Castillo is sulking.

He has a lot of things to sulk about. Like how there’s been absolutely zero worthwhile bounties posted. Or the fact that his favorite blood supplier is out of stock. Or how Anon is now unable to buy him the right blood type because of this. Still, he has to eat, so he’s ended up dealing with B positive. Yuck.

None of these things are what he’s sulking about, though.

No, Castillo is sulking about something abhorrently mundane; A passing comment Anon made the last time they summoned him. They probably don’t even recall the words leaving their mouth, yet Castillo’s brain won’t allow him to drop the memory. God, he hates feeling like this.

“Castillo, you kind of suck at kissing.”

Anon had mumbled the words against Castillo’s skin, breathing all heavy as they ran their hands down his sides. “It’s like you’re trying to eat me alive.”

Castillo’s response? Who knows! All he can recall is the wave of worthlessness that washed over him. Did Anon not feel good when Castillo kissed them, then? Were all the times they’d summoned him for that sole purpose just a result of pity? His conscience was tearing him apart.

Brushing it off wasn’t working anymore. Every minute of every hour was spent picking those words apart in his head. Surely he’s not actually bad at kissing? No, no, that can’t be right. Anon meant something else. They had to. Making Anon feel good was the only thing Castillo had managed to excel at. How in the world had he managed to fuck that up too?

Which is how he managed to get here. Sat on the bottom of his bed, inspecting the fleshy part of his forearm. If he actually sucked at kissing, he was going to fix it.

Slowly, he brought his arm to his mouth, tongue peeking out to give it a little lick. No, Anon would probably like something rougher. He tries again, opening his mouth wider and allowing his canines to graze the skin. Ew, Anon was right. He slobbered like a fucking dog.

A frustrated groan escapes him as he shifts, flipping his arm around. This attempt is somehow worse — it’s unnatural, so stiff and painfully awkward. Anon would have more fun making out with a rock. He shifts again.

Suppose he’s so engrossed with himself that Anon’s soft footsteps go by unnoticed. The way the door cracks open goes unnoticed too, and he just keeps at it. Lapping at his arm as if he’s trying to lick the skin off. He badly needs some pointers.

His stupid little brain only notices Anon’s gaze when it is far, far too late. Immediately, he scrambles off the bed and onto the floor beside it, shielding himself from Anon. “Fuck — what the fuck, Anon, why — why are you here?”