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

Chapter 98: Chapter 98: A Calculated Return

"Why didn’t you let me know in advance so I could pick you up? Are you tired? Are you hungry? I am steaming fish, it is almost done, just wait for me a little bit."

He spoke in one continuous breath, giving the man no chance to interject, while his small hand naturally reached out to take the leather suitcase at the man’s feet. But Dominic Vance did not let go. He simply stood there, leaning against the heavy wooden door, his eyes as profoundly deep as an ancient well without a single ripple. He looked at Lucien the way one might look at a crooked painting hanging on a wall, both familiar and strange, evoking a simultaneous desire to touch it and to let it go.

Lucien noticed this.

In a split second, his heart skipped an inexplicable beat, yet his face maintained its radiant expression. He looked up at the man with misty eyes, his long eyelashes blinking slowly: "Dominic?"

Only then did Dominic Vance move. He released his grip on the suitcase, leaving Lucien to awkwardly drag it inside, and then slowly walked toward the dining table. His posture no longer held its usual authoritative straightness; his shoulders slumped slightly, and the collar of his black sweater was slightly stretched, as if someone had grabbed it and then let go amidst the rushing crowds at the airport.

Lucien pulled the suitcase into the corner of the room, swiftly untying his apron and hanging it on a hook, his voice still ringing out continuously: "Take a seat and rest, I will bring the food out right away. The steamed fish is very fresh today, I picked it out myself at the nearby supermarket, you should try it and see if you like it. Oh, I also made sour soup; drinking warm sour soup in this weather is incredibly soothing for the stomach..."

The clinking sound of bowls and chopsticks echoed from the kitchen, and the fragrant aroma of fish steamed with scallions and ginger permeated the space, mingling with the scent of cedarwood emanating from the man who had just returned home. Everything was utterly perfect, resembling a warm, domestic scene that any successful man would crave after long business trips.

But Dominic Vance did not sit down at the table immediately. He stood by the window, his back turned to Lucien, his gaze fixed on the front yard where the first snowflakes of the season were beginning to fall lightly. It was not until Lucien brought out the tray of food, arranging each dish neatly on the table, that Dominic slowly turned around and pulled out a chair to sit.

Lucien sat opposite him, his hands swiftly picking up food and placing it into the man’s bowl, his mouth still chatting away without pause: "Were you tired from this business trip? I saw that the weather over there is much colder than it is here, did you dress warmly enough? I sent you a message to remind you, but you did not reply..."

Those questions fell into silence. Dominic Vance picked up his chopsticks, took a piece of fish, slowly placed it into his mouth, and chewed methodically. His thin lips pressed together, his teeth grinding the food in a mechanical manner, as if his sense of taste could not perceive anything at all.

Lucien maintained his smile, but his heart had grown several degrees colder. He knew the person across from him was listening, observing, and weighing his every gesture like a seasoned predator. But he was no less of a predator himself. His hand picked up another piece of fish and placed it into his own bowl, then he looked up, meeting the deep, dark gaze that had been fixed on him for longer than usual.

Lucien’s chopsticks halted in mid-air. He blinked and tilted his head slightly, feigning confusion: "Why aren’t you eating? Or is the fish not good?"

Dominic Vance set his chopsticks down on the table, a small sound that echoed clearly in the quiet room. He did not look at the plate of fish, nor did he look out the window; instead, he stared directly into Lucien’s eyes, his jet-black pupils harboring what looked like smoldering embers beneath.

"Are you not going to ask how my business trip went?"

"I... I thought you did not like being asked." He lowered his head, his voice trailing off, his fingers twisting the hem of his pristine white sweater: "You often told me not to ask too many questions... so I was afraid that asking would bother you. I only wanted you to be able to rest when you came home."

Having said that, he stealthily glanced up at the man through curled eyelashes, his eyes shimmering as if filled with unshed tears. It was the expression of someone who was accustomed to being abandoned, someone who had learned to withdraw into himself, not daring to make demands, not daring to express anything, only knowing how to wait in silence. And he knew that this very fragile, submissive demeanor was the sharpest weapon to pierce Dominic Vance’s heart of stone.

Sure enough, the man suddenly fell silent. His gaze softened slightly, his thick eyelashes drooping as if to conceal something that could not be put into words. He picked up his chopsticks once more, taking a piece of fish and placing it into Lucien’s bowl, his movements so clumsy that he nearly dropped it.

"Eat up." He uttered only two words, then lowered his head to continue eating.

Lucien looked at the piece of fish in his bowl, the corners of his lips curving into a small smile, but he quickly hid it behind the rim of the white porcelain bowl. He knew the first arrow had hit its mark.

The afternoon passed in tranquility. Lucien cleared away the dishes, brewed a pot of chamomile tea, and sat down on the sofa next to Dominic, saying nothing, simply resting his head quietly against the back of the seat, occasionally glancing at him over the book in his hands. Dominic Vance held a stack of documents, but the page never turned to the next. He merely sat there, the warmth from the teacup spreading between his long, slender fingers, and his gaze once again settled upon Lucien.

It was a different kind of look.

No longer the distant coldness, nor the calculating scrutiny, but something much more fragile, like a thin layer of ice that had just developed an irreparable crack.

That evening, as night fell and the bedroom sank into soft darkness, Lucien lay facing the wall, his back turned to the man, trying to keep his breathing steady. He had already prepared the script for tonight, pretending to be fast asleep, letting his body relax, forcing the man to reach out and pull him close if he wanted to. But he did not expect that, less than a quarter of an hour after the lights went out, a firm arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a warm chest.

The man’s hand rested on his stomach, neither gripping tightly nor moving, simply holding him there, as if terrified that if he let go, Lucien would vanish into the shadows.

Lucien was a little confused about what was wrong with Dominic today. Why was he acting so aloof yet so close? So, he softly called out to the system: "000, did he sleep with that Hannah during his business trip?"

[...No.]

"Why are you hesitating if it is a no? Did he have the intention but ultimately could not do anything?"

[He couldn’t get it up, I mean... well, currently, aside from you, he has no sexual interest in anyone else.]

Oh, how precious.

But it was also quite fitting; this was a massive step forward for him, wasn’t it?

...

The next morning, Dominic Vance woke up early, returning to his neat, cold demeanor in an ash-gray suit, his hair slicked back perfectly, as if the previous night had never happened. Lucien sat on the bed, his hair disheveled, his eyes bleary, ignoring the blanket that had slipped down to reveal his slender collarbones and a faint red mark of unknown origin imprinted on his neck.

"Are you going to work?" He asked, his voice thick with sleep and tinged with a hint of reluctance.

"Yes," he replied, but then paused at the threshold. He turned his head to look at Lucien, his gaze sweeping over the thin shoulders, past the lips slightly swollen from sleep, before stopping at the clear eyes that were watching him intently.

"I will be home for dinner tonight."

The door clicked shut, and Lucien dropped himself back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling with a deeply contemplative smile on his lips.

"Then let’s just keep going," he muttered, rolling over, deciding to sleep a little longer.

In the days that followed, Lucien transformed the sprawling house into his own private stage. He was no longer as lazy as before; instead, he began to fill the space with tiny traces, fragmented pieces that he knew for a fact a meticulous man like Dominic Vance would absolutely never be able to ignore.

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