MIX-UP (JossGawin)

Chapter 19

When Ming drove Joe home, he insisted on carrying the box inside. Joe, flustered but grateful, nodded and led the way. As they entered the apartment, the rich aroma of spices filled the air.

"What's that smell?" Joe asked, sniffing curiously.

To his surprise, they found Mark in the kitchen, stirring a pot with practiced ease. Tong sat at the counter, arms crossed, looking both bemused and wary.

"Mark?" Joe blurted, blinking in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

Mark glanced up, a sly grin curling his lips. "Cooking dinner for Tong."

Tong shrugged, offering a sheepish smile. "I fed him earlier. Guess he's returning the favor."

Joe was too stunned to respond. He shot Ming a bewildered look, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "Uh, let's go to my room," Joe muttered, steering Ming away. "Just... don't mind them."

Tong continued watching Mark with suspicion. "You're really not hungry?"

Mark shook his head, still focused on the pot. "Nope. I'm good."

Tong narrowed his eyes. "You're not up to something, are you?"

Mark's soft chuckle echoed through the kitchen. "Relax. I'm just cooking."

Tong leaned back, arms still crossed, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to push further. He watched in grudging admiration as Mark moved gracefully around the kitchen, a vampire who somehow mastered the art of cooking. How?

Later, Tong lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint ticking of a clock filling the silence. His eyes kept darting to the coffin near his bed, the presence of it gnawing at him. 

Finally, he sat up, irritation bubbling over. "Are you really going to keep it here?" he snapped, pointing at the coffin.

Mark, lounging on the sofa with a book in hand, didn't even glance up. He simply nodded.

Tong groaned, flopping back onto the mattress, attempting to close his eyes again. But his frustration mounted. 

Minutes passed before he sat up again, glaring at Mark. "Are you sure you're not hungry?" 

In an instant, Mark was at his side, so fast it made Tong's breath hitch. With surprising gentleness, Mark pushed him back onto the bed, his cool fingers pressing against Tong's shoulders. 

"I'm hungry," Mark whispered, his eyes gleaming with mischief. 

Before Tong could react, Mark leaned down and bit Tong's lip—not Tong's. Instead of feeding, he simply pressed his lips against Tong's, the contact soft and deliberate. 

Tong, half-asleep and caught off guard, barely noticed the difference. The sensation was familiar, yet entirely new.

Mark made a show of it, pretending to drink from Tong as usual, soft noises escaping his throat.

Tong lay there, eyes fluttering closed, convinced he was being drained, the soothing rhythm lulling him into a trance-like state.

When Mark finished, he licked the wound he'd made on his own lip, then gently ran his tongue over Tong's, sealing the illusion. He pulled the blanket over him with a tenderness that made Tong shiver.

"Go to sleep," Mark whispered.

Tong blinked up at him, his voice slurred with exhaustion. "You're... weird."

Mark chuckled softly, the sound rich and velvety. "Just sleep."

As Tong drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber, a faint unease lingered at the edge of his consciousness, but the warmth of the blanket and the soft touch of Mark's lips banished it.

Mark returned to the sofa, his book open but forgotten. A satisfied smile played on his lips. He glanced once at the coffin, then at Tong, who was now snoring softly.

"Sweet dreams, Tong," he whispered, knowing the words would never reach him. 

Settling back, Mark's thoughts drifted to what the next day might bring, anticipation curling in his chest like a cat content before the hunt.