Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 348: ’Heinz’s Moment Of Weakness.’

’What was that?’

Heinz stormed down the hall, long strides carrying him swiftly away from Florian’s room and into the dimly lit corridors of the palace.

His heart—usually calm even in the tensest negotiations or bloodiest battles—was thundering wildly in his chest, each beat echoing louder than the last. It was infuriating.

Unfamiliar.

He reached his chambers and slammed the door shut behind him, the echo of wood against stone doing nothing to drown out the whirlwind of thoughts raging in his head.

Something had happened.

Something he didn’t understand.

When Florian had thanked him—sincerely, openly, without sarcasm or judgment—Heinz had already been caught off guard. But it wasn’t just the words that threw him off.

It was what came after.

The voice.

No—a voice inside his own head.

"Thank you for loving me, Your Majesty."

It had been Florian’s voice. Undeniably his.

Soft. Warm. Fragile in a way Heinz had never heard before. Drenched in something that felt dangerously like...

Love.

A hallucination? A trick? But no—he had heard it. So vividly it stopped him in his tracks. And the timing—it was the exact moment Florian looked at him with those honest eyes, that almost-shy expression, the sincerity written all over his usually sarcastic face.

’That wasn’t real... was it?’

Heinz paced briefly, then growled under his breath. ’It can’t be. There’s no moment like that. Not with him. Not with the Florian from my first life either.’

So what was it?

He had no answer.

And that made it worse.

The unpredictability of it all, the memory that wasn’t a memory. It struck deeper because he knew Florian had said before that he sometimes inherited flashes of the original’s life—visions, sounds, sensations triggered by certain events. A half-haunting of a life that wasn’t truly his.

But this wasn’t Heinz remembering.

This was him.

’I remember every detail of my past life. I don’t get visions.’ Heinz pressed the heel of his palm into his forehead, like he could somehow knock the thought out of his skull. ’That wasn’t anyone else’s memory. It was in my head. That was my own hallucination.’

And then, the final punch of realization—

He was flustered.

His composure, normally ironclad, had splintered the moment he heard that voice. That thank you. That Your Majesty, spoken with love, not duty. And so, he walked away. Ran, almost.

Cowardly.

He groaned under his breath. "Fuck."

His fingers went up to his collar, ripping the buttons open with less care than usual, yanking the cravat from around his neck like it burned.

His coat and shirt followed next, flung onto the nearest chair. His skin was hot, flushed, like he’d stepped out of battle—but there was no enemy here except confusion.

He dropped onto the edge of his bed, resting his elbows on his thighs, fingers digging into his scalp.

He needed to calm down. To think. To stop the burning heat crawling up his neck and into his thoughts.

But then his eyes drifted downward.

To his pants.

And he saw it.

He froze.

"...Are you kidding me?" Heinz muttered, his voice low, disbelieving.

He hadn’t even realized. But now that he saw it—felt it—he couldn’t unfeel it. The uncomfortable tightness. The pressure beneath the fabric. freёnovelkiss.com

He was hard.

’Why? Why now?’

It wasn’t as if Florian had done anything seductive. He hadn’t touched him. Hadn’t teased him. In fact, he was being unusually... kind. Vulnerable. Real.

Maybe that was the problem.

And, right now, he had to fix the problem.

Heinz exhaled harshly through his nose, the sound nearly a growl as he reached down and unfastened his pants. His fingers moved with sharp, impatient intent, yanking the fabric down just enough to free himself.

He hissed through his teeth the moment his cock sprang free—hard, flushed, aching. The cool air did little to ease the burning heat that pooled low in his abdomen.

"Ugh..." Heinz groaned, leaning back on his elbows as his hand wrapped around his shaft. The contact was immediate relief and yet not nearly enough. His fingers tightened reflexively, drawing a sharp breath from his lips as he gave the first slow stroke.

The sensation shot up his spine—tingling, electric. It grounded him and yet unmoored him completely. He tilted his head back, eyes fluttering shut, and let the rhythm take over—slow at first, indulgent, savoring the need that had been simmering just beneath the surface.

’Don’t think. Just feel. Just—fuck—feel.’

But then it came.

That voice again. Florian’s voice.

"Thank you for loving me, Your Majesty."

His eyes snapped open, the words slicing through the haze like a blade.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, his hand faltering mid-stroke. His chest tightened, not just with arousal now, but with something sharper. More dangerous.

’Why can’t I get him out of my head?’

He clenched his jaw.

But the harder he tried to banish the voice, the deeper it sank in. Florian’s voice—gentle, almost trembling, laced with a vulnerability that Heinz had never heard before. A voice that didn’t belong to the sarcastic, sharp-tongued boy he knew, and yet... it did.

Heinz’s hand resumed its movement, this time more forceful, as if punishing himself.

’It’s just lust. That’s all. Get it out. Just get it out.’

But it wasn’t just lust. He knew that the moment his mind conjured Florian’s face—those bright green eyes, wide with trust, lips parted in a breathy whisper.

His cock throbbed in his hand.

He groaned low in his throat, his pace quickening, strokes messy and desperate.

"Fuck," he gasped, hips jerking upward to meet his hand. Sweat prickled at his temples, his breath coming in ragged bursts.

But then—

"Your Majesty..."

It echoed again, tender and breathless.

’No—stop. Stop thinking about him. Fuck.’

But even in the lies, Heinz’s mind betrayed him. The image came unbidden: Florian, on his knees, eyes lifted with devotion, lavender curls tumbling down around his flushed face. Lips parted. Waiting.

"Fuck, yes..." Heinz groaned, the fantasy wrapping around him like a velvet noose. In his mind, Florian leaned forward, tongue flicking against the tip of his cock before taking him deeper, his mouth warm and wet, his throat soft and tight.

The mental image was too vivid. Too delectable.

He stroked faster, chasing the pleasure, chasing that vision of Florian’s mouth stretched wide around him, a string of spit glistening as he pulled back only to sink down again. Heinz could hear it—wet, obscene sounds, soft gasps swallowed between thrusts. Florian’s hands on his thighs, his soft moans vibrating down Heinz’s length.

He couldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t stop.

"Your Majesty," the voice returned, huskier now. "Heinz..."

That—his name—was the breaking point.

’No—no, don’t say my name like that—’

But in the vision, Florian was looking up at him, flushed and desperate, eyes filled with something like... affection.

’Fuck—’

"Release for me."

And he did.

Heinz came with a guttural groan, hips snapping up off the bed as the pleasure surged through him like a tidal wave. His entire body tensed, then trembled violently as he spilled into his hand, breathing hard, like he’d just run a battlefield charge.

The echoes of ecstasy faded slowly, leaving only the deafening silence of the room. The mess cooling on his skin. The heat in his chest now replaced with something colder.

Guilt.

Realization.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, chest heaving, one arm flung over his eyes as if to hide from the truth that had just ripped through him.

’Shit.’

He dropped his arm, dragging a shaky hand over his face. "Have I gone insane?" he muttered aloud, the words bitter on his tongue.

His fingers trembled. He didn’t try to hide it. His heart still thundered beneath his ribs, raw and unrelenting.

He had never—never—let himself go like that. Not for anyone. Not even in private. But tonight, something cracked open. And through it spilled something terrifyingly real.

It was more than lust.

It was need.

And that frightened him more than he’d ever admit.

He groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes as if he could erase the memory. "Momentary weakness."

He said it again, firmer.

’Just a moment. Nothing more.’

It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.

He had too many problems to waste time on lust. Too many responsibilities. Florian was just a distraction—nothing more.

That’s what he told himself.

Again and again.

But as he lay there, still flushed, still trembling, the afterglow clinging to him like smoke—

All he wanted was to do it again.

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