The moment the man pointed him finger at Atticus, his whole body tensed as if he expected the gesture to hurt. Colour washed from his face, and his hand made an aborted twitch towards his sword. No, no, it wasn’t like that, not here. And hadn’t the man just said he wasn’t here for sex?<em>‘I’m not here for sex, I’m here for pain, for blood, for screams’</em>– it wasn’t like that here!  He curled his hand into a fist and pressed it down to his thigh, clenching his teeth.<br/><br/>Atticus’ eyes narrowed in disbelief when the man said he only wished to draw. Draw nude. Master Ryan couldn’t believe him. He wouldn’t agree to it...<br/><br/><em>"Such a shame you gave up your old profession... I'm sure you could still bring in a very pretty penny..."</em><br/><br/>No, he would not, he would not... and why not? Why not put him to the work he had been intended for? Now that Master Ryan knew he could do it, wasn’t defective beyond a little out of condition. That would mend with time and experience, and why not charge a fee for that? No. He<em>wouldn’t </em>– why? Why would he not? There. Was. No. Reason.<br/><br/>He didn’t look at Master Ryan, not once. Cowardly. He didn’t want to see the speculation, the silent money counting, the cold distance. It was a fuck and it was good and it was his freedom, but that was all it was. And Master Ryan still owned him. He had to obey or forfeit his position, his earnings... he didn’t like the amount the Master of the Teahouse could sue him for. The remaining contract, Atticus could afford. The fucks between now and the end? On the rates of a whore of the Teahouse? He’d be bankrupt. Two whores at the Briars had tried, once a few weeks after he first arrived and another the year before he’d been bought by Master Ryan. They had fought it. They had lost everything.<br/><br/>He could not lose that money.<br/><br/>