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It's Kim who insists on leaving Korea.
Too dangerous to stay in one place since they all have targets on their backs. They spend weeks in mainland China before making their way to northern Japan - they will continue to move until they figure something out. The other surviving players are safe, Kim has made (and is still making) arrangements for everyone. Gi-hun wishes he could have gone with them, but Kim and Jun-ho had talked him into joining them; he's their most valuable asset because of his experience and knowledge.
Even if he can't prove it, Gi-hun knows it was orchestrated by In-ho, and feels like a hostage.
Kim is a blessing. He is reliable and sharp, always looking ahead. He never stops, a true professional even in the face of impossible odds. He's not exactly friendly, but he is something better than that - he’s completely immune to In-ho’s provocations. Gi-hun desperately hopes that it’s a skill he can learn.
Other than Kim, it's hell. He doesn't trust the Hwang brothers. They are to blame for most of the misery in Gi-hun’s life - deception and betrayal must run in their blood. If he weren’t so obsessed with the idea of taking down the games and everyone responsible for them, he would have asked Kim to get rid of them.
Jun-ho feels guilty and tries to make amends, but Gi-hun turns each attempt into a fight. His crimes weren't severe enough to deserve such punishment, but he's an easy proxy for Gi-hun’s anger. His need for explanations and forgiveness makes him malleable. He's not dangerous, not to Gi-hun.
If only he could say the same about his brother.
In-ho is arrogant as hell, acts as if he's still in charge, and all this is just a mild inconvenience. No amount of fighting or reasoning is enough to make him submit or admit defeat. And for some delusional reason, he believes he is entitled to Gi-hun's presence. No, worse - he thinks it's a matter of time before Gi-hun falls into his bed, like it's a foregone conclusion. As if what happened on the island was nothing but a prelude to it.
It doesn’t help that Gi-hun feels taunted by everything he does. Each lingering stare or excuse to touch him makes him want to explode and grab him by the throat. Gi-hun rejects him viciously every time, but quickly finds out it's his reaction that In-ho is after. In-ho is unbearably smug when one of their arguments escalates into Gi-hun punching him in the face - it makes Gi-hun feel utterly powerless despite his stinging fist. In-ho is the most infuriating thing Gi-hun has ever had in his life.
Gi-hun tries avoiding and ignoring him instead, but it only makes In-ho even bolder with his advances. One time he sneaks up to him to trail a finger down his spine before asking how long he is going to keep up the pretense. Gi-hun shoots up from his seat like a bullet and it's the start of another fight - first with In-ho, followed by another with Jun-ho. Gi-hun swears he's going to leave, fuck the consequences, he's better off dead than in this rotten prison.
It's Kim who convinces him otherwise, handling the situation with the care and patience required to defuse a bomb. Whatever Gi-hun is paying him, it is not enough.
The worst part is that In-ho isn't wrong. He isn't imagining or seeing things that aren't there. The attraction is mutual, the ugly truth Young-il represented doing very little to break it. But Gi-hun is resolved to fight it until his last breath. Giving in would reward In-ho for his behaviour - a seal of approval for the devastation he has caused in Gi-hun’s life.
But his body doesn't listen. It is convinced he needs In-ho - it can't tell the difference between two names with the same face. Gi-hun tries to get it out of his system after denial doesn't work. He fucks his fist like he's a teenager again, sucking on his fingers, occasionally burying them deep in his ass. But it's never enough. The need is never quenched; reignited anew each time he sees In-ho. The shame of it is punishing and he can't shake the feeling that all In-ho has to do is glance at him to know what he has been up to - who he is haunted by and what fantasies he has.
In-ho is wearing him down like water does to a stone.
-
The Hwang brothers are gone for the evening and Gi-hun celebrates it by getting blastingly drunk. Kim joins him for a few drinks before trying to reason with him about antagonizing the brothers and drinking too much. It doesn't work. It never does.
The mind numbing effect of the alcohol is a boon. His head is quiet for once and the various pains and scars fade away into oblivion. He would spend all his time drinking if it weren’t for the company he was forced to keep - he would have to be insane to make himself so vulnerable. But the alcohol deceivingly distorts his sense of self-preservation and encourages his impulsiveness.
It's in the early morning hours when he leaves his safe haven and makes it to In-ho's lair. He doesn't remember most of it, just glimpses and flashes. There's the indescribable look on In-ho's face, as if he was caught by surprise. There's Gi-hun yelling at him, spitting out venom every chance he gets. There's Gi-hun clutching at In-ho's shirt, mouths close enough to wet the air between them. Then there's Gi-hun's confession:
He doesn't want to want him, he wants to fight him. The only way it will ever happen is if In-ho takes it by force.
And Gi-hun begs him to take it. To ignore everything he says or does in defense. He wants to be cured of this sickness.
The heat on In-ho's face has more impact on him than he could ever have imagined in his fantasies. Gi-hun moans, staring maddeningly at his lips - before snapping out of it and running away like the coward that he is.
He spends his last moments awake curled up on the bathroom floor, feeling sick and clutching his head. The next morning - afternoon really - he pukes his insides out, his moment of weakness far more nauseating than the hangover.
In-ho keeps his distance and it's terrifying.
-
It happens much later, when his guard is lowered by the newfound sense of peace. His life is almost tolerable without In-ho in it. But strangely, he feels very bare without In-ho's shadow following his every move, as if he needs to have it clinging onto him.
He's drinking again, just buzzed, when he feels the bottle drawn from his hand. He doesn't have to look to know it's In-ho behind him, carefully setting the bottle away. His heart picks up its pace, sounding like a war drum in his head. He hadn't heard him enter the room. (He had unlocked the door after the first two drinks.)
He is far too comfortable for what is about to happen.
Suddenly his head is spinning, ears ringing, lungs empty. There's a long delay before his brain understands what happened - In-ho slapped him over the ears, disorienting him. He feels the alcohol churning uncomfortably in his stomach and fear flooding his veins.
This may actually be dangerous.
He tries to remember - Jun-ho is on a supply run, but he can't recall Kim’s plans. They couldn't be alone, could they? The new surge of fear is intoxicating in its intensity. (He can feel his cock twitch hopefully.)
He tries to take in his surroundings, but his vision is blurry and thoughts are obstructed by the lingering assault on his senses. They slowly return to him - his arms are pulled backwards and there is a scratchy texture on them. He growls as he is roughly manhandled and manipulated. He flexes his hands, finally solving the puzzle: there's a rope, tying his wrists to his elbows. There's very little give; his upper body is completely immobilized. There's a hint of panic because of it - he can't begin to guess what is going to happen next. (His head is dizzy with anticipation.)
He is thrown onto the floor and it makes the vertigo worse, leaving him hunched and swaying. His hair is longer, just long enough to be grabbed - he sneers as he's forced to follow the hand clenched in his hair, having to rise up to his knees. He shuts his eyes when the hand angles his face upwards. He will not give him what he wants. (He would crumble at the sight of him.)
He feels fingers prod at his lips and he grinds his teeth together. He gets the back of his skull slammed into the wall for his troubles. While disorienting, it doesn't hurt as much as it could - it's a warning. The only one he may get. (His cock throbs, already tenting his pants.)
Gods, he is so fucked in the head for this.
He relinquishes the tension in his mouth and In-ho takes the opportunity to hook a finger inside, pulling his jaw open. Two fingers settle on his tongue, rubbing against the wet muscle, and Gi-hun's breath speeds up. Then the fingers are shoved deeper, surprising him and triggering his gag reflex. It's so fucking disrespectful. (Gi-hun's hips snap forward, humping the air.)
The fingers pull away and he hears the sound of a zipper. His eyes water, anticipation running through his body like a bolt of electricity. He's panting and salivating, trying not to squirm. He smells his arousal before he tastes it. He doesn't fight it when it's pressed against his lips, chastised by the earlier threat. The hand in his hair tugs and his mouth falls open again obediently. In-ho feeds him his cock, the girth of it stretching his mouth obscenely wide. Gi-hun's moan has an echo to it and he almost chokes, realizing the answering groan had come from In-ho. (His restrained hands grab at nothing, eager to touch.)
In-ho's fingers rub at his scalp as he exploratorily plunders his mouth. It's been a while. It had been ugly when Gi-hun had been lost in his grief after his games with Il-nam - Gi-hun’s guilt had made him find increasingly creative ways to punish himself. He feels relief when In-ho sinks deeper and Gi-hun manages to control his reflexes, fingers tightly coiling into fists. (The relief quickly transforms into pride when he hears the deep, surprised gasp.)
His scalp burns suddenly and he gurgles around the cock in his mouth. His breath is interrupted by another vicious thrust deep down his throat and he panics. What the hell happened–
“Don't pretend you can't take it,” the voice sounds furious and the realization clicks into place. He wants to laugh. The poor bastard really thought he was about to deflower him. He should know better, wasn't that what the tracker had been for?
In-ho must detect his amusement and the source of it, because he withdraws almost completely, before forcing his way back in as deep as he can get, trapping Gi-hun's head between his hips and the wall. Gi-hun inhales fast, preparing himself with haste - he doubts this is going to get any easier from here on out. His head falls empty, focusing on survival (on being reduced to a warm mouth.)
In-ho adapts a ruthless rhythm, trusting Gi-hun to take it. And he does - with an aching jaw and limited air, but he does. In-ho stops again after filling him thoroughly, lodged tight down his throat. Gi-hun's tongue is starting to go numb and the lack of air is becoming a problem. But then it gets worse - In-ho pinches his nose, cutting his airflow completely. Gi-hun thrashes, panic eating up his reserved energy. This is actually dangerous - this is revenge for a perceived slight. In-ho ruts against his face, grinding the back of Gi-hun's head into the wall with the force of his hips, panting hard. (And Gi-hun reacts to it, his arousal pulsing from his core like an explosion.)
Finally - finally - In-ho withdraws and Gi-hun gasps for air before a hacking cough causes him to sag forward. There is saliva everywhere, dripping heavily down his chin to his bent legs and the floor. He tries to clear his throat, only to trigger another coughing fit. He feels like a mess. (He hopes he looks like one too.)
There's a thumb on his lower lip, smearing the wetness on it. Gi-hun looks up, only now realizing he has opened his eyes at some point. In-ho doesn't look cruel – hungry and wrecked, yes, but not cruel – more contemplative. The expression is reminiscent of one he wore before the rebellion– no, he doesn't need to start thinking again. He sucks In-ho's thumb into his mouth, asking for a distraction. (In-ho provides one, almost kindly.)
In-ho pulls closer again, replacing his thumb with his cock and allowing Gi-hun to take control. Gi-hun focuses on tasting him, using his tongue to familiarise himself with the shape and weight of him. He follows a vein until there is just the tip in his mouth, tongue wetly exploring the spongy flesh. He looks up through his eyelashes and In-ho responds by rolling his hips. Gi-hun moans, welcoming it. (He's so turned on he's worried about coming untouched in his pants.)
Then there's pressure as he sinks in fully once more, Gi-hun hollowing his cheeks as he takes him. He's confident until his suppressed gag reflex decides to stop cooperating. He genuinely chokes, chest heaving and tears gathering in his eyes. (No, not yet, he's not done yet.)
In-ho tries again and it's the same, Gi-hun’s throat overreacting after the abuse it experienced. This is about to end on a disgusting note. Even his own body can't stop betraying him after getting what it wanted. In-ho pulls back and Gi-hun wants to chase it. (He feels like a failure.)
In-ho pushes his head down to grab the rope binding his hands behind his back. He uses it to haul him to his feet, Gi-hun stumbling on traitorously weak legs. (He's so hard he probably couldn't stand straight.)
He is bent over the nearby desk, face jammed into the scattered items on the surface. In-ho kicks his legs open before stomping on his foot to curb his attempted struggle. A part of him wants to go feral, put all his energy into a fight and let his instincts lead. But his rational (hah) side refuses - this is already an insane game, he doesn't know In-ho or what he's like when angered. If Gi-hun pushes him too far, he might get killed for it. (Gi-hun won't grant him the satisfaction.)
It makes him nervous. He needs confirmation.
“In-ho,” Gi-hun calls for his attention. His voice is almost unrecognizable, it's so mangled. He shivers. “I can't feel my hands.”
A silence follows. It's mostly true, his hands are starting to feel like they are made of static. But it's not unbearable or painful, just annoyingly distracting.
He jumps when In-ho's fingers dig into the rope, quickly loosening and retying the knots. It's a good opportunity for a counterattack, but Gi-hun's body goes slack instead. He stopped. He stopped, he stopped, he stopped, his mind chants like a mantra as his heart beats wildly. (They are still playing the same game and they agree about the rules.)
He is in a trance, so overwhelmed by the realization that he still has something resembling control, that he hasn't doomed himself. He breathes shakily as In-ho unfastens his pants, giving himself access to him. Gi-hun groans, writhing on the desk. He's wet, his cock slimily sticking to his underwear when the fabric is pulled off him. (It nearly feels like he has come already.)
He's exposed now and In-ho spreads him open, the cool air of the room harshly reminding him of his vulnerability. He hears the sound of spitting, which is followed by a thumb pressing the resulting wetness into him. Gi-hun bites his lower lip to stifle the noise he makes. It's such an insult, being treated like this. (He wants to bury his dignity alive.)
“You're loose,” In-ho says apathetically and Gi-hun's head snaps up. How dare he–
He could barely get his thumb in, let alone move it, the saliva useless as an aid. His spite about Gi-hun's experience is beginning to be ridiculous and childish.
“Been busy,” Gi-hun responds, voice still rough. He gasps harshly when In-ho rams the thumb in, other fingers digging into his flesh.
“Do tell,” In-ho says, attempting to sound aloof, but Gi-hun sees right through it.
“I was curious to see just how alike you brothers are— fuck!” In-ho hits him with force, his palm landing viciously on the meat of his ass, the pain radiating down to his bones. He wasn't holding back, his temper got the better of him. (Gi-hun won, he actually won.)
In-ho uses the rope to pull him up against his chest. The brief moment when his upper body is suspended in the air by the rope alone awakens something unknown in Gi-hun.
“Are you sure that's wise?” In-ho asks, fury leaking out of his voice. Gi-hun wishes he could face him, see the emotions in his eyes. This is the closest he has come to ripping the metaphorical mask off his face.
“You’re right, it’s pointless” Gi-hun yields, eyelashes fluttering down. He sighs, exhilaration twisting his insides. “Neither of you compares to Kim.”
He should have expected the teeth at the junction of his neck and shoulder. It's so excessively violent and primitive that Gi-hun wants to laugh hysterically despite everything. The provocation worked like a charm and it was so easy. He didn't even need to do anything, not really. The pain doesn't fully register until In-ho pulls his mouth away and Gi-hun whines. An image of his blood on In-ho's teeth flashes in his mind and arousal pulsates like a heavy tide along his body.
“It's not your fault,” In-ho admits regretfully and Gi-hun's heart skips a beat. He was waiting for more violence; this mildness is foreign. “You're too insolent to know any better.”
I'll teach you goes unsaid.
Gi-hun is speechless, more so when In-ho licks at the indents left by his teeth before lowering him back on the desk with exaggerated gentleness. It's one of the more terrifying things he has ever done to Gi-hun. Gi-hun is instantly riddled with anxiety, mind rushing to predict possible outcomes. Maybe this is how his anger manifests - icy and cold, petrifying. (Gi-hun is smothered by flames in contrast.)
He tries to focus and use all his senses, but his heartbeat deafens him, thoughts carrying him far away. He's at the edge of a cliff, but uncertain which direction lies the fall.
There are many sounds - whispers of clothes, a crinkling sound followed by something wet. It has to be lube, Gi-hun persistently tells himself. In-ho wouldn't hesitate to hurt him, but he wouldn't do it at his own expense. (Would he?)
He feels the bare hardness poking at his entrance and Gi-hun's eyes grow wide.
“Condom,” he brings up defiantly. He has no knowledge of In-ho's past and sexual habits. He has no desire to find out through the consequences. (He's being smart, that's not allowed.)
“No.” The declaration is shockingly loud to Gi-hun. “You'll take whatever I give you.”
Fuck.
It's enough to overwrite whatever Gi-hun had planned to say. Humiliation at being denied burns his face, but he can't bring himself to protest. (He doesn't want to.)
He feels In-ho’s fingers dig into his flesh, pulling his cheeks apart for his cock. It's not going to work, he's too strung up to relax, he wasn't stretched enough–
“Wait, stop—” Gi-hun panics.
Yet he's split open. Gi-hun gasps, squirming as he is gradually impaled. He starts panting unevenly when the pressure fills his insides. It's too much, it shouldn't be possible. His body is quaking, mind in the midst of panic - he's going to tear, it will hurt like hell for weeks. In-ho bottoms out with a satisfied hiss, pulling on the rope to drag Gi-hun into the movement. He's so full, impossibly so. He can't understand how his body was able to take it all. Gi-hun's head is a mess of senseless noise, fueled by paranoia and helplessness. (He's right where he belongs.)
In-ho gives him a moment to adjust, but it's not enough and too much at the same time. Gi-hun lets out a broken moan as In-ho pulls back slowly, savoring the motion. Then he slams back in hard enough to hurt both of them. Gi-hun muffles his scream by biting his lip, his trapped fingers clawing at the empty air. In-ho decides to keep repeating the movement, from slow retreat to brutal assault. It hurts, it genuinely does, but it doesn't dissuade the pleasure he feels - it's as persistent as it is benevolent. He wants to come, needs to come, like this, right here. He sobs, rubbing his face against the desk, the mess on it digging into his skin.
“Say you're mine,” In-ho commands and Gi-hun nearly obeys due to the sheer authority behind the words. Instead he shakes his head, sniffling. (No, that's not right, his voice was pleading.)
He feels raw, like his skin and insides were scrubbed with sandpaper. His mind is blanking out on him and it scares him.
“You're only making it harder for yourself,” In-ho warns him, driving harshly into him. I know, Gi-hun thinks, I don't mean to. (He does, he always does.)
It finally hits him with an agonizing force:
It's too much.
He got carried away, he's in over his head, he can't do this–
“In-ho,” he whispers, overwhelmed. It's a pathetic little sound, followed by tears trailing hotly down his face. He wishes he could wrap his arms around himself. He's the one who asked for this and he can't take it.
He can't, he can't, he can't–
In-ho curls over his back, kissing the nape of his neck. Gi-hun exhales, only now realizing he was holding his breath.
“Gi-hun,” In-ho says, but it feels like a question - a question Gi-hun can't answer. His voice is comforting, soothing, something he can lean on. In-ho waits, but Gi-hun can't get the words out, mouthing them endlessly. Reluctantly, In-ho starts to withdraw, but Gi-hun shakes his head again, overemphasizing it.
“Gimme—” Gi-hun starts, the words clumsy in his mouth. His breath stutters. “Give me a minute.”
In-ho's fingers card into his hair to massage his scalp. Gi-hun moans, leaning into the warmth of it and trying to blink the moisture out of his eyes. The fingers are firm, but gentle - it comes naturally to him, having done it countless times to someone else. He's saying something, but Gi-hun can only focus on the smoothness of his voice, the words difficult to shape.
He feels In-ho move away again and Gi-hun immediately understands his intentions.
“I said I need a minute,” he hisses, refusing to give up now. He curls his fingers into fists, the rope scratching his skin. He collects himself, aided by the sudden burst of anger. He won't surrender, not when it's him. Whatever he started, he will finish.
In-ho's hand withdraws from his hair and Gi-hun bemoans the loss. The hands move to his sides, trailing down. He knows the destination, yet shivers when they caress his thighs - moans and tenses when one hand squeezes on his cock. The pleasure lights up like a firework in total darkness. The other hand wanders inside his shirt, trapping his nipple between the fingers, tugging on it. Gi-hun pushes backwards, clenching on the cock still buried in him. In-ho takes it as a permission to continue, resuming his thrusts with almost tender care. (It's wrong.)
It's unhurried, a polar opposite of where they started. It's quiet in the room, he can hear all the soft sounds In-ho makes, no longer concealed. The pain is present, but dimmed, nothing more than a hum in the background. (This was not the plan, this is…).
In-ho's grip on his cock becomes rougher and Gi-hun thrusts into it, causing him to fuck himself on In-ho’s cock. The pace increases, but the mood has changed. It's no longer about what Gi-hun thought he needed. (He will regret this.)
He lets his arousal take over, still strong and overpowering. It easily slides throughout his body, tingling and raising goosebumps on his skin. He feels so good, but he needs to come. Each drag of In-ho's cock inside him makes him want to writhe and wail. He's been on the edge too long.
“Say you're mine,” it's In-ho's voice again with the same demand and Gi-hun rumbles something in response, too lost in his pleasure to recall it. He fears it was surrender, especially when In-ho loses control, fucking him with sudden urgency. It completely scrambles his brain - all he can focus on is the sensation of being penetrated and used, how hot and hard In-ho feels inside him, how slippery and tight his hand feels on his cock. His toes curl and his back arches as the pleasure crescendos. His breath comes out in hitched, stifled whines as he struggles to decide if he wants to stay on the brink or not.
In-ho slams into him with a wrecked moan, inadvertently tightening his grip on him. Gi-hun tries to visualize the sight of him in his head and it headily tips him over the edge.
It's such a relief.
He finally feels free of anger and grief, mind resting in the middle of peaceful emptiness. Better, more effective than any amount of alcohol or fighting. In-ho fucks him through it, not slowing down. Just when the emptiness begins to fade, slowly being replaced by overstimulation, In-ho clutches at the rope, groaning hard. Gi-hun feels him come deep inside, still thrusting long after his release, as if he stubbornly refuses to accept it's over.
They stay like that, In-ho's hand caressing his back from under his shirt. Gi-hun's completely limp, satisfied for the first time in forever. He can't remember how they ended up like this.
In-ho pulls out of him, bringing his thumb instead to the sore entrance to rub at the mess he left behind. His thumb sinks in, trying to plug him, but accomplishes the opposite and pushes more cum out to leak down his thighs. Gi-hun can feel it so vividly and knows In-ho is memorizing the sight possessively. Gi-hun whimpers and tries to bring his legs together, earning a deep thrust for it.
“In-ho.”
It breaks the haze and In-ho unties him before gathering him in his arms. Back pressed to the wall, he slides down until they are crumpled on the floor together. In-ho nuzzles his neck, fingers massaging the reddened skin of his wrists.
He only meant to give In-ho a small piece of himself, but has lost so much more. He knows he is never getting any of it back as he watches In-ho caress the damaged skin like he sees his own name carved into it.
It should worry him.
But for now, he's done fighting.