Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 36: ’What The...’

Chapter 36: ’What The...’

This is bad.

This is really bad.

The incident with Lancelot earlier had been a misunderstanding—uncomfortable and humiliating, but not entirely intentional. Lancelot had thought Florian was an intruder, and while the situation had been far too intimate for comfort, it hadn’t been fully inappropriate.

But this? This was something else entirely.

Lucius wasn’t mistaking him for someone else. Florian was sure of it—or was he? The uncertainty gnawed at him as his pulse thundered in his ears. Lucius had one hand pinning Florian’s wrists above his head, his grip firm but not painful, while the other rested on Florian’s waist, holding him in place with an ease that was almost insulting.

"W-Why are you acting like this, Lucius? Let... let go!" Florian’s voice cracked, his usual composure shattering under the weight of the situation. He squirmed against Lucius’s hold, trying to free himself, but his movements were frantic and uncoordinated.

He should be fighting harder. He should be pushing Lucius away, kicking him off, doing anything to stop this.

But for some reason—some deeply messed-up, shameful reason—his body wasn’t cooperating.

Florian felt his hips shift upward instinctively, brushing against Lucius. Heat rushed to his face as he realized what he’d just done. It was like his body was betraying him, responding in ways he didn’t want to admit.

"L-Lucius..." Florian’s voice trembled, caught somewhere between a plea and a whimper. He froze as he felt Lucius’s hand slide from his waist, trailing down to his thigh. The soft fabric of the maid costume bunched under Lucius’s fingers as he pushed the skirt aside, exposing more of Florian’s leg.

A shiver ran down Florian’s spine, the sensation leaving him breathless. His eyes darted up to Lucius’s face, desperate to make sense of what was happening.

Lucius was staring down at him, his expression unreadable but intense. His usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by something far more serious—something almost... hesitant?

And then Florian saw it.

Fear.

It flickered in Lucius’s eyes, a subtle but undeniable vulnerability that made Florian’s heart skip a beat.

’He’s afraid?’ Florian thought, his breath hitching. ’Why the hell is he the one afraid when he’s the one pinning me down?’

The realization left him spiraling further into confusion. Whatever this was between him and Lucius, it wasn’t simple. It wasn’t just lust or dominance. There was something deeper, something raw and painful that Florian couldn’t quite place—but it made his chest ache with a strange, unfamiliar weight.

"Your Highness, how does it feel?"

Lucius’ voice echoed in his ears, low and unfamiliar. But the words...they weren’t coming from Lucius.

Florian’s breath hitched. "A-Agh... You’re being too rough, Lucius. This...is my first time..."

The sound of Florian’s voice startled him, but it wasn’t him. Those words weren’t coming from his lips either.

Before he could even process what was happening, Lucius’ hands moved higher under the folds of his skirt, the touch both intrusive and electrifying. And then Lucius pressed down against him, their hips meeting with a jolt that left Florian wide-eyed.

He felt it. It.

Hard, unyielding, and unmistakable.

Panic swelled in Florian’s chest. He wanted to scream, to shove Lucius away, to beg him to stop—but before the words could leave his lips, another sensation overwhelmed him.

A voice. No, moaning. Whispered against his ear, threading through the fog in his mind.

Florian’s eyes snapped up to meet Lucius’, but the moment he did, something changed. Flashes. Images. They struck him like lightning, one after another, consuming him.

Lucius. Above him. Tear-streaked cheeks, sweat glistening on his brow, his face contorted in an agonizing mix of pleasure and pain. The Lucius in those memories wasn’t the cold, sarcastic man Florian knew—he was vulnerable, trembling, utterly exposed.

It hit Florian like a punch to the gut. These weren’t his memories. They were the original Florian’s.

’This is just like with Heinz.’ The thought rattled through his mind. His breathing quickened as he struggled to ground himself in the present, but the visions came faster, pulling him under.

"W-Why...are you crying?" Florian heard himself whisper.

It wasn’t a question for this Lucius. It was for that Lucius, the one in the memory. The one who was rocking above him, hips rolling with a rhythm that made Florian’s body arch instinctively.

"Your Highness...ah...please," the memory-Lucius groaned, his voice breaking. His forehead pressed against Florian’s, sweat and tears mingling as they rolled down his face.

Florian threw his head back in the memory, his breath hitching as Lucius thrust deeper. The intimacy, the rawness of it all, was too much.

"Please help me," Lucius whispered, his voice cracking with desperation.

"Help you?" Florian’s voice quivered in the vision, laced with confusion. The question barely escaped before Lucius surged forward, his movements harder, more deliberate.

"Help me...get rid of those memories. Those memories of her touching me." Lucius’ voice cracked as he buried himself deeper, his tone pleading. "Please, replace them with your touch. All the places she defiled... I want my body to only remember you."

Lucius’ lips pressed against his in a desperate kiss, the taste of salt and anguish lingering.

In the present, Florian’s heart clenched. He felt the ache of it, the unbearable weight of Lucius’ pain bleeding into him through the memory. It was suffocating, but it was also impossible to ignore.

’I love Heinz,’ Florian thought, his mind a chaotic tangle of guilt and sympathy. He was sure Lucius knew that too. Lucius had to know. And yet...

Florian’s voice in the vision was soft, trembling, as though he could feel everything Lucius was begging for.

"Okay," he whispered

’How... did I see that?’ Florian’s thoughts spiraled, his chest tightening with the ache of the memory. But confusion gnawed at him even more. It wasn’t a memory that had happened. It was one that was supposed to happen—something that should have played out in the future, or right now.

’Wait.’

"What happened with the princesses?" Florian asked softly, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him. Without thinking, he placed his hand on Lucius’ cheek, his touch startlingly gentle. The action froze Lucius in place, his hand still hovering under the hem of Florian’s skirt, as if the unexpected tenderness caught him completely off guard.

In the novel, Lucius’ breaking point—the moment that drove him to Florian’s bed for the first time—stemmed from an incident. A princess had gotten too close, attempting to touch him in a way that dredged up his deeply rooted trauma from being assaulted by his maid in the past.

But now, Florian had seen a glimpse of that moment, and it hadn’t even occurred yet.

’Why would I see that memory unless something—someone—wants me to remember what’s supposed to happen?’

The pieces fell together uneasily in his mind.

This was supposed to be the time. The moment when Lucius and Florian crossed the line that would forever change their relationship. It was supposed to be Florian’s first time.

But he wasn’t the real Florian.

"Don’t do this, Lucius. Talk to me," Florian urged, his gaze locked onto Lucius’. He wasn’t sure if his voice was steady enough, but he had to try. "What happened?"

The memory he had seen left a bitter taste in his mouth, but despite the fear crawling up his spine and the intimacy he didn’t want forced on him, he found himself focusing on Lucius’ expression. The pain behind those piercing eyes, the anger, the confusion—all of it mirrored what Florian had glimpsed in the vision.

Lucius stared at him for a long moment, his grip tightening slightly, but then he let out a deep, weary sigh. Slowly, his body seemed to deflate, the tension draining out of him.

"Even in a situation like this, I cannot understand you anymore, Your Highness," Lucius murmured, his voice quieter now, tinged with resignation.

He shifted away from Florian, his hand sliding out from beneath the skirt, leaving an odd mix of relief and discomfort in its wake. Sitting beside Florian on the couch, Lucius leaned back, running a hand through his hair.

Florian sat up cautiously, smoothing out his skirt and watching Lucius closely.

"I’m the one who’s confusing now?" Florian asked, incredulous, his voice breaking the silence between them. His tone carried a hint of sarcasm, but underneath it was an unmistakable exhaustion.

Lucius turned his head, meeting Florian’s gaze. His expression softened just enough to show cracks in his usual stoicism. "Yes. You’re confusing, frustrating, and entirely unpredictable." He exhaled sharply, dragging his hand down his face. "And it’s infuriating because I don’t know what you want anymore."

Florian blinked, the words hitting him harder than he expected. ’What I want?’ He couldn’t even begin to answer that question.

"Lucius," Florian began cautiously, his voice quieter now. "You’re the one pinning me down. You’re the one doing... whatever this is. And I’m the confusing one?" He shook his head, a hollow laugh escaping his lips. "Talk to me. Tell me what happened?"

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