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“–man,”
“Frontman.”
The sudden raise of a voice sent a jolt of surprise through In-ho, the smaller one of the two, who seemed as though he was suddenly brought back to reality. Gi-hun turned his head to get a better view of him, as the mask and hood completely obscured his peripheral vision, to be met with the void eyes of the dark geometric mask looking right back at him. The planes of the mask’s brow bone casted a shadow over the already dark visor in its eyeholes, and it was thus impossible, unless one knew of course, to think there was flesh and bone and soft tissue behind them. He — no, it — looked more like a strawman or a puppet with its broad shoulders and lack of visible skin than it did a human. If only Gi-hun had known sooner it had no backbone to speak of…
“I think Bear asked you something,” he said, making the hint of impatience in his voice noticeable even through the voice box. “Didn’t you hear?”
“I — I did, thank you.” In-ho said, besides the slight waver in his voice his tone itself did not betray his predicament at all. The mask certainly helped hide the deep flush he could feel crawling over him like vines, dilated arteries marking his entire upper body with a distinct pink overtone. The many layers he wore did not help his case, and he felt the padded shoulders of his uniform weigh him down like expectant hands. Before he could think, he let his head fall down as he instinctively brought one hand to his core, curling in on himself while the vibrations coursed through his entire body, before he remembered he never actually answered the question. He became acutely aware of his surroundings, suddenly, of how many eyes were on him — including, no, especially, the eyes of predators that would jump at the opportunity of taking him apart the very moment he wavers.
“...Well?”
He straightened up, legs coming together to support his weight like sturdy pillars of marble instead of the jelly he felt they were before.
“Right — I agree with my partner, sir.”
He heard a chuckle in the far back. “I'm sure you do,” Deer said. “— he's good, that one. I understand why you picked him out of all the other managers.”
It was then In-ho realised the double entendre of his word choice. He wondered if the VIP’s knew, or had always known of his relationship with Gi-hun — as subtle as he could’ve been, he couldn’t have been more obvious when he was actively bending the games’ rules to favor Gi-hun. A shiver ran down his spine, a glaring reminder that In-ho was only an object to them and they were allowed to speculate and laugh all they wanted and In-ho could not resist them at all.
“Anyway, since we discussed the game rules. Shouldn’t we talk about the games?” Asked Fox, looking through their mask towards the pair. “I think something like human chess would be fun to see. I’m sure you’ve got the facilities to support this game, no?”
Gi-hun is imperceptible in his white, geometrical mask, his intent and true thoughts unknown to the VIPs — but In-ho knew how he would respond to the VIP. If he were anyone else, if he cared enough about them, he would’ve stopped him from responding. It’s like Gi-hun had prepared for In-ho to speak up, hand inside of his pocket as he dialed up the intensity of the vibe. He bit on his lower lip hard enough to bleed, clenching around the toy. It pressed against his prostate and made him leak pathetically and strain against the steel of his cage, the unmoving and unfeeling statue that was the Frontman uselessly crumbling in front of everyone — in front of Gi-hun.
“We do. However, I believe Dalgona would work better, especially early on,” Gi-hun wanted to laugh in their faces for daring to suggest something like this, but they were bloodthirsty billionaires that could make no real use of their money. “It follows the traditional children’s games line of thinking and can be quite entertaining. And besides,” He turns to look at In-ho, who had recovered mostly well, giving the dark-clad figure a nod of acknowledgement. “It is his favorite game.”
“Oh, is that so?” Fox sounded amused, a large wolfish smile on their face. In-ho knew this was punishment above everything — punishment for the kind of man In-ho is, punishment for the games Gi-hun went through, punishment for him getting off to Gi-hun licking that damned sugar cookie. He twitched in his confines as the mental image of Gi-hun was brought to the front of his mind, with his arched back and sweaty nape from the exertion underneath the artificial lights, pink tongue stuck in desperation and panting all over the piece of candy. Quite frankly, it had In-ho wishing he could lick him all over and dip his tongue in his asshole and service him thoroughly as he deserved. He felt himself twitch again, the wide part of the plug pressing against his prostate deliciously and he almost lost himself in it, but the stares bore into him as much as the cold metal pressing against his heated skin. He coughed, realizing he was getting lost in his thoughts, mind hazy with lust as he pressed on to respond.
“Yes, that is right,” he manages, voicebox thankfully covering up the breathiness of his voice.
“Well then, I suppose I can’t say no to our wonderful hosts,” They laughed, a little too jovial for In-ho’s liking. Gi-hun would laugh along, not with the VIPs, but at how unwise they were, at how their playful jabs only helped to deepen the flush and shame In-ho felt at that very moment.
Under the guise of having the games be more ‘psychologically thrilling rather than watching mindless splatter’ to ‘fit the highly intelligent and cunning’ minds of the VIPs, less lethal games — at least ones that did not explicitly include the players being obligated to take the lives of another — had begun to be suggested by Gi-hun after being handed half the control of the Korean games. It wasn’t unlike a game of tug-of-war — Gi-hun wanted as many survivors as possible, and while achieving his feat was easy when he had In-ho wrapped around his pinky finger, there simply had to be a balance, lest the VIPs should suspect his true intentions.
At times, Gi-hun had to admit even he found In-ho hard to read, and his true motives behind their current arrangement were still unclear to him. He knew that he’d been nothing but a broken man that was chewed up by the system and spat out, left to stew in his own misery. Left unchecked, his ideology had become extreme, but built on a rather shaky foundation full of fallacies. And as time passed by his side, Gi-hun had learned exactly what buttons to press, exactly how to get under his skin, and most important of all, what kind of man he was — In-ho was pathetic, subhuman even, with no clear sense of direction without someone to give it to him. Gi-hun had filled that role perfectly, providing In-ho with orders upon orders, all under his control. He hadn’t originally envisioned he’d be ending the games like this, but he wasn’t against it either. He was gaining a lot more from this than In-ho was losing.
The discussion wrapped up pretty quickly, and In-ho was witness to just how incredible of a silver tongue Gi-hun had and how easily he was able to convince the VIPs to modify the games. They were none the wiser to Gi-hun’s subtle manipulation tactics — he was so charming, such a smooth talker, that people found him hard to resist. In-ho certainly wasn’t an exception to this, finding himself staring vacantly in Gi-hun’s direction while he led the conversation. Paired with the vibrations going through his core that took away his otherwise attentive mind, he felt pacified and helpless — like a dog watching his master speak in an intelligible language to his guests as he tugged him to and fro on a too-tight leash, he thought. The mask and its visor provided him with a distance, a barrier of sorts, that separated himself from the world before him, which only helped the haze take hold of his conscious thought. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t understand a word Gi-hun said if he tried, and yet suddenly he was brought back as the white shape before his eyes moved in front of him.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Gi-hun said absentmindedly over his shoulder, “we’ll call it a night. Planning the logistics of the Games will take time, so me and my partner must get started tonight.”
In-ho rattled off a similar answer in the affirmative before he felt a warm arm snake around his waist, impatiently guiding him to the back of the room where the exit door was. They had both already planned the VIPs would soon be catered to with wines that had a combined worth more money than In-ho would ever hold in his hands. The gloved hand around his waist gave him another squeeze, as if trying to ground him evermore. Gi-hun opened the door for him, leading down to a hall that led directly to their now-shared quarters, and roughly guided him further away from the VIP room, as if he wanted to have him under four eyes as soon as possible. He could feel the radiating warmth of Gi-hun through the layers of clothing, and the contact made him all too aware of how claustrophobic he felt, how caged and trapped he felt in his own skin and with Gi-hun embracing him and the cage digging into his sensitive skin.
The geometric mask had become one of the many shields In-ho wielded to hide his personal opinions of the many situations he would be faced with in this line of work, and he was certainly thankful for the anonymity it gave him as well, but it had one glaring downside — its voicebox would amplify every breath he took, every tiny exhale and sigh. And now, without thinking, he gasped for air, breaking the rhythmic beat of their steps as they walked down the hallway, and it made Gi-hun pause before quickly resuming his gait again, dragging In-ho along with him until he stopped in front of the main door.
He felt a presence by his ear and he stiffened, expecting a teasing comment about his lack of professional behavior earlier, but was met with nothing before Gi-hun opened the door for him, a silent command for In-ho to step in. Obedient as he was, he did, and before turning towards Gi-hun again he heard the latch of the lock clicking back in place.
“You should know the drill by now, In-ho. Strip.”
The first to go was his mask. It was so simple. One click of the clasp mechanism that kept it in place and the mask — his shield — was off him in an instant. With his field of view finally no longer obscured, he was able to see Gi-hun ahead of him, seated on the bed with his dainty legs crossed, hands on his kneecaps. He was so elegant in his posture, still masked and even if In-ho couldn’t see his eyes he could feel them piercing a hole through him. Sensing In-ho’s hesitation, Gi-hun’s right hand briefly unlatched from his hold to threateningly move towards his coat’s pocket, jumpstarting In-ho into action.
Next to go were his gloves and his heeled boots alongside his socks, meaningless accessories that peeled back layers of the intimidating, nearly inhuman persona that was the Frontman, exposing the man behind the mask — the pathetic and pitiful Hwang In-ho, who was so small before Gi-hun. Now only his clothes remained, and he started off by unbuttoning his thick, leather coat from the top. The process wasn’t anything sexy, but as more and more of his deliciously wide neck and further below his collarbones were exposed, the more it served to strip him of his authority. He slipped it off with ease, thick arms that were toned with muscle coming into view, as he almost shyly pulled up his black tank top above his head.
Before Gi-hun laid the scarred tapestry of In-ho’s torso, the incision scar from his kidney surgery and the bullet wound from when Jun-ho had shot him in the shoulder, as well as various smaller scars obtained from his own games that never quite healed, fleshy pink against his tan skin. His nipples were stiff, the cold air hitting his heated and slick skin making them harden. Hands nervously wrung down to his belt, unbuckling it and unlooping it with ease, the leather belt being set next to his shoes in case Gi-hun wanted to crack it across his back or restrict him with it.
Shaky with anticipation, all that was left were his pants, unbuttoning them and pulling the zipper down, pushing them alongside his briefs past his narrow hips and down his thighs until they were off him completely. He was a pitiful sight, his cock caged and balls swollen, knees nearly knocking together in shame. In-ho throbbed in his metal cage, the pain sending a delicious spark of pleasure down his spine, making him clench around the plug. He was already panting like a stupid dog, sweat beading at his temples as he awaited further instructions. In-ho knew what was coming next, he knew very well what his arrangement with Gi-hun entailed, but he wanted to be good for him. He wanted to please him after his mishap earlier.
“Crawl.”
The command was so void of emotion and yet so clear, sending In-ho to his knees immediately. He could never tell if Gi-hun was amused by how needy he was for it or if he was impressed by his obedience. After all, In-ho has never been one to lead, he’s only been a loyal follower — whether that be the Frontman or Young-il trailing behind Gi-hun like a lost puppy.
Crawling always took a toll on In-ho now that he was older, but now he savored the scrape and burn across his kneecaps a lot more, on his hands and knees as he approached Gi-hun like a well-behaved puppy. Once he’d been in front of his legs, he sat up on his knees, straightening out his back and presenting himself to his master.
“You were inexcusable today In-ho,” A gloved hand reached down for a stiff nipple, twisting it roughly between his thumb and his index finger. It made In-ho gasp in pain, cock uselessly jolting in its metal confines, trying to get to full hardness but to no avail. “Couldn’t muster a word, had me talk for you instead. You’re really useless, you know that?”
In-ho simply whined in response as Gi-hun continued to twist his tender nipple again, not quite able to gauge whether the question was rhetorical. It felt rather overwhelming and so he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to take on the piercing gaze. He understood now why this mask was designed the way it was — the razor-sharp edges shaping the face of its wearer resembles the cutting edge of a knife, giving a both impersonal and soulless ambiance. Had it not been for Gi-hun’s stature, In-ho would not have recognized him.
“Well?” Gi-hun said as he moved to twist the other nipple, clearly growing impatient. “Don’t tell me you forgot how to speak.”
The kneeling man gasped before opening his eyes to meet the unfeeling mask. “No— no sir, I’m sorry. I am useless,” In-ho mustered, the word sir still feeling foreign on his tongue. While he indeed addressed the VIPs as such, the honorific previously carried no meaning to him. Now, here with Gi-hun, it came with its own implications. Gi-hun tutted in response as his hand moved up to cup In-ho’s chin, pretending to inspect his face with a feign of disinterest.
“Oh, it speaks.” He said, turning In-ho’s head back and forth, gloved hand gripping the sides of his cheeks roughly enough to squish the flesh of his cheeks together. “Why don’t you turn around and present for me, mutt? Show me the tricks I taught you.” He let In-ho go roughly in a motion that resembled pushing away a misbehaving animal, leaving In-ho in front of him and waiting for the performance to come.
Throughout his life, In-ho has always been brilliant at following orders. The police academy quickly took note of the young man who was so eager to please his commanding officer, so receptive to praise and validation that he wouldn’t really question what was being asked of him. In-ho supposed it was simply a fact of human nature that some people were meant to lead, and some meant to be lead, where he fell in the latter category. Even in his time as the only Frontman, he had been under Il-nam’s authority, catering to his every wish and command, and his reward in return had been freedom and a promise of a real purpose in life he hadn’t seen since the death of his wife — a sense of direction.
Il-nam had seen the horribly shaken and malleable winner of 2015 with his previous conditioning to unquestioningly follow orders. Oh Il-nam saw the potential in someone so aimless and gave it out expecting loyalty in return, and had made Hwang In-ho in his image as the Lord made his holy servants in his. Even posthumously, In-ho still felt the old man’s scrutiny from beyond the grave, seeing him bend the rules that the last person who mattered to him set just to appease the new one. And as such, In-ho has throughout the years become so good at servicing it has become such an integral part of his identity — he simply wouldn’t know what to do were he left to his own devices.
And as such, it came so naturally to him to obey Gi-hun here, as he leaned back to support his weight on his broad shoulders and turned around, giving the clothed man a full view of his behind. He felt the muscles in his back tense and ripple as they supported his weight before he completely turned — feeling Gi-hun’s gaze pierce his soft skin as he bent down and felt his center of gravity shift and his back arch, in turn raising his ass towards the ceiling so that GI-hun might get a better view.
The position isn’t the most comfortable — his lower weight rested on the balls of his feet, stretching the ligaments in the arches. His hands rested flat on the hardwood floor and his elbows were parallel with his trunk, as if he tried to seem smaller, pushing his scapulars together and accentuating the lines of skeletal muscle and adipous tissue. In-ho knew Gi-hun’s eyes were most likely trailing down that back until they would stop at their prize — the silent hum of the buttplug buzzing through In-ho’s core as he shook and exhaled heavily while he still tried to accommodate the shift and press of it against his abused prostate. Gi-hun had opened and stretched him in the morning, shushing In-ho’s cries of pleasure and neediness as he first felt the widest part of the plug enter him and settle in place. The plug was a reminder he carried, both of the power Gi-hun held over him and just how he could use it, having In-ho ready to be bent over and taken whenever Gi-hun pleased.
In-ho could hear Gi-hun getting up only by how his clothes shuffled and boots scraped against the hardwood floor, could sense a gloved hand resting on his broad shoulder as the other ghosted over his back. He shivered in anticipation of what was to come, arching into the touch when Gi-hun felt the curve of his ass cheek from bottom to the top, up to his tailbone and then inching further below to hold the end of the plug. Inho could sense the warmth of his leather gloves when Gi-hun took hold of the plug and pulled it slightly outward, stretching his sphincter, before thrusting it back in. It was more a show of power than an attempt at fucking him, the thrust so miniscule that the tip remaining pressed to his abused prostate.
In-ho faltered a little with a gasp at the sudden thrust, hands sliding across the hardwood floor as he lost his balance and felt the tension in his triceps and anterior deltoid disappear momentarily before quickly stabilising himself on his elbows. His fingers curled, almost like he was fighting to get a good grip on the flooring while Gi-hun was fucking him with the toy, his walls gripping the vibrating plug. It barely moved in and out of his hole, he was just getting shallowly penetrated with the plug, but it didn’t stop In-ho from whining and gasping. His cock slit uselessly drooled more pre, coating the shiny silver of the metal cage.
He was expected to stay still and take it, the gloved hand almost holding him in place but he shifted his hips down, the stimulation after the edging he endured throughout the entire day worsening further the haze in his mind — he wanted it so bad, he couldn’t stop leaking and throbbed against the cage, the pain of it digging into his sensitive flesh was maddening to the point where the pain and the pleasure was mixing in his brain, firing off all the wrong signals. It felt good despite the fact that he was going against Gi-hun’s orders, but he knew he was also just a cheap slut for Gi-hun, just getting off on pain being inflicted on him.
His subtle movements didn’t go unnoticed, the hand on his shoulder pushing him down and forcing him to halt. “You could barely wait, could you?” He sneered, the mockery sounding so foreign and unlike Gi-hun through the voice modulator In-ho strained to recognise the human behind it as shivers went down his spine. In-ho could only nod in response, before that hand went up to his maw, holding it and squeezing it painfully, forcing him to look up to him.
“Use your words. Answer me, slut.”
“No — sir, I couldn’t wait. I’m so sorry,” In-ho nearly sobbed, beady eyes becoming misty at the waterline. Gi-hun released him and stopped playing with the plug, making him whimper as the vibrations continued wracking his body. He had the free will to look over his shoulder — he wasn’t blindfolded at all — but he wasn’t allowed to, only relying on audible clues. Goosebumps raised across his skin as he heard Gi-hun unbuckling and unlooping his belt, popping his pants’ button and pulling the zipper down. Instinctively, he felt his mouth water, reliant only on the mental image of him between Gi-hun’s legs with his mouth full of cock.
“Turn around, puppy —” he paused, sighing as he regarded In-ho, “and come suck me off.”
Spinning on his heels, In-ho crawled towards Gi-hun and in between his legs, where he could see Gi-hun holding his cock in his fist, almost as if presenting it to In-ho for him to wrap his lips around. It sent a pleasurable tingle down his spine to see Gi-hun barely pulling his pants down, not even bothering with undressing further than to have In-ho suck his cock. It was like he was being disregarded, only a wet hole for Gi-hun to use — In-ho wasn’t worthy of his time or effort to undress properly or make himself look presentable, rather he was just something he could use to quickly get himself off. It was thrilling and gave him purpose other than executing monotonous, managerial tasks for the men that tugged his leash.
In-ho leaned forward and shifted on his knees while trying not to shift the plug, one careful hand coming to rest on Gi-hun’s shin as he regained his balance. He pressed his cheek against the length of it, nose nudging against the bulging veins as, feeling the warmth radiating off him and taking in his scent — his natural musk, alongside a faint trace of sweat. He pressed a chaste kiss to the head before looking up at the man. He was trying to affect him, and Gi-hun must have known that, because a hand found its way behind his nape to nudge — or perhaps caress — In-ho. And so he got a move on, holding back on the teasing and the kittenish licks before taking him in his mouth slowly. In-ho drooled around it almost immediately, the thick, blunt head parting his lips, slowly lowering his head to take more of it. Gi-hun smelled so good, lapping at the slit to taste his pre, moaning around the mouthful of cock as he bobbed his head up and down, lapping at his veins and pressing the tip of his tongue against the underside of his cock, making Gi-hun groan. The groan did something to him, like all the times Gi-hun had worn the mask — enunciating the breathiness of it and making it sound deeper.
He was so docile — teeth tucked behind his teeth, working his throat muscles to be looser, though he’d always gag around the intrusion when he hit the back of his throat. A gloved hand came to the crown of his head, so lovingly caressing his hair, fingers gripping tufts of it to tug him in deeper, making In-ho take more of his cock. He choked around the girth of it, the corners of his beautiful eyes stinging with tears, swallowing down his spit. It pooled around the corners of his lips too, just a pathetic mess as Gi-hun fucked his mouth like he’d fuck into a fleshlight, the slick, sloppy sounds of the thrusts spurring them both on. In-ho sharply inhaled through his nose, lungs burning as he struggled to breathe, throat restricting around him. He could feel him throb on his tongue as he swallowed his precum, sensing he’d cum soon. He wanted to swallow him down — it’d been a while anyway, but In-ho was certain he didn’t deserve it because of his behavior today. But truth be told, even if he had been more articulate, more active during the meeting — having learned Gi-hun’s routine by now, he would have used that to punish In-ho as well, arguing that he was getting in the way. No matter what he did, In-ho wouldn't deserve him.
Thus, it wasn’t hard to know Gi-hun’s next move, getting pulled off his cock entirely and letting him breathe. Gi-hun’s right hand went down to his cock from In-ho’s head, wrapping his fist around it and jerking himself off, pointing at In-ho’s cheeks.
“No, no sir please, please let me swallow your cum, pleaseplease I want it sir,” He pleaded, big brown eyes on the mask’s eye holes, unable to get through to Gi-hun if he couldn’t engage in eye contact.
“What makes you think you deserve it? You could barely mutter a word today. You’re just a useless hole,” Gi-hun mocked, watching In-ho shift on his knees and his eyebrows knit. “You should be thanking me instead for allowing you to suck it,” He said, biting back a groan as he squeezed the base. He resumed pumping his cock once the wave of pleasure seemed to subside, and as he pumped his cock up and down a drop of precum fell onto In-ho’s parted upper lip. The hand still on In-ho’s nape held him firmly in place as Gi-hun traced his upper, then lower, lip with his cockhead and smeared the precum over them. It was like mimicking lip balm, In-ho thought, and he knew he was expected to speak soon lest Gi-hun would pull his cock away.
“You’re right. I don’t deserve you at all. Thank you so much sir,” He breathed out, keeping his eyes on the mask. He always fantasized about it when they had sex with the mask on, how Gi-hun looked at In-ho behind it — he was certain he was looking down on him now, a look of contempt and disgust in his eyes as he watched In-ho degrade and debauch himself over his former mortal enemy’s cock. He wanted to open his mouth and stick his tongue out, but he composed himself, patient for anything Gi-hun would give him.
“That’s right. It’s good you at least — ugh — know your place,” Gi-hun grunted out, huffing as he spilled all over In-ho’s asymmetrical lips, chin and cheeks, painting him white and marking him as his further. Gi-hun had always thought there was something deeply perverse with outright cumming on someone — not only because of how difficult it is to wash the smell of spunk off of your face — but because the very nature of it is to define your partner. It felt like he dismissed them, used their face as a tissue before tucking himself away in his pants and leaving them to clean up his mess. But that is exactly why In-ho deserves it.
Gi-hun sighed as he tried to catch his breath, watching In-ho do the same. Ropes of semen covered every facial feature of his, from his cheekbones to the bridge of his nose to his chin. Tear tracks were forming over the planes of his face from a few tears breaking the waterline while he struggled to fit the cock in his small mouth. He looked so debauched, so defiled, so unlike the facade he would normally keep as the Frontman that Gi-hun briefly wondered if In-ho had any other personalities hidden away from him. Was this pathetic thing the real Hwang In-ho, or was the real In-ho the Frontman, or was he really just Oh Young-il?
“In-ho.”
He blinked once, then twice, as if to physically process what Gi-hun had just said. His head felt fuzzy, which was only partly the plug’s doing — a moment of submitting so completely like this, to give all one’s agency to another person and not have to think for oneself was so freeing for someone in his position that he would find it difficult to articulate why. It cleared his mind like nothing else. He focused on Gi-hun’s silhouette at the corner of his eyes, who had moved around and kneeled to his level at some point while In-ho’s eyes were closed.
“Do you think you deserve a reward?” Gi-hun asked, a hint of scorn present in his voice. As if the question was merely rhetorical, a test to see if In-ho would take the bait.
Suddenly he perked up, as if a higher function of cognitive ability had been awakened by the mere mention of something in return for his efforts, completely oblivious to the tone of voice in which it was said with. “Yes,” he said, and it was all he could think of, head full of cotton almost just from how needy he’d become.
“Yesyesyes please — sir, I’ve been so good for you,” In-ho nearly groveled before Gi-hun, like a worshipper before an idol. Even though they were now at the same level In-ho still felt so lowly, so beneath him not unlike the ground Gi-hun walked on. As if on cue, a hand came to his wide waist before something else entered his field of vision — the key to the cage, dangling right there between an index and thumb. His mouth opened like that of a fish out of water, gasping for something. Oh, was Gi-hun going to— but with a flick of his wrist, he tossed the key onto the bed, so much farther away from In-ho, whose face contorted in disappointment.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gi-hun mocked, “did you think I was going to let you out? Jerk you off, hm?”
In-ho turned, leaning his head back so his face was angled with the mask, lips quivering as his eyes began to water in pure frustration again, the hard plastic betrayed no emotion of its wearer. Hwang In-ho was completely at the mercy of the new Frontman, the one he had appointed himself as his companion in hopes of appeasing Seong Gi-hun, of eventually earning his forgiveness.
“I don’t touch filth like you.” Gi-hun half-mumbled, knowing his face was close enough for In-ho to hear it, who could do nothing but watch him in despair as Gi-hun reached behind him and procured another item — a white wand, bulbous tip already on its way down to his crotch. He doesn’t remember seeing Gi-hun go get it, but he certainly couldn’t rule out that he’d been hiding it from him while In-ho was spacing out. He stiffened in Gi-hun’s hold from sheer anticipation, turning his head towards the impassive white mask again. It was like everything was in slow-motion as the wand neared his soiled metal cage before making contact with the base. Gi-hun leaned even closer until the naked man felt the sharp edge of the mask’s chin.
“You’re so easy,” mumbled the mask, but In-ho felt the vibrations of the voicebox more than he heard what was said, because with the single press of a button all his senses were reduced to a violent buzz from the wand starting. He cried out, unable to say himself whether it was from pain or pleasure, the feel of his pathetic cock finally being given attention so overwhelming to his abused nerve endings.
“Do you really like this?” A voice in his ear said. “You’re disgusting. A disgusting, easy slut,” it continued, and really, if In-ho were able to muster anything more than mewls and cries, he’d agree. He tried to wiggle away from the relentless onslaught of stimuli, but it only made the buttplug inside him shift against his prostate, and his whimpers grew more desperate. It was so humiliating, so degrading, yet he couldn’t stop once he’d begun to move his hips back and forth in a broken rhythm, humping the toy as Gi-hun watched him.
“I don’t know why I humor you like this. You don’t deserve to feel good.”
Another wave of pleasure hit him, abdominal muscles contracting as heat washed over him, and he clutched the front of Gi-hun’s Frontman uniform as he felt himself twitch in the metal cage. He shook his head, silently agreeing with the statement, and could feel tears gathering at the corners of his eyes again as he rested his cheek on Gi-hun’s shoulder. He immediately felt the hard bone of his clavicle through layers of clothing, because Gi-hun was so frail still, gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes hiding behind the mask that In-ho had provided him with in the very beginning of this.
In-ho breathed him in as he shakily inhaled, smelling faint honey underneath his natural musk and the sweat that came from wearing multiple layers — he had nothing else to go off of, only painful stimulation on his body, allowed only to smell Gi-hun like he wasn’t worthy of the rest of his presence or his hands on his body. With a swift movement, Gi-hun pulled away, In-ho mourning his comforting warmth and scent more than anything, solidifying really just how undeserving of Gi-hun he was. He looked at him pleadingly as he swayed back and forth momentarily before regaining his balance, only for Gi-hun to turn up the wand’s vibration and hold him in place with his free hand. The leather-clad fingers bore into his, perhaps in annoyance with In-ho’s obedience earlier or a command to keep still, the touch was so clinical and cold. In-ho moaned, squeezing his eyes shut as his tactile senses were overwhelmed once again and he swore he could feel every nanometer of the wand as Gi-hun dragged it from the cage’s base to his steel-clad tip, so wet with precum it was surely making a mess on the floor, to his tight balls.
He heaved for a breath, chest rising and falling rapidly as he held back on the tears. It was so much, too much, twitching in Gi-hun’s hold as he tried to compose himself, but it was getting harder for him with each passing second as he felt his abdomen tighten. It felt so good that it hurt and In-ho didn’t know whether to pull away or not, body confused and overwhelmed from the overstimulation.
Without giving In-ho any reprieve, the wand slid further down and pressed against his sensitive tip, making him brokenly moan. The pleasure was immense, and so was the pain from the oversensitivity, In-ho feeling as though all of his nerves were being burnt at their very dendrites, receiving so many signals of both good and bad at once they were burning up. He tightened around the plug reflexively, making it press against his prostate, making himself whimper at the simultaneous stimulation, bucking his hips up to get both closer to the wand and the plug deeper inside him. He felt worthless, like a thoughtless animal whose thought was only governed by its nature and instincts.
“You’re so loud. Don’t tell me you’re about to cum?”
Wordlessly, In-ho shook his head no, although he knew he wasn’t about to last any longer. Gi-hun knew him all too well too, his tells as well, surely In-ho didn’t deserve to be let off the hook this easily? His toes curled, mindlessly humping the toy now and lost in his own pleasure. He was disgusting, so disgusting, allowing the pleasure to cloud his mind further and get lost in it, strings behind his navel tightening and selfishly chasing his orgasm. Even if Gi-hun was degrading him further, In-ho couldn’t register his words, his caged cock giving a weak throb against its confines.
With a twitch of his hips forward, his abs flexed a little as In-ho spilled inside the cage and leaked out of the hole by his cockslit, milky white fluid dripping down to his swollen balls and very little landing even on the floor. As soon as it happened, though, the stimulation ceased as well, both from the wand and the plug, leaving In-ho high and dry. The euphoria that came with orgasming was immediately replaced by a sharp ache, his arousal painful almost as he barely got to enjoy climaxing. Instead, it all just felt like a punishment — it wouldn’t make sense for In-ho to enjoy his pleasure. He shouldn’t be enjoying it at all, especially after he hadn’t earned it.
He couldn’t control the tears he’d fought so hard to hold back, a full body sob wracking his body as tears cascaded down his face and on the perfect slope of his nose, folding in on himself as he cried loudly and openly. As he was bent down to his level, Gi-hun stroked along the crown of his head gently, allowing In-ho to come down from subspace. Gi-hun didn’t hold him, didn’t comfort him any more than was needed, their relationship not one where Gi-hun found himself wanting to be openly doting and caring for In-ho. In spite of that, In-ho was comforted by his near loving touch, his sobs dying down and becoming more meek and quiet.
After he’d calmed down Gi-hun still hadn’t let go, now both gloved hands going to his sides. “Can you stand up?” His voice was unfiltered now — he must’ve removed the mask at some point when he’d been crying and couldn’t hear anything over the thundering of his heartbeat and the volume of his sobs. In-ho weakly nodded and felt Gi-hun tucking his hands under his underarms, helping In-ho stand up. His legs had fallen asleep from kneeling down too long, a little wobbly on his footing like a baby fawn until he’d regained most of the sensation.
He was very graciously maneuvered to the bed by Gi-hun, laying him down gently like a bride. He wasn’t going to be uncaged tonight it seemed — why would Gi-hun let him out, is he stupid? In-ho couldn’t behave to begin with — he must’ve not earned it, judging by how he behaved today. Gi-hun was gone briefly, only to come back shortly after with a wet towel in hand, wiping In-ho down and helping clean up his mess at the front. He was gentle with his motions, making sure not to rub him raw any more than was needed since he’d still been so sensitive. The towel felt oddly cooling on his heated, sweat-slick skin, bringing relief to In-ho’s thoroughly tormented body.
Half-laying on his stomach, he’d felt the soreness in his hole immediately when Gi-hun pulled the plug out of him gently, making sure not to tear the skin around the rim and also not have him be any more uncomfortable. His muscles were relaxed around the thick part of the plug, not able to clench down on it any more — he’d been thoroughly fucked loose, feeling empty without it as In-ho weakly sighed at the loss of contact. He turned, settling on his side as he saw Gi-hun silently leave. This was a part of their unspoken agreement — they would each get their fill, but no more. In-ho still felt empty and not just literally — he felt like he’d lurch, the loneliness that was beginning to creep in unsettling, making him feel uneasy. In-ho had agreed that his role was to be used, but to be used came with feeling like you were chewed up and discarded afterwards. Being discarded didn’t feel so good, though it wasn’t up to In-ho to decide how he should feel or not. He’s been Gi-hun’s tormentor all this time, so small and insignificant before everything, therefore this was a worthy punishment for everything he’d done.
Now, with his body relaxed, he felt as though the exhaustion of the day hit him suddenly all at once. It was hard to keep his eyes open though the dim golden lighting bothered him, In-ho finding himself falling asleep though his mind was racing. He should be getting over himself soon, he thought, knowing Gi-hun didn’t regard In-ho the same way In-ho did, that he never would. This dance between them was pointless, yet if In-ho were to call it simply transactional he would admit that his ideals, the very foundation of the games, could be bent at the mere prospect of sex. He wouldn’t let himself truly ponder the other possibility.
An uncomfortable feeling settled in his core, replacing the dull pleasure and humming he’d felt there mere minutes ago. It felt like bitter poison for the Frontman, like he had swallowed a chemical that was eating him from the inside out, the very same poison he’d fed Gi-hun and eaten away at his soul. But alas, In-ho supposed it’s how things were meant to be — they were both trapped here, and the only comfort Gi-hun would ever find on this wretched island was in the company of the man that trapped him here. In-ho didn’t believe for a second he would be able to go back to an existence without Gi-hun either, regardless of how dead the other man’s eyes were or how absent he was emotionally. And as In-ho’s eyes slipped shut, he fell into a restless sleep.