Prince's Master, page 25
It should have repulsed him.
It should have.
“You and I were… involved,” Idhron finally said.
Eridan stared at him.
He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. Castien Idhron was an attractive man, in a cold and intense kind of way. There was clearly a strong, muscular body under those black robes, and his face was definitely handsome, his dark stubble and eyebrows a striking contrast to his pale hair. His mouth was finely shaped…
Licking his lips, Eridan halted that line of thought in its tracks before it could get out of hand. It didn’t matter how attractive this man was.
“And?” he said coldly. “Why did it warrant messing with my mind?”
Idhron’s expression became a little pinched. “It was your idea, not mine,” he said tersely. “You wanted to forget me and ‘start a new life.’” He said it like he was tasting something foul.
Eridan stared at him. He said slowly, “You mean I was in love with you, but you broke my heart.”
Idhron’s lips thinned, but he didn’t deny it.
Eridan sat down on the couch and picked up his multi-device. He stared at its unlit screen. “Thank you for clearing it up for me. Now it all makes sense. You may go, Your Grace.”
Idhron didn’t move.
“I did not come here for that purpose.”
His jaw tight, Eridan lifted his gaze to him. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure, Your Grace? Your actions were successful. I don’t remember you, and I definitely don’t love you.”
A muscle pulsed in Idhron’s cheek, his telepathic mark reaching for Eridan greedily again.
Eridan glared at him, more flustered than he would have liked. “Well?” he said haughtily.
Idhron walked over.
Eridan tried not to tense up, even though his heart started pounding, his skin prickling with awareness.
“You asked me to grant you this one kindness: make you forget me,” Idhron said, brushing the lock of hair from Eridan’s eyes with a gentle touch, his gaze on him so intense it was as scary as it was exhilarating. “I tried to be kind. To do the ‘right’ thing. But kindness does not come naturally to me. I am a selfish man.”
Eridan held himself very still. There was a part of him that yearned to lean into this man’s touch.
“What do you mean?” he managed, looking into those blue eyes.
“Let me restore your memories,” Idhron said. “And come home with me.”
Home.
Something about it was terribly tempting.
Eridan forced himself to shake his head. “I am home,” he said, his voice wavering. “I hate High Hronthar. I have nothing but bad memories of it.”
Idhron frowned. “It is likely just the false impression you have after I altered your memories. You will feel differently if you allow me to restore your memories. Your brother has brought to my attention that the loss of those memories affected you negatively, making some events in your past more traumatizing.”
Although Eridan had bristled and denied it every time Warrehn had alluded to his “trauma,” talking about it with this man didn’t feel as invasive. It felt surprisingly comfortable, even though he didn’t know this man at all.
Except he did, didn’t he? That was the issue.
“Maybe,” Eridan said, looking down at his own pale hands. “Since I don’t know what memories I lost, it’s hard for me to judge how much the loss of those memories is affecting me.” Eridan lifted his gaze back to Idhron and found him watching him with a fixed gaze, as if Eridan was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. It made something warm curl in Eridan’s stomach. He… liked having this man’s attention on him. Liked it a little too much.
“Your brother said you refused to see a mind healer,” Idhron said. “Why?”
Eridan scoffed. “Forgive me, Master, if I don’t feel too trusting after having my memories—” He cut himself off when he noticed the very strange expression on Idhron’s face. “What?”
Idhron’s gaze was dark and searching. “You called me Master. Are you starting to remember?”
“No,” Eridan said, a little confused himself. Maybe it was his subconscious.
“Then allow me to fix it,” Idhron said. “I will fix your memories, and everything will be as it should be. I will take you back to High Hronthar, where you belong. You are miserable here. I can see it, Eridan. Even your brother can see it.”
Eridan pressed his lips together. “You do realize that you have given me no incentive to consider your offer, right?”
Idhron’s brows furrowed. He seemed genuinely puzzled. “What incentive do you need? I suppose I could fast-track your promotion to a Master Acolyte. Or perhaps I could give you the estate on Vergx—you like it very much—”
Eridan laughed. “Stop. Just stop.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I fell in love with such an emotionally stunted man. If I had you erase my memories because of unrequited love, a fancy present wouldn’t fix anything. Or was that your idea of a love confession?”
Idhron’s face went blank. He averted his gaze. “Love is not something I’m capable of feeling,” he said. “If you had your memories, you would know that.”
Eridan narrowed his eyes. “Oh, really?” he said pleasantly. “Then why do you want to restore your apprentice’s memories so badly? If all you feel is superficial lust?”
Idhron’s jaw worked. He said nothing.
Eridan waited.
At last, Idhron said stiffly, “I find that I dislike living in a world where you do not remember me.” Something rueful and self-deprecating appeared in his telepathic presence. “Apparently, I am that selfish. I need you to need me. Therefore, calling your… love for me unrequited is not accurate. It is very much requited.”
Eridan found himself softening a little. Although it wasn’t exactly a love confession, he could sense that it was as open as this man would be with him. After all, he was not Castien Idhron’s apprentice at the moment. He was just someone wearing his face. Maybe when he got his memories back, he would be able to make him talk more openly, but…
And that was how Eridan realized that he had already made the decision, for better or for worse.
“All right,” he said. “You may restore my memories.” The elation that rolled off Idhron made him feel a little less apprehensive. Whatever this man felt for him, Eridan clearly was important to him. That was something. Eridan hoped he wouldn’t regret this decision once he got his memories back. He still didn’t really think he would want to go back to the Order, but he would still like to have all of his memories. No heartbreak could possibly be worse than this wrong, hollow feeling inside him.
Idhron sat down on the couch next to him. He just stared at Eridan for a long moment before lifting his hand and laying it below Eridan’s ear. His thumb brushed against his telepathic point and Eridan inhaled sharply, a shiver running through him.
Push and Idhron was in his mind.
Eridan had thought it would feel invasive.
He had been wrong: it wasn’t invasive enough. The moment Idhron’s mind entered his, it felt like it awakened some starved thing inside him that reached out for him hungrily and dragged him deeper inside. Someone groaned, but Eridan wasn’t sure who. It didn’t matter; it felt so good, beyond good, the way this man fit inside him, the way his telepathic presence filled every corner of Eridan’s mind. And yet, somehow, it wasn’t enough.
“More,” Eridan begged, trying to pull him deeper into him, needing to feel him deeper, inside his aching, hungry core.
“Eridan, no,” Idhron said, but his mind was pulsing with tension, as if he was stopping himself by sheer force of will.
“Please. Master.”
There was a roar inside his mind, a storm of emotions and wants that were not his own as Idhron let go of his control, pushing deeper inside him, like a predator closing in on its prey.
Eridan could only relax and open up, pleasure like no other filling his entire being as Idhron’s mind brushed over his pleasure centers as he slid deeper and deeper inside him, touching him, stroking him, soothing him. The moment Idhron touched his aching, needy core Eridan cried out, burying his face against Idhron’s throat. He felt arms around him, strong and so familiar, holding him tightly as his body shook with pleasure that was difficult to describe. He felt both overstimulated and satisfied as he cradled this man deep inside his core.
He floated on the cloud of pleasure for what felt like forever and not long enough.
At last, he felt Idhron sigh. “This was highly inadvisable.”
“Don’t care,” Eridan murmured with a small smile, nuzzling against his throat. A part of him, the part that could still think beyond good-right-mine, was kind of horrified that he was practically in the High Adept’s lap.
He found it difficult to care.
“We got sidetracked,” Idhron said, putting a finger under Eridan’s chin and tipping his face up. His blue eyes were significantly softer now. “Now I will restore your memories. You will be good and will not distract me again. Understood?”
Eridan nodded. He could be good. He liked the idea of being good.
When Idhron pressed his fingers against his telepathic point and slipped inside him again, this time it wasn’t as overwhelming. The pleasure and the need were still there, but they weren’t as debilitating, because he already felt satisfied.
Eridan closed his eyes and just relaxed, quietly enjoying Idhron’s presence in his mind. It was fascinating: the confidence and familiarity with which this man navigated his mental landscape. And care, he noted with wonder. Idhron was very careful, his mental touch soothing and never hurtful as he trudged through Eridan’s memories.
“Do you remember the theory behind restoring memories?” Idhron said quietly as he worked.
Eridan shrugged. “Just the basics that we were taught as initiates. I don’t remember anything you may have personally taught me.”
Idhron hummed thoughtfully, examining a murky area in his mind. “Restoring memories can be tricky. It is delicate work, and the margin for error is very thin. Sometimes it is not possible at all. Fortunately, I know your mind very well.”
Eridan made a noncommittal noise. There was something comfortable and familiar about this, about this mentoring tone. It felt right. Everything about having this man touching him so intimately felt inexplicably right.
He put his head on Idhron’s wide shoulder and just listened to his voice as Idhron explained to him the theory behind memory restoration.
He felt… He felt better than he had in forever. Just sitting in this man’s lap, listening to him talk.
“I am ready,” Idhron said at last, his presence going still in Eridan’s mind. “I am going to do it now. It will likely feel somewhat disorienting.”
“All right.”
“Brace yourself,” Idhron said.
It was disorienting. One moment, Eridan didn’t remember, and the next, he did.
He did.
It was strange how everything had clicked into place. The jealousy and bitterness of his age-mates now didn’t seem mindlessly cruel but actually made sense. He had been chosen while they weren’t. The bullying, the cruelty—in the end, it was all worth it, because he wasn’t alone. He had a Master. He had the best Master in the Order.
And his Master cared for him, in his own reserved way, no matter what he actually said. Heck, even when Eridan had killed the Grandmaster of the Order, Castien had covered for him. His Master had come for him. He had taken care of everything, and then taken care of him when Eridan had crawled into his bed later that night: wrapping him in his telepathic presence and slowly healing him in his sleep through their bond, healing him so well that the next morning Eridan barely even thought about the attempted assault or Tethru’s death.
His Master had always taken care of him.
Eridan sighed. He did feel the new sense of calm and comfort under his skin, but he remembered the bad parts, too. Castien’s distance, his unwillingness to allow a full telepathic merge between them. Castien’s insistence that their sexual relationship changed nothing. Castien blocking his memories of his birth name and his lack of remorse over it. Castien’s lack of reaction when Eridan had told him he loved him.
The question was, did the bad outweigh the good?
Eridan opened his eyes and met his Master’s eyes.
Chapter Thirty-One: Master
Castien’s gaze was searching, almost wary.
Eridan looked back at him, hoping… He didn’t know for what. To feel any differently? Unfortunately, just as he had feared, having his throwback hormones blocked didn’t change a thing about his feelings.
He still loved this man: desperately, hopelessly, stupidly, no matter what.
“Eridan?” Castien said, peering into him. “Do you remember me?”
Eridan’s hand curled into a fist. “You’re such a selfish asshole,” he said. It came off more affectionate than he had intended. He chuckled, hating himself for his inability to be properly angry. “One would think you’d be happy without me and my distasteful emotions constantly compromising you, but no, apparently not. What is the matter, Master? Did you get attached?”
Castien didn’t look fazed in the slightest. He continued staring at Eridan with the same intense, greedy look. Then he lifted his hands and cradled Eridan’s face. “You remember me.”
Eridan glared at him.
“You still love me,” Castien stated with the same unnervingly greedy look. “It is fine, Eridan.”
All right, Eridan was definitely angry now. “Fuck you, Master,” he bit out. “Being graciously allowed to love you isn’t enough for me. Get out. I won’t go with you to Hronthar. Since I still have my throwback hormones blocked, I can get over you. I will get over you. Leave. I’m sorry for wasting your precious time and asking you to erase my memories for nothing. As always, you were right: it was a bad idea. It’s better if we just avoid each other from now on—”
Castien kissed him.
Eridan wanted to push him away; he really did. But it felt like he had been dying of thirst and had just been handed a glass of water. A small moan slipped out of his mouth, and he surged forward, kissing back hungrily, unable to quench the thirst inside of him. Their bond flared open, pulsing with missed you, need you, missed you, need you.
When they finally broke apart for some much-needed air, they both were flushed and breathing raggedly.
“You talk too much,” Castien said into his cheek, his hands still cradling Eridan’s face. “You talk too much, and you are excellent at irritating me. I must be insane to actually like it.”
Eridan blinked, unsure he was understanding that correctly. “You missed me?” he said, his voice smaller than he would have liked.
Castien pulled back, his expression a little tight. He remained silent.
Eridan scoffed, turning away. “I need words, Castien. Your ‘I don’t feel emotion’ shit isn’t going to cut it anymore. Talk or leave me alone.” His voice wavered and he hoped Castien didn’t notice that. He had to be firm.
“I don’t know how to talk about such things.”
Contractions. Castien used contractions only when he was angry—or uneasy or very bothered by something.
Eridan cocked his head to the side and regarded him for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t that Castien didn’t have deep feelings; maybe the problem was his inability to communicate about them after years of carefully eradicating any strong emotions. Maybe he just needed to loosen up first. To lose that ironclad control.
“All right,” he said, his voice softer. “Let’s have an honest conversation. I’ll start, to make things easier for you. Do you know I was eighteen when I started touching myself thinking about you?”
Castien’s nostrils flared. He stared at Eridan with blown pupils.
Eridan suppressed a smile. “I couldn’t even stand you back then, but something about your awfulness, and your cold, high-handed attitude made me so frustrated and horny I touched myself all the time, stuffing my fingers inside me and imagining it was your cock.”
A faint flush appeared on Castien’s cheekbones. He swallowed and opened his mouth but didn’t say anything.
Eridan leaned in and pressed his nose against Castien’s cheek. Breathed in. Felt Castien stiffen, his body practically vibrating with tension.
“It was really fucked up,” he said. “I didn’t even like you back then, but you were the only thing I thought about when I masturbated.” He whispered against Castien’s ear, “You made me so wet, Master.”
Castien made a low sound, his hands grabbing Eridan’s ass and yanking it against his clothed crotch. Eridan gasped at the feel of the hard bulge of Castien’s arousal pressed insistently between his legs. His body felt weird. It wanted, his hole clenching, dry but oversensitive. It felt off. His entire body felt off. It was immensely frustrating and disorienting. He felt so aroused, but only his cock was reacting as expected, becoming hard and slick with lubricant, but his hole remained dry.
“Oh,” he whispered breathlessly. “I feel strange.”
“I did warn you about that,” Castien said, his voice tight as he peppered Eridan’s neck with hungry kisses and hickeys. “Blocking the throwback part of your brain would affect your physiology, too.”
Eridan shook his head, fighting the disoriented feeling. “Fix it. Fix me. Take the block off. Wanna have you inside me.”
Castien’s muscles went rigid. He was breathing unsteadily, his hands still holding Eridan against the hard bulge of his cock.
“No,” he said in a clipped voice. “I’m in no state to do it now. I need a clear head. I might hurt you.”
“I trust you, Master.”
He made a startled noise as his back hit the couch.
Castien climbed on top of him, bracketing his head with his forearms, his gaze dark and glassy. “You’re terrible for my control,” he muttered. And then he leaned down and kissed him, if that could even be called a kiss. It felt like Castien was trying to consume him, to devour him, to get inside of him through his mouth, the kiss so hungry and intense that it quickly overwhelmed Eridan. He could only take it, sucking happily on his Master’s tongue and moaning in utter bliss.
