Chapter 237 Soft Work and Silent Eras
Chapter 237 Soft Work and Silent Eras
The silence between them had been suffocating all day. Takeshi had completely ignored Oliver the entire time they were back at Saint's house, and the freezing treatment made Oliver profoundly uncomfortable.
He was simply not the type of man who could go more than two seconds without talking, but Takeshi was shattering hour records and still counting.
They had been driving home when Oliver decided to pull off the road and stop at a restaurant to grab some food. Not once had he eaten takeouts since Takeshi had moved into his home, but that evening, with Takeshi's mood resting at such a toxic low, Oliver didn't dare hope for a home-cooked meal.
He also wanted to let Takeshi know that he cared, despite all the attitude and sharp edges. So, buying takeout was his olive branch—a way to ensure Takeshi would eat and rest for the night without the pressure of cooking.
"I'll be right back," Oliver said, glancing at the younger man, who was fooling around with a pack of mint bubble gum he'd received as a parting gift from Baby.
Getting no response, as suspected, Oliver left the car and went inside to order their food.
Takeshi stared through the tinted glass as Oliver walked into the restaurant, a bitter frown pulling at his lips. Or is he really not interested like I thought? he mumbled to himself, chest tightening with a confusing mix of anger and hurt.
The moment he saw Oliver returning with the bags, Takeshi snapped back, instantly resuming his aloof, indifferent look and staring determinedly out the passenger window.
"I got you food," Oliver said softly as he climbed back into the driver's seat, stretching the takeout bag toward Takeshi.
Takeshi only glanced at the food, scoffed, and turned further away, popping another bubble gum into his mouth with deliberate nonchalance.
Oliver watched the young man chew with careless abandon, completely ignoring his offering like it was dirt.
He let out a quiet sigh and gently placed the takeout bag on the floor behind the center console. "If you don't like that, you can tell me what you actually want to eat, and I'll order something else—"
"Cook it if you mean it," Takeshi cut in sharply, arching a single brow as he turned to look at Oliver.
Oliver glanced over at him as he shifted gears and pulled back onto the road. "You know I can't cook to save my life," he murmured, a hint of vulnerability slipping into his tone.
"But I cook for you... all the time," Takeshi pointed out, his voice laced with a quiet, lingering resentment.
Oliver swallowed hard. "And I appreciate your delicious meals more than you know, but I really can't cook. I might burn the entire house down if I try. Just tell me what you want me to order—"
"Not good enough," Takeshi harrumphed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and looking away once more.
Oliver knew that was the end of that discussion. He sighed deeply, keeping his eyes locked on the dark road ahead.
After a quiet, agonizing drive, they finally arrived at Oliver's estate garage. Takeshi unbuckled and stepped out of the car without uttering a single word.
Oliver frowned, picking up the untouched food and following close behind the angry bird.
"You're really going to sleep knowing you ignored me the whole day?" Oliver asked as they stepped into the private elevator.
Takeshi didn't even blink, staring straight at the shiny metal doors.
"Right," Oliver cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling like a fool.
The elevator softly hissed open, and Takeshi marched out into the hallway.
Finding himself instinctively following the younger man toward his bedroom door, Oliver tried again. "Hey, maybe we can actually talk things out—"
Slam.
"Goodnight," Takeshi muttered right before he shut the door firmly in Oliver's face.
"Right..." Oliver breathed out under his breath, staring blankly at the dark wood of the door.
He looked down at the bag of food in his hand and sighed again. He wasn't hungry anyway; his appetite had completely vanished under the weight of Takeshi's cold shoulder.
There was only one place left to spend his night—his sanctuary, his expensive auto garage, where metal and machines made a hell of a lot more sense than human emotions.
Oliver stood over the wide, slate-like table in the center of his expansive, high-end auto garage, completely ignoring the heavy steel and heavy-metal fabrication bays across the room. Tonight, he was deep in the soft work.
After a few minutes, he was leaning over the workspace, his glowing blue touchscreen surface cast an ethereal digital light upward, intersecting with the soft, ambient red mood lighting overhead.
He was shirtless, his athletic, toned skin gleaming under the dual-tone glow as he sketched out intricate custom body lines with a digital stylus. His hair looked delightfully ruffled from the countless times he had dragged his fingers through it out of sheer frustration.
He was trying hard to concentrate, but Takeshi's face kept interrupting his attention.
It wasn't like he didn't want Takeshi; he'd wanted him... he wanted him so much, and that is what scared him.
What if he gave in and Takeshi ends up taking off? Leaving him to heal all over again?
Suddenly, the quiet of his workplace was interrupted. He heard a faint scuff of a slipper behind him.
Oliver paused, his hand hovering over the digital screen. He slowly turned around, his breath catching in his throat as he found Takeshi standing right there in the doorway, wearing the most ridiculously cute, oversized pink pajamas that featured little cartoon bears all over them.
The sheer contrast between the brooding, sharp-tongued young man and the fluffy pink sleepwear left Oliver utterly speechless and entirely surprised.
He gently dropped his stylus and pushed his hands into his pockets, facing Takeshi, who still refused to move from the door.
"You look cute..." he complimented softly.
Takeshi shrugged. "I know," he murmured, his cheeks tinting red.
"What are you doing down here?" Oliver questioned, still unmoving from his position.
"This doesn't look like your bedroom, either," Takeshi murmured, walking through the frosted glass door.
He glanced around the place, impressed. He was expecting a greasy mechanic's den. Instead, he stepped into a sprawling, high-tech sanctuary.
The air was sharply cool, smelling of clean ozone, rich Italian leather, and expensive car wax rather than oil and grit. Beneath his slippered feet, the pristine, jet-black epoxy floor mirrored the ambient crimson strip lights that traced the edges of the room. To his left, a row of sleek, million-dollar supercars rested silently on flush hydraulic lifts, their matte-black and chrome finishes gleaming like museum exhibits in the shadows.
But it was the center of the room that instantly commanded his attention.
Oliver stood leaning over a floating drafting table, the glowing blue digital canvas illuminating the rigid planes of his chest and the sharp cut of his jaw.
Surrounded by the cold, heavy machinery and the dual-toned neon light, Oliver looked like a piece of high-end art himself—raw, powerful, and utterly captivating.
He knows how fine he is, that's why he's being mean, Takeshi thought with a cute frown as he approached Oliver.
"I'm working. What about you? Why are you here?" Oliver asked, smiling knowingly.
Takeshi slid his fingers along the edge of the glowing table until he paused right beside Oliver's hip, then he withdrew his hand.
"I'm here because my silent era is now over. It's that easy to guess," he said, folding his arms.
Oliver almost chuckled. "So... if I do not want to speak to you?" he asked slowly.
"You will talk to me," Takeshi stated, locking fierce eyes onto Oliver.
Oliver sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I wanted to speak to you all day—"
"That was my silent era. It's called silent for a reason," Takeshi rolled his eyes, stepping in front of Oliver.
Oliver finally got to see the full view, his eyes scanning Takeshi from head to toe, taking in the way the pink pajamas made him look so delicate under the red and blue lights.
"So..." Oliver cleared his throat quietly, "If I say I'm in my silent era, do I get to get back to work?" he asked.
Takeshi scoffed. "Don't be funny. Silent era is my thing, not yours," he mumbled.
"Fine," Oliver shrugged. "Let's talk," he nodded.
"Let's talk," Takeshi repeated, staring.
"Why have you been a brat all day?" Oliver questioned with a lifted brow.
"Because you have been mean and so rude to me," Takeshi answered.
Oliver chuckled lowly. "I beg to differ. I've been the most accommodating host. You've practically raided my house, and it feels like I'm the visitor," he countered.
"Don't be silly, Blonde. You know what I mean," Takeshi frowned.
"I don't." Oliver drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, waiting for Takeshi to say what he really wanted.
Takeshi groaned in frustration, his eyes briefly glancing past Oliver's neck before he focused on those blue eyes again.
"You're just like those two losers I dated. Refusing to touch me because they all thought what I wanted was crazy—"
"I'd like to pause you for a sec... Did you just say I'm like your exes?" Oliver leaned off the table, towering over Takeshi as his eyes narrowed.
Takeshi held his ground, lifting his face defiantly. "You heard me right, Mr. Oliver," he muttered.
Oliver smirked. "You know that's not true," he pressed his finger cutely on Takeshi's nose.
"Don't do that," Takeshi glared at Oliver.
"Or what? You've bullied me all day," Oliver touched Takeshi's nose again, smiling.
Takeshi slapped his hand away and pointed at Oliver's face. "If you touch my nose again, I will grab that stylus behind you, and I will draw god-knows-what into your perfect design," he warned.
Oliver gasped. "Oh, no... I'm so scared," he smirked. "Thank you for thinking my draft is perfect," he touched Takeshi's nose again.
Takeshi caught Oliver's wrist before he could withdraw and bit down on his wrist.
"I warned you not to touch my nose," he smirked, but suddenly gulped when he saw the look in Oliver's darkened eyes.
It was the look he'd craved all day, that hungry, lustful look. If he had known a bite would make his wish come true, he would have done it a million times over.
"What? Why are you suddenly speechless..." Takeshi asked in a silky tone, his hand reaching out to trace a finger along Oliver's chest and down his abs.
"We are still talking," Oliver easily caught his hand, stopping him from going past his navel.
"I knew you'd stop me. Nothing new," Takeshi said in a disappointed tone.
"I just need to know that—"
"You're pitying me," Takeshi stated.
"No, I'm not... not in this aspect at least," Oliver replied, shaking his head.
"You think I'm too broken because of my past and only want rough sex due to trauma, not because it might actually be what I want," he accused.
"What? Again, you're wrong," Oliver said with knitted brows.
"Then what?" Takeshi asked impatiently.
"I've had my heart broken before... I feel like you just want sex... like the moment you get me to give in, you'll run back to Japan like I never happened," Oliver finally bared his heart out.
Takeshi regarded Oliver with an incredulous look, then he scoffed and clicked his tongue. "Forget it," he turned away, balling his fists.
"See? I was right... you can't even deny it," Oliver said in a disappointed tone.
He hated that he was right; he had really fallen hard for Takeshi and hoped his feelings would be reciprocated at least for once.
"Whatever..." Takeshi shrugged.
Oliver sighed. "Look, Take. I don't mind indulging in what you want because, to be fair, that's what I like, too. But I would love for the context to be transparent so I don't waste my time fooling myself—"
"I'll be leaving tonight," Takeshi suddenly said.
Oliver frowned, hands tightening into fists as he stared at Takeshi's defiant posture.
"Why?" Oliver's voice softened noticeably.
"Why should I stay?" Takeshi spun around, glaring at Oliver. "We're nothing, remember?" he asked angrily.
Oliver gulped. Could I have misunderstood?
"I... I want us to be something—but—"
"I tell you about my past, I let you in like no other person in my life," Takeshi started listing.
"I make meals for you when I'm no fucking chef! Yet, you still think I want just sex?" He was heaving with teary eyes, anger and emotion setting loose inside him.
Oliver's eyes instantly softened, his heart skipping multiple beats before beating erratically.
He had been wrong all along.
Takeshi did have feelings for him; the young man was just bad at communicating it.
He hated himself for making Takeshi feel undesired all those times.
Slowly, he approached Takeshi, his hand gently sliding down Takeshi's arm. "I was mistaken. I'm sorry..." He gently pulled Takeshi closer, pressing their foreheads together. "Don't go tonight... don't go ever. I need you," he whispered huskily.
Takeshi bit his lip, refusing to give into those dark, sexy blue eyes. "It's too late. I'm leaving," he stated.
Oliver's arms snaked around Takeshi's waist. "Don't go... please?" he begged.
Takeshi shook his head even as he drew closer to Oliver. "My mind is made up," he whispered, his eyes giving him away as he traced the V-shape of Oliver's hip, gulping loudly.
Oliver chuckled. "You're stubborn." He touched Takeshi's nose.
"I told you to stop touching my—"
Oliver cut him off with a toe-curling, breath-stealing kiss.
He didn't give Takeshi a second to finish his threat, sealing his lips over the younger man's in a hungry, desperate motion that completely eradicated all the frustration, miscommunication, and stubborn walls built up over the past twenty-four hours.
Takeshi gasped into the kiss, his eyes widening in total shock before his heavy-lidded lashes fluttered shut. All the fight instantly melted out of him. His hands, which had been poised to shove Oliver away, shot up instead, gripping tightly onto Oliver's bare shoulders, his fingers digging into the toned muscle.
Oliver groaned softly against Takeshi's lips, deepening the kiss as he hoisted Takeshi up effortlessly, backing him against the edge of the glowing blue drafting table. Takeshi's legs immediately wrapped around Oliver's waist, pulling him in as close as humanly possible, completely losing himself in the intoxicating friction of skin against soft cotton pajamas.
The cool, ozone-scented air of the high-tech garage vanished, replaced by the blazing heat radiating between them under the dual red and blue neon lights.
When Oliver finally pulled back just a fraction to let them both catch their breath, their foreheads rested against each other. Both of them were breathing heavily, their chests rising and falling in sync.
Takeshi's lips were flushed and slightly swollen, his hazel eyes dark, liquid, and entirely wrecked in the best possible way.
"Still leaving?" Oliver whispered huskily against his lips, a wicked, triumphant smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Takeshi let out a breathless, helpless little laugh, burying his face in the crook of Oliver's neck as he tightened his grip around Oliver's waist.
"Shut up," Takeshi muttered into his skin, a soft, fond smile finally breaking through his stubborn exterior. "Just... just carry me upstairs."
Oliver smiled and slowly went in for another slow, but fire-setting kiss that had Takeshi mewling in his arms.
"If it's too hard for you to say... I'll say it first..." Oliver whispered against Takeshi's swollen lips before moving his mouth to his ear. "I love you." His voice was a low, deep timbre as he confessed his feelings.
Takeshi's toes curled, his skin warming up instantly as his fingers slowly grazed Oliver's shoulders.
"I'm not saying it back," he murmured, watching fear cross Oliver's eyes for a split second.
He smirked and gently cupped Oliver's face. "You'll hear it when I'm about to come around your cock..." he whispered seductively, his hand sliding between them.
"Take..." Oliver grunted as Takeshi palmed him through his pants, rubbing him so torturously until he was sporting a very high tent between his legs.
"Take, stop, hey, I'm... stop..." He caught Takeshi's wrist, letting his forehead rest on Takeshi's shoulder as he caught his breath.
"I need you to sit down, Mr. Oliver," Takeshi whispered into Oliver's ear.