Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 352

Chapter 352: ’Sexual Revelations.’

Was it possible?

That vision—that overwhelming, vivid vision—it wasn’t just a dream or a delusion.

It was real.

Florian had felt everything. The heat, the touch, the way his body had responded...even the pleasure had been so sharp, so overwhelming, that he’d arched into it like it was actually happening.

And as much as Florian wanted to dismiss it—to write it off as some twisted fantasy of the original Florian—it wasn’t.

It couldn’t be.

But how? Why? What happened?

It hadn’t felt like some passive memory either. It was as though he had relived it—inhabited a moment that wasn’t supposed to be his. And yet his body remembered it, responded to it, ached from it.

The pieces were disjointed, scattered—but slowly, they were beginning to come together.

Heinz had been drunk. In that vision, too. Slurring, flushed, and so desperately affectionate. Was that it? Did he only show that side of himself when intoxicated? Was that the truth of him?

Had he ever really loved the original Florian?

It was impossible to say. Heinz was different like this—his eyes glossy with wine, his speech slow, affectionate in a way that didn’t match his usual stoic, annoying, and kingly demeanor.

Proof of that was currently crawling across the floor toward him, like a drunk cat with far too much strength and far too little shame.

"Floriannn..." Heinz drawled, his voice thick, lips tugged into a lazy pout. "Why aren’t you paying attention to me?"

Florian inched backward, heart pounding.

"Y-Your Majesty, please," he said, his voice cracking with nerves. "Can you just... relax? This...this isn’t like you at all."

He didn’t mean to sound so panicked, but how could he not be? After seeing that—a full-blown, vivid memory of the original Florian and Heinz having sex—as if they were lovers. As if it was normal.

What made it worse—what made Florian’s skin crawl—was that the original Florian hadn’t seemed the least bit surprised by the king’s actions. He hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t protested.

He’d accepted it. Welcomed it.

Like it wasn’t the first time.

’Why... why was he so used to it?’

None of it made sense.

’Nothing is making sense anymore.’

Then suddenly—

"Oh?" Heinz hummed as if he’d discovered something of interest. Florian stiffened.

Heinz’s gaze had dropped lower—no longer focused on his face.

He was staring at Florian’s body.

No—at the bulge in his pants.

Florian’s blood ran cold.

Heinz stood up, swaying slightly, his long black hair falling forward, shadowing his expression. The unsteadiness in his steps did nothing to ease Florian’s anxiety as the king marched toward him and crouched down, mere inches away.

’What’s he doing now?’ Florian thought, furrowing his brows, trying to shuffle backward on trembling limbs. "Your Majesty—Ah!"

He gasped as Heinz suddenly reached forward, gripping Florian’s knees, which had been clamped tightly together—desperately trying to hide the proof of his arousal.

With surprising strength, Heinz pried his legs apart.

Florian’s whole body jerked, stunned. He wanted to kick him. God, he wanted to—but Heinz was still the king.

"You’re hard," Heinz said plainly, as if making an objective observation about the weather.

Florian’s face exploded with heat.

"T-That’s... N-No—I’m—" His voice broke apart, stuttering in sheer embarrassment. "I-It’s not what you think—!"

Words were slipping through his fingers, jumbled and useless. Everything was unraveling in his head. His thoughts, his control, his very sense of self.

And then Heinz licked his lips.

Hungrily.

His eyes were fixed—devouring—focused directly on the bulge in Florian’s pants.

"Let me help you."

His voice dropped—low, rough, almost like a growl.

That was the moment Florian’s brain short-circuited.

He stopped moving.

He couldn’t speak.

He froze.

His mind blanked into static as Heinz leaned in, reading the silence as consent.

Without hesitation, Heinz swept Florian into his arms—bridal style. Florian’s body instinctively curled inward, shocked by the sudden motion.

"W-What... What are you—no, Your Majesty. This... I—" Florian flailed verbally, struggling to find something to say, something that would make sense of this madness.

But Heinz only smirked, carrying him with ease across the room. He walked straight to the enormous bed and gently laid Florian onto the silken sheets like he was something precious.

Florian’s heart thundered.

A ward. A barrier.

The realization hit him like a tidal wave when the king turned back, climbing onto the bed, his body moving slowly—predatorily—until he hovered above Florian.

Finally—finally—Florian’s mind snapped back into clarity.

"Why?" Heinz whispered, not offended, not deterred. He cupped Florian’s face again, his fingers tracing along his cheeks, his lips. The warmth of his touch was dizzying—wrong and yet terrifyingly gentle.

’I’m straight. I’m not the real Florian. I’m straight. I’m not the real Florian.’

Then, with a sudden flick of his hand, Florian’s clothes ignited—not in fire, but in slow disintegration. Threads dissolving, melting away like smoke.

His body was cold. Exposed. He tried to cover himself, but—

Why did this feel familiar?

’A-Aphrodisiac?’ Florian’s heart stopped.

’W-What does he mean—?’

Florian’s stomach dropped. The nausea twisted with revelation.

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