Deep in the Act: Chapter 15

In the pitch black was a gold red glimmer. His temples throbbed one beat after another, like the pulse of a heart. His lower body had that post indulgence satisfaction, his bones and muscles carrying fatigue. The echo in his ears wouldn’t stop. “Feels good?” That voice was very familiar, sexy, teasing, making his whole body go limp. “You better look clearly. Who am I!”

Zhang Zhun sat up from the bed with a jolt. It seemed to be noon. He held his hungover head, fumbling for his phone in a daze. The blanket was tangled messily around him, his underwear half hanging on his hip bones. He suddenly remembered something and froze.

Zhen Xin’s hot breath seemed still spraying on the tip of his nose. He widened his hazy eyes, his teeth chattering. They… they had kissed like a man and a woman, tongues twisted together, dripping with sweat, nipples hard, lower body pressed against lower body, rubbing shamelessly. He slapped himself. It burned. But that trembling was still on his body. He couldn’t tell if this was real or a dream. Suddenly, a vivid image crashed into his mind. Zhen Xin holding his butt and going down on him.

He covered his mouth in disbelief. This was a dream. Without a doubt it was a dream. Zhen Xin couldn’t do this kind of thing. He couldn’t set aside his dignity to give a man oral sex. Zhang Zhun seemed to feel a trace of relief, but behind the relief, a much larger dark cloud pressed heavily on top of his head. How could he have this kind of dream?

Recalling last night’s events. Being late, drinking contests, the “cross armed toast,” then a song. Loving each other, yet unable to draw near. Perhaps I should believe it is destiny… Every joint of his fingers was trembling. “Impossible…” he told himself. But what came out of his ears was Zhen Xin’s voice, lazy, with a kind of playful arrogance. “If you ask me, why talk about it, just kiss.”

“Will it work, want to try?”

“I picked you.”

“What else could the relationship be, it’s not like we’re really gay.”

“Yeah, I just want to get into Zhang Zhun’s bed, so what!”

“Sorry… sorry…”

“You won’t let me put medicine on you, but that kid can?”

“Feels good?”

“You better look clearly. Who am I!”

Tears gathered at the edges of his wide open eyelids, ready to fall at the slightest tremor. Zhang Zhun bit his fingers hard, not letting them drop. The image of Zhen Xin crouched between his legs stretched before his eyes, his tongue circling and licking, his lips rounded and swallowing, the roof of his mouth half soft and half hard, pressing tight against the urethral opening, plus the dripping sounds of saliva. So wild, so real. So he had been fantasizing about this kind of thing all along… Zhang Zhun collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion, and couldn’t help but hate Zhen Xin, hate those porn films, hate this drama.

But he was erect. His lower body raised its head and pushed up his underwear, like it was on fire. He clamped his thighs and curled up for a while, then reached his hand down in despair, the way Zhen Xin had done to him in the dream, wrapping around and rubbing up and down.

“Ah… ah…” Xie Danyi had never made him this excited, rubbing and twisting, wishing he could die. In his mind, real and unreal, it was all Zhen Xin’s face. Messy curls, melancholy eyes, morning stubble not fully shaved, his mouth, his hands, his voice hoarse from smoking. “Feels good… Zhang Zhun, feels good?”

“Good… really good…” he admitted through tears, his hand never stopping, rubbing until the skin hurt. At this moment someone rang the doorbell, pressing repeatedly, then pounding on the door after the bell. Zhang Zhun buried his head in the blanket, moaning in the suffocating darkness. He imagined Zhen Xin watching him in this blackness, watching his shameless rubbing hand, then bending down, extending his tongue.

Immediately after, his phone rang. Probably Little Deng. Zhang Zhun knew that when he got anxious he would find a server to open the door. The anxious fear and the inverted pleasure made him so excited he lost all sense, from his spine to his tailbone feeling like they had broken into pieces, softly humming Zhen Xin’s name.

At a completely unanticipated moment, he thrust his waist and came, his gluteal muscles trembling violently, his toes curling, the skin of his whole body rubbing against the bedsheet, rubbing until red. He gasped messily like a fish out of water, and riding the afterglow of his climax, he carefully chewed over the two words “Zhen Xin” on the edge of his lips.

Hand shaking, he grabbed his phone. Sure enough it was Little Deng. He called back. The other end asked anxiously, “Bro, are you okay!”

“Fine…” He didn’t dare speak loudly, afraid of exposing his breathing. “Drank too much.”

“Oh,” from the sound of it, Little Deng still wasn’t fully reassured. “Then come down to eat. The director and Teacher Zhen are waiting for you to look at the set.”

Zhang Zhun put down the phone, got up to shower and dress. The suit the wardrobe department gave him hung in the closet, a slip of paper clipped to the hanger with the date and his name. Navy blue peak lapel, double breasted six button, square cut hem, double vent at the back, mandarin collar shirt. He put it on and turned around, saw a sticky wet stain on the bed, and pulled off the bedsheet in frustration, stuffing it into the laundry basket along with the alcohol smelling clothes.

He and Little Deng went up to the top floor together. They hadn’t walked two steps out of the elevator when they ran into Zhen Xin. He had just finished eating and was coming out. The three of them faced each other in the middle of the corridor. Zhen Xin was panicking like a rabbit. On the surface you couldn’t tell, but his palms were completely wet. Last night he hadn’t slept a wink. Just like that old saying goes, the moment he pulled up his pants he regretted it.

Zhang Zhun’s reaction was strange. He stepped back half a step. The skin from his cheeks to his fingers flushed red all at once. His long eyelashes fluttered against his lower eyelids, casting a faint shadow, making Zhen Xin can’t help but think of last night’s him.

Zhen Xin had the impulse to turn and run. But Zhang Zhun spoke up, somewhat timidly. “Morning.”

The loaded gun muzzle somehow moved away. Zhen Xin was very surprised. “Morning…”

“Little Deng said you took me back last night,” Zhang Zhun glanced at Little Deng beside him. Little Deng seemed to sense some indescribable ambiguity between the two of them, nodded and left first. Zhang Zhun finally dared to raise his eyes and look at Zhen Xin, then immediately lowered them again. “Thank you.”

This kind of conversation was like in middle school, meeting the girl you secretly liked on the playground at sunset. The boy would wonder if the girl had feelings for him too. Zhen Xin felt every nerve in his body was excited, transmitting a long missed sweetness to his brain. “It’s nothing. A small effort.”

Zhang Zhun smiled unnaturally, stepped to the left, heading toward the restaurant. Zhen Xin didn’t move. He hadn’t yet escaped from this web of hormones. Zhang Zhun walked back, wanting to speak but holding back. “Last night… did I say anything?”

Zhen Xin was blank. He heard Zhang Zhun ask again, “Did I… do anything?”

Zhen Xin felt like someone was choking his throat. His eyes showed a flash of panic. Although it was only a flash, Zhang Zhun still noticed it. He didn’t know the truth of last night, and thought he had lost control of himself and let Zhen Xin notice. He turned his head in fear and fled toward the restaurant. Zhen Xin stood blankly in place, unable to figure it out. Why hadn’t he received a punch, but was being looked at with such tender affection?

After eating, the entire main creative team went to look at the set. This drama had a key scene, an underground parking lot. The crew had built a studio in the suburbs, basically a real location reconstruction. There were parking spaces, lighting, an elevator area. Prop cars arrived one after another. Still missing were five Volkswagens and seven Toyotas. Zhang Zhun’s top of the line Cayenne was parked at the visual center, Prussian blue, freshly waxed, gleaming brightly under the welding sparks of the surrounding workers.

Chen Zhenglin had Zhang Zhun lean against the car, looking again and again through the viewfinder. Beside him was the Hunan girl in charge of wardrobe, taking the modification details he mentioned into her phone. Such as waist taken in a bit more, buttons changed to ultramarine. Even sleeve length and shoelace texture were attended to one by one. In Chen Zhenglin’s words, “This is a heavy scene. Extreme close up.”

Zhen Xin and Zhou Zheng stood to the side smoking, listening to Xiao Wang in charge of scheduling chatting with a few crew members. “They say Wu Rong is arriving this afternoon.” They were all young guys, each looking very expectant. “The order is all set. Don’t cut in line for the group photo!”

“Wu Rong is coming soon?” Zhen Xin pretended to be casual, but inside he was actually very uncomfortable. Zhou Zheng looked at his watch. “Coming straight from the airport. This is his big scene.”

Zhen Xin snorted. “His big scene, and you have me looking at what set.”

“You and Zhang Zhun have a few scenes together here too in post production.” Zhou Zheng knew he’d said the wrong thing and quickly made up for it. “From Director Chen’s meaning, he wants you to come over tomorrow for the official shoot too.”

Zhen Xin was about to say something when he suddenly saw Zhang Zhun staring at him with a deathly pale face. They were eight or nine meters apart, with an Evoque in between, plus Chen Zhenglin and the wardrobe girl. But in just an instant, Zhang Zhun started running from beside the Cayenne, extremely fast, pressing down on the Evoque’s hood, a beautiful one handed vault, his two long legs wrapped in suit pants drawing scissor like arcs in the air. Zhen Xin didn’t know anything anymore, only cursing, “Damn!” This Zhang Zhun was too fucking handsome!

The person broke through the wind and charged over, knocking down Chen Zhenglin. Zhen Xin almost stretched out both arms to receive him, but was heavily pushed by him, pushed in the chest. He staggered back a few steps, his spine slamming into the Buick door behind him.

Everyone was stunned, looking at Zhang Zhun like he was a madman. Not a single person’s thinking could keep up with his movements. At this moment, the three workers in charge of the overhead rigging above shouted, “It’s fine, we caught it!”

Only then did everyone look up. A ten centimeter thick steel plate, knife like tip, cold gleaming and snow bright, hanging suspended above Zhang Zhun’s head, held only by a thin hemp rope. The other end was in the hands of those workers, being pulled up bit by bit.

Zhang Zhun panted urgently. Sweat seeped through his shirt. Not from running. Cold sweat. He stood in the gaze of everyone, wishing that steel plate would really fall and hit him. Then no one would care about his original intention. He had only pushed Zhen Xin away. He hadn’t cared about Zhou Zheng, hadn’t cared about the crew members. He himself couldn’t believe it. In his eyes there was only him.

There was murmuring around. “Wow, such good kung fu… so hot… he only pushed Zhen Xin… are they that close, not even caring about his own life…”

Zhang Zhun felt he had no face left to show, wishing he could find a crack to crawl into. Zhen Xin was looking at him, with a fiery hot gaze. He was about to walk toward him, his half open lips seeming to want to say something. Zhang Zhun was so scared his knees were trembling. At this moment, Zhou Zheng beside him pressed his shoulder. “Teacher Zhang, fortunately it was a false alarm. Are you injured?”

Only then did Zhang Zhun feel pain in his left waist. The suit pants were too tight, he’d twisted it. “I’m fine.”

Chen Zhenglin was helped up by the wardrobe girl. Perhaps still in shock, or perhaps intimidated by Zhang Zhun’s momentum, for the first time ever he called him “Teacher Zhang.” “Are you okay, will it affect tomorrow’s shoot?”

Zhang Zhun said with certainty that it wouldn’t. Chen Zhenglin glanced at Zhen Xin. This glance was sensitively caught by Zhang Zhun, his face flushing red. Chen Zhenglin had him return to standing by the car. Zhen Xin wouldn’t have it. “He might be injured. Chen, do you have any humanity!”

Zhang Zhun’s left leg was indeed a bit lame. Chen Zhenglin saw it, but still blocked Zhen Xin from going over. He had his way of handling him. “Sure, Teacher Zhen,” he lowered his voice, carrying a hint of a smile. “What did you do to him last night, that he’d risk his life for you!”

Zhen Xin immediately lost his confidence. “What are you talking about, nothing happened.”

“Also,” Chen Zhenglin looked regretful. “From what I see, his legs are still quite nimble.”

Zhen Xin immediately understood what he was referring to, his face reddening, cursing in embarrassment, “Damn, aren’t you disgusting!”

Before long, Wu Rong’s car arrived. A white Infiniti. The door was kicked open from the inside. A person jumped out. Black tank top, camouflage pants, a clean and sharp buzz cut, a pair of silver sunglasses. All the way he was surrounded by crew members calling, “Brother Wu!”

Wu Rong, like Zhang Zhun, trained in martial arts. But unlike Zhang Zhun, he debuted as a male lead. Dozens of productions large and small, never played a supporting role. Zhen Xin heard him calling out casually from afar, “Zhuner!”

He was a Beijinger. Just calling the name with an added “er” sound. It sounded so intimate. Zhang Zhun saw him and very unceremoniously waved his hand, softly calling out, “Senior brother.”

They were actually the same year. Zhang Zhun was even a few months older than Wu Rong. Later they both became actors, grew closer and closer. Wu Rong entered the industry a few years earlier than him, so he forced him to call him senior brother. Zhen Xin felt his stomach was about to turn over. Watching the two walk together, affectionately hugging. Wu Rong seemed to notice at a glance that Zhang Zhun had twisted his waist, half jokingly pinching it. He was a bit bigger than Zhang Zhun, one arm very naturally draped over his shoulder, pointing at Chen Zhenglin’s nose and saying, “Director, what’s this, bullying my junior brother?”

Chen Zhenglin hurriedly waved his hands, one “Teacher Wu” after another. A group of people exchanged half serious half joking greetings for a long time. Wu Rong’s arm never came down. Zhang Zhun grabbed the hand draped over him, his mouth open wide as he followed along laughing. Zhen Xin seemed to be seeing him for the first time.

They quickly got to the main topic. Chen Zhenglin led Wu Rong to look at the cars. The expressions on all three faces were very serious. Zhen Xin watched Zhang Zhun get into the car holding his injured waist, sitting behind the steering wheel and reclining the seat. Then Wu Rong got in, lying on top of him. The two of them burst into laughter the moment their eyes met. Wu Rong even buried his head in Zhang Zhun’s neck, like a tail wagging husky, laughing until he was out of breath.

Zhen Xin became the outsider. He lit a cigarette. The flame was blue green, like burning loneliness.

In the evening, after eating, Zhen Xin unconsciously walked toward Zhang Zhun’s room. 3705. He stood at the door for a while, then pressed the doorbell. The one who opened the door was Little Deng, bare chested. Seeing Zhen Xin he paused. Laughter came from inside the room. Zhen Xin walked in. Zhang Zhun was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, lying face down on the bed. Wu Rong was dressed the same, straddling his bare legs, his big hand pressing on his left waist.

“Oh, Zhen Xin,” Wu Rong looked up, smiling as he jumped off the bed, his hand full of massage oil and medicinal wine reaching toward him. “This afternoon the director was all about the script, didn’t get a chance to introduce us. First time working together, please take care of me.”

Zhen Xin was hesitating whether to shake his hand when Wu Rong apologetically withdrew his hand. “Damn, a bit oily. Next time, next time.” He jumped back onto the bed, about to continue rubbing Zhang Zhun. Zhang Zhun pulled his shorts up toward his waist, somewhat bashful. “Senior brother, no more rubbing…”

Wu Rong looked at his watch. “Still fifteen minutes short. Hurry hurry!” Without allowing discussion he pressed down. With every application of force, Zhang Zhun hummed into the bedsheet. Zhen Xin didn’t know what his own expression looked like. He only heard Wu Rong chattering noisily at him, “My wife really likes you. When you have time, can you give me an autograph!”