Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 71

Chapter 71: ’Want to be F-worded’

Charles led Florian out of his prison for the second time that day, his arm wrapped firmly around Florian’s waist. The weight of it was suffocating, but Florian forced himself to lean into it, to play the part. He had to sell this.

’I can’t believe this is working.’

But the smirk curling on Charles’ lips made his skin crawl. It wasn’t the victorious grin of a man who had won—it was something else. Knowing. Calculated. Florian had no idea what was going on inside that bastard’s head, and that made this even more dangerous.

As they walked, the air thickened with noise and the heavy scent of alcohol. Laughter and crude jokes bounced off the stone walls. The hideout’s lounge was as chaotic as before, filled with men drinking, gambling, or throwing daggers at a battered target. The moment Charles stepped in with Florian at his side, all conversation halted.

Silence fell like a blade.

Arthur, perched lazily on a chair, was the first to react. He leaned back, swirling the drink in his hand, before a slow, knowing grin stretched across his lips.

"Well, well. Finally bringing the prince out to play?"

A ripple of laughter spread through the room.

"Oh, so that’s why you’ve been keeping him locked up," one of the men jeered.

"You sure you wanna keep him all to yourself, boss?" another called out, leering. "A royal piece like that—seems a damn shame not to share."

"Bet he’s got some real fine manners in bed," someone added, sending a wave of raucous laughter through the group.

’Bunch of pigs...’

Florian’s stomach twisted. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. Every instinct screamed at him to run. To fight. But instead, he forced his body to react the way they expected—he shifted awkwardly, lowering his gaze, letting his face flush in staged embarrassment.

Across the room, Levi had gone still, his cleaning forgotten. He met Florian’s gaze briefly, something flickering in his eyes—concern? Warning?

One rogue took a slow sip of his drink, watching the interaction with open curiosity. "Didn’t think you’d actually go for it, Charles. Thought you had more patience."

Charles chuckled, his fingers tightening around Florian’s waist. "Oh, I have plenty," he said smoothly. "But let’s just say... our prince here made me an offer too tempting to refuse."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "An offer?

Florian swallowed hard, his pulse hammering against his ribs, erratic and unrelenting. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to fight, to do anything but stay rooted in place.

Charles leaned in, his breath warm against Florian’s ear, too close, too intimate. His voice was low, laced with amusement and something far more dangerous.

"I have an idea."

Florian stiffened. The way Charles said it—so casually, as if this wasn’t a game of life and death—sent a fresh wave of unease crawling up his spine.

"What?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

Charles’ fingers ghosted along his side in a mockery of affection, the touch deliberate, calculated. Florian fought the urge to recoil.

"If you really want me to fuck you, why not prove it?" Charles’ smirk deepened, his sharp eyes gleaming. "Tell them yourself. Right now."

’Is he fucking serious?’

Florian’s breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that felt too loud in the suffocating silence that followed.

’I don’t want to do that. Fuck. Fuck.’

His stomach twisted into knots. This was worse than he’d imagined. Charles wasn’t just playing along—he was pushing him deeper into the fire, making him say the words himself.

It was humiliating. It was cruel. But worst of all—it was working.

The men were waiting. Their eyes gleamed with sick anticipation, drinking in every second of his hesitation. Florian could feel the weight of their stares pressing down on him, suffocating.

He had no choice.

If he faltered now, if they sensed even an ounce of resistance, the entire act would crumble, and he’d lose everything.

Florian forced himself to relax against Charles, even as every muscle in his body screamed in protest. He let his fingers curl against the fabric of Charles’ shirt, as if clinging to him.

Then, shakily, he exhaled.

"I..." His voice cracked—whether from fury, humiliation, or terror, even he wasn’t sure. His nails bit into Charles’ chest as he forced the words out.

"I want to be..." The words nearly caught in his throat. His vision swam. "I... want to be f-fucked by... Charles..."

A murmur rippled through the room like a slow-burning fire catching dry wood. Interest flickered in their eyes—some entertained, others hungry.

Florian swallowed, forcing down the nausea clawing at his throat. He had to keep going.

"I don’t want anyone else to hear," he added, voice carefully measured, though his hands trembled. "I want you all to leave. Just for tonight."

For a moment—nothing.

Then—

Chaos.

The room exploded.

Whistles. Laughter. The pounding of fists against tables. It was deafening, suffocating, disgusting.

"Oh-ho, would you listen to that?!" one of the men howled, slamming his palm against the wooden surface.

"Well, shit, boss! You really tamed him, huh?"

"I told you he’d break eventually!"

Florian clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit into his palms. His face burned—not with shame, but with rage. He wanted to tear them apart, to make them choke on their laughter.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet.

Across the room, Levi had gone still, his face unreadable, but his wide eyes betrayed his shock. He didn’t expect this.

No—Arthur’s sharp gaze was calculating, dissecting Florian’s every move like a man piecing together a puzzle.

’Shit.’

"Like I said, who am I to deny a prince’s request?" Charles grinned. "You’re just pissy he asked for just me."

’Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.’

Florian kept his gaze fixed downward, his pulse hammering as Arthur’s scrutiny bore into him. He could feel it—sharp, dissecting. Damn it.