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Nine months after the island was infiltrated by Jun-ho’s group, Gi-hun finds himself in a cottage far away from Seoul.
The mercenaries and Jun-ho had arrived not long after the last game, too late to save anyone but the two winners and Jun-hee. In-ho had kept his word. She was safe and secure in a guestroom while one doctor tended to her, but her water broke, and she had given birth. Alone and afraid in a strange place, in front of someone who has probably seen all that happens to players and been okay with it. The thought made him shudder. No one deserves that. Gi-hun remembered the look of fright on In-ho’s, the Frontman’s, face as he heard gun blazing on the lower floors. It had amused Gi-hun, then, but the feeling was short-lived as Jun-ho kicked in a door to his quarters soon after — and brought with him a very tense family reunion.
In the end, and to this day Gi-hun still fails to comprehend the scope of his luck, he had saved a few people. He had won. It was over.
Gi-hun could not exactly explain to the man why he was there, with the overseer of the games, nor could Jun-ho explain why he hadn’t told anyone his familial ties with the Frontman.
And thanks to In-ho, they both knew the police were in the pockets of the VIPs, and so Jun-ho had insisted it would be preferable for everyone to blow up the island after evacuating. Of course. Even if the police weren’t corrupt, he had a feeling Jun-ho would press the button anyway. In-ho’s fingerprints and DNA were all over the island.
You just cannot trust cops.
Alas, the games were over. And despite the… dishonesty between Jun-ho and Gi-hun, they entered an uneasy truce as they returned to their lives. Because there was still the issue with In-ho, who Jun-ho had reported as dead as soon as they hit the mainland. Gi-hun could not help but feel partially responsible for the man he had come to know very intimately this past week, however much the rational part of his brain was telling him into get far away from that family. He was an aggressor as much as a victim, partially of his own consequences, but it had been nothing short of poignant as In-ho bid him farewell on the boat to stay with Jun-ho.
They’d found each other less than a month later.
Unsurprisingly, it turns out that things aren’t all sunshine and rainbows between the two brothers; while Jun-ho has been kind enough to lend his sleeping couch to In-ho indefinitely, they both have a lot of things to work out before they can even begin to live alongside the other like before the Games. This isn’t the case for In-ho and Gi-hun, who never had a before.
Gi-hun supposes it is partially why they find a sort of comfort in the other; a mutual understanding built on shame, guilt, winning but losing. He wouldn’t know where to start, either, if someone sat him down and asked him to explain everything from the top, especially not if it were Jun-ho. The guy can be pretty intense.
This is why Gi-hun does not bat an eye when In-ho shows up tonight, having warned him with only a short message from Jun-ho’s mobile. A common occurrence. So common, in fact, that In-ho does not bother to take any bag with him, for he has already inserted himself into Gi-hun’s living space over the course of many visits. In-ho’s folded clothes in his closet, In-ho’s spare toothbrush by his sink, In-ho’s books and reading glasses at his night table. The first time, Gi-hun had actually laid out a mattress in the kitchen, but not long after his arrival they’d found themselves in Gi-hun’s bed, not able to take the distance.
Now, when he looks at the way In-ho puts down bags of alcohol and groceries on the dining table, Gi-hun wonders if it maybe was a little hasty to sell the mattress. Wordlessly, In-ho puts the rice cooker in the kitchen to work and opens a bottle of unflavored soju.
Gi-hun watches the other in silence before In-ho speaks up.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Before you ask.” His tone carries a weight of finality that Gi-hun does not dare to try and lift. In-ho rarely ever wants to talk about it.
“Alright. There’s leftover bulgogi in the fridge. We can eat that with the rice,” Gi-hun suggests. He receives a curt nod before In-ho drinks directly from the bottle and hands it to Gi-hun.
Not long after, they eat in silence as the bottles drift between them. Gi-hun honestly prefers the strawberry- or peach flavor, but it’s fine, and he’s glad In-ho at least didn’t buy whisky. They’ve rubbed off on each other in several ways, In-ho learning to cook a handful of basic dishes while he recommends Gi-hun literature to read. It’s their shared space, Gi-hun thinks, the effect of inhabiting the same space as someone else for so long the lines between he and you begin to blur. But they will probably never find a liquor or brand of cigarettes they both enjoy. Speaking of.
“I’m going out to smoke for a bit,” Gi-hun announces, putting his empty ceramic bowl and metal cutlery in the sink.
In-ho turns his head to him, looking up through tired eyes, gaze hazy with alcohol.
“I’ll join you in a moment. I want to clean up the kitchen first,” he drawls, standing up.
He really benefits from his alone time, Gi-hun thinks as he opens and closes the living room door. He didn’t notice how late it is until now, apparent in the pitch-black darkness that envelops him when he closes the door. He feels the alcohol more strongly now, warming him even more up as beads of sweat gather at his temples. It’s humid out, even at night, but at least the monsoon period is nearing its end. Maybe. The wind isn’t too strong tonight either, but nonetheless Gi-hun feels a breeze leaving goosebumps on his bare arms. He sits down on a white plastic chair to fish out his lighter and pack from his pants. There is an accompanying chair to his side waiting for In-ho. The world sways faintly from side to side as he lights up a cigarette, the ember and lighter being the only outside source of light.
He thinks about Jun-hee. Him and the mercenaries had driven her and the baby to a hospital immediately after getting off the boat. The baby, a beautiful little girl, was as healthy as she could be in the face of the circumstances. The father isn’t in the picture, Jun-hee had told the hospital staff. Gi-hun wondered if Eun-ji had felt like this back then, giving birth alone. He had vowed to Jun-hee to call Ga-yeong, actually talk to her and apologize, in that hospital.
He's given a large portion of his money to her, more than enough to pay her debts, and with each donation and phonecall to her, he feels a little more reassured that the baby will live a happy life. Gi-hun should offer they both visit him sometime.
By the time he’s lit the third cigarette, the door to the living room opens and bathes the small terrasse in artificial light as In-ho steps out. He finds the other chair next to Gi-hun, and his brown eyes seek the ember from the cigarette, the only source of light here, that illuminates Gi-hun’s features. He of course can’t see himself, but he presumes the small, orange fire casts shadows over his face that exaggerate his age — creating a fata morgana of a far older man. In-ho seems entranced, as is he cannot bring himself to tear his eyes away from the sight, and he is seemingly much more at peace, evident in the much calmer expression he bears than before in the kitchen.
Gi-hun blinks, once, twice, and the spell is broken. In-ho look into the dark and fishes his own pack out of his back pocket. Without thinking, Gi-hun ignites his lighter once again and holds it towards the unlit cigarette between In-ho’s lips, who gingerly moves his hands to shield the vulnerable flame from the night-time wind. Like this, the shadows on his face move as the flame flickers; the ever-present bags under In-ho’s eyes seem more pronounced, brows knit together in concentration as he moves the cigarette over the flames and inhales, setting fire to tobacco and tar.
The moment is gone as soon as the opportunity appeared, but the smoke between them lingers for a handful of seconds as In-ho mumbles a thanks.
“I promised Ga-yeong-ah I would quit smoking,” Gi-hun begins.
“And I’ve probably already told you, but she’s coming to Korea for the lunar new year this February,”
“To visit her grandparents?” In-ho offers.
“Yes, and me now. I talk to her on the phone a few times a week,”
“Mhm,” In-ho turns to look at him skeptically. You’re smoking right now, Gi-hun, his gaze says, but he looks like he finds the contradiction mildly intriguing. What makes you think the February you won’t be feening for just one more?
“I know, I know. But this is why I only smoke outside now, and lo and behold! This pack,” Gi-hun grabs the crumbled pack of cigarettes from his lap, “has lasted me over a week, and I still have three left.”
In-ho tears his eyes away from the packaging, looking into the distance as the semblance of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “That’s nice. Do’you think you’ll be at one cigarette a day by February?”
“Hey, don’t laugh now! I was thinking just two a day, I want to start out slow and not have my expectations set too high,” Gi-hun exclaims, looking away to take a drag of his cigarette and watch the smoke dissipate.
In-ho doesn’t answer, the only movement Gi-hun notices him make from the corner of his eye being slow drag of the cigarette. But suddenly, he kills the silence that was beginning to grow between the two of them. A sigh.
“Jun-ho-ya and I were fighting. Again. I hate it — He doesn’t trust me, thinks I’ll, uh, leave him at every opportunity I get.”
Oh. He’s actually telling Gi-hun.
“You don’t think his paranoia is unwarranted, do you?” he challenges him, because it’s true. As angry as Gi-hun has been at Jun-ho for lying, the younger man has sacrificed men, his career, so many years of his youth searching for In-ho. When you get a hold of something so precious to you, it must be hard to let it out of your sight.
“No, I — that’s the problem. But I still lash out b’cause he gives me no breathin’ room,” In-ho slurs.
“And I’m guessing this was worse than the other times?”
“Yeah, it’s ‘cause—” In-ho’s carefully neutral face breaks, revealing something raw and human beneath the shell, “I just wish he’d be angrier with me —” a sharp inhale, “I ruined his life. Yours too.” In-ho takes a drag with shaking hands, “it would be easier if you both hated me.”
When Gi-hun was a younger man, he used to hold grudges. Strings of hate, hate, hate, that were tethered to him and keeping him in place. He’d remember the faces of every bully who beat Sang-woo for no other reason than the fact that he’d skipped a grade, remember every thief who stole from their mothers’ shops, every time his boss from his old factory cut his paycheck, every police officer who unsheathed their baton against defenseless men, every man who ran from the bill when he’d driven them somewhere, everything. He remembered their faces clear as day, as though their cowardice and selfishness burned portraits of them into his retinas. But most of all, he held grudges against himself. When it got bad, he wouldn’t ask for help to pay off his debts, he’d rather take and take, spending other people’s money on horses and booze and who-knows-what. He knew better, but he would fall into temptation each time, never strong enough to break the vicious cycle of addiction.
Whether he likes to admit or not, the Games changed him. A house being demolished by an earthquake, leaving only rubble, memories of the people living there gone and buried under concrete and wood and ashes. Ruins can go undisturbed for many years until something changes. But someday, a stray cat may take shelter and feed her kittens under the broken roof, breathing life into the house again. Maybe some parts of the house are salvageable, even, and can be used to construct a new home.
Gi-hun has long since left the grudges behind in the metaphorical rubble. Where the hate in his heart is supposed to be, there simply is nothing. If anything, he feels a prickling numbness in his chest, frayed nerve endings that never quite healed after it was torn out.
He sighs, lifts his hand to touch In-ho’s shaking leg, smoothing his hand over the muscle as if it were a soothing ointment.
“Enough people have died,” he says, thumb massaging the other’s thigh. “And if I were angry, I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of death. I would want you to live with your failure.”
“I’m not, though. And I don’t want more death. But I don’t think you would feel any better if I said I forgive you, either.” Truthfully, he has long since forgiven In-ho for the things he did to him. He naturally cannot speak for anyone else, or whatever cosmic force that judges humanity’s sins. Maybe In-ho will face punishment in the afterlife; be reincarnated as a hell being and burn for many lifetimes. Perhaps he will just lay dead in the ground and become another source of nutrition in the ecosystem.
In-ho nods as he takes a last drag before killing it in the ashtray by his foot. With the light by his face gone, Gi-hun can no longer see the tears gathering at his waterline. In-ho takes his hand into his and intertwines their fingers.
They sit in silence again. He’s found that In-ho is more comforted by his mere presence, listening to his slow breathing as proof that he is warm and alive, rather than being talked through it — that even though he trusts Gi-hun, he cannot bring himself to take his words of affirmation at face value, always attempting to pick apart each praise and declaration of fondness. It gets tiring. So for now, they listen to the sounds of wildlife in the distance.
“… it’s late,” Gi-hun eventually declares.
“I think you should sleep on it.”
In-ho squeezes his hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He’s been saying that a lot lately.
They move to Gi-hun’s bedroom again after brushing their teeth and undressing. In-ho had wanted to take the couch, but as a good host, Gi-hun had vehemently denied this, insisting that he take it instead and In-ho sleeps on the bed. But no, In-ho had said, the couch is lumpy and bad for Gi-hun’s back, so he should sleep there instead. And then the bed had presented itself to them as they walked back and forth, perfectly sized for two men and certainly not lumpy.
It's no problem. They’ve slept together plenty of times, In-ho pressed flush against Gi-hun’s backside because he always runs cold. Tonight, however, Gi-hun feels a tad warm and clammy, likely from the alcohol, and so he keeps In-ho at an arm’s distance as he drifts into sleep.
…
When he wakes up again, his head is pounding and the warmth in his body has gone from a low simmering discomfort to a scalding hot torture. He groans, beams of light from the open windows blinding him as he turns to look for his phone, but In-ho, who has apparently been watching him slumber from the bedroom door, speaks up to get Gi-hun’s attention.
“It’s one in the afternoon, Gi-hun.”
Oh. Okay. He groans, sitting up in bed to face In-ho. He squints, still groggy from sleep.
“I made eggs,” he offers, a silent encouragement to get him out of bed. Gi-hun nods and stands up, bringing the blanket around him to cover himself — maybe he’ll feel better once he eats. A sense of wrong clouds his senses as he follows In-ho to the kitchen, which is joint with the living room. It’s a fairly small house, not dissimilar to what Gi-hun grew up with.
He sits by the table, plate of eggs and a bowl of rice in front of him. In-ho sits adjacent to him and stares. This is definitely not just a hangover.
“I don’t feel well, In-ho.”
“You don’t look well,” he answers.
“I should have let you sleep in. Try to eat some, then we can go back to bed,” he suggests, moving slightly forward, so his elbows rest on the table. His gaze shifts between the food and In-ho, whom he realizes looks concerned. Gi-hun obliges and picks up the spoon. He eats slowly, each bite becoming harder to swallow as nausea roars from his stomach, and before he knows it, he’s running to the toilet to throw up the eggs.
In-ho is right beside him in an instant, running a soothing hand over his back as they both look at the toilet bowl in disgust.
“I guess I was a little too generous with the salt,” he deadpans. “Let’s lay down on the sofa. I’ll get you a glass of water and a painkiller,”
Gi-hun just nods. He’s not able to do much else. He feels like his eyes are bulging out of his skull and his soul is leaving his body. He lets himself be moved by In-ho, who throws one of his arms over his shoulders to half-drag him to the closet thing to lie on. Beads of sweat gather at Gi-hun’s browbone, but In-ho wipes it away with a napkin before feeling for his temperature.
“Definitely a fever. Should have had you stay in bed, I’m so stupid…” he mumbles, probably mostly to himself. Gi-hun looks up at him through glazed eyes as he moves idly around the kitchen — grabbing water, a blister-package of paracetamol, and then a big plastic bowl. He sets it aside to the small table before handing Gi-hun the water and pills, which the other swallows obediently.
It’s so unfair, Gi-hun thinks. Why didn’t In-ho also get sick? Not even a little hangover? And how unlucky does he have to be to get a fucking fever of all things during one of the hottest months of the year? Aish, curse him and his weak immune system. He closes his eyes and sighs, mouth folding into a pout, while he listens to the paddle of bare feet as In-ho moves around the house. He comes back with a damp towel that he daps on Gi-hun’s forehead.
“Jun-ho fell sick easily as a child because he takes immunosuppressants for his kidney,” he begins to reminisce. “Even a common cold had him bedridden. I had to take a lot of absences from the police academy to take care of him.”
Right, Gi-hun remembers this. Jun-ho himself told him once, about his brother and how he carries a piece of him everywhere, on one of their many shared restless nights as they prepared to infiltrate the island. It’s almost funny, he thought, how they share blood as well as organs.
Jun-ho was only six or seven when he was put in intensive pediatric care. The many days and nights in the hospital became a blur, he’d said, because time stretches and stretches and warps as you lay immobile in the sterile environment while nurses fuzz over you and take samples of every fluid you produce. The only clear memory he has is from right after the transplant, still groggy from narcosis — he had taken out his drop out and crawled into In-ho’s hospital bed. As a child, he rarely saw In-ho sleep, so seeing that he was snoring really loudly was hilarious to Jun-ho, and he scoffs as he recalls the memory. He remembers snuggling close to his brother’s body and placing his head directly on top of his chest to listen to the steady thump of a heartbeat.
Gi-hun knows that In-ho still snores. He smiles, but he feels so weak from the fever that it surely doesn’t reach his eyes. In-ho leaves for a moment, and his mouth folds into a pout before the other man is back with more water.
In-ho stays by his side for what feels like longer than necessary, stroking Gi-hun’s overgrown bangs with his thumb and holding a hand to his chest. It feels nice, but sleep once again begins to weigh his eyelids down, and he closes his eyes before moving to his side, now settling into sleeping position.
“Don’t you want to move back to bed?”
The sofa isn’t actually that uncomfortable, if Gi-hun is being honest, so he shakes his head and mumbles mh-mm into his elbow.
“Alright,” In-ho sighs, “I can stay here while you take a nap,” he offers. To that, Gi-hun mumbles an okay. He’s probably just going to read that book, The Castle, that he’s been meaning to start.
“You could stay forever,” he says before he can really think, mind addled with exhaustion. In-ho doesn’t respond, and Gi-hun gets it, because he’s not sure why he said that.
But in the back of his mind, it dawns on him that he was being completely truthful. That he prefers the company of In-ho to being alone.
He doesn’t think to dwell on it, however, because his consciousness drifts away as soon as his breath evens out.
…
Gi-hun wakes up feeling disoriented — and he opens his eyes and turn around to locate In-ho. But the chair is empty, his reading glasses laying on top of the closed book. Worry overtakes him. It’s not like In-ho to just get up and leave. Is he hurt? How long has he been sleeping for?
Gi-hun sits up on the sofa. He doesn’t feel as ill anymore, in fact, he feels light — like his body weighs nothing. He stands up, only dressed in boxers. The humidity this time of year clings to his bare skin even inside the house.
In-ho isn’t anywhere to be seen in the kitchen or living room, which only leaves the bathroom and be—
A gasp.
In an instant, it is as if the room takes on a darker contour, colors of the furniture and walls muting. Gi-hun feels small all of a sudden, defenseless and nearly naked. But if that is In-ho in danger or in pain, then what kind of man will he be if he merely stands by, listening as it happens?
His feet make almost no sound against the wooden floor as he takes a step towards the door where the noise came from. It’s wide open, he doesn’t remember if they left it like that, and as he nears it, another noise emerges.
Another step. Another muffled moan.
Gi-hun hears a schlick that accompanies a shaky series of breaths. He begins to suspect that he may have misjudged the situation, and when he is close enough to peek behind the doorframe, he doesn’t know what to think.
There In-ho is, perfectly safe, in their bed. Arms support his weight as hips rock against… himself? No, that’s not right. The other has his back turned to him, it is a stranger, and Gi-hun stands there, as if frozen in time, only able to watch the unreal scene before him unfold.
In-ho’s legs are spread — one thrown over the other person’s hip and the other lay beneath the stranger’s leg. Gi-hun’s gaze drift from calf to thigh to where the two people are connected, crotches rubbing together. His head is thrown back in ecstasy, baring his Adam’s apple to the other and he is beautiful. In-ho sighs as another wave of pleasure takes him, evident in the way that his abdominal muscles tense and release.
The two people shift as if they are connected by heart, and their hips roll together against one another again, and as they shift Gi-hun can see the other person at a better angle.
The stranger certainly looks like In-ho, but something is missing. Right shoulder and lower abdomen are bare of any scars, lack any proof that he is the half-brother of Jun-ho, and it clicks. He is seeing Oh Young-il again, and it is then that the world begins to feel fake, like a stage that was set up for him to walk in on.
Yet the decidedly obscene view entices Gi-hun, and he feels his cock twitch in his briefs when the two figures keep going. He sees where they’re joined much clearer now as well, pussies grinding together and pulsing with arousal. He sees both tdicks swivel around the other, slipping on the slick gathering between the two as they roll their hips faster and faster.
And when he looks up, he sees Young-il staring straight back at him from under his brow line, not moving a single facial muscle.
For a moment, Gi-hun’s stomach drops, and he feels as though he is in danger again, but then Young-il breaks into a playful smile, not without teeth, and stops moving to call out to him.
“Gi-hun-ssi, come on in. We were waiting for you.”
Gi-hun stalks closer, and he notices then that In-ho is also looking at him.
He looks back expectantly at the man now sitting on the edge of the bed, who looks around the room before he speaks.
“Young-il came to visit while you were sleeping. He said that he missed you,” In-ho says. Despite what Gi-hun just walked in on, In-ho seems… off. Dissatisfied by the situation, somehow.
He flinches when Young-il touches his arm.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be satisfied again soon enough," he says before leaning in to kiss his cheek. In front of him, In-ho gets up and walks towards to pair. Don’t do that, he whispers in Young-il’s ear, who only smiles in acknowledgement.
Gi-hun hadn’t voiced his concern about In-ho just now, though.
…Is he spying on Gi-hun’s thoughts?
Young-il laughs at that, a breathy, light sound that makes Gi-hun heart ache.
“This is your dream, silly.” He answers. “Of course I can hear your thoughts.”
Call him greedy, but he had missed Young-il too, like a scorned lover ever since it was revealed to him the man was never real. He is glad to have him in his dreams, at least.
“You can have us both, Gi-hun-ssi. Just let me take the lead.”
Young-il embraces In-ho from behind, fingers tickling down a set of well-developed pectorals, down to two barely noticeable white lines of scar tissue. He lays them both down on the bed so that In-ho lays on top, legs spread and cunt exposed. Gi-hun can see Young-il’s just below, glistening with arousal. He’s so hard it hurts, cotton of his briefs scratching his cockhead uncomfortably.
In-ho has his head thrown back and eyes shut in concentration, as Gi-hun notices he is wont to do. The many simultaneous sensations of sex can become too much, he once explained, so he will sometimes need to close his eyes as to not get overwhelmed. With time, Gi-hun had come to find the gesture endearing, a sign that something was good but teetering on too good. Now, In-ho squirms in his doppelganger’s hold as Young-il rolls a nipple between two fingers. His other hand has moved to his pussy, gathering slick at his fingertips to rub his clit in lazy circles. In-ho’s hips twitch, moving get more of the fingers as he moans.
“So eager,” Young-il mumurs, lips brushing In-ho’s earlope. “Does it feel good? Do you want to feel full?”
“Pl-please — Gi-hun-ah —” In-ho calls for him, gasping for breath in-between syllables. The sounds are like a siren’s song to Gi-hun, who can do nothing but walk closer to his prize as if possessed. A foot at his shin halts him in his tracks, and he stops abruptly before meeting Young-il’s gaze from below.
“Don’t fuck him yet,” Young-il commands.
“He needs to earn your cock, don’t you think?”
In-ho whines at that, but obediently stays mostly silent, not actually arguing with the sentiment.
Gi-hun nods, following along. He brushes his index- and middle-finger around In-ho’s hole. Slick steadily pulses out of him with every movement of Young-il’s skilled fingers, slowly circling the other’s tdick. It’s so hard, throbbing as it practically begs for more attention. Gi-hun slowly inserts two fingers, exploring the entrance while walls squeeze around him.
He watches mesmerized by the way In-ho’s warm cunt grips his fingers, sucking him back in as he begins to finger-fuck him. He moves closer and bends his knees slightly so they rest on the edge of the bed, his other hand coming up to rest on In-ho’s lower abdomen for balance. He looks completely blissed out, gasping for air and mumbling incoherently as he drools and greedily begins to rub himself. His eyes are still squeezed shut from overstimulation, brows knit together. Right under him is Young-il, infinitely more composed, who looks up at Gi-hun through his lashes. The hand that was touching In-ho before has now come to palm Gi-hun over his underwear, but he only feels the firm touch in the back of his head as he listens to Young-il.
“Look how sensitive he is, Gi-hun-ssi.”
His cock is fished out of its confines.
“You haven’t even really done anything yet, and he’s already losing his mind,” Young-il continues.
He feels his cockhead kissing Young-il’s pussylips.
“Just keep going.”
He keeps thrusting his fingers in and out of In-ho at a slow pace, occasionally curling them upwards. Every time, he moans, canting his hips up to keep Gi-hun’s fingers there, but he’s held down by both Young-il and Gi-hun, forced to only take what’s given to him.
Gi-hun keeps his eyes down as his cock glides between Young-il’s swollen lips, earning him a praiseful hum from the other, who nudges the tip into his entrance. Air is punched out of him as he eases into the tight heat. Fuck, it’s too much. He sinks in slowly, torturously so, and groans, feeling walls of flesh move around him as his balls hit the back of Young-il’s plump ass.
Before he’s properly adjusted to the feeling, he begins to rock his hips impatiently, still thrusting fingers in and out of In-ho. He tries to keep up a pleasant rhythm at first, for In-ho, but when Young-il begins to move his hips in perfect sync with Gi-hun, forcing his cock impossibly deeper inside, he falters, fingers slowing to a near standstill.
He lets himself be moved by the current, waves of pleasure and different sensations rolling over him. And much like a boat out at sea during a storm, he feels himself tipping over as he’s hit with wave after wave of sensation. Warmth spreads in his chest as he comes inside Young-il, that was fast, but he’s somehow still hard. He closes his eyes, just letting it happen, and in a sudden surge of movement, In-ho has gotten up and moved to kiss him as he’s fucking his own cum into Young-il. It’s filthy, sets of lips coming together like puzzle pieces as tongues twist around each other. He comes to hold his hand again, and Gi-hun notices it feels just as soft and warm as on the terrasse last night.
In-ho tastes differently than Young-il, sharper and less sweet against his tastebuds, and he moves differently too — with more purpose, as if this is a competition to be won. How very characteristic for In-ho, Gi-hun thinks, to refuse to settle for only half of Gi-hun’s attention when he’s used to being the sole focus. He wonders, would he still choose Young-il over In-ho if we could? If Oh Young-il weren’t a persona half-inspired by the other man’s own traits? Gi-hun moans into the kiss, angling his mouth to lick the other’s bottom row of teeth. Gi-hun holds him by his shoulders, deltoid and trapezoidal muscles still firm under layers of skin. He feels them rippling under his grasp and moving him, making him slip out of Young-il as he’s pushed onto his back next to him.
His dick isn’t free for long, however, when he’s straddled by In-ho who rubs him between his folds as he grinds back and forth. Hands span over Gi-hun’s torso before finding his pectorals, kneading muscle and deposits of fat.
“Gi-hun-ah,” In-ho breathes, muscles in thighs and abdomen pulled taut, working together to form a slow, rhythmic roll of his hips. He’s looking down at him through half-closed eyes, lips slick and skin flushed. He’s so wet, too, inner thighs glistening as more slick pulses out to wet Gi-hun’s cock.
“I’ve earned it now, haven’t I, Gi-hun, just please…” he trails off, biting back another noise. Young-il appears to have gotten up without either of them noticing, now looming beside In-ho while his hands wander.
“Has he, Gi-hun-ssi?”
His mind feels fuzzy, everything feels so surrealistic, seeing Young-il mouth at In-ho’s neck while the other is begging for his cock. He feels tongue-tied, muscles weak and useless, only able to gasp and caress In-ho’s hips. He moves his right thumb to his clit, as if to encourage him. And before he’s even registered that he’s done so, In-ho lines himself up and sinks down slowly, letting out a shaky exhale.
“Oh, fuck — thank you,” he moans as eyes flutter shut and whimpers, hips twitching. Gi-hun belatedly realizes that In-ho is cumming just from being filled. He feels like he’s being milked as walls contract and flutter, and Gi-hun moans, thrusting up instinctively as he gains a rhythm. Young-il is grabbing In-ho’s hips now too, gently coaxing them into a comfortable pace as they move and In-ho squirms from overstimulation.
He feels himself slipping away into the pleasant heat again, focusing on the sensation of walls pulsing around him and hands spanning over his upper body and face. He closes his eyes and lets himself relax further into the bed, which dematerializes under him — and he is light as a feather, falling into a sea of nothingness, but his descent is slowed by the caress of his lover. Hands and mouths span over his body, transmitted in his nervous system as electric impulses before they’re interpreted as touches of worship in his brain. He is falling until he isn’t, landing comfortably again on the mattress as his legs are spread and something slides inside him.
He opens his eyes again, and their positions have changed. In-ho is rocking softly into him with a strap while Young-il lays by Gi-hun’s side, index finger drawing light patterns on his stomach.
Their bed is back, tangible as ever, and pushes himself up on his elbows as In-ho leans down to kiss him so impossibly gently before Young-il can. This time, the kiss is chaste, and Gi-hun thinks he might prefer it this way. It’s nice, but he briefly wonders at what point In-ho went to grab the strap-on in their closet. He ended up buying one after realizing he’s probably never going to stop letting In-ho visit him, so they might as well. When he angles his thrusts and hits Gi-hun’s prostate, though, the logistics of the dream become irrelevant, and he loses himself to sensation once again.
He feels like he is nearing the end, and when Young-il begins to jerk him off in the same tempo the other takes him with, he reaches his second orgasm. Ropes of cum paint his heaving stomach, and he whimpers as In-ho fucks him through it. A hand comes to stroke his cheek, thumb wiping away tears gathering at his waterline, and he leans into the touch. Gi-hun feels so full, so satiated, so loved, even, that he cannot help his lip quivering and tears flowing. Not long after, In-ho is pulling out of him and Gi-hun maneuvers himself further on the bed to take a break as his body recovers. In-ho comes to sit crossed next to him and kisses his cheek. The tears stop soon enough, and Gi-hun breathing calms. In-ho leans back and smiles.
The other two seem far from satisfied, especially not Young-il, who pounces on In-ho the moment he can. He sees them kissing now, knees slipped between the other’s thighs as fingers intertwine — In-ho moving down to suck on a brown nipple as Young-il gasps, before laying the other flat on his back and spreading his strong legs. A string of slick connects to In-ho’s bottom lip before breaking as he comes up for air again. Gi-hun’s own cock twitches to life again at the sight, and as if on cue, In-ho goes down again like a starving man.
Gi-hun blinks, and their positions are now reversed, as if they were one from the very beginning. He feels faint.
It soon after becomes another blur.
Flashes of In-ho, then Young-il, then In-ho again, fucked against the mattress as toned legs are swung over Gi-hun’s shoulder.
Then he’s riding Young-il while In-ho is pressed flush against his back, begging for his turn. In-ho gagging on his cock.
Then he’s on his back, In-ho pressing him into the bedding as he fucks him from behind, Gi-hun’s spent cock rubbing against the white sheet.
Gi-hun sitting on Young-il’s face as a tongue breaches his sphincter, desperately clinging to the headboard before In-ho takes his cock in hand and sucks his nipples.
He doesn’t know how many times he has come, but he does still does not feel any less hungry when he licks and sucks on In-ho’s clit, three fingers inside his pussy, as the other whines again. He’s taking shaky breaths as he holds his legs up, and when Gi-hun pulls away briefly to look at his wet cunt, he sees a shiny, little buttplug has materialized.
“I prepared him for you when you weren’t looking,” Young-il says. He is suddenly behind him again with the strap. He can practically hear him smile.
“Go on.”
Gi-hun gets in position, fingertips catching on the plug as he begins to slowly pull it out. In-ho raises his head, trying to get a view of what is happening, but he is quickly overcome by the stretch and can only throw his head back. The buttplug comes out slowly at first, until the broadest passes the ring of muscle, and then it almost falls out by itself. He looks to In-ho, who is sniffeling and whose eyes are glassy with tears.
Wetness from his cunt drips down until it reaches his asshole, and it gives Gi-hun an idea — he smears the slick covering his three fingers over his cock, then slides it back and forth between the inner lips, before slowly inserting his cockhead. In-ho bites him bottom lip and chokes back some guttural noise before he relaxes. It is still so, so tight, and Gi-hun only gets to around half of his own length before Young-il is spreading his asscheeks and pushing into him from behind.
The impact forces him to bottom out inside In-ho, who yelps before tensing and then relaxing again, head lolling back as he blubbers. Gi-hun reaches behind him signaling for Young-il to halt his movement, as he takes a moment to adjust to the fullness. He breathes in, out, in again, before he carefully moves a few centimeters out of In-ho to take more of the strap.
Before long, they find a comfortable tempo for them all, the painful stretch transitioning into pleasure. Every thrust feels like it triggers a crescendo of endorphins that never reaches its peak. It’s so good that it is unbearable. Behind Gi-hun, Young-il begins to speak again as his thrusts turn more insistent, bouncing Gi-hun deeper inside In-ho with the thrust of his hips.
“He takes you so well. Loves it, even,”
It’s true. He has In-ho’s knees folded up to his chest while he pounds his ass, and with every thrust, he loosens up a little, lets Gi-hun in a little deeper. He looks up at him through tears, through eyes that crinkle under the onslaught of pleasure. The only coherent word that escapes his lips is Gi-hun’s own name, sung over and over as he’s taken roughly.
“Like he was made for it,”
In-ho.
“To be stretched around your cock,”
In-ho. As if on autopilot, one of his hands moves to his cunt, running fingertips from the back of the opening to the clit, which he begins to stroke. In-ho squirms as he clenches around Gi-hun, and for a second, his vision goes white, tactile sensation reduced to the tight, tight molten heat of the hole he’s fucking.
“Until he forgets what emptiness feels like.”
Gi-hun, In-ho gasps, again and again in ecstasy. Young-il grips his right shoulder from behind as he speeds up, licking the sweat from his nape. It overwhelms Gi-hun, the warm tongue on skin mixing saliva with his sweat and leaving cold tracks of wetness in its wake. He closes his eyes.
In-ho.
Gi-hun, Gi-hun.
GI-HUN.
He yelps and jerks wildly, arms moving on instinct to protect his vitals, long legs tangled in the blanket. The armrest on the couch rudely hits the side of his head when he moves. No, that can’t be right. Gi-hun opens his eyes, careful as if to not disturb the fabric of his reality, as he takes in his surroundings. There he is, on the couch, and beside him is a kneeling In-ho, reading glasses discarded behind him at the sofa table. His arm is stretched in the space between them, as if frozen in time. He looks concerned, lips stretching to a thin line, frowning.
“Sorry.” He leans back slightly, arm retreating to his side. “You kept calling my name, so I thought you were having a nightmare. Are you okay?” In-ho asks him. He doesn’t know if he means having a nightmare about In-ho, or if he, in this hypothetical nightmare, was calling for In-ho’s help.
Gi-hun is still heaving for breaths as if he had just run a marathon. He can tell he’s been laying on his left side from the way his arm is prickling uncomfortably. He feels clammy. Drops of sweat trickle down his spine. The fever is very much still running its course in his body.
“No, it’s — I’m fine. Just the fever.”
He shifts his legs when he feels it, his cock hard and leaking in the confines of his underwear. The wet patch forming feels cold, and when he breaks eye contact to assess the damage, In-ho’s gaze follows. Dammit.
“Oh,” he exclaims quietly, expression going from a frown to one of amusement, “not a nightmare, then.” He begins to snicker, holding a hand up to cover his smile, but his eyes crinkling betray him while he maintains eye contact with the incriminating bulge.
“Save it,” Gi-hun says, sitting up fully while still mostly covered by the blanket. He makes an attempt to cover his crotch, but the damage has already been done. In-ho thankfully quickly gets it back together, reverting to a more neutral expression, “sorry. I’m flattered, really.”
It’s a good thing he’s not asking for details. Or that Gi-hun apparently didn’t call out for Young-il. He’s breathing heavily through his nose before parting his lips, bottom row of blunt teeth becoming visible.
“…you don’t want any help with that? So you can go back to sleep?” In-ho asks, gaze still completely fixed on his cock, definitely noticing the twitch it makes at his offer.
Gi-hun raises his brow.
“Maybe. I thought you didn’t want to get sick?”
In-ho leans forward so that his head rests on Gi-hun’s upper thigh as he’s still kneeling in front of him, looking completely entranced. His left hand begins to palm Gi-hun through the underwear as he nuzzles his face ever closer. He looks pleased, pupils blown wide as though the mere smell of Gi-hun has an intoxicating effect.
“I fear you’ve already gotten to me,” he says and pulls down the briefs to free his cock, earning him a groan from Gi-hun. In-ho gives it a few tentative strokes, spreading the precum at the tip, before licking a long stripe from base to tip before angling his head to suckling on the cockhead. Hips drive up into his mouth on instinct, but he doesn’t pull away, instead taking more of the cock into his mouth with each down-movement, hollowing his cheeks to create more suction. It is not lost on Gi-hun how much more control In-ho has gotten of his gag reflex since they began to see each other. It’s impressive, really, although he still becomes a little ambitious at times, taking on too much length at once with tears gathering at his crow’s feet.
But now, In-ho holds whatever of the shaft he can’t fit in his mouth with his hand, stroking it in sync with the bobbing of his head. He moans around the length, perhaps from his own arousal at the situation, Gi-hun doesn’t know, but the deep vibration makes his hips stutter as he moans in response. He feels In-ho squeeze the base before he pulls off to lick and kiss along the underside of his shaft.
“You taste so’good,” he slurs between breaths, moving up to press his tongue along the slit and cockhead, directly lapping up beads of precum as they emerge. He’s clearly enjoying himself too — eyes fluttering shut like he’s the one getting blown. The small, insistent licks have Gi-hun’s mind going completely blank as the tongue almost tries to press inside his slit, his fingernails digging into the sofa as he instinctively tries to buck up into the heat once again. But he only misses those soft lips, thrusting helplessly into the air and hitting In-ho’s cheek while he keeps stroking him.
“So eager,” he says, tone light, and Gi-hun whines, a plea for release.
And when In-ho takes him into his mouth again with a small smile, he can tell he’s definitely already close. His already-sensitive cockhead twitches in the warm heat, details of In-ho’s face so much more in focus than in his dreams, where a hazy veil covers his eyes and addles his consciousness. It’s almost too real now, he’s here and warm and alive and moaning around Gi-hun’s cock, and oh, fuck—
Goosebumps travel over his whole body in waves, then becomes focused at his cock as he feels himself ejaculating into In-ho’s mouth. He barely gags as his throat contracts while he swallows, hungrily, needily, around Gi-hun several times, who is still riding the pleasure in waves as his cock is milked for all it’s worth. The warm heat squeezes him several times, creating suction as In-ho swallows around him again, while his tongue rests flat against the underside of his shaft and his teeth are tucked behind his lips.
Overstimulation makes itself known soon enough, making Gi-hun wince in pain-pleasure. He gently pries In-ho off of his softening cock with a single hand before going lax again.
Some time later, Gi-hun isn’t exactly aware of time passing, In-ho is back with a small bowl of kongnamul-guk, a bowl of warm water, and a washcloth. Gi-hun didn’t even notice him leaving, or making soup, but appreciates the feeling of the warm cloth going from his forehead to his abdomen to his flaccid dick, wiping away the worst of the fever and breathing new life into him. He lets himself be fed by the spoonful, bite by bite until the bowl is empty, and In-ho is walking him to their bed. Well, Gi-hun’s bed.
The even and cold mattress is downright luxurious compared to that stupid sofa. He pulls the thin blanket around him, his poor immune system still fighting the fever by heating him up impossibly more.
In-ho sits at the far edge of the bed, looking at Gi-hun with an unreadable expression. A hand strokes Gi-hun’s calf soothingly. It’s nice. Gi-hun doesn’t fight back the smile that plays at his lips as he looks at the man sitting patiently by his feet.
“C’mere,” he says, and In-ho follows, spooning Gi-hun as sleep begins to overtake him once more.
This time, he does not dream.