Lance froze.
His whole body went rigid, breath caught in his throat, mind blank and panicky.
A kiss? After everything? After the pain, the fear, the humiliation?
He didn't move.
He couldn't move.
Was this some kind of sick joke? One of Ansel's games?
And Ansel's eyes narrowed knowingly.
Like he could see every emotion running through Lance's body in real time.
A single second passed.
Then another.
Lance still didn't lean in.
Eventually, Ansel exhaled slowly… and pushed him off his lap.
Not roughly but firmly, decisively.
As if making a silent conclusion about something in his head.
"Get dressed.." he said.
His voice had gone cold again, unreadable, shutting itself back behind its iron walls.
Lance scrambled off him, wincing as a sharp ache shot through his hips and lower back.
He hissed quietly, unable to sit properly, shifting his weight to accommodate the pain.
He tugged his clothes back on with trembling fingers.
