The System Keeps Making Me Do Indecent Missions [BL, R18]

Chapter 34: Chapter 34: Bloodstained Bed

The atmosphere within the spacious room sank into a heavy silence, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioner and Dominic Vance’s steadying breath. The pungent scent of their encounter, a heavy mixture of sweat, semen, and the faint metallic tang of blood, lingered thickly, suffocating the room.

Dominic lay on his back, one arm draped over his forehead, his firm chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. He cast a sidelong glance. Lucien remained turned away, his body buried deep beneath the thin blanket, so utterly still he seemed to have stopped breathing.

Initially, Dominic felt a faint sense of satisfaction. His long-suppressed desires had been thoroughly quenched, albeit through cruel and violent means. He assumed Lucien was sulking or quietly sobbing as usual. He had mentally prepared himself for curses, or at the very least, to see Lucien’s shoulders trembling with resentment.

Yet five minutes passed, then ten, and the figure beside him remained motionless.

Displeasure kindled within Dominic. He did not like this silence. It lacked the feel of obedient submission, instead, it felt like silent contempt. He shifted, reaching out a scratch-covered arm to roughly grab Lucien’s shoulder, intending to pull the young man around to face him.

"What kind of act is this? Do you plan to lie like that until morning?"

Lucien offered no response.

When Dominic pulled, Lucien’s body simply flipped over with the momentum. He did not resist, but neither did he lean into the touch. His body was limp and cold, resembling a discarded ragdoll.

Lucien’s half-open eyes focused on an empty void behind Dominic. His face was deathly pale, his lips swollen and bleeding, and the dark purple hickeys trailing down his neck and collarbone stood out stark and brutal.

Dominic furrowed his brows. His grip loosened slightly, but his tone remained harsh: "I am talking to you. Have you gone deaf?"

Only then did Lucien slowly shift his gaze. Those eyes, once so sparkling and evocative, were now a murky, stagnant pool. He parted his lips, his voice raw as sandpaper: "I will not bother you anymore."

"What did you just say?" Dominic gritted his teeth, a sudden surge of fury rushing to his brain.

"I said... from now on, I will not bother you anymore. Whether you view me as a mere tool for relief, or just a passing plaything..." Lucien closed his eyes. A belated teardrop slipped down his cheek, soaking into the pillow so quickly it was as if it had never existed: "There is no need for you to care."

Dominic let out a cold laugh. His hand slid down to grasp the young man’s ankle, yanking it forcefully: "Do you think I am the type to use someone and throw them away? Or do you genuinely believe you have the right to give me orders? Do not forget your place, Lucien Sinclair!"

[Host, please stop.]

The voice of 000 rang out within Lucien’s mind. The joking mechanical tone was gone, replaced by a rare seriousness.

[Your heart rate index is exceeding the permitted limit. The tear in the sensitive area shows signs of mild infection. Your mental state is plummeting rapidly. Recommendation: Do not continue to force your emotions to such an extreme, this body will collapse before the mission is completed.]

Lucien sneered inwardly, replying to the system with astounding coldness: "It hasn’t collapsed just yet. Didn’t you say that if I fail the mission, I die and the world reboots? It does not matter."

Lucien knew exactly what game he was playing, and he understood the danger. He was using his own body to push Dominic directly into a trap.

Dominic was too accustomed to standing at the absolute peak. Even during their first time in bed, he was firmly convinced that Lucien liked him. His vanity had been thoroughly satisfied.

But what if the person he thought he held securely suddenly slipped away?

The young man would rather harm himself, gnawing on his own wounds in isolation, than ever dream of Dominic again.

To someone accustomed to wielding absolute power and viewing others as possessions, this defiance was enough to drive him insane.

Sure enough, the blue veins on Dominic’s forehead twitched with rage. He was about to spit out more harsh words when he felt a sticky sensation on the hand gripping Lucien’s leg. Frowning, he released his grip and flipped the blanket up.

Under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, the dark crimson blood staining the pristine white bedsheets was unmistakably clear.

It was not merely a few drops, but a sprawling, mottled patch. The injury had torn open again, bleeding continuously throughout the frantic thrusting from earlier. Or perhaps, it was the wound upon Lucien’s knee.

Dominic’s complexion changed. He looked down at Lucien’s slender, uncontrollably trembling legs, and then at the battered bruises left by his own hands.

He realized he had gone too far.

His innate arrogance made an apology impossible, yet his actions betrayed his flustered awkwardness. He reached out to inspect the wound. His voice remained stiff, but it had lost its aggressive edge: "Why didn’t you say anything when you were injured like this? Do you not have a mouth?"

Lucien did not shy away from the touch, but his utter tranquility drove Dominic mad. Staring up at the ceiling, Lucien spoke with feather-light softness: "It does not matter."

It was as if this wound, or even death itself, meant absolutely nothing to him.

Dominic heard him whisper faintly: "I am used to it."

He had heard that exact phrase just hours ago. Lucien had stated he was accustomed to the injustice, humiliation, and agony inflicted by the Sinclair family.

Now, he was using those same words, silently declaring that the monster he was currently enduring was Dominic himself.

Dominic felt his throat choke up. His chest grew heavy as an unprecedented sense of guilt spread through him. He wanted to argue, to claim the young man had provoked him first, that Lucien’s cold indifference had made him lose his mind, but upon seeing the pool of blood, all excuses became laughable.

He stood in silence and strode into the bathroom. A moment later, he returned with a basin of warm water and a medical kit.

The room was so stifling that only the sound of a towel being wrung out could be heard. Dominic roughly parted Lucien’s legs to wash the wound. Every time the warm towel grazed the swollen flesh, Lucien’s body jolted violently from the pain, but he bit his lip tightly, allowing tears to glide down his face unhindered.

He bit his lip so fiercely that the old wound bled once more, his slender hands clawing into the bedsheets.

This profound silence was far more agonizing than weeping. As Dominic applied the medicine, his hands trembled faintly. He did not know how to be gentle. His rough fingers against the tender skin only caused more pain, yet Lucien remained like a lifeless corpse, leaving himself entirely at the man’s mercy.

The physical distance between them was incredibly close, Dominic’s breath brushing against Lucien’s thigh, yet the emotional distance felt as impossibly far as opposite ends of the world.

After rudimentary bandaging, Dominic cleared away the supplies. He looked at Lucien, whose eyes were glazed with exhaustion, before stepping onto the bed and pulling the young man into his embrace.

Lucien still offered no resistance, but the sheer rigidity of his body spoke volumes.

"Go to sleep." Dominic growled low, holding him tightly as if terrified he would vanish: "Tomorrow morning, I will take you to the hospital."

Lucien did not reply as darkness swallowed his consciousness. Amidst his stupor, he heard the voice of 000: [The affection level of Dominic Vance has increased by 10%. The fluctuation is too high, an accurate measurement cannot be determined.]

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