“And humbler,” Castien said dryly.
“Pffft. Humility is overrated.” Eridan looked him in the eye. “You already love fucking my brain, don’t you deny it. What’s stopping you from fucking me with your cock?”
Castien’s nostrils flared. “You will watch your mouth. I do not know where you have picked up such vulgar language, but—”
“Why, from your precious fuck-toy, Master—”
Castien yanked him to his feet, his eyes dark. “I’ve had enough of your cheek, Eridan.”
Breathing hard, Eridan leaned into Castien’s personal space. “And what are you going to do with me?” he said with a sneer, knowing that his insolence would make his Master angry. He wanted it. He wanted Castien to be angry. Anger was good. Anger was better than cold distance. “What are you going to do? Spank me?” He smiled, their ragged breaths mixing. “Why won’t you just shut me up with your cock? You know you want to, Master. You’ve wanted it for years, admit it.” He cocked his head to the side and smiled. “Javier looks a little like me. Is that why he stuck around? I bet you imagine me in his place every time you stick your cock into him.”
“You are delusional,” Castien said. “Delusional and foolish.” He glared at Eridan, tension rolling off him in waves. “If I wanted to fuck you, I would have. It’s as simple as that. No one would have stopped me, because you are mine. You have as many rights as I give you.” Something cold and mean flickered in his eyes. “Yes, I want you—physically. You are truly delusional if you think that means anything. I am a healthy man, and you are disgustingly pretty; that is all it is. You, Javier, someone else—it does not matter to me. I will not be a slave to my base urges. If I choose not to touch you, it is for a reason, and my body’s desires will not change my mind.”
“Enlighten me, then,” Eridan said. “If there is no difference between me, Javier, and some other whore, what’s stopping you from using me like you use them?”
Something flickered in Castien’s eyes. “That is none of your concern. I do not owe you any answers. This conversation is over.”
“Fine,” Eridan bit out, and smiled brightly. “I guess I’ll find someone else to entertain me. My ‘disgustingly pretty’ face is good for something.”
Castien’s face was like stone. “I am sure it is,” he said flatly. “Except you and I both know you cannot desire meaningless intercourse with a stranger. You are a throwback.”
Eridan glowered at him, smacking him telepathically. “Fuck you. I’m more than just my biology. You think I can’t get laid just because I’m a throwback? I can. I will!” He stormed out of the house, fuming, hurt and rejection making his chest tight.
Screw him.
Gods, he hated him.
Chapter Nine: Ice Prince
Eridan barely remembered getting to the apprentices’ district. His house was cold and dark and unlived-in. Eridan marched straight to his rarely used bedroom and searched for the most immodest clothes he could find in his closet.
Those happened to be a tight pair of dark pants that accentuated his ass, and a half-sheer black shirt. He’d bought those clothes last year, but there had not been any occasions to wear them. He didn’t have friends, so he had never been to any of the nightclubs in the apprentices’ and initiates’ districts. But he had heard of them, of course. Everyone had. Eridan was sure all Masters were aware of those nightclubs—they had been apprentices once, too, after all—and just feigned ignorance. The Chapter wasn’t stupid: so many teenagers and young adults would go crazy in an isolated town like this and do something stupid if they weren’t allowed to unwind. Eridan suspected there were such establishments in the Masters’ districts, too, but he didn’t know where they were located.
He didn’t need them, anyway. The one in the apprentices’ district would do just as nicely.
Pulling his hair into a bun, Eridan stared at the purple gemstone resting against his throat with mixed feelings. He should probably remove it. Castien’s telepathic mark would make it obvious who his Master was and would likely scare off most men. But on the other hand, did he want to sleep with anyone scared of his Master?
The mere thought of sleeping with some stranger made his stomach turn, but Eridan pushed through his discomfort. He was more than his biology. He could have sex if he decided to. So what if according to the Order’s research, eighty-five percent of throwbacks needed emotional intimacy for sex? Maybe he was among the lucky fifteen percent who could fuck anyone they wanted. Ironically, those fifteen percent of throwbacks were the ones who gave all throwbacks such a bad reputation. Wet slut, boypussy, back whores: those degrading terms existed entirely thanks to the fraction of throwbacks who biologically had an extremely high sex drive and didn’t need any emotional intimacy for sex. And never mind that those terms couldn’t have been more wrong for the majority of throwbacks.