Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 276: ’What Do We Do?’

Florian’s face exploded with color.

’H-He didn’t just—He did! He said—He—?!’

A fierce, burning heat rushed beneath his skin, starting in his cheeks and flooding down his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. His breath caught as his eyes darted up to Heinz, wide with disbelief—confused, flustered, cornered.

"Y-Your Majesty?" he stammered, voice small and cracking under the weight of too many emotions.

Heinz didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even offer a word in response.

Instead, he lifted one hand—two fingers flicked—and a pulse of magic shimmered from his palm like a ripple through hot air. Before Florian could even ask what was happening, the heat brushed against his chest.

And his top tore itself open.

Ripped apart with chilling precision.

The buttons snapped free. The fabric peeled itself back with unnatural ease, threads unraveling like they’d been waiting to betray him.

Florian gasped.

The sound was raw, unrestrained. Cold air rushed against his now-bare skin, sharp against the sudden exposure. Goosebumps burst to life across his chest and arms.

’W-What—why did he—?!’

And then—

The dream.

That dream.

It surged up from the depths of his memory like a monster. Like a curse. Too vivid. Too cruel. He’d buried it. Locked it away. But it clawed free now, uninvited.

Heinz above him. Heinz inside him. The weight. The heat. The pain. The confusion. The shame.

The pleasure he didn’t want.

’No. Not again—not now—!’

Heinz reached forward, his fingers curling like he meant to finish the job—to strip the rest of Florian’s clothes away without hesitation.

Panic shattered through him.

His body moved on instinct.

One hand shot out, slamming against Heinz’s chest with trembling force. It barely made the larger man shift—but it was enough.

"Hein—Your Majesty, wait—!"

Even Azure, buried in the folds of Florian’s shirt, gave a frightened squeak and darted out, flapping his tiny wings in alarm as he flew off to the side.

But Heinz didn’t budge.

Florian’s palm was pressed against something immovable—solid muscle beneath finely tailored cloth. Warm. Unyielding.

Too strong.

But then—

Heinz looked down.

His gaze landed on Florian’s hand—fingers trembling where they pressed against him. Then, slowly, his eyes rose.

And met Florian’s face.

Florian wasn’t hiding the panic anymore.

Tears of embarrassment shimmered at the corners of his eyes, barely held back. His breath came in ragged, unsteady bursts. His other hand had risen without thinking, trying to cover part of his face, as if that could shield him from the shame crawling across his skin.

’This is so unlike him. This is so unlike him! Why is he doing this?!’

Heinz blinked.

Once.

Then—quietly, without a word—he took a step back.

Then another.

Then a third.

And the air, which had felt so tight, so thick, finally loosened its grip around Florian’s lungs. He could breathe again.

"...My apologies," Heinz said stiffly, voice low and tight. He looked away, gaze dropping to the side as he adjusted the cuffs of his coat with careful, controlled movements. "I... acted rashly."

Florian didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

His body was frozen—part in shock, part in confusion, part in burning, overwhelming embarrassment. His hand was still pressed to his face, as if that could somehow erase what just happened.

His breath trembled as it left him in uneven gasps.

Silence pressed in between them.

Then—

"W-Why did you do that?" he managed at last, voice hoarse and thick with emotion. "Why would you—?"

Heinz didn’t turn back at first. He kept his gaze angled away, sharp and unreadable.

"I was checking for magical marks."

Florian stared at him.

"...Magical... marks?" he repeated, as if the words were in another language.

"There are spells," Heinz said evenly, "or abilities—curses, in some cases—that leave traces on the body. Some are visible to the naked eye. Others only appear when exposed to magic."

He glanced over his shoulder, finally meeting Florian’s eyes again.

"Given how the intruder touched you... and what happened after... I had to be sure."

Florian’s breath caught.

"...What kind of marks?" he asked, the words tasting sour in his mouth.

Heinz’s expression didn’t change, but his voice turned colder. More precise.

"Depends on the caster. Some allow the user to track the marked target from anywhere, at any time. Others... can be far more invasive. A skilled Arcanior could control a person entirely if the mark is strong enough."

Florian’s eyes widened.

’Control... like a puppet?’

Something cold coiled in his gut.

He didn’t wait.

His fingers scrambled for what remained of his top, yanking the shredded fabric away with shaking hands. He shot to his feet, nearly stumbling as he twisted and turned, eyes scanning every inch of exposed skin. His arms. His chest. His stomach. His back—

Nothing.

Nothing.

But he didn’t stop looking.

’Please no marks, please no marks, please—’

Florian twisted as far as his limbs would allow, fingers flying over his skin with frantic urgency—scanning, searching for anything that shouldn’t be there. A glow. A sear. A sigil. Some cursed trace that might’ve been left behind.

His breath came in short, sharp bursts.

’Nothing so far. I’m sure there’s nothing...right? But—’

And then—

Two hands landed on his shoulders.

He froze.

The contact wasn’t rough. Wasn’t forceful. But it was there—steady, grounding, warm. Heinz’s palms, broad and firm, rested against his bare skin like a brand of heat. The sensation jolted down his spine, not painful but jarring enough that his entire body stiffened in place.

’Ah—!’

His eyes snapped upward, wide and startled.

Heinz was close. So close he could see the faint lines around his eyes, the exact shape of his mouth, the slight furrow of his brow. The air between them felt too thick. Too warm. Too intimate.

And god—he was tall.

It wasn’t like Florian hadn’t noticed before, but now... now it felt like Heinz’s presence swallowed the space between them. Like his shadow alone could make Florian disappear.

Heinz’s expression was unreadable. Steady. His voice came low and calm, careful in a way that almost made it worse.

"Where did he touch you?" he asked. "I’ll check."

Florian’s mouth parted instantly, words tumbling to the edge of his tongue. "I—I can do it myself—"

But Heinz cut in, his tone firm without being harsh.

"Some marks don’t show to the untrained eye. Some only appear to those who carry mana. Others can only be revealed through magical contact."

The words struck like a pin to a balloon. Florian deflated.

’Oh.’

Right. Of course. Logic. Magic.

’This isn’t about anything else. He’s a king. He’s making sure I’m not cursed or tracked. That’s it.’

He swallowed, hard. His pride curled inwards like a wilting flower, folding neatly beneath the pressure of reason.

He gave a small nod. Hesitant, but willing.

"The man... he wrapped his arms around me," Florian said, his voice thin and dry in his throat. "From my waist... around to my back."

Heinz’s brow lifted a fraction, something flickering in his eyes. But he said nothing. No judgment. No reaction. Just—

"Come closer."

Florian nearly stumbled forward.

’Heinz is straight. Heinz is straight. Heinz is so ridiculously straight—’

And so, he obeyed.

One shaky step forward brought them even closer. Too close. His heart thudded like a war drum behind his ribs.

Heinz’s hands shifted—sliding from his shoulders down to his waist, fingers curling lightly against his skin.

’That feels odd...’

Florian inhaled sharply.

His entire body reacted. Skin twitching beneath the featherlight touch. His stomach tensed. His breath hitched. The contact was too much and not enough all at once.

But Heinz’s movements remained clinical. Detached. His fingers glided with precision across Florian’s sides, inspecting, searching, magic pulsing faintly at his fingertips. The warmth tingled beneath the surface, like being brushed by sunlight.

Then, without warning, Heinz tugged him in just a bit more.

Their bodies almost touched. Barely a sliver of air between them.

Florian stopped breathing entirely.

Heinz’s fingers swept lower, toward his back. Gloved hands roamed with calm focus, checking each inch of exposed skin. Florian could feel the chill of the room against the parts Heinz hadn’t touched, making the warmth of his hands feel blazing in comparison.

The silence was unbearable.

He tried to speak—to crack a joke, to say something sarcastic or normal or anything—but nothing came. His throat had locked up, his thoughts tangled in a hurricane of panic and—

’It’s just magic. Just magic. He’s not thinking about you. He doesn’t see you that way. This isn’t that.’

Heinz remained calm. Focused. He muttered to himself under his breath as he worked. "No trace... no glow... nothing reactive..."

And then, finally—

He stepped back.

Let go.

The sudden absence of heat made Florian shiver. The pressure on his lungs lifted all at once, and he exhaled in a rush, nearly stumbling where he stood.

His legs felt weak.

His pride wanted to hide under the floorboards.

’Why am I even this tense? Heinz looks completely unbothered—because it is nothing. Just a routine check between two straight men. That’s all. And here I am, acting like... like a fool.’

He risked a glance up.

Heinz was already straightening his coat sleeves, brushing off invisible lint as if nothing had happened.

"It’s safe," he said coolly. "Doesn’t look like the intruder left any magical marks."

The relief hit Florian like a wave, sharp and overwhelming.

His shoulders sagged, breath leaving him in a shaky huff. "Thank the gods..."

Then, more quietly—his voice small again, almost hesitant—

"...What do we do now, Your Majesty?"