Black Ink
Title: Black Ink
Pairing: Onew/Key
Rating: R
Summary: Jinki wants to move from a B-list director to the big screen. His success depends on the ex-adult film star, Kim Kibum, as well as the incredible script that had been inspired by a vague dream. Jinki just wanted to get out of the dredges of Hollywood - Kibum somehow managed to get him out of everything else, too.
The movie industry was getting more and more difficult to find any success in. There were hardly any original ideas floating around, almost everything had people going ‘hey that reminds me of that one other movie…’, and the movies that do have lots of originality get thrown onto the Sci-Fi channel. Directors and producers in this day and age are reaching into the bottom of the barrel, pulling out the riskiest, ‘no one’s ever done it’ ideas they can find, just so they could find their ticket out of the B-list movies.
Lee Jinki had reached into the bottom of that barrel and pulled out what he hoped was going to get his movie up on the big screen instead of straight to DVD.
--
It was all based on a dream.
He could see a man laying beneath him writhing with pleasure, he could see feathers sprouting from a jewel-encrusted mask; he could feel the slide of manicured nails against his biceps, the goosebumps on his skin felt plenty real as bare chests slid together, the siren’s song echoing in his ears as his thick fingers pressed into curvy hips. Hips not of a man, hips not of a woman - fleshy yet solid, sharp yet gentile - he could feel the hot breath against the shell of his ear as long legs wound around his waist and brought his groin against a pleasant warmth.
The vixen would never let Jinki remove the mask, the smile on those perfect lips hypnotizing and poisonous as that head tipped back, honey hair falling onto the pillow in mockery of a halo. Said lips were stained the moodiest of blacks, an onyx that was so solid it didn’t even shimmer in whatever light they were bathed in.
Only flashes of the masquerader would give Jinki a hint as to who it was, what it could mean as he repeatedly sank into the warmth, letting it consume him from the inside out. And no matter how many clues he gathered - no matter how many breathless moans, how many kisses that smeared the black lipstick everywhere, Jinki didn’t know who it was.
And yet of course, upon waking, Jinki would never remember these dreams, the only image in his head of a train ticket with curly black ink scrawling out a destination to Nowhere.
--
Kim Kibum was the kind of actor that directors and script writers would murder for. He was all grace and easy poise on set; he knew how to set the mood, he memorized his lines quickly and delivered them efficiently, and he was a steadily rising star in the industry. His start, something that he didn’t talk about often and only put down on applications, was the adult film world, which had acted as a gateway that had initially ran off of his incredible good looks.
Jinki didn’t know how he had been so lucky to have Kibum show up to the casting audition, but he had cast the younger man the second he walked through the door. It might have been biased, it might have been stupid, but Jinki knew that he had to have Kibum the second he stepped into the door. Kibum hadn’t seen put off by it - many directors acted like this whenever he came around their set. He was known to be the golden ticket to stardom, a sure fire way to get director’s names out there. If, as a B-list movie director, you had worked with Kim Kibum, you were going to be set with deals for the next ten years.
It helped that Kibum was used to unusual movie roles. Excluding his various pornographic endeavors, he had been in a wide range of movies, from sci-fi to romance. So when Jinki set down the script in front of Kibum, he was confident that he had this all in the bag.
“What is this garbage,” Kibum muttered as he flipped through the first few pages.
Jinki’s demeanor instantly fell as he sat across from the actor, “Excuse me?”
“This,” Kibum gestured towards the script with his free hand before sticking his thumb in his mouth, chewing on the pad. “Do you really think this is going to get you out of here?” He closed the script and leveled Jinki with his icy feline gaze, “You’re crazy.”
“It’ll work,” Jinki’s tone turned pleading and alright, so he wasn’t the most methodical of directors but he had only managed to successfully make one movie that gave him a decent amount of money and this was his chance for a break through. “Please just have faith in me?”
Kibum looked contemplative as he thumbed through the script again, “You directed ‘The Boy Within’, right?”
The director smiled, “You’ve seen it?”
“Made it through five minutes,” Kibum shrugged.
Jinki had been prepared for a haughty actor, he had heard the rumors. He had been prepared for scathing remarks, insults to his genius (or lack thereof), and snide comments. He hadn’t been prepared for them to actually get to him, however. The way Kibum was speaking, so coolly and confidently, like he stood behind his words one-hundred percent, really threw Jinki off.
“Was it that boring?” he asked, voice dismal as he slouched in his chair a bit.
“It wasn’t boring,” Kibum shook his head, picking up his latte and taking a sip as he read over a few lines. “I just thought you would do better.”
Jinki’s brows furrowed in confusion, and he was about to ask Kibum what he meant by that statement but was cut off by the buzz of his cell phone. He debated ignoring it, but he recognized the number calling and cursed softly, picking up the phone and taking a few steps away from Kibum as he answered.
“How’s the read-through going?”
“Better than I expected,” Jinki answered honestly, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing his glasses up a bit so he could massage his headache away.
“Good.” On the other line papers shuffled, and then the voice spoke up again. “He’s the only one who can play the role, Jinki.”
“I know,” the director tried not to heave a sigh. “I know.”
“I’ll call in the morning while you’re on set to check in again.”
The call ended with a click and Jinki put his phone into his pocket, wishing that just once his boss would get off of his back. Jonghyun meant well most of the time, but now money was an official concern and the guy just couldn’t stop bugging Jinki about the importance of the success of this movie.
“So, Kibum,” Jinki turned around and plastered a smile on his face as he moved back to the table. “We start shooting scene eleven tomorrow morning at eight.”
Kibum nodded disinterestedly, flipping towards where scene eleven was in the script, his eyes scanning over it. A brow arched and his eye movement slowed, and Jinki could see Kibum’s brain taking in every word individually and absorbing it.
“We’re starting with this scene?” Kibum asked. He didn’t sound incredulous or even surprised, the tone of his voice being genuinely curious.
“Is there something wrong with that scene?” Jinki wrung his hands in front of his tie nervously, peeking over a bit to look at the script.
Kibum stood up, making Jinki shrink back a bit, the actor shutting the script and rolling it up to put in his satchel. He picked his sunglasses up off of the table and perched them on his pretty face, and then smirked lightly.
“You’re the director,” he turned and made his way to the door. “You tell me.”
--
Punctual as ever, Kibum had been on set and in front of the camera for about thirty minutes now. He didn’t mess up any of his lines, he didn’t ask for any extra help, and he didn’t complain about being hungry or thirsty at any point. Jinki was mildly surprised; word of the great Kim Kibum got around quickly and from what the director had heard, he was nearly impossible to work with. A diva, a bitch, completely unreasonable… Kibum was none of these. Maybe Jinki had caught him on a good day?
But days later, Kibum remained docile, executing his role perfectly. Jonghyun had even dropped in occasionally and he stayed in the shadows (mainly because he and Kibum would get into petty arguments when within a five foot radius of each other), and would compliment Jinki on his improving skills as a director.
“Alright,” Jinki sat down in his chair, his legs needing a break from being on his feet for the majority of the day. “Let’s take it from the top of scene twenty-two. Kibum,” Jinki glanced down at his notes and then looked up, waiting for the actor’s attention. “You need to be really desperate, crazy to make him stay.” Kibum nodded, arranging himself on his knees on the floor of the apartment set they were filming on. “And Minho,” the other actor glanced up to show he was paying attention. “You need to deny him like he’s a disease, like he’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.”
Both actors nodded their consent and Jinki called for quiet on the set, cuing the cameras and the actors to start.
“P-Please!” Kibum scooted forward on his knees, his eyes wetting with tears as his pretty fingers reached up to grab at Minho’s sleeve. “I need you, I - I can’t live without you, please.”
Minho tore his sleeve from Kibum’s grip and glared down at the smaller actor, his eyes blazing with an inconceivable rage. “Learn how to live with yourself for once.”
Kibum let out a choked sob, a tear streaming down his cheek as Minho turned on his heel and wrenched open the door to the apartment, storming out and slamming it behind him. A picture frame fell off of the wall as Kibum curled into himself on the floor, his knuckles going white with his grip on his hair as he rocked back and forth, the lights around them fading.
“Cut!”
Kibum sat on his haunches and dabbed at his eyes, waiting for a coordi nuna to come over and dab the tears away with soft tissue. Minho returned and picked up the picture frame, inspecting it for damage before returning it to its proper place on the wall, all while a coordi nuna stood on her tip toes to try and fix his hair.
“That was great, guys,” Jinki said, walking onto the set and flipping through his notes. “I don’t have any critique for improvement. Kibum, don’t be shy to ask for eye drops if you can’t make yourself cry, alright?”
Kibum rolled his eyes, “I’ve never used eye drops.”
Jinki shrunk a bit, “It was just a suggestion…” He chewed his lower lip and looked down at his script, flipping towards the next scene they were going to be shooting. He wandered off set as the prop hands changed the living room into a bedroom, the change only needing about ten minutes before it was complete. Jinki almost sat down, and then decided he didn’t want to, as he took off his hat and his glasses, setting them along with the script down on his chair, moving up next to the bed that Kibum was currently climbing onto.
Kibum perked a brow as Jinki knelt down next to the bed in an inconspicuous spot where he knew the camera wouldn’t catch him, the actor peering over the mattress with a smirk. “Peeping Tom?”
Jinki blushed lightly and scratched the back of his neck, “This scene is a pivotal point in the movie, I want to be where I can direct you guys without shouting over the microphone…”
The actor nodded and lay back on the bed, arranging his clothes in a perfect disarray as he ran a hand through his hair to muss it up a bit. Minho appeared at the foot of the bed with his blazer and tie undone, his hands resting on his belt to be ready for the cue. Jinki was apprehensive about this scene - Kibum was so hush-hush about his adult film career that he usually refused scripts with any sort of sex scenes, but he was here and willing and Jinki didn’t want to feel like he was taking advantage of the younger man but it sort of felt like that as he raised his hand for the cue.
“I’ll teach you,” Minho’s voice was gruff with anger as his trembling fingers worked on undoing his belt. “You can’t have everything you want in this world - is that your problem? You want to take things for yourself and not think of anyone else?”
“That’s not-,” Kibum’s voice choked on his words as he scooted up on the bed, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant…”
“What did you mean, then? I saw you hanging on him. You slut,” Minho grabbed one of Kibum’s ankles and yanked him down a bit, and Jinki bit his knuckle as he concentrated on the dynamics of the two of them.
“Fight him,” Jinki whispered.
Kibum followed direction well, as he tried to kick his foot away and twisted his body a bit, a hand reaching up to grip the headboard and try to pull away from Minho’s grip.
“Ah-ah,” Minho clucked his tongue and yanked on Kibum’s foot again, the smaller man’s body giving into the strength as Kibum let out a soft whimper. “You can’t act like a prude with me and be so touchy with other men. That’s not fair, Jungmin ah.”
“I wasn’t-!” Kibum shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. Minho got onto the bed and loomed over him, and Kibum’s hands reached up to push at his chest, “I didn’t do anything like that!”
“You’re a filthy fucking liar,” Minho hissed, his fingers moving to rip off Kibum’s belt and throw it aside. Jinki had to duck, suppressing a noise of surprise as he returned his eyes to the scene unfolding.
“I didn’t - please don’t do this, please,” Kibum repeated, elbows shaking as he tried to push off Minho’s stronger body.
“No one wants you,” Minho’s words were scathing as he pulled Kibum’s sweater open, the zipper nearly breaking. “No one wants something so broken, something so dirty and worthless.” Kibum sobbed in response, his fighting starting to die down a bit as Minho’s fingers worked on undoing his pants.
“You can’t let his words get to you,” Jinki coached quietly, knowing that only the two actors could hear him.
Kibum’s head turned to the side to face Jinki, his eyes closed and his lips turned down in a frown, his face wet from his tears. He was a beautiful crier. The actor took a few shaky breaths before his eyes opened and locked onto Jinki’s, the director’s heart skipping a beat as Kibum’s swollen lips parted to speak his line.
“Nothing anyone says can break me down,” Kibum stage-whispered, a siren’s song as his eyes stayed trained on Jinki’s. “Only I have broken myself.”
Jinki might have had an aneurysm.
Those weren’t the lines.
But that voice…
Jinki heard his assistant producers shuffling through the script to try and find the line but Jinki wasn’t going to correct it - it was a beautiful ad-lib and even Minho was a bit put off by it, before he followed his own lines as soon as he collected himself.
“Then allow me the pleasure,” Minho had to do some ad-libbing of his own and it complemented Kibum’s nicely, as Minho used his strong grip to flip Kibum onto his stomach.
Eye contact was broken and Jinki had to put a hand over his mouth to keep his breathing quiet as he watched Minho’s hands greedily molest the smaller actor’s body, pulling at his skin and pushing at his clothes. They went through the rape scene without a hitch, without any stopping and revising, Kibum’s tears flowing endlessly and Minho’s acting on par with what Jinki was whispering quietly to him. The scene ended with Minho tossing Kibum down onto the bed and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a small smirk on his lips.
“Fix that.”
When filming ended for the day Jinki went home with a heavy feeling in his gut and a cloud hanging over his head.
--
“Morning,” Kibum greeted softly in the break room, sitting down across from Jinki.
The director glanced up and took in Kibum’s pristine appearance; the Prada sweater, the Gucci sunglasses, the Louis Vuitton bag. There was no hint of the moving scene from yesterday, no tears in those eyes, no swollen lips or broken souls or sad songs. He was a completely different person and Jinki had to wonder; was Kim Kibum really Kim Kibum, or was he a character that this brilliant actor came up with to conceal himself?
“Good morning,” Jinki replied, staring down at his muffin that he hadn’t touched since he bought it in the cafeteria.
“Not hungry?” Kibum asked, as he pulled out his own breakfast, a bagel and cream cheese.
Jinki shook his head, resting his cheek in his hand and letting out a sigh.
“Do you feel it yet?” Kibum asked, his plastic butter knife spreading the cheese evenly on the bagel.
“Huh?” Jinki looked up, brows furrowed as he searched Kibum’s face.
“Do you feel it yet?” Kibum repeated himself, rolling his eyes and looking a bit put off at having to echo his previous words.
“Feel what?” Jinki asked, feeling like he was missing out on something important.
“I guess you don’t,” Kibum shrugged and picked up both bagel halves, sliding his untouched coffee over to Jinki before he exited the room and quietly shut the door behind him.
Jinki stared down at the black coffee - he knew Kibum liked fancy coffees with lots of cream and sugar and weird names - and wondered just what it was that he didn’t feel.
All he felt was confusion.
All he could see in his mind was that ticket to Nowhere written with the curliest, neatest handwriting he’d ever seen.
--
“Cut!” Jinki slumped in his chair and let out a sigh. “Taemin, you need to add more expression. Your best friend just got raped, doesn’t that anger you?”
Taemin blinked his pretty little eyes at Jinki at their on-location set, a small café down the street. Rubbing his face, Jinki stood up and shooed Taemin out of his seat, sitting down next to Kibum and taking Kibum’s hand in his own.
“Jungmin hyung,” Jinki spoke softly, his voice lilted with worry and his eyes expressive as he scooted a bit closer to the other actor. “You can’t be with him. You have to leave him, you need to get out of that apartment. Come - come live with me. Please?” he offered a small smile, his thumb stroking over Kibum’s knuckles gently.
“There’s no way out, Yongil,” Kibum shook his head, his free hand lifting to rub at his eyebrows. “I think - I just can’t.”
Jinki scooted even closer, taking Kibum’s free hand as well and holding his sad gaze with his own persistent one, “There’s always a way out.”
“Find it for me, Jinki.” Kibum said, and Jinki felt his heart freeze up and his breathing stop.
Everything around them slowed down and the director couldn’t bring his eyes away from Kibum’s, seconds, minutes, hours - until Taemin put a hand on his shoulder, jolting him out of his little trance.
“That was good hyung!” Taemin complimented. “Why don’t you act?”
Jinki offered an awkward smile, standing up with wobbly knees and accidentally knocking over the chair he was sitting in. “A-Ah, directing is just…better… for me. Um, but Taemin, that’s what I would like to see, ok?”
Taemin nodded and righted the chair, sitting down in it and engaging in a small conversation with Kibum, who seemed perfectly normal as Jinki moved over to his director’s chair and sat down heavily in it.
“You ok?” his assistant director asked, handing him a cup of water.
Nodding as he took a drink, Jinki set the cup down on the table next to him and straightened up a bit.
“Alright, from the top.”
He didn’t miss the small smile Kibum flashed behind his hand towards him as the scene started rolling, and he tapped his black ballpoint pen on his clipboard idly, trying his best to pay attention to Taemin’s acting so he could give a real critique.
--
Jinki knew that he had cast Kim Kibum for a reason. But that reason was slowly getting lost to the director as the weeks went by and they got deeper into filming. Kibum was a flawless, perfect actor. He could ask for no improvements and he had no complaints about the man’s skill. He didn’t know why so many other directors were flabbergasted whenever he said that Kibum was one of the most pleasant actors he’d ever worked with; he didn’t know why those directors swore up and down that Kibum, while he was a diamond in the rough, was nothing but trouble.
The only trouble Jinki seemed to have around him was breathing properly.
Jinki was late to a meeting on a Friday, stumbling into the office in a flurry of apologies and strewn papers since he had somehow lost his paper clip between the office and the elevator. He gathered everything up and sat down in the chair, surprised to see Minho sitting next to him and Jonghyun at the desk.
“… Aish,” Jonghyun sat down and rubbed at his temples. “I told you this meeting was important, Jinki.”
“I-,” Jinki’s mouth flopped around like a fish for a second before he apologized again and hung his head. Younger than Jinki he may be, Jonghyun was still his boss and Jinki had to answer to him.
“Now, let’s get down to business.” Jonghyun pulled some documents in front of him, “Minho is resigning from his position-”
“WHAT.” Jinki’s jaw dropped as he leaned forward in shock, looking between Jonghyun and Minho. “Are you - what? Why?”
“I can’t work with Kibum,” Minho said, his voice even and sure as he glanced to Jinki calmly.
“But - you two - your chemistry! It’s so good,” Jinki slumped in his chair and reached over to flop his hand in Minho’s direction. “Please don’t quit, just - you just filmed your last scene with him yesterday and I need you for one more, just one more revision-”
“I’ve already signed the papers,” Minho said resolutely, pulling his arm away from Jinki’s flailing fingers.
“Your turn,” Jonghyun said, lifting up a pen and only looking slightly apologetic. Jinki whined and stomped his feet and threw a mini tantrum before he took the pen and signed his name in curly black ink, throwing the utensil down on the desk.
“Thanks for your work,” he said as sincerely as he could, standing up and gathering his papers to his chest as he moved out of the office quickly, not being able to stand being under Minho’s giant eyes for longer than necessary.
Once outside the shut door he leaned against the wall, his head tilted back and his eyes brimming with tears. He knew that things were too good to be true with this shoot; he knew that it was only a matter of time before something went drastically wrong. But they were close to wrap-up and Minho chose now to quit?
“I sucked his dick.”
Jinki lowered his head to see Kibum leaning against the wall opposite, arms folded over his chest and feline eyes alight with amusement.
“You want?” Jinki asked, his head spinning.
Kibum shrugged and pushed off of the wall, “I sucked Minho’s dick. I cornered him in his dressing room.”
Blinking slowly, Jinki wasn’t sure he was registering what Kibum was saying. “Is that why he’s quitting?”
“He found his way out,” Kibum shrugged again and zipped up his hoodie as he turned to walk away from Jinki. “You just have to find yours.”
Jinki’s closed fist hit the wall in frustration before he took off in the opposite direction, planning on holing up until the last possible minute for filming.
--
“… So in short, the only solution was for me to revise the script. I’m sorry for the sudden changes, I apologize to the actors and the crew and hope you understand.” Jinki bowed and everyone nodded their heads in consent, Taemin letting out a soft sigh as he looked over his script.
“You’ll get it,” Jinki assured the young actor, ruffling his hair and giving a gentle smile. Taemin was also an uprising actor, wanted for his charming looks, although his acting skills could afford to be brushed up.
“Thanks hyung,” Taemin said, looking up at Jinki with such trustworthy eyes. Jinki felt his stomach churn a bit.
“Kibum ssi, there’s no smoking on the set.”
Jinki heard a coordi nuna in the distance and glanced up, amused to see a woman trying to grab the lit cigarette from Kibum’s fingers as he held it precariously out of her reach. She started giggling and he started chuckling, the scolding turning into a bit of a game as he walked backwards and she followed on her tip toes, their chests brushing as Kibum teased her with his smoky eyes, some ash from the cigarette falling onto the floor.
In the pit of his stomach, Jinki felt his gut churn further, and when he heard Kibum’s laughter chorus out - the kind of laughter that he didn’t exhibit so easily, the kind of laughter that rung in Jinki’s head for days - Jinki turned around and bumped into Taemin, who let out a surprised squeak when Jinki didn’t even apologize as he moved away from the scene. His head felt light, he felt dizzy, his feet couldn’t move properly and he was on the floor within four steps, his assistant rushing to his side.
He panted, clutching at his chest, feeling it tighten under his fingers; he pulled his hand away and his palm bled black, ink spilling down his wrist and down his forearms, staining his rolled up sleeves before creating a dark puddle on the floor.
He needed to find his way out, he realized.
--
Over the next few days filming was kept to a minimum, scenery shots and extra shots being the main focus as Jinki’s assistants kept him pretty much handcuffed to his chair. His right hand was still black, and he didn’t dare ask if anyone else noticed it because he had a feeling that no one else could see it. It frightened him, to be honest, that the entirety of his right arm was inky, pitch black - he couldn’t scratch it off, he couldn’t wash it off.
A part in the script where Kibum’s character lay on the bed reminiscing was the focus at the current time, the camera zooming in and hovering over the actor as he pressed his sharp cheek into the soft pillow. Jinki watched on his viewer screen how the camera couldn’t properly capture the raw emotion in those eyes, how the camera couldn’t even capture the startling contrast between the softness of the pillow and the edges of his cheeks. He watched as he tried to resist the urge to tell a coordi nuna to put black lipstick on those pouty lips, just to see the stark contrast against his porcelain skin.
Resting his chin on his folded knuckles, Jinki concentrated as the pre-recorded monologue played through the speakers on set. Kibum’s voice was thick and smooth as chocolate, forlornly reflecting on the days past where he could smile, the days when he wasn’t plagued by this unknown sickness, this weakness that seemed to be consuming him whole. The entire set was dead quiet, a pin could drop noisily, as everyone listened to Kibum’s voice and watched his motions complement what was being said.
Kibum’s eyes turned to the camera and swirled the deepest black that Jinki had ever seen, empty and over-filled at the same time and Jinki’s heart skipped a beat - Kibum blinked and his eyes were back to their honey color, as the actor directed his gaze elsewhere.
Jinki had to be seeing things.
He rubbed his eyes and sat back in his chair so he could watch the monitor less closely, and when he pulled his left hand away from his hair he found that it too was now black. Startled, he jumped in his chair and tried to wipe both hands on his sweater in an attempt to get the ink off of them but it stayed put, it didn’t smear onto his clothing and it didn’t lighten, either.
Standing up, he excused himself to go to the bathroom, locking himself in the room and bracing his hands on either side of the porcelain sink. What was happening to him? He looked in the mirror and saw his black arms, his black hands and his black fingers and he couldn’t figure out what was wrong, was he stressed? Was this movie too much? It wasn’t even a difficult, personal plot, the characters had nothing to do with him and it was something that he had randomly daydreamed. He was going insane. This was wrong.
Closing his eyes, he splashed water onto his face and scrubbed idly with his palms. When his eyes opened he saw the water running dark as it dropped from his elbows and hands, disappearing down the drain.
“Is this your way out?”
Jinki jumped and smacked his elbow on the paper towel dispenser, his back turning against the sink as he clutched at his heart and stared wide-eyed at Kibum, who was leaning against the wall with a curiously amused look on his face.
“I guess not.” Kibum moved forward and pressed his chest to Jinki’s, his hands sliding over the older man’s forearms before resting on the sink behind him, their breath mingling as the actor’s eyes hooded a bit. “Why can’t you find your way out? You’re like a trapped butterfly.”
Jinki didn’t know what to say. What could he say? His head was spinning and he didn’t understand but he felt like he knew everything in that moment, as Kibum’s perfect teeth grazed over the director’s full bottom lip.
“I wonder who holds the jar…”
Kibum was gone when Jinki blinked and Jinki turned around, emptying his bowels into the trash can by the sink.
--
Filming finally wrapped up and Jinki was satisfied. A week after his arms had turned black they had returned back to normal and he felt good - he felt really good. Kibum wasn’t being weird anymore, in fact Kibum was just being Kibum, and as Jinki worked with the editors to put the final project together, Jinki just knew that this movie was going to put his name out there.
Minho had agreed to come back for the movie poster shoot but hadn’t been overly friendly when Jinki showed up to the photographer’s studio. Kibum would send Jinki some secretive smiles every now and again and Jinki wondered if he had imagined everything - his black hands, Kibum’s black eyes - and that maybe he was just ready for a well-deserved break.
His film would be shown at an Indie Film Festival, and from there a winner would be chosen to be put up on the big screen world wide. Jinki’s dream - a movie with subtitles to be shown internationally - was finally close to being realized, as he checked his tuxedo in the mirror and fixed his bow tie. His date was a beautiful woman that he had worked with for a few years, and he knew that they would look great together on the red carpet.
Taemin and Kibum showed up together, linked arm-in-arm as they waved to cameras and acted like regular professionals. Jinki and his date followed behind them, Jinki’s eyes feeling like they were going to explode from the amount of flash they were being exposed to. He shook hands, he signed autographs, and most of all he watched Kibum out of the corner of his eye as the actor signed autographs and posed for pictures. Once inside he sat down in his reserved seat and his date sat next to him; he was a bit surprised to see Kibum’s name on the seat on his opposite side, though, and when the actor sat down he offered an amiable smile before engaging in conversation with an excited Taemin.
It was no big deal; Jinki had sat next to Kibum before plenty of times. This would be no different. The lights dimmed and the opening credits rolled and Jinki smiled, folding his hands in his lap as his date fell quiet and paid attention as well, the first scene of the movie being the scene of Kibum laying peacefully on the bed with the sunlight filtering through the blinds, giving him tiger stripes on his feline cheeks as his monologue whispered on top of the music track.
Ten minutes into the movie Jinki glanced around to see everyone absorbed in it, even the critics; he gave himself a mental pat on the back and sat comfortably in his chair, his eyes watching the movie but with a little less interest. He was more or less just staring at Kibum’s face every time it popped up, so clear and so huge, not a blemish or wrinkle in sight on his perfect skin.
A hand on his thigh brought Jinki back to reality and he glanced down, seeing Kibum’s fingers splayed out over his dress slacks. Jinki swallowed, his throat and mouth suddenly drying out as Kibum’s fingers started to creep slowly upwards, his thumb massaging a warm circle into Jinki’s leg. Squirming a bit, Jinki was hoping Kibum’s hand would stop its quest - but it didn’t, the actor’s hot palm pressing into Jinki’s crotch firmly, the pressure making Jinki’s eyes roll a bit as his hips bucked slightly.
He couldn’t make a noise, though - he knew better than that, but fuck if Kibum wasn’t testing Jinki’s limits. His hand was everything Jinki had secretly thought it would be and more, and Kibum must have known it because deft fingers undid the fastenings of Jinki’s pants and slid inside, his fingers ghosting along Jinki’s hardening length through the material of his boxers.
Tilting his head back a bit, Jinki glanced over at Kibum to see the actor’s eyes focused straight ahead and on the movie, a small smirk playing on those full lips. It fueled the desire that was starting to hurtle through Jinki’s veins and he succumbed to the urge, putting his hand atop of Kibum’s and gently guiding his hand further into his pants. He hoped they were being subtle - oh God he hoped, because being caught by his date would be one thing but being caught by security personnel… he would never be able to live it down.
Kibum’s fingers gave him relief, though, when they slipped into the slit of Jinki’s boxers and started to stroke, pushing his cock against the inside of his thigh and using the friction from both sides to make Jinki’s toes curl inside of his shiny black shoes. It didn’t take long for Jinki to climax, the arousal from Kibum alone coupled with the fact they were in public spurring him on; Kibum pulled his hand from Jinki’s pants and licked his fingers clean, not bothering to cover it up and definitely not even thinking about being shy as his hooded, black eyes found Jinki’s.
The movie ended and Jinki was brought out of his daze as the people around him stood for an ovation; had the hand job lasted that long? He stood up as well and didn’t even need to fix his pants; had Kibum fixed them? He couldn’t linger on those thoughts as the smell of sex wafted through his nostrils and he clapped, smiling and taking Jonghyun’s hand and being brought up onto the small stage for more clapping and lots of bows.
“This was it, man,” Jonghyun said to Jinki through his smile as he shook the director’s hand, a million camera flashes blinding them. “This was your ticket out.”
Jinki’s head echoed with those words and he merely nodded, sighing in relief as reporters started new headlines for the latest blockbuster. He caught Kibum’s gaze, the blackness of it making Jinki blink a few times in shock, and when Kibum smiled and started clapping, his tongue dragging over his lips slowly, Jinki suddenly knew.
Kibum was his ticket out.
Kibum was that elegant black ink sprinkled on the crumpled ticket to Nowhere.
Pairing: Onew/Key
Rating: R
Summary: Jinki wants to move from a B-list director to the big screen. His success depends on the ex-adult film star, Kim Kibum, as well as the incredible script that had been inspired by a vague dream. Jinki just wanted to get out of the dredges of Hollywood - Kibum somehow managed to get him out of everything else, too.
The movie industry was getting more and more difficult to find any success in. There were hardly any original ideas floating around, almost everything had people going ‘hey that reminds me of that one other movie…’, and the movies that do have lots of originality get thrown onto the Sci-Fi channel. Directors and producers in this day and age are reaching into the bottom of the barrel, pulling out the riskiest, ‘no one’s ever done it’ ideas they can find, just so they could find their ticket out of the B-list movies.
Lee Jinki had reached into the bottom of that barrel and pulled out what he hoped was going to get his movie up on the big screen instead of straight to DVD.
--
It was all based on a dream.
He could see a man laying beneath him writhing with pleasure, he could see feathers sprouting from a jewel-encrusted mask; he could feel the slide of manicured nails against his biceps, the goosebumps on his skin felt plenty real as bare chests slid together, the siren’s song echoing in his ears as his thick fingers pressed into curvy hips. Hips not of a man, hips not of a woman - fleshy yet solid, sharp yet gentile - he could feel the hot breath against the shell of his ear as long legs wound around his waist and brought his groin against a pleasant warmth.
The vixen would never let Jinki remove the mask, the smile on those perfect lips hypnotizing and poisonous as that head tipped back, honey hair falling onto the pillow in mockery of a halo. Said lips were stained the moodiest of blacks, an onyx that was so solid it didn’t even shimmer in whatever light they were bathed in.
Only flashes of the masquerader would give Jinki a hint as to who it was, what it could mean as he repeatedly sank into the warmth, letting it consume him from the inside out. And no matter how many clues he gathered - no matter how many breathless moans, how many kisses that smeared the black lipstick everywhere, Jinki didn’t know who it was.
And yet of course, upon waking, Jinki would never remember these dreams, the only image in his head of a train ticket with curly black ink scrawling out a destination to Nowhere.
--
Kim Kibum was the kind of actor that directors and script writers would murder for. He was all grace and easy poise on set; he knew how to set the mood, he memorized his lines quickly and delivered them efficiently, and he was a steadily rising star in the industry. His start, something that he didn’t talk about often and only put down on applications, was the adult film world, which had acted as a gateway that had initially ran off of his incredible good looks.
Jinki didn’t know how he had been so lucky to have Kibum show up to the casting audition, but he had cast the younger man the second he walked through the door. It might have been biased, it might have been stupid, but Jinki knew that he had to have Kibum the second he stepped into the door. Kibum hadn’t seen put off by it - many directors acted like this whenever he came around their set. He was known to be the golden ticket to stardom, a sure fire way to get director’s names out there. If, as a B-list movie director, you had worked with Kim Kibum, you were going to be set with deals for the next ten years.
It helped that Kibum was used to unusual movie roles. Excluding his various pornographic endeavors, he had been in a wide range of movies, from sci-fi to romance. So when Jinki set down the script in front of Kibum, he was confident that he had this all in the bag.
“What is this garbage,” Kibum muttered as he flipped through the first few pages.
Jinki’s demeanor instantly fell as he sat across from the actor, “Excuse me?”
“This,” Kibum gestured towards the script with his free hand before sticking his thumb in his mouth, chewing on the pad. “Do you really think this is going to get you out of here?” He closed the script and leveled Jinki with his icy feline gaze, “You’re crazy.”
“It’ll work,” Jinki’s tone turned pleading and alright, so he wasn’t the most methodical of directors but he had only managed to successfully make one movie that gave him a decent amount of money and this was his chance for a break through. “Please just have faith in me?”
Kibum looked contemplative as he thumbed through the script again, “You directed ‘The Boy Within’, right?”
The director smiled, “You’ve seen it?”
“Made it through five minutes,” Kibum shrugged.
Jinki had been prepared for a haughty actor, he had heard the rumors. He had been prepared for scathing remarks, insults to his genius (or lack thereof), and snide comments. He hadn’t been prepared for them to actually get to him, however. The way Kibum was speaking, so coolly and confidently, like he stood behind his words one-hundred percent, really threw Jinki off.
“Was it that boring?” he asked, voice dismal as he slouched in his chair a bit.
“It wasn’t boring,” Kibum shook his head, picking up his latte and taking a sip as he read over a few lines. “I just thought you would do better.”
Jinki’s brows furrowed in confusion, and he was about to ask Kibum what he meant by that statement but was cut off by the buzz of his cell phone. He debated ignoring it, but he recognized the number calling and cursed softly, picking up the phone and taking a few steps away from Kibum as he answered.
“How’s the read-through going?”
“Better than I expected,” Jinki answered honestly, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing his glasses up a bit so he could massage his headache away.
“Good.” On the other line papers shuffled, and then the voice spoke up again. “He’s the only one who can play the role, Jinki.”
“I know,” the director tried not to heave a sigh. “I know.”
“I’ll call in the morning while you’re on set to check in again.”
The call ended with a click and Jinki put his phone into his pocket, wishing that just once his boss would get off of his back. Jonghyun meant well most of the time, but now money was an official concern and the guy just couldn’t stop bugging Jinki about the importance of the success of this movie.
“So, Kibum,” Jinki turned around and plastered a smile on his face as he moved back to the table. “We start shooting scene eleven tomorrow morning at eight.”
Kibum nodded disinterestedly, flipping towards where scene eleven was in the script, his eyes scanning over it. A brow arched and his eye movement slowed, and Jinki could see Kibum’s brain taking in every word individually and absorbing it.
“We’re starting with this scene?” Kibum asked. He didn’t sound incredulous or even surprised, the tone of his voice being genuinely curious.
“Is there something wrong with that scene?” Jinki wrung his hands in front of his tie nervously, peeking over a bit to look at the script.
Kibum stood up, making Jinki shrink back a bit, the actor shutting the script and rolling it up to put in his satchel. He picked his sunglasses up off of the table and perched them on his pretty face, and then smirked lightly.
“You’re the director,” he turned and made his way to the door. “You tell me.”
--
Punctual as ever, Kibum had been on set and in front of the camera for about thirty minutes now. He didn’t mess up any of his lines, he didn’t ask for any extra help, and he didn’t complain about being hungry or thirsty at any point. Jinki was mildly surprised; word of the great Kim Kibum got around quickly and from what the director had heard, he was nearly impossible to work with. A diva, a bitch, completely unreasonable… Kibum was none of these. Maybe Jinki had caught him on a good day?
But days later, Kibum remained docile, executing his role perfectly. Jonghyun had even dropped in occasionally and he stayed in the shadows (mainly because he and Kibum would get into petty arguments when within a five foot radius of each other), and would compliment Jinki on his improving skills as a director.
“Alright,” Jinki sat down in his chair, his legs needing a break from being on his feet for the majority of the day. “Let’s take it from the top of scene twenty-two. Kibum,” Jinki glanced down at his notes and then looked up, waiting for the actor’s attention. “You need to be really desperate, crazy to make him stay.” Kibum nodded, arranging himself on his knees on the floor of the apartment set they were filming on. “And Minho,” the other actor glanced up to show he was paying attention. “You need to deny him like he’s a disease, like he’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.”
Both actors nodded their consent and Jinki called for quiet on the set, cuing the cameras and the actors to start.
“P-Please!” Kibum scooted forward on his knees, his eyes wetting with tears as his pretty fingers reached up to grab at Minho’s sleeve. “I need you, I - I can’t live without you, please.”
Minho tore his sleeve from Kibum’s grip and glared down at the smaller actor, his eyes blazing with an inconceivable rage. “Learn how to live with yourself for once.”
Kibum let out a choked sob, a tear streaming down his cheek as Minho turned on his heel and wrenched open the door to the apartment, storming out and slamming it behind him. A picture frame fell off of the wall as Kibum curled into himself on the floor, his knuckles going white with his grip on his hair as he rocked back and forth, the lights around them fading.
“Cut!”
Kibum sat on his haunches and dabbed at his eyes, waiting for a coordi nuna to come over and dab the tears away with soft tissue. Minho returned and picked up the picture frame, inspecting it for damage before returning it to its proper place on the wall, all while a coordi nuna stood on her tip toes to try and fix his hair.
“That was great, guys,” Jinki said, walking onto the set and flipping through his notes. “I don’t have any critique for improvement. Kibum, don’t be shy to ask for eye drops if you can’t make yourself cry, alright?”
Kibum rolled his eyes, “I’ve never used eye drops.”
Jinki shrunk a bit, “It was just a suggestion…” He chewed his lower lip and looked down at his script, flipping towards the next scene they were going to be shooting. He wandered off set as the prop hands changed the living room into a bedroom, the change only needing about ten minutes before it was complete. Jinki almost sat down, and then decided he didn’t want to, as he took off his hat and his glasses, setting them along with the script down on his chair, moving up next to the bed that Kibum was currently climbing onto.
Kibum perked a brow as Jinki knelt down next to the bed in an inconspicuous spot where he knew the camera wouldn’t catch him, the actor peering over the mattress with a smirk. “Peeping Tom?”
Jinki blushed lightly and scratched the back of his neck, “This scene is a pivotal point in the movie, I want to be where I can direct you guys without shouting over the microphone…”
The actor nodded and lay back on the bed, arranging his clothes in a perfect disarray as he ran a hand through his hair to muss it up a bit. Minho appeared at the foot of the bed with his blazer and tie undone, his hands resting on his belt to be ready for the cue. Jinki was apprehensive about this scene - Kibum was so hush-hush about his adult film career that he usually refused scripts with any sort of sex scenes, but he was here and willing and Jinki didn’t want to feel like he was taking advantage of the younger man but it sort of felt like that as he raised his hand for the cue.
“I’ll teach you,” Minho’s voice was gruff with anger as his trembling fingers worked on undoing his belt. “You can’t have everything you want in this world - is that your problem? You want to take things for yourself and not think of anyone else?”
“That’s not-,” Kibum’s voice choked on his words as he scooted up on the bed, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant…”
“What did you mean, then? I saw you hanging on him. You slut,” Minho grabbed one of Kibum’s ankles and yanked him down a bit, and Jinki bit his knuckle as he concentrated on the dynamics of the two of them.
“Fight him,” Jinki whispered.
Kibum followed direction well, as he tried to kick his foot away and twisted his body a bit, a hand reaching up to grip the headboard and try to pull away from Minho’s grip.
“Ah-ah,” Minho clucked his tongue and yanked on Kibum’s foot again, the smaller man’s body giving into the strength as Kibum let out a soft whimper. “You can’t act like a prude with me and be so touchy with other men. That’s not fair, Jungmin ah.”
“I wasn’t-!” Kibum shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. Minho got onto the bed and loomed over him, and Kibum’s hands reached up to push at his chest, “I didn’t do anything like that!”
“You’re a filthy fucking liar,” Minho hissed, his fingers moving to rip off Kibum’s belt and throw it aside. Jinki had to duck, suppressing a noise of surprise as he returned his eyes to the scene unfolding.
“I didn’t - please don’t do this, please,” Kibum repeated, elbows shaking as he tried to push off Minho’s stronger body.
“No one wants you,” Minho’s words were scathing as he pulled Kibum’s sweater open, the zipper nearly breaking. “No one wants something so broken, something so dirty and worthless.” Kibum sobbed in response, his fighting starting to die down a bit as Minho’s fingers worked on undoing his pants.
“You can’t let his words get to you,” Jinki coached quietly, knowing that only the two actors could hear him.
Kibum’s head turned to the side to face Jinki, his eyes closed and his lips turned down in a frown, his face wet from his tears. He was a beautiful crier. The actor took a few shaky breaths before his eyes opened and locked onto Jinki’s, the director’s heart skipping a beat as Kibum’s swollen lips parted to speak his line.
“Nothing anyone says can break me down,” Kibum stage-whispered, a siren’s song as his eyes stayed trained on Jinki’s. “Only I have broken myself.”
Jinki might have had an aneurysm.
Those weren’t the lines.
But that voice…
Jinki heard his assistant producers shuffling through the script to try and find the line but Jinki wasn’t going to correct it - it was a beautiful ad-lib and even Minho was a bit put off by it, before he followed his own lines as soon as he collected himself.
“Then allow me the pleasure,” Minho had to do some ad-libbing of his own and it complemented Kibum’s nicely, as Minho used his strong grip to flip Kibum onto his stomach.
Eye contact was broken and Jinki had to put a hand over his mouth to keep his breathing quiet as he watched Minho’s hands greedily molest the smaller actor’s body, pulling at his skin and pushing at his clothes. They went through the rape scene without a hitch, without any stopping and revising, Kibum’s tears flowing endlessly and Minho’s acting on par with what Jinki was whispering quietly to him. The scene ended with Minho tossing Kibum down onto the bed and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a small smirk on his lips.
“Fix that.”
When filming ended for the day Jinki went home with a heavy feeling in his gut and a cloud hanging over his head.
--
“Morning,” Kibum greeted softly in the break room, sitting down across from Jinki.
The director glanced up and took in Kibum’s pristine appearance; the Prada sweater, the Gucci sunglasses, the Louis Vuitton bag. There was no hint of the moving scene from yesterday, no tears in those eyes, no swollen lips or broken souls or sad songs. He was a completely different person and Jinki had to wonder; was Kim Kibum really Kim Kibum, or was he a character that this brilliant actor came up with to conceal himself?
“Good morning,” Jinki replied, staring down at his muffin that he hadn’t touched since he bought it in the cafeteria.
“Not hungry?” Kibum asked, as he pulled out his own breakfast, a bagel and cream cheese.
Jinki shook his head, resting his cheek in his hand and letting out a sigh.
“Do you feel it yet?” Kibum asked, his plastic butter knife spreading the cheese evenly on the bagel.
“Huh?” Jinki looked up, brows furrowed as he searched Kibum’s face.
“Do you feel it yet?” Kibum repeated himself, rolling his eyes and looking a bit put off at having to echo his previous words.
“Feel what?” Jinki asked, feeling like he was missing out on something important.
“I guess you don’t,” Kibum shrugged and picked up both bagel halves, sliding his untouched coffee over to Jinki before he exited the room and quietly shut the door behind him.
Jinki stared down at the black coffee - he knew Kibum liked fancy coffees with lots of cream and sugar and weird names - and wondered just what it was that he didn’t feel.
All he felt was confusion.
All he could see in his mind was that ticket to Nowhere written with the curliest, neatest handwriting he’d ever seen.
--
“Cut!” Jinki slumped in his chair and let out a sigh. “Taemin, you need to add more expression. Your best friend just got raped, doesn’t that anger you?”
Taemin blinked his pretty little eyes at Jinki at their on-location set, a small café down the street. Rubbing his face, Jinki stood up and shooed Taemin out of his seat, sitting down next to Kibum and taking Kibum’s hand in his own.
“Jungmin hyung,” Jinki spoke softly, his voice lilted with worry and his eyes expressive as he scooted a bit closer to the other actor. “You can’t be with him. You have to leave him, you need to get out of that apartment. Come - come live with me. Please?” he offered a small smile, his thumb stroking over Kibum’s knuckles gently.
“There’s no way out, Yongil,” Kibum shook his head, his free hand lifting to rub at his eyebrows. “I think - I just can’t.”
Jinki scooted even closer, taking Kibum’s free hand as well and holding his sad gaze with his own persistent one, “There’s always a way out.”
“Find it for me, Jinki.” Kibum said, and Jinki felt his heart freeze up and his breathing stop.
Everything around them slowed down and the director couldn’t bring his eyes away from Kibum’s, seconds, minutes, hours - until Taemin put a hand on his shoulder, jolting him out of his little trance.
“That was good hyung!” Taemin complimented. “Why don’t you act?”
Jinki offered an awkward smile, standing up with wobbly knees and accidentally knocking over the chair he was sitting in. “A-Ah, directing is just…better… for me. Um, but Taemin, that’s what I would like to see, ok?”
Taemin nodded and righted the chair, sitting down in it and engaging in a small conversation with Kibum, who seemed perfectly normal as Jinki moved over to his director’s chair and sat down heavily in it.
“You ok?” his assistant director asked, handing him a cup of water.
Nodding as he took a drink, Jinki set the cup down on the table next to him and straightened up a bit.
“Alright, from the top.”
He didn’t miss the small smile Kibum flashed behind his hand towards him as the scene started rolling, and he tapped his black ballpoint pen on his clipboard idly, trying his best to pay attention to Taemin’s acting so he could give a real critique.
--
Jinki knew that he had cast Kim Kibum for a reason. But that reason was slowly getting lost to the director as the weeks went by and they got deeper into filming. Kibum was a flawless, perfect actor. He could ask for no improvements and he had no complaints about the man’s skill. He didn’t know why so many other directors were flabbergasted whenever he said that Kibum was one of the most pleasant actors he’d ever worked with; he didn’t know why those directors swore up and down that Kibum, while he was a diamond in the rough, was nothing but trouble.
The only trouble Jinki seemed to have around him was breathing properly.
Jinki was late to a meeting on a Friday, stumbling into the office in a flurry of apologies and strewn papers since he had somehow lost his paper clip between the office and the elevator. He gathered everything up and sat down in the chair, surprised to see Minho sitting next to him and Jonghyun at the desk.
“… Aish,” Jonghyun sat down and rubbed at his temples. “I told you this meeting was important, Jinki.”
“I-,” Jinki’s mouth flopped around like a fish for a second before he apologized again and hung his head. Younger than Jinki he may be, Jonghyun was still his boss and Jinki had to answer to him.
“Now, let’s get down to business.” Jonghyun pulled some documents in front of him, “Minho is resigning from his position-”
“WHAT.” Jinki’s jaw dropped as he leaned forward in shock, looking between Jonghyun and Minho. “Are you - what? Why?”
“I can’t work with Kibum,” Minho said, his voice even and sure as he glanced to Jinki calmly.
“But - you two - your chemistry! It’s so good,” Jinki slumped in his chair and reached over to flop his hand in Minho’s direction. “Please don’t quit, just - you just filmed your last scene with him yesterday and I need you for one more, just one more revision-”
“I’ve already signed the papers,” Minho said resolutely, pulling his arm away from Jinki’s flailing fingers.
“Your turn,” Jonghyun said, lifting up a pen and only looking slightly apologetic. Jinki whined and stomped his feet and threw a mini tantrum before he took the pen and signed his name in curly black ink, throwing the utensil down on the desk.
“Thanks for your work,” he said as sincerely as he could, standing up and gathering his papers to his chest as he moved out of the office quickly, not being able to stand being under Minho’s giant eyes for longer than necessary.
Once outside the shut door he leaned against the wall, his head tilted back and his eyes brimming with tears. He knew that things were too good to be true with this shoot; he knew that it was only a matter of time before something went drastically wrong. But they were close to wrap-up and Minho chose now to quit?
“I sucked his dick.”
Jinki lowered his head to see Kibum leaning against the wall opposite, arms folded over his chest and feline eyes alight with amusement.
“You want?” Jinki asked, his head spinning.
Kibum shrugged and pushed off of the wall, “I sucked Minho’s dick. I cornered him in his dressing room.”
Blinking slowly, Jinki wasn’t sure he was registering what Kibum was saying. “Is that why he’s quitting?”
“He found his way out,” Kibum shrugged again and zipped up his hoodie as he turned to walk away from Jinki. “You just have to find yours.”
Jinki’s closed fist hit the wall in frustration before he took off in the opposite direction, planning on holing up until the last possible minute for filming.
--
“… So in short, the only solution was for me to revise the script. I’m sorry for the sudden changes, I apologize to the actors and the crew and hope you understand.” Jinki bowed and everyone nodded their heads in consent, Taemin letting out a soft sigh as he looked over his script.
“You’ll get it,” Jinki assured the young actor, ruffling his hair and giving a gentle smile. Taemin was also an uprising actor, wanted for his charming looks, although his acting skills could afford to be brushed up.
“Thanks hyung,” Taemin said, looking up at Jinki with such trustworthy eyes. Jinki felt his stomach churn a bit.
“Kibum ssi, there’s no smoking on the set.”
Jinki heard a coordi nuna in the distance and glanced up, amused to see a woman trying to grab the lit cigarette from Kibum’s fingers as he held it precariously out of her reach. She started giggling and he started chuckling, the scolding turning into a bit of a game as he walked backwards and she followed on her tip toes, their chests brushing as Kibum teased her with his smoky eyes, some ash from the cigarette falling onto the floor.
In the pit of his stomach, Jinki felt his gut churn further, and when he heard Kibum’s laughter chorus out - the kind of laughter that he didn’t exhibit so easily, the kind of laughter that rung in Jinki’s head for days - Jinki turned around and bumped into Taemin, who let out a surprised squeak when Jinki didn’t even apologize as he moved away from the scene. His head felt light, he felt dizzy, his feet couldn’t move properly and he was on the floor within four steps, his assistant rushing to his side.
He panted, clutching at his chest, feeling it tighten under his fingers; he pulled his hand away and his palm bled black, ink spilling down his wrist and down his forearms, staining his rolled up sleeves before creating a dark puddle on the floor.
He needed to find his way out, he realized.
--
Over the next few days filming was kept to a minimum, scenery shots and extra shots being the main focus as Jinki’s assistants kept him pretty much handcuffed to his chair. His right hand was still black, and he didn’t dare ask if anyone else noticed it because he had a feeling that no one else could see it. It frightened him, to be honest, that the entirety of his right arm was inky, pitch black - he couldn’t scratch it off, he couldn’t wash it off.
A part in the script where Kibum’s character lay on the bed reminiscing was the focus at the current time, the camera zooming in and hovering over the actor as he pressed his sharp cheek into the soft pillow. Jinki watched on his viewer screen how the camera couldn’t properly capture the raw emotion in those eyes, how the camera couldn’t even capture the startling contrast between the softness of the pillow and the edges of his cheeks. He watched as he tried to resist the urge to tell a coordi nuna to put black lipstick on those pouty lips, just to see the stark contrast against his porcelain skin.
Resting his chin on his folded knuckles, Jinki concentrated as the pre-recorded monologue played through the speakers on set. Kibum’s voice was thick and smooth as chocolate, forlornly reflecting on the days past where he could smile, the days when he wasn’t plagued by this unknown sickness, this weakness that seemed to be consuming him whole. The entire set was dead quiet, a pin could drop noisily, as everyone listened to Kibum’s voice and watched his motions complement what was being said.
Kibum’s eyes turned to the camera and swirled the deepest black that Jinki had ever seen, empty and over-filled at the same time and Jinki’s heart skipped a beat - Kibum blinked and his eyes were back to their honey color, as the actor directed his gaze elsewhere.
Jinki had to be seeing things.
He rubbed his eyes and sat back in his chair so he could watch the monitor less closely, and when he pulled his left hand away from his hair he found that it too was now black. Startled, he jumped in his chair and tried to wipe both hands on his sweater in an attempt to get the ink off of them but it stayed put, it didn’t smear onto his clothing and it didn’t lighten, either.
Standing up, he excused himself to go to the bathroom, locking himself in the room and bracing his hands on either side of the porcelain sink. What was happening to him? He looked in the mirror and saw his black arms, his black hands and his black fingers and he couldn’t figure out what was wrong, was he stressed? Was this movie too much? It wasn’t even a difficult, personal plot, the characters had nothing to do with him and it was something that he had randomly daydreamed. He was going insane. This was wrong.
Closing his eyes, he splashed water onto his face and scrubbed idly with his palms. When his eyes opened he saw the water running dark as it dropped from his elbows and hands, disappearing down the drain.
“Is this your way out?”
Jinki jumped and smacked his elbow on the paper towel dispenser, his back turning against the sink as he clutched at his heart and stared wide-eyed at Kibum, who was leaning against the wall with a curiously amused look on his face.
“I guess not.” Kibum moved forward and pressed his chest to Jinki’s, his hands sliding over the older man’s forearms before resting on the sink behind him, their breath mingling as the actor’s eyes hooded a bit. “Why can’t you find your way out? You’re like a trapped butterfly.”
Jinki didn’t know what to say. What could he say? His head was spinning and he didn’t understand but he felt like he knew everything in that moment, as Kibum’s perfect teeth grazed over the director’s full bottom lip.
“I wonder who holds the jar…”
Kibum was gone when Jinki blinked and Jinki turned around, emptying his bowels into the trash can by the sink.
--
Filming finally wrapped up and Jinki was satisfied. A week after his arms had turned black they had returned back to normal and he felt good - he felt really good. Kibum wasn’t being weird anymore, in fact Kibum was just being Kibum, and as Jinki worked with the editors to put the final project together, Jinki just knew that this movie was going to put his name out there.
Minho had agreed to come back for the movie poster shoot but hadn’t been overly friendly when Jinki showed up to the photographer’s studio. Kibum would send Jinki some secretive smiles every now and again and Jinki wondered if he had imagined everything - his black hands, Kibum’s black eyes - and that maybe he was just ready for a well-deserved break.
His film would be shown at an Indie Film Festival, and from there a winner would be chosen to be put up on the big screen world wide. Jinki’s dream - a movie with subtitles to be shown internationally - was finally close to being realized, as he checked his tuxedo in the mirror and fixed his bow tie. His date was a beautiful woman that he had worked with for a few years, and he knew that they would look great together on the red carpet.
Taemin and Kibum showed up together, linked arm-in-arm as they waved to cameras and acted like regular professionals. Jinki and his date followed behind them, Jinki’s eyes feeling like they were going to explode from the amount of flash they were being exposed to. He shook hands, he signed autographs, and most of all he watched Kibum out of the corner of his eye as the actor signed autographs and posed for pictures. Once inside he sat down in his reserved seat and his date sat next to him; he was a bit surprised to see Kibum’s name on the seat on his opposite side, though, and when the actor sat down he offered an amiable smile before engaging in conversation with an excited Taemin.
It was no big deal; Jinki had sat next to Kibum before plenty of times. This would be no different. The lights dimmed and the opening credits rolled and Jinki smiled, folding his hands in his lap as his date fell quiet and paid attention as well, the first scene of the movie being the scene of Kibum laying peacefully on the bed with the sunlight filtering through the blinds, giving him tiger stripes on his feline cheeks as his monologue whispered on top of the music track.
Ten minutes into the movie Jinki glanced around to see everyone absorbed in it, even the critics; he gave himself a mental pat on the back and sat comfortably in his chair, his eyes watching the movie but with a little less interest. He was more or less just staring at Kibum’s face every time it popped up, so clear and so huge, not a blemish or wrinkle in sight on his perfect skin.
A hand on his thigh brought Jinki back to reality and he glanced down, seeing Kibum’s fingers splayed out over his dress slacks. Jinki swallowed, his throat and mouth suddenly drying out as Kibum’s fingers started to creep slowly upwards, his thumb massaging a warm circle into Jinki’s leg. Squirming a bit, Jinki was hoping Kibum’s hand would stop its quest - but it didn’t, the actor’s hot palm pressing into Jinki’s crotch firmly, the pressure making Jinki’s eyes roll a bit as his hips bucked slightly.
He couldn’t make a noise, though - he knew better than that, but fuck if Kibum wasn’t testing Jinki’s limits. His hand was everything Jinki had secretly thought it would be and more, and Kibum must have known it because deft fingers undid the fastenings of Jinki’s pants and slid inside, his fingers ghosting along Jinki’s hardening length through the material of his boxers.
Tilting his head back a bit, Jinki glanced over at Kibum to see the actor’s eyes focused straight ahead and on the movie, a small smirk playing on those full lips. It fueled the desire that was starting to hurtle through Jinki’s veins and he succumbed to the urge, putting his hand atop of Kibum’s and gently guiding his hand further into his pants. He hoped they were being subtle - oh God he hoped, because being caught by his date would be one thing but being caught by security personnel… he would never be able to live it down.
Kibum’s fingers gave him relief, though, when they slipped into the slit of Jinki’s boxers and started to stroke, pushing his cock against the inside of his thigh and using the friction from both sides to make Jinki’s toes curl inside of his shiny black shoes. It didn’t take long for Jinki to climax, the arousal from Kibum alone coupled with the fact they were in public spurring him on; Kibum pulled his hand from Jinki’s pants and licked his fingers clean, not bothering to cover it up and definitely not even thinking about being shy as his hooded, black eyes found Jinki’s.
The movie ended and Jinki was brought out of his daze as the people around him stood for an ovation; had the hand job lasted that long? He stood up as well and didn’t even need to fix his pants; had Kibum fixed them? He couldn’t linger on those thoughts as the smell of sex wafted through his nostrils and he clapped, smiling and taking Jonghyun’s hand and being brought up onto the small stage for more clapping and lots of bows.
“This was it, man,” Jonghyun said to Jinki through his smile as he shook the director’s hand, a million camera flashes blinding them. “This was your ticket out.”
Jinki’s head echoed with those words and he merely nodded, sighing in relief as reporters started new headlines for the latest blockbuster. He caught Kibum’s gaze, the blackness of it making Jinki blink a few times in shock, and when Kibum smiled and started clapping, his tongue dragging over his lips slowly, Jinki suddenly knew.
Kibum was his ticket out.
Kibum was that elegant black ink sprinkled on the crumpled ticket to Nowhere.