Xu Cong looked down at Xia Yan, furrowing his brow slightly.
He wasn’t an idiot; he could tell that Xia Yan was rejecting him.
This time, when he came to visit the set, Xia Yan didn’t want to see him. On the phone, he came up with various excuses, asking him to stay in the dorm, and for over a week, Xia Yan barely responded to his messages.
When he eventually arrived at the set, Xia Yan was still absent-minded, always zoning out, avoiding eye contact whenever it happened.
And now, things seemed even stranger.
Xia Yan, rather than willingly accepting the marking, seemed more like he was giving up on resisting.
This really wasn’t right.
The last time Xia Yan avoided him, it was because he mistakenly thought he had some sort of reaction to Xu Cong’s pheromones, assuming Xu Cong harbored inappropriate feelings for him.
But this time, it was different.
Xia Yan’s reaction was even more intense. The doubt and panic in his gaze weren’t directed inward but seemed to be aimed at him.
Xu Cong’s gaze fell on Xia Yan’s turned profile.
He was far too deeply captivated by this person. Years of secretly loving him had made him exceptionally sensitive to any subtle changes in Xia Yan.
He recalled the day Xia Yan joined the set, when he temporarily marked him and left a kiss on the back of his neck.
At that time, Xia Yan had been slightly startled, but after he casually brushed it off, Xia Yan chose to trust him.
But now, a month had passed since that moment. When they met again, Xia Yan didn’t seem to have forgotten that kiss. Instead, he was even more guarded.
Xu Cong’s eyes darkened.
A possibility flashed through his mind.
But he didn’t dare to be certain—because it was too absurd. After so many years, Xia Yan had never noticed his feelings, always carefree and oblivious, treating him as nothing more than a pure and simple buddy.
There was no reason for something as fleeting as a kiss on the back of his neck to suddenly make Xia Yan realize the truth.
As the seconds ticked by, Xu Cong’s thoughts shifted rapidly, though no trace of them showed on his face.
He leaned down, tentatively pressing his lips against Xia Yan’s gland.
But he didn’t immediately bite down.
The rose-scented pheromones began to pour out from Xia Yan’s gland, mingling with a trace of rum, intoxicating to the point of dizziness.
His lips rested against the smooth skin, and his warm breath brushed over Xia Yan’s neck. His canine teeth lightly grazed the skin, teasing but never sinking in.
Xia Yan’s legs felt so weak that he could barely stand.
Xu Cong’s pheromones had completely filled the room, the white sandalwood scent seemingly gentle and lingering but in reality overwhelmingly forceful, coiling around Xia Yan like vines.
Xia Yan’s throat was parched, as if he had swallowed a lump of coal, and he desperately craved the relief of the rain tinged with Xu Cong’s sandalwood.
“What are you doing?”
He couldn’t hold back any longer. He tilted his head to avoid looking at Xu Cong, but his voice came out low and strained.
He could feel the hardness between his legs—Xu Cong’s pheromones affected him too much.
“If you’re going to bite, just do it. Stop dragging it out.”
He snapped, exasperated.
Xu Cong blinked, completely unaffected by Xia Yan’s outburst. His intense gaze remained locked on Xia Yan’s gland.
He raised a hand, pressing down on Xia Yan’s shoulder, his knee pinning him in place, trapping him entirely between the wall and his own body.
Then, without hesitation, he bit down.
His canine teeth pierced the tender skin.
The sweet rose-scented blood stained his lips, coloring them a vivid crimson.
Xu Cong had never bitten so hard before. He gripped a small patch of skin on Xia Yan’s neck, injecting his pheromones into Xia Yan’s gland. The rose-scented pheromones burst forth like thousands of flowers blooming at once in a rose garden—only to be ruthlessly subdued by the sandalwood branches and leaves. Every flower trembled under the oppression.
And Xia Yan himself could no longer stand.
He was mortified to realize that his body had reacted.
His entire body had gone limp, Xu Cong’s pheromones crashing through his limbs like waves. If not for Xu Cong’s arm firmly supporting his waist, he would have collapsed onto the floor in embarrassment.
His hands feebly gripped Xu Cong’s arm, as if trying to escape this humiliating situation, but ultimately, they fell back in resignation.
This temporary marking lasted longer than any Xia Yan had experienced before.
It was nothing like the two-minute affair Xu Cong had claimed it would be.
He even felt as if, with Xu Cong pressed against him, their body heat intermingling, and their pheromones entwining in an almost inextricable bond, this was no different from a permanent mark.
When Xu Cong finally withdrew his teeth and ended the marking, Xia Yan was so drained he couldn’t even lift a finger.
He leaned weakly against the wall, utterly exhausted, as if he’d just run a marathon.
Xu Cong retracted his canine teeth but didn’t pull away from Xia Yan. Instead, he pressed against him, pinning them both against the wall. The hotel room was eerily quiet, save for their ragged breaths.
For ten long minutes, neither spoke a word.
Xia Yan was completely spent, his cheeks flushed, his lips red, and even sweat beading on his forehead.
Xu Cong, however, was even more audacious this time. He kissed Xia Yan’s neck—not a brief, perfunctory touch like before, but a genuine, lingering kiss.
He extended his tongue, licking away the traces of blood he had drawn from Xia Yan’s neck.
Even Xia Yan’s blood tasted sweet.
The rich rose aroma, mingled with the depth of rum, was a rare vintage meant only for private indulgence.
A shiver ran through Xia Yan’s entire body. Finally regaining a shred of strength, he pushed Xu Cong away in disbelief.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Xu Cong looked down at Xia Yan, his tongue flicking out to catch the faint remnants of blood.
Completely unrepentant, he replied coolly, “You were bleeding. I cleaned it up for you.”
What kind of nonsense was that?
Xia Yan stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to believe what he was hearing.
How could Xu Cong say something like that with such composure?
Xu Cong’s expression remained calm, his gaze fixed steadily on Xia Yan’s face.
He was waiting—for Xia Yan to explode, to curse him out for being insane.
What he had done was far beyond anything excusable as a momentary lapse.
Xia Yan should be furious, should demand answers, should voice his suspicions and confront him outright.
But instead of becoming furious, Xia Yan merely stared at him in disbelief. After a moment, he averted his gaze and tugged at the loose T-shirt that couldn’t conceal anything.
“No need for your help,” he muttered under his breath.
The room fell into silence for a few seconds.
Xia Yan pushed him away again.
“Alright, the temporary mark is done. Go back to your room,” Xia Yan added. “I’m tired from filming today. I want to rest.”
With that, he didn’t wait to see Xu Cong’s reaction. He grabbed Xu Cong’s shirt with one hand, opened the door with the other, and shoved him out.
From beginning to end, he neither exploded in anger nor interrogated Xu Cong. Instead, he seemed intent on maintaining a facade of peace.
Xu Cong didn’t resist, following Xia Yan’s force and stepping outside. But just as Xia Yan was about to close the door, he held it open with one hand, lowering his head as he asked, “Can I visit the set tomorrow? I’ve got four or five days off this time and want to stay by your side.”
Xia Yan looked like he was about to curse.
But when he met Xu Cong’s calm, dark eyes, he swallowed his words.
Xu Cong looked as composed and harmless as ever, as if nothing had happened.
“Suit yourself,” Xia Yan replied, giving Xu Cong’s leg a light kick to make him step back. “Get out first and stop disturbing my sleep.”
Xu Cong let go of the door, and with a soft “click,” Xia Yan closed it.
The corridor returned to silence.
Only the faint overhead lights cast shadows that stretched and twisted Xu Cong’s figure.
As soon as the door closed, the harmless, composed mask Xu Cong had been wearing disappeared entirely. He stared at the door that now shut him from the room.
Who knew how long he stood there before he suddenly let out a soft chuckle.
“You’ve gotten smarter, Yan-ge.”
It had been a long time since he had called Xia Yan that. When they first met, Xia Yan had always insisted that, since he was older by a year, Xu Cong should address him as “ge.”
Xu Cong, not wanting to argue, had obediently called him that a few times.
But after realizing his feelings for Xia Yan, he had stopped using it altogether.
Just now, inside the room, Xia Yan’s evasive gaze, his retreating movements, and the way he looked at him…
Xu Cong was certain: Xia Yan was indeed starting to suspect him.
Xia Yan no longer viewed him with the pure, unguarded eyes of a best friend.
Instead, he had begun to sense his ulterior motives.
This realization made Xu Cong chuckle softly again.
Although he didn’t know what had opened Xia Yan’s eyes to his intentions, Xia Yan’s reaction was entirely unexpected.
Xu Cong turned and walked slowly toward his room. The hotel’s hallway lights illuminated his sharp, blade-like features, and his eyes gleamed like those of a predator before a strike.
He had once told Ling Du, his cousin’s boyfriend, that he couldn’t confess his feelings to Xia Yan because, once his emotions were revealed, their relationship would likely end in mutual destruction.
So, he had no choice but to endure.
To endure until the day he broke. To endure until their relationship inevitably fell apart.
But now, he had changed his mind.
The greed in a person’s heart is like a wild beast, growing uncontrollably with the other’s indulgence.
He never would have imagined that he had underestimated Xia Yan’s tolerance for him.
Xu Cong pulled out his keycard and swiped it slowly. As the soft beep sounded, he recalled the moment when Xia Yan had turned his head, exposing the back of his neck to him.
When faced with his transgressions, Xia Yan had chosen to yield.
…..
The paper-thin barrier between them was now on the verge of shattering.
