~*~*~*~*

"It wasn't me," I aver.

Qui-Gon looks doubtful, but he slowly nods and turns, beckoning me to follow. With a disdainful look at Rem and his master, I follow my master out of the practice arena, ignoring the bloodied lip I feel swelling on my face.

Qui-Gon says nothing until we reach our quarters. When the door slides closed, I half-expect him to turn and begin lecturing me as he has been doing more frequently whenever he catches me scuffling. This time though, he just walks into the kitchen and returns to the preparation of the evening meal that he had had to abandon in order to fetch me.

I start walking into my room to clean up. My master's quiet voice stops me.

"We shall talk of this later, padawan."

I don't look up, I don't turn around; I stand where I had stopped for the briefest of moments, as an acknowledgment.

This is the way we were communicating more and more. It saddens me, but I feel powerless to change our deteriorating relationship. Qui-Gon refuses to see my side of anything anymore. In all fairness, perhaps I am not giving him the respect I once did, but I feel as though he still sees me as the child he took from Telos, rather than the young man I have become.

* * *

Not all my relationships are suffering. I have padawan friends, knight friends, even one or two council members who are keeping their eyes on me. Whether this was due to my prowess as an apprentice or some other reason I do not know. For whatever reasons, I like the attention and often play upon it when I thought I can.

Having said that, though, I find most occupants of the Temple dull or downright loathsome. I understand the concept and need for discipline, but I don't understand why this is always at the expense of enjoyment. Qui-Gon tells me that I will come to yearn for the tranquility and harmony that the Order brings to its practitioners, but I don't understand why I can't just have fun once and awhile. Why can't we have our petty squabbles? Why can't we question? Why do we always need to maintain an air of superior silence in the outside world? Surely the Jedi were not always thus. What became of those who were strong enough in the Force to wield its power and yet did not want to conform to the monastic life of a Jedi? This is a question Qui-Gon sidesteps every time I ask it. I believe that he feels that if I do not know the answer, I will eventually tire of such an inquiry. He is wrong.

* * *

My friend Evah contacts me that evening. She is a padawan and the only other person in the Temple from my homeworld. Her family is of a lower social caste than mine, but as neither of us follows our planet's traditions (much less remembers them), she and I do not consider it inappropriate to fraternize.

Evah is several years older than me, with a round body, short light brown hair and blue eyes, like mine. She is getting close to being ready for the Trials and I envy her. She tries to remember life before the Temple, just as I do, but neither of us can recall our childhoods with any degree of certainty. This is another issue I have with the Jedi education. Whereas we are expected to learn the history, political systems, and cultural customs of many planets in the Republic, the masters never speak directly of the people or things that contributed to our birth and early childhood.

Sometimes this isn't a problem if there are multigenerational races at the Temple. Often you will find a Mon Calamari master, several knights, and many padawans. They have each other as references and, of course, the freedom to travel outside the Temple, once they are knighted. There is only Evah and me here from Telos, and none of the masters and knights have traveled there recently. Qui-Gon likes to keep up to date about the goings-on of my homeworld, just as he does his own, but he has recently been silent about any news.

Evah wants to know if I would like to saber practice. I tell her no, as I am tired, and I think Qui-Gon will not allow it, in any case, due to my actions this afternoon in the unarmed training class. I look out the window of my room and wonder what all the other people in this enormous city are doing. I wonder if any are as frustrated as I am. Maybe it is a phase. Qui-Gon seems to think so. Although, I gather from him that most humanoid males are past the "moody, uncomfortable" time of their lives earlier than this, it seems not uncommon for people to feel this way from time to time. I seem to be feeling it a lot. Perhaps a phase? Perhaps not.

There is a knock at the door. Our meal is ready. I have cleaned up as well as possible, trying hard to hide the evidence of my earlier fight. It really wasn't my fault, but trying to explain that to Qui-Gon would be a waste of time. I push my braid behind my shoulder and walk through my door back to the common area, where a meal and little conversation are waiting for me.

~*~*~*~*

Evah presses forward, causing me to back up. Unfortunately, in my haste to return my saber to my hand, I do not realized how little room I gave myself to turn and start my offensive move. She keeps coming forward and I feel my back hit the wall. I become angry and my control slips again. Her weapon connects with my wrist, which stings. My saber goes flying, this time too far for me to reach for it before she can react. She holds her saber perpendicularly across my throat. It is a position that gives one's opponent no quarter, no out. My arms splay out at my sides and Evah leans in even further. She pants in my face, and I look at her through the sweat dripping from my hair.

I open my mouth to speak, to tell her that she isn't fighting fairly; she should be following the learned moves in a more orthodox manner. I never have the chance. In one movement, she hurls the practice saber over her shoulder and presses her mouth to mine.

I had long ago discovered there is an erotic element to battle. Bodies are thrust together in a variety of positions; you test your opponent's stamina, their aggression, their depth, their mercy. Every so often, I wonder what might happen if I just discard my weapon and lunge. I occasionally make mental notes of my opponents' sexual energy radiating from them, logging the information for future use, which, up until now, I had never acted upon. Strangely, I had never considered Evah as a potential bed partner.

In all honesty, I have had very little sexual experience. I am uncomfortable with the vulnerable state I find myself with a partner, but feel hypocritical if I am unable to commit my whole self during the act of love. Evah is different, though. She is from my home world. We have a bond of sorts, because of that, and I find her to be an interesting and trustworthy friend. I feel that she would not use me. Can I say the same?

All this goes through my head in an instant. I decide to take a risk. Qui-Gon and I might be sent away again shortly, and I may not see Evah for some time. I lift my arms from the wall and place them around her waist. Her mouth moves into a smile on mine and she rests her hands on my shoulders.

I feel myself growing hard and become very conscious of the fact that we are in a public practice arena. That in itself is a somewhat erotic notion, but I prefer to be less risqué in my couplings. At least for now. Like in all things, I vowed to become an expert.

I move my lips down to Evah's neck as her hands begin exploring the open portion of my tunic, causing my nipples to harden slightly.

I whisper huskily into her ear, my eyes alighting on one of the doors leading from the arena. "Shower."

Evah turns in the circle of my arms and takes my hand, leading me to the door to the showers. The room is empty, although the stalls are secluded enough for such activity. Perhaps the architects of the Temple had also recognized the link between aggression and passion and had designed this room with that in mind.

Once there, we both rather self-consciously strip out of our sweaty clothes and enter one of the stalls. Evah turns on the spray and adjusts it to a warm temperature. She leans back and lets the water run through her hair, closing her eyes. I watch the drops run over her shoulders and her breasts. She opens her eyes halfway, looking at me surreptitiously, trying not to appear to be appraising my body, even as I attempted to do the same.

Smiling, she reaches for me, linking her arms around my shoulders and running her fingers through my short hair. I step toward her under the running water and kiss her, more hungrily than before. This time I back her against the wall. Evah moans deep in her throat and the sound excites me even more. My hands alight on her full hips, running up the length of her slippery flanks to her breasts; free now from the tight binding she customarily wears.

Her tongue sneaks into my mouth and runs along my teeth, an odd sensation. It is not uncomfortable, but it always surprises me. I open my eyes to peer at her when we break our kiss. Evah is still breathing heavily, as if her body is primed for battle. I feel almost detached as I watch the water drip from her lashes and onto her face. I move my mouth there, tasting the water and her sweat. Evah leans her head back and makes a low sound in her throat, again exciting me. It almost sounds like the grunts she utters in the midst of fighting, and I find myself wondering if that was what I found so stimulating.

Evah's hands run down the length of my arms and causes goose bumps to appear over my skin, despite the warm water. My hands find her breasts, taking in handfuls of flesh and slowly letting it slide from my hands, until I hold only her nipples between my fingers.

The reaction of sexual arousal, including my own, has always intrigued me. Two times I have indulged with a partner, one female, the other male. I am interested in the similarity of responses. Skin aches to be touched, bodies penetrated, minds shared. This is especially true for Force sensitives. Lovemaking increases the energy flowing into the Force and radiating from it. This is a concept I was slow to discover. My master occasionally took lovers but never discussed anything but the basic mechanics of sex with me, and nothing about this phenomenon, although I later learned it in my studies. I believe now, that the Force itself somehow maintains this as a way of ensuring the existence and continuation of Force sensitives throughout the universe.

Using this information, and the empathy that Jedi are encouraged to foster, I am able to read from Evah's mind and body language what she most wants from me, just as she is able to know my physical needs. My arm reaches behind her and I stroke the sensitive skin of her behind, which leads her to press herself closer to me. Her arm snakes between our slippery bodies and she reached for my cock, stroking with a light touch, just the way I enjoy to start. I run my hand smoothly across her backside, and reach around, feeling for her center. Another moan from her and my cock swells in her grip.

I release my hold on her body and sink to my knees before her, the water splashing across my shoulders and back. Evah braces herself against the warm tile as I slowly place one of her legs over my shoulder and began kissing my way up her other thigh. My arms once again wrap around her, cupping her skin in my hands, grasping more tightly than before. My mouth has found its target, and she wobbles slightly as my tongue circles her clitoris. Evah grabs at my spiky hair, and tries hard not to yank on it. I wouldn't have minded. Her concentration on empathic desire is somewhat muted at the moment, and I smile, understanding the reason and pleased at my skills in this arena.

Without stopping my oral ministrations, I spare a hand to reach up and increase the water temperature slightly; I don't think Evah noticed. She does notice, however, that rather than replacing my hand on her behind, I reach up and push two of my fingers inside of her, slowly moving them in and out. Evah pulls my hair this time. This is the cue I am waiting for, and I now begin sucking in earnest on her sensitive flesh.

She gives a harsh, satisfied cry, and I find myself nearly holding her up, as her leg muscles throb to the pulse that has been sent through her. She slowly sinks to her knees in front of me, and lays her head against my shoulder, panting even more heavily than before.

I wrap an arm around her, while I stroke myself with my other hand. Her hands soon join mine and I lay back on the tile, out of the direct jet of water, but close enough to feel the spray. My back is supported by the wall and my legs were bent slightly at the knees to be able to accommodate my body's length in the stall. Still, I am not uncomfortable. Just very aroused.

Would Evah be just as accommodating? She straddles my body with her own, her center pressed against me in a maddening fashion. She leans forward and kissed my eyelids, my cheekbones, my chin. I wrap my arms around her frame and rock her back and forth against me.

"What are you doing?" I almost snarl at her.

"I'm playing," she teases, lightly running her fingers across my chest and shoulders. She knows what I want, knows what excites me, and yet refuses to oblige, as much as I can hear her body crying out for the same. I become angry. I struggle for control.

I growl. "That time is past," I lift her up from me with one arm and grasping my erection in my other hand, push her onto it.

We both make inarticulate sounds of pleasure as our bodies are joined. She reaches out and grabs my braid, pulling my face to hers, slowly beginning to move on top of me. I may have rushed her; she may have wanted to prolong the foreplay, but my body is not content to wait.

I smile and let my eyes fall shut. She responds by tightening her muscles around me. I do not know if this is due to frustration or arousal, as my mental state is not now focused on the empathic bond, but rather on my own pleasure.

Nevertheless, Evah appears to be enjoying the physical sensations, and increases the rhythm of her movements, circling her hips for added contact. I moan as she moved, my breath becoming laboured. I forget about where I am, who I am with, and concentrate on the gratification I am both giving and receiving. Evah's pace escalates and I thrust my hips to meet hers, moving faster, until finally, I cry out, and she leans forward against me. I bury my face between her breasts, and pant, feeling her muscles pull against my cock.

We sit like this for some moments before becoming chilled. Evah rises off of me, slowly enough for me to feel every centimeter of contact being lost. When she is upright, she reaches for me and helps pull me to my feet. I turn off the water and we stand with our arms loosely around each other for a moment longer.

Then we emerge from the shower and pull on the robes that are provided for the bathers, and together leave the training area and walk toward the residences, saying nothing.

Finally stopping in front of her door, I lean forward and kiss her cheek. "I enjoyed that. Thank you."

She looks at me for a long moment; aware that this will not be the start of a great romance, but neither will it be the end of a stable friendship.

"As did I," she replies somewhat formally.

"Perhaps we may have reason to do this again sometime," I venture, thinking it sounds gallant and reassuring.

"Perhaps," she replies, opening the door. I wait outside until the door slides shut and then continue to my masters' and my hall.

I do not relate my experiences of a sexual nature to my master, as I think him too removed from this scope of my education. I believe he prefers these lessons to come from my own fumbling experiences or from my padawan studies. That is just as well, as I feel no desire to tell him of the things I learn during these encounters. No doubt, rather than praising me for engaging in exercises that reinforce my bond with the living Force, he will dismiss them as teenage experimentation and simple lust.