Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Chapter 70: ’Only With You’

Charles didn’t move.

Neither did Florian.

The silence between them stretched unbearably thick, pressing against Florian’s chest like a weight he couldn’t shake off. The way Charles stared at him—sharp, unwavering, laced with sothing Florian couldn’t quite na—pinned him in place, locking him in a mont of sheer, excruciating humiliation.

’Oh my fucking god. What the hell am I saying?’

But it was too late to turn back now. He had already thrown himself off the proverbial cliff—might as well brace for the landing.

Slowly, Charles blinked. Once. Twice. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words ca. A deep furrow settled between his brows, his expression a careful mixture of disbelief, suspicion, and sothing that almost looked like concern.

"You were going to—" Charles exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand over his face before trying again. "You’re telling ... you were going to shove that inside yourself?"

Florian’s fingers tightened around the crude spear. His throat felt painfully dry. He forced himself to nod, jerky and hesitant.

’Ti to commit to the bit. I am going to hell for this.’

"I-It’s not what you think," he stamred, his voice trembling just enough to make it believable. Shifting uncomfortably, he squeezed his thighs together for added effect, letting his gaze dart away as though he couldn’t bear to look Charles in the eye. "You don’t understand. In my kingdom, it’s... it’s normal. For n. When we reach a certain age, we—" He sucked in a shaky breath, fingers curling against the rough wood. "We... have a need."

Charles’ expression darkened, his stare unblinking.

"A need," he repeated flatly.

Florian nodded frantically. "A need for... contact."

Charles didn’t respond imdiately. His gaze flickered over Florian’s face, searching, dissecting. His fingers twitched slightly at his side.

Florian swallowed hard and pushed forward before his nerves could betray him. "We usually have tools for this sort of thing back in the castle. I—I had a whole collection. Custom-made. High quality."

’WHAT AM I EVEN SAYING?!’

The mont the words left his mouth, Florian fought the urge to bash his head against the wall. But he had already gone this far—there was no stopping now.

Forcing himself to look ashad, he lowered his voice to a near whisper. "But I don’t have any of them here. And it’s been... too long." He let a tremor run through him, just enough to sell the act. "So I—I had to make do."

Charles’ eye twitched.

Florian held his breath.

The tension in the room was suffocating. For a mont, Charles did nothing—just stood there, staring at him like he was trying to decide whether Florian was utterly deranged or the best liar he’d ever t.

Then, in a voice as flat as a blade against stone, Charles muttered, "You expect to believe that."

Florian hesitated, then nodded weakly. "I-I’m not lying."

Another unbearable pause.

Then—

Charles let out a slow, asured exhale and dragged a hand down his face, looking like he was physically restraining himself from saying sothing much, much worse. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and his eyes flickered with sothing unreadable.

’Please buy it. Please buy it. Please buy it.’

Finally, Charles let out a low sigh. His gaze, dark and unreadable, locked onto Florian with unnerving intensity.

"Prove it."

"P-Prove it?" Florian’s voice cracked, his face flushing a furious shade of red.

’Oh, fuck . I did not think this through.’

He was starting to regret every single life decision that had led him to this mont, because there was no way in hell he was shoving a goddamn spear inside himself. One, he was straight. Two, it would definitely hurt. Three, and most importantly, he was straight.

But he had to get out of this sohow.

Florian’s mind raced, searching desperately for an escape—so loophole, so way to turn this around before he was forced to commit to the worst bluff of his life. His heart hamred in his chest, every muscle screaming at him to run, to do sothing, before Charles called his bluff.

And then—an idea.

A horrible, terrible, gut-wrenching idea.

’Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. Do I really have to do this?’

Yes. Yes, he did.

Florian inhaled sharply and forced himself to move, his fingers uncoiling from the spear. He let it drop to the ground with a dull clatter, his hands trembling just enough to look convincing. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he stepped forward—closer to Charles, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Why settle for that," Florian murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "when I have you?"

He saw it. The flicker in Charles’ eyes.

A shift.

’Oh, god. He’s buying it.’

Florian swallowed down the scream clawing up his throat and pushed on. He let his gaze flicker downward—just briefly, just enough—and then back up through his lashes. He was playing a dangerous ga, one he hated, but he had no choice.

His fingers brushed against Charles’ chest, barely there, just the ghost of a touch.

"I an," he continued, voice soft and laced with forced hesitation, "it’d be... better. More real. You could help , couldn’t you?"

Charles’ breathing hitched, just slightly.

Florian felt sick.

His body scread at him to recoil, to scrub this mont from existence, but he kept going. He had to.

Charles’ hand twitched at his side, his jaw clenching tight. His gaze, dark and unreadable monts ago, was now sothing else entirely. Hunger. Restraint. A dangerous mix of both.

Florian’s stomach twisted.

Suddenly, Charles exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound caught between exasperation and sothing darker.

Before Florian could react, he moved.

A strong arm wrapped around his waist in one swift motion, yanking him forward. Florian gasped, his breath hitching as a jolt of panic shot through him. Charles’ grip was tight, fingers pressing in with an unsettling firmness.

Florian’s pulse pounded in his ears. His body went rigid as Charles leaned in, his head dipping too close.

Far too close.

"You’re really pushing it," Charles murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Florian forced himself to hold his ground, even as his pulse pounded in his ears. He had to sell this. He had to.

He let his lashes lower, his lips parting just slightly. "Can you bla ?" he whispered, shifting subtly against Charles, just enough to feel the tension in his body. "You’re making wait too long."

Charles’ breath hitched, but his fingers twitched in restraint. "We’re still waiting for word from the king," he muttered, though his grip on Florian’s waist didn’t waver. "Or at least from the boss."

Florian exhaled shakily, making sure to sound frustrated, needy. "I know," he murmured, letting his fingers trail up Charles’ chest, slow and deliberate. "But what if I don’t want to wait?"

Charles’ jaw tightened, his pupils darkening.

Florian swallowed, pressing forward just slightly—enough to make Charles feel the heat of his body, enough to push him over the edge.

Charles let out a sharp breath through his nose, his fingers flexing. "You’re really testing my patience, Little Prince."

"Am I?" Florian whispered, tilting his head up. He let his lips barely brush Charles’ chin before pulling away. "Or am I just making things easier for you?"

’If Kaz was here she would be hollering at my expense.’

Charles let out a low curse under his breath.

Then, suddenly, he yanked Florian flush against him.

Florian barely held back a gasp as Charles’ lips hovered just above his own, so close he could feel the warmth of his breath.

"You think I don’t know what you’re doing?" Charles murmured, his voice low, teasing, but thick with sothing else. Sothing dangerous.

Florian forced himself to look up at him, eyes wide, feigning innocence. "I don’t know what you an."

Charles’ lips curled. "Liar."

Then, his mouth brushed against Florian’s.

Florian froze.

’Oh fuck—’

Panic surged through Florian’s chest, sharp and all-consuming. No. No, no, no. He had to stop this—now.

At the very last second, he turned his head, Charles’ lips barely grazing the corner of his mouth instead.

"Not yet," Florian whispered, his breath uneven, trembling—not from desire, but from sheer, unfiltered terror. "Not here."

Charles inhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening for a brief, agonizing mont. "You—"

"I just—" Florian swallowed hard, forcing a shaky exhale. "Not when anyone can hear us." His fingers curled against Charles’ chest, a subtle, desperate bid to redirect his focus. "Not in this small room." He lowered his gaze, letting hesitation flicker across his features.

"I... I don’t want anyone else to interrupt us. Especially Arthur." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "I want you. Only you."

Charles’ breath ca slow and heavy, his forehead pressing briefly against Florian’s temple. His grip loosened—just slightly, just enough.

A quiet, bitter chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Now you’re the one making wait," he muttered, voice thick with sothing Florian didn’t dare na.

"Am I not worth it?" Florian’s voice was soft, almost pleading, laced with just the right amount of vulnerability. "You’re the one who gets the pleasure of deflowering a prince—not just any prince—but one who belongs to your king’s harem." He swallowed hard, feeling the sweat trickle down his forehead.

Every word felt like poison on his tongue, but he had to sell it. He had to make Charles believe. "Isn’t that worth getting rid of your n? Just us. Alone."

That’s what Charles thought he wanted.

In truth, Florian just wanted to escape.

Charles didn’t respond right away. His gaze darkened, unreadable, his fingers twitching slightly at his side. He was thinking, actually considering it. For a mont, hope flickered in Florian’s chest.

’Was this it? Did he actually—’

Then, a slow, wicked smirk curled on Charles’ lips. A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes, and Florian’s stomach dropped.

"So, you want the hideout to ourselves, hm?" Charles murmured.

Florian hesitated. "Yes..."

Charles humd in amusent, reaching out to thread his fingers through Florian’s hair, twirling a few strands between his fingertips. The touch was deceptively gentle. His smirk widened. "Co with ."

Florian’s heart stuttered.

’What? Did... did it work?’

"O-Okay..." he breathed, forcing himself to stay composed.