Ever since Eridan could remember, he had hated it, hated being a throwback. Children could be cruel, and the humiliating nicknames had only bothered him more with the years, especially since they were so unfair and inaccurate. Sometimes he almost wished he were as promiscuous as the throwbacks’ reputation was: at least then he wouldn’t feel dirty for things he didn’t do. When other teenagers had been making out and having sex, he’d had no sex drive to speak of. He was a very late bloomer: he started getting urges only after becoming his Master’s apprentice.
Eridan tried not to think about what that could mean. It was natural that his body had mistaken their deep training bond for emotional intimacy. It meant nothing. His Master was an emotionless bastard who wouldn’t recognize emotional intimacy if it hit him in the face.
Stop thinking about him, damn you, he told himself, annoyed. He could totally have sex with a stranger if he decided to. He was going to prove Castien wrong and then rub it in his face, coming home smelling of sex and some stranger.
Ignoring the unease churning in his gut, Eridan headed out.
The club was called Ice Prince, in honor of the Crown Prince of the Third Grand Clan, one of the most gorgeous men on Calluvia. Eridan had never met the prince, but he had seen him on the news. Prince Jamil really was drop-dead gorgeous, but hilariously, he couldn’t be more different from the establishment named after him. Eridan wondered what that prim, proper prince would think if he found out that there was an illegal establishment for sex, dancing, and drinking within the Order named in honor of him. The thought was funny.
Eridan winced as he entered the club. He had never felt comfortable in big crowds, his empathy becoming a huge disadvantage. Other people’s emotions pushed at him from all sides, making him feel a little claustrophobic. He reinforced his mental shields, his hand instinctively flying up to his thaal. Fuck. Stop being so pathetic, damn it. He shouldn’t need the comfort of his Master’s mark as soon as he was out of his comfort zone, especially since he’d come here to prove to his Master that he didn’t need him.
Forcing himself to let go of his thaal, Eridan moved forward, toward the bar. Ordering a random drink, he looked around, trying to distract himself from the onslaught of other people’s emotions. There was a surprisingly large number of adults in the club, despite it catering to apprentices and initiates. He wondered if those adults were Masters or members of the servicing department. Since everyone was wearing casual clothes, it was hard to tell. Either way, no one seemed to care for rank, which was both very freeing and weird, considering how much one’s rank was important in the Order’s social ladder.
“You look like you’re new here,” the guy beside him said, making Eridan flinch.
He turned his head and eyed the guy. He looked a little familiar—Eridan must have seen him around the town—but he was pretty sure they had never spoken. He looked around Eridan’s age, maybe a little older. Curly dark-brown hair, sharp amber eyes, a strong jaw. He was tall and broad-shouldered with some nice muscles. He was very handsome, and didn’t seem like a creep, but he wasn’t really Eridan’s type. Not that he had a type, but theoretically, he wanted to sleep with someone… older. More built. Besides, he didn’t like brown hair.
“Not interested,” Eridan said, turning back to the crowd.
The guy snorted. “Has anyone told you that you need to work on your social skills? Not everyone who talks to you wants to bone you, friend.”
Eridan made a skeptical noise. “People come here to hook up.”
“Do they? You don’t look like you want to hook up. Your body language is all wrong. You look like you’ve come here for some unpleasant task.”
“One doesn’t necessarily exclude the other,” Eridan said, flicking his gaze to the tall man some distance away who was staring at him. Those pecs were nice. But his face… hmm… too soft and friendly. It was off-putting.
“It’s pretty damn sad if you really think that. You should hook up only if you really want to. But then again, wanting apparently isn’t enough, either.” A wave of bitterness rolled off the guy.
Eridan shot him a curious look. There was a story there. “What is your name?”
“Kyran,” the guy said. “Yours?”
“Eridan,” Eridan said, trying to hide his surprise. It couldn’t be some other guy named Kyran, because every child brought to the Order got a unique new name. It was a pretty freaky coincidence that he’d stumbled into this guy just after Javier told him about him. But then again, Hronthar was a pretty small town.
Kyran glanced at him and snorted. “So you’ve heard about me, I take it.”