This is bad.
This is really bad.
The incident with Lancelot earlier had been a misunderstanding—uncomfortable and humiliating, but not entirely intentional. Lancelot had thought Florian was an intruder, and while the situation had been far too intimate for comfort, it hadn't been fully inappropriate.
But this? This was something else entirely.
Lucius wasn't mistaking him for someone else. Florian was sure of it—or was he? The uncertainty gnawed at him as his pulse thundered in his ears. Lucius had one hand pinning Florian's wrists above his head, his grip firm but not painful, while the other rested on Florian's waist, holding him in place with an ease that was almost insulting.
"W-Why are you acting like this, Lucius? Let... let go!" Florian's voice cracked, his usual composure shattering under the weight of the situation. He squirmed against Lucius's hold, trying to free himself, but his movements were frantic and uncoordinated.
