your mouth, grunting with exertion while whispering words of loving praise and encouragement to you.
It was the most horrendous, hideous, grim, striking, arousing and beautiful thing that Anakin had ever witnessed and, up close, he could discern what the Master was saying to you, the words washing over him like a warm tidal wave or a soft blanket being pulled up to his chin, comforting and reassuring as he panted, punctuating his arousal with delight.
“That’s right, darling, just like that,” Qui-Gon rasped, breathless and ragged, his hips twitching as you took him deeper, “ohh, little thing…not too much at once. You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Keep going…that’s it, oh! P-Perfect, my love.”
The hold he had on your hair looked uncomfortable, but Anakin could see that he wasn’t using it to guide you but rather to keep it out of the way for you so that it wouldn’t hinder your performance or get stuck in the saliva and precum as it leaked from the corners of your parted lips and dribbled down your chin.
Your lips were stretched wide around his cock, letting it slide down your throat the best you could without gagging, but Qui-Gon was well-endowed, large and heavy on your tongue and you could feel the veins pulsing as his balls tightened, but he fought through it, desperate not to release just yet. He was intent on drawing this out for as long as he possibly could and Anakin could not fathom why.
Didn’t he know that either he or Obi-Wan might come back at any moment? In a moment of blind passion, Anakin was enraged that Qui-Gon would take such a risk, not to mention the fact that he was here, using the person Anakin loved like you were no more than a cheap whore for just anyone’s pleasure. Perhaps it was hypocritical of him, knowing he was prone to the same reckless behavior, but this was different, even if he couldn’t figure out why.
He didn’t have all the facts, but that didn’t matter. He’d seen enough to know what he would consider as the truth and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to burst from his hiding place and confront them for what he considered to be an act of emotional treason, a betrayal worse than cheating, even though Anakin had never confessed his feelings to you, or at least not yet.
He’d been waiting for the right moment, but now was not it, nor did it seem that it ever would be.
You were letting out pleased hums and little moans, inhaling harshly through your nostrils and it impacted Anakin in a profound way to hear those sounds coming from you. Sweat pearled on his brow and his own cock was rock hard in his trousers; he was angry at himself for finding pleasure in what he was witnessing, but then again, he reasoned that this might be the last and only time he got to see you like this and so he allowed himself this tiny reprieve, a gift from the universe disguised as a curse.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Anakin had never seen Qui-Gon like this before, either. He took a moment to appreciate it for what it was, watching as Qui-Gon talked you through yours and his collective pleasure, and listening to the strained voice, vocal cords pulled taut and steadily reaching their limit, as Qui-Gon thrust a little harder into your mouth.
Qui-Gon’s cock was large and proportionately thick, comparable to Anakin’s in length, give or take, but with sizably more girth. Heavy, sagging balls swayed with every thrust of his hips and when your hand reached up to squeeze them, Qui-Gon moaned.
The typically calm and stoic Jedi Master now appeared far from his typical aura as he bent to look down at you between his thighs, suckling and licking at his cock now like it was a delectable, treasured treat, and you were not going to waste a single drop.
His body trembled and his balls seized as he staved off his orgasm yet again, edging himself in the warm, wet heat of your mouth because he enjoyed the way it felt far more than spending himself prematurely, but it seemed that there was more to this than Anakin was able to understand, because Qui-Gon appeared to be trying to pull away now and a sharp stab of disappointment fluttered through Anakin’s chest.
No, it couldn’t be over yet, he wanted to see more, or he didn’t, but…how could he not?
“That’s alright, love, you don’t have to finish,” Qui-Gon breathed, gently tugging backwards on your hair as he attempted to pull you off him, but you refused.
One of your arms snaked around to his backside, and you grabbed a handful of one fleshy buttock and held firm as you delved down onto him again, sucking him in as far down as you could go and Anakin gulped.
“Greedy thing…” Qui-Gon huffed, but he did not fight you as he thrust shallowly several more times until a loud groan ripped itself from deep in his chest, his legs shaking as he came down your throat in powerful spurts.
His chest heaved as he caught his breath, his gaze on you like you were some ethereal being sent here from far off lands to satisfy his intrinsic need for pleasure that he was no longer able to quell, “that was wonderful, dear one,” he praised you, letting go of your hair so that he could gently stroke your head in compassion for what you had just done for him, “such a sweet darling…thank you. For your first time, I’d say you know better about it than you think you do.”
This was the first time you’d given head?
Anakin was perplexed; watching you, he could’ve sworn that you had experience, but this was a brand-new revelation he had not been expecting. It now infuriated him even more than Qui-Gon had become your first, but he could work with that, if only next time your lips would be wrapped delicately around his own aching dick.
He reached down and adjusted his trousers, palming himself loosely through the fabric and a low, keening moan escaped him. He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth to force himself to be quiet and then he shot up from the floor and raced from the space, desperate to put some distance between himself and what he had just witnessed.
As he stumbled from within the canvas tent, Anakin had become sick with rage and nerves, anger clouding his vision and making him see double, but tears still burned his eyes and his stomach churned with a vengeance as the nausea and disgust warred within him.
He managed to make it halfway back to the lake, where Obi-Wan was waiting for him, before he had to double over and vomit into a nearby shrub, emptying the contents of his stomach which was little more than some water and thick bile. The contraction of his stomach muscles during the act of throwing up had drained him, and he considered just dropping to the ground right there and letting himself pass out from exhaustion, succumbing to his own worst inhibitions, but he had to get back to Obi-Wan.
He had to know whether the other Jedi knew about this arrangement between you and Qui-Gon or not.
So, with a grave purposefulness, Anakin resolved to suffer these indignities for a while longer, as he trudged down the hillside and through the trees, letting their canopy shield him from the warm sun because he didn’t think he could take any more of the heat. He was still sweating from what he’d seen, and his cock still tented his trousers, but he was not about to touch himself to the sight of you with another man.
Right now, he needed to settle his stomach, but he doubted he’d be able to force anything down until he had some answers. His embarrassment over spying on you as well as having had to stumble off to vomit after doing so made him feel sick all over again, but he continued to pick his way down to the lakeside, his footsteps heavy from the boots he was wearing and he wondered if Obi-Wan could hear the change in his demeanor, just from his gait, the crunch of booted feet on brittle grass and dried leaves.
He hoped so, because he needed his Master right now, the one man he felt like he could trust.
Anakin burst from the tree line and could see Obi-Wan in the distance, sprawled out across the blanket they’d brought to picnic on, back when this morning had just been another morning, one more opportunity to connect with the people he loved more than anything in this galaxy, until his skies darkened and clouded over, saturating him in gray, dreary delusion and misery.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin called out to his Master, and he was briefly concerned by how his voice must’ve sounded—laced with pain and longing and an octave deeper than normal, “Master, did you know about them? How…how long has-?”
Obi-Wan was looking at him now with mild concern, noting Anakin’s reddened cheeks and the tension in the young man’s shoulders, the creases in his brow line and the sheen of sweat on his olive skin, “What’s the matter, Anakin? Has something happened?”
Obi-Wan sat up and reached for the saber at his hip, ready to launch into defense of the threat Anakin spoke of, but before he was able to get another word in, Anakin blurted out, “How long has Qui-Gon been using her, Obi-Wan?”
