Chapter Text
Desperation is not an emotion unfamiliar to In-ho. It’s startling how it can feel both unnatural and innate at the same time. He had assumed his logic would take over, that his damaged nervous system would somehow recognize that he was in no real danger.
It hadn’t happened during the six-legged race, so much so he had to create tension himself, going as far as to use his non-dominant hand to wind the top. He had hoped that his time wasting would make Gi-hun snap, blame him, anything at all that would shake his opinion of him.
Now, it was too late. True, he had Gi-hun pinned right where he wanted him, trusting him-or, well, trusting “Young-il”. But he had concerns. Gi-hun had still held to his morals, despite In-ho’s prodding, despite the games. And some part of In-ho felt himself admiring that, his conviction to stay “good”. The rest of him, though… After today…
Today’s game was the one that made him doubt his little experiment. That room- the carnival lights- the smell of drying blood and nervous sweat. All the memories came back and in an instant In-ho was just as he was then, fighting for his life. Desperate.
Fighting as if he had anything waiting for him outside of these candy colored halls. As if the games aren’t the only thing he has left.
Less than an hour has passed, and In-ho stands hunched over the sink in the bathroom, the harsh light throwing everything into sharp contrast. He’s already vomited, thankfully making it to a garbage can in time, but his legs are still shaky. He tries not to think of the sound, clasps his hands over his ears to avoid hearing the wet crunch of bone. It echoes in his brain, settles and repeats over and over and over.
His clammy hands grip onto the edge of the sink as he stares at himself in the water stained mirror.
Weak.
His hair drips rivulets of water down his face as he shakes, rinsing his mouth out for the third time.
He slaps himself, staring at his warped reflection in the sink’s mirror.
Weak!
Again! The second slap stings bad , making his eyes water from more than just his own self loathing.
WEAK!
Again! He lets out a choked sob, gripping his hair and slumping over the sink.
How hard would it be, to take the fork in his pocket and jam it into his carotid artery? To bleed out in the bathroom, alone. No consequences. No penalty.
How much trash has he disposed of to make it where he is today? How many people have died as a sacrifice to the games he’s run?
No, this is different. Killing someone with a gun is… detached. Impersonal. Just a twitch of your finger and they’re gone, snuffed out. But killing with your hands… He hasn’t taken someone's life in such an intimate manner since his own games.
Thinking of the look on Gi-hun’s face when they were reunited makes him feel ill again, a wave of nausea and remorse nearly keeling him over.
He doesn’t even know who I am. He doesn’t realize I’ve taken everything from him, and I’m selfish enough to still think I deserve him.
He straightens up and turns in an instant, punching a soap dispenser, hard- the plastic shattering under his fist. He lets out an anguished groan through clenched teeth- that really did hurt. Blood wells from his knuckles, not broken but the skin is damaged. In-ho lets out a shuddering exhale. The pain sharpens him, focuses his disorganized mind.
Think, think.
He isn’t ready for Gi-hun to see him like this, not yet anyways. He isn’t ready for the messy consequences. In-ho splashes more water on his face, trying in vain to wipe away the evidence that he’s been crying. Yet his eyes remain red, slightly puffy; his knuckles still bleeding, drip-dripping blood into the sink that diffuses and stains the running water a muted pink.
As if summoned by his outburst, the restroom door swings open with a creak. In-ho shakes his head. He thought he had told the soldiers to make sure nobody came into the restroom while he was there.
“Young-il? Are you okay? I thought I heard-”
Gi-hun stops speaking when he sees the blood.
“Young-il! What happened! Did you get attacked?” his voice has gone slightly shrill, panicked.
In-ho says nothing. Maybe it would be better if Gi-hun comforted him, the traitorous voice inside his head whispers. Maybe he can fix everything.
“If someone attacked you, you can tell me, okay? Sooner or later the O team… ,” Gi-hun trails off. He’s bunching up paper towels frantically.
Still, In-ho is silent. One part of him desperately wants to tell the truth, while another wants to manipulate the situation, seem more vulnerable to gain his trust...
“Here, let me see your hand,” Gi-hun murmurs, reaching for it. In-ho pulls away, staring at Gi-hun.
“I’m fine,” he hears himself say, unconvincingly. The third option, which is to push him away.
Gi-hun’s brow furrows in concern. This is a familiar expression on him- In-ho knows this face well. It’s the same expression he wore when staring into the camera during the 33rd game. Unknowingly staring directly into In-ho’s eyes. This is a man who doesn't allow himself to be pushed away.
“You’re bleeding everywhere, at least wrap it-“ He reaches for In-ho’s hand again, and this time, he lets Gi-hun take it, holding it gently while he wets the paper towels.
In-ho stares at him, watching as Gi-hun wipes the blood from his knuckles, humming absently as he does it. Jealousy flares within him- he remembers a recording- this same bathroom, three years prior. Gi-hun wiping blood from player 218’s forehead, a ritual of cleaning turning tender as their lips meet, their sweat and bloodstained clothing peeled from their bodies. In-ho kept the recording- of course he did. He kept all the recordings of Gi-hun.
In the beginning, he had convinced himself that he only kept them for posterity. After all, there were copies of every game available in the archives. But these were his personal copies, a kind of “Player 456 supercut”. In-ho’s favorite was a night vision video of Gi-hun‘s prone body, curled up on the thin mattress, early on in the games-his eyes darting back and forth behind his eyelids, deep in REM sleep. Every watch after the first was a fevered study of Seong Gi-hun; every mannerism and idiosyncrasy catalogued. A repetitive ritual of obsession.
But back to the present-
He lets out a quiet gasp as Gi-hun tightens his grip, still gentle, but firm- maneuvering him to more closely inspect the split skin of his knuckles. In this new position In-ho is pinned, held between the cold porcelain of the sink and Gi-hun’s lean body.
“Gi-hun…” he breathes. The other man looks up, meeting In-ho’s gaze with soft eyes, waiting for him to continue.
He doesn’t say what he is thinking, that nobody has taken care of him like this in years. That, before their late night tryst, nobody had touched him in years. He can feel his heart pounding in his ears, his body nearly caving in with want.
“Here. Hold your hand like this. I don’t have anything to hold the towels but if you sleep with it like this it won’t come undone. It’s tough but it’ll have to work for now,” Gi-hun murmurs as he curls In-ho’s injured hand into a fist around the paper towels.
In-ho’s throat feels dry, but he forces the words out.
“You’ve done this before…” he trails off.
Gi-hun is silent, contemplating as he cleans the blood off of the sink. He clears his throat.
“I worked for a motor company before… before everything.”
He turns away, leaning around In-ho to wash the blood from his hands.
“We went on strike for better hazard pay, but the cops came. They wouldn’t let us leave to get medical supplies. All we had were shop towels and electrical tape…” He gets quiet again.
His expression is guarded; these are painful memories for him. In-ho had read about the strike- of course he had. He had heard about the casualty, a coworker shot by police in front of Gi-hun. Something oddly relieving about that, selfishly relieving. He isn't the root of all of Gi-hun's suffering.
“Gi-hun… I’m sorry,” In-ho mutters, reaching out his uninjured hand to- to what? Pull him closer?
The other man turns back, another paper towel in his hand.
“You have dried blood on your chin, Young-il.”
In-ho cracks a weary smile. “You have more blood on you than I do.”
Gi-hun is silent, wiping the paper towel against In-ho’s jawline.
Too close, not close enough… What is he waiting for?
In an instant, In-ho closes the distance, leaning into Gi-hun’s space- embracing him.
“I was so worried I’d lost you today,” he hears himself say, nearly involuntarily. Finally, the blanket of static blocking his emotions is swept aside.
Tears threaten to well up in his eyes - this isn’t exactly a lie. He isn’t sure what would happen if his control over the games faltered and something happened to the other man. And isn’t that odd… can’t even picture being without him…
Gi-hun relaxes into him, holding In-ho close as he pins them against the sink once again.
Gi-hun you sly dog… this is just like that recording…
In-ho plays his part willingly, letting his hair fall into his eyes the same way player 218’s did in the video. He leans back in, pressing his lips to Gi-hun’s neck, against the faint bruise left by his own hand. The thought of that night makes his cock twitch against Gi-hun’s thigh. He keeps mouthing at the sweat-tacky skin of Gi-hun’s neck, relishing the shiver that runs through the other man.
“Young-il…Someone might come in here,” Gi-hun murmurs, his voice gone breathless. In-ho smiles despite himself, looking into the camera over his shoulder.
If Gi-hun only knew…
“Yes- um… should we go…?” He leaves the sentence unfinished, gesturing toward the stalls with his head and letting his uninjured hand roam under Gi-hun’s shirt, fiddling with the waistband of his pants.
Gi-hun swats his hand away playfully, a flush rising on his face as he pulls In-ho into a stall. He drops the bloodstained paper towel to the floor, uncaring. He will need both of his hands for this.
The second the stall door slams shut they are on each other, lips, teeth and tongue. Gi-hun lets out a surprised noise against In-ho’s lips when his back meets the wall- something between a gasp and a moan. In-ho’s hands roam under Gi-hun’s t shirt, up his back, trying to get a feel for every inch of his skin as the other man bites his lip, barely holding back his whines.
If he only had a bed available… In this moment, In-ho wishes for nothing more than to be able to take his time; to take Gi-hun apart slowly from the comfort of a plush bed, pin him by his slim waist, watch him writhe beneath him. These thoughts are nearly enough to drive him mad, even with the object of his fantasies pinned against a tile wall in front of him.
They grind against each other, needy. Anything to distract from their surroundings, the bloodstains in their clothes. In-ho is losing himself, and he loves it. Anything to keep him from confronting his own thoughts- He thinks he could come just from this, just from grinding against Gi-hun like a teenager.
“Here, Young-il, let me-“ Gi-hun pants against his lips while tugging on In-ho’s waistband. He just nods- he’s catching his breath too. The other man drops to his knees, slowly. They’re probably stiff from all the running, he thinks to himself. He passes Gi-hun his jacket.
“For your knees,” he says, trying to remain composed as Gi-hun looks up at him, a mischievous smile pulling at his face.
“Thank you, Young-il,” he says softly, teasingly. His eyes are wide, trusting; the pupils blown wide with lust, even as he tucks the bunched up fabric beneath his knees.
Whore.
Gi-hun traces the waistband of In-ho’s pants, still looking at him with those wide doe eyes. So close, too close to his obvious erection. In-ho breathes through his nose, his jaw clenched tight. He hates how much he wants this- needs this.
The other man tugs his tracksuit pants down, taking a second to squeeze his ass playfully. In-ho feels a shiver travel up his spine as Gi-hun continues teasing him, weaving his finger between the waistband of In-ho’s briefs and his skin.
This manages to nearly make In-ho’s knees buckle. He’s done this before…
The jealousy worms its way into the pit of In-ho’s stomach. Of course he’s done this before. He has video proof of it- of Gi-hun on his knees in front of Cho Sang-woo. Player 218. Mindlessly, In-ho reaches for Gi-hun’s hair, gripping it as the other man once did- possessively. His injured knuckles throb with pain but he barely flinches.
A breathy whine escapes from Gi-hun’s lips, slack jawed in pleasure as In-ho holds him still. The sight is near-pornographic despite Gi-hun still being fully clothed. He’s hard, too, the cheap polyester of the trackpants tenting obscenely.
In-ho takes the initiative, pulling his briefs down just enough for his cock to spring free, precum already beading at the tip. His grip on Gi-hun’s hair relaxes, his hand resting on the other man’s head, stroking his hair softly. Gi-hun lets out a small sigh of contentment as he focuses on the task at hand. In-ho has to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid coming on the spot, the look on the other man’s face is too much. But the sensations come flooding in, testing his resilience. A hot puff of breath, a firm hand wrapping around the base of his shaft. His eyes shoot open once he feels Gi-hun’s tongue running up the side of his cock, tracing the vein before taking the head into his mouth.
He teases it with the flat of his tongue, drawing a strangled moan from In-ho’s throat. Fuck, it’s been too long , he thinks to himself, his mind swimming. Gi-hun’s mouth is velvety soft, insistent, intent on pleasing In-ho. He’s good at it, really good- In-ho’s back arches as Gi-hun takes him deeper, humming around him. He bites his lip, tasting copper on his tongue as he grips the other man’s hair. Gi-hun closes his eyes as he bobs his head, tongue flicking the underside of In-ho’s cock each time he pulls back.
“Gi-hun, wait, fuck-” In-ho grits out. He doesn't want it to be over like this. Not when this will be the last time, almost certainly the last time he'll have Gi-hun like this. With a pop, Gi-hun pulls away, looking utterly debauched. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide; his lips are slick with spit, and his hair is sticking up at odd angles. He looks utterly wrecked. In-ho is certain he’s not looking much better himself.
“Is everything ok?” Gi-hun asks, his voice just slightly raspy. Once they left, it would be blatantly obvious what they had been up to. The thought sends a thrill up In-ho’s spine, the thought of everyone knowing Seong Gi-hun belonged to him . One last time, he can pretend Gi-hun is his.
“Stand up. I want to try something,” he blurts, heart racing. “Turn around.”
Gi-hun makes a puzzled expression but turns, looking over his shoulder almost coquettishly. In-ho moves behind him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist. He holds out his non-injured hand.
"Spit. And take your pants off."
Gi-hun spits dutifully, and shimmies out of both his track pants and his briefs. His ass is narrow, like his waist, but perky. In-ho finds himself staring. If only- if only he had enough time to truly savor Gi-hun, enough time to thoroughly fuck him as he deserves for this, the last time.
This would have to do. This would have to satisfy, even though In-ho knows it won't.
He slicks up the other man's inner thighs, brushing up against the underside of his cock by accident. Gi-hun lets out a whine, then bites his lip. In-ho strokes his own cock before thrusting it between Gi-hun's legs.
"Hold them together, please."
Gi-hun just nods, the hair on the back of his neck visibly standing on end. His cock twitches as he squeezes his legs together- its a lovely cock, In-ho thinks. Slender, with a charming upward curve, thinner but longer than his own.
In-ho begins moving his hips, gentle at first. The pressure is mind-numbingly perfect, and he feels his knees go weak as Gi-hun lets out a low moan, his head dropping and his arms bracing against the stall wall. His thighs are so soft- In-ho curses under his breath.
"Have you ever done this, Gi-hun?" he asks despite himself, gasping out the question in hot breaths.
"Ah- n-no. I've never-!" the other man's sentence cuts off with a high pitched whine as In-ho pinches a nipple, pleased with that answer.
Just me, I'm the only one who's had him like this, he thinks, cock twitching at the thought, possessive as it is.
Obscene sounds, moans and gasps and bitten off whines echo around them, distorting and doubling back off the tile. Obvious. Noisy and debauched. Careless.
"Fuck, Young-il, that's-" Gi-hun gasps as In-ho wraps a hand around his perfect cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. His breaths are ragged, as if he's coming undone from this, just this. Just being near to In-ho. He feels the same, feels like he is free falling, held in place only by Gi-hun.
Gi-hun turns his head back, trying to kiss In-ho and failing, the angle and their height difference making the act impossible this time. In-ho holds him in place regardless, taking his pleasure as the other man gasps and whines.
Their thrusts get less and less coordinated, the stall's wall creaking slightly. The filthiness of it is making In-ho's blood rush in his ears. Sex has never felt like this, this desperate collision of bodies, illicit and forbidden. At that thought, guilt like a razor cuts through. Not even with your wife?
It has never been like this. In-ho feels like he is splintering apart, like his body is glowing with desire. Like he and Gi-hun have come together, two halves becoming whole.
"Ah- Gi-hun," is all In-ho can get out, in moans repeated like a mantra. Just his name, punctuated by panting breath, the wet slap of skin on sweaty skin. He mouths at the other man's shoulder, grazing it with teeth and receiving a shudder and a gasp in return.
"You're perfect, this is- perfect," he moans, hips stuttering.
'Fuck, Young-il, please, please-" Gi-hun begs, grabbing In-ho's hand and bringing it to his throat once again. He looks beautiful like this, tears beading in his eyes, face flushed, lips still slightly swollen.
That, In-ho thinks, is what does it. He squeezes the sides of Gi-hun's throat, his hips snapping as the other main near cries out in pleasure. His only wish, in that moment, is for Gi-hun to be calling out his real name as he climaxes, coming against the grimy stall wall, hips jolting and back arched.
In-ho is not far behind him, biting down on the other man's shoulder- hard. It isn't long before he is coming with a groan, making a mess of Gi-hun's thighs.
They're silent in the aftermath, both just holding each other, propped against the wall for fear of collapsing. Their breaths mingle before their lips meet again, kissing slowly, tenderly.
It makes In-ho's heart ache knowing that this is the last time. He's enjoyed himself more than he originally intended to, being "Young-il". Being In-ho. Something twitches at the back of his mind, though. He debates saying what he wants to say before he breaks away, looking Gi-hun in his eyes, steeling himself. He glances at the bite mark on the other man's shoulder wistfully. One last truth. One last honest memory of "Young-il".
"Gi-hun, today... I killed someone. During the game," In-ho says quietly, a whisper against the shell of his ear. He sniffs, wondering if Gi-hun will take the news better if he's crying, if he's a tragic figure rather than stoic.
Gi-hun stiffens slightly. Almost imperceptibly, but In-ho can tell. He wonders for an instant why it matters.
Well, Seong Gi-hun, you won. You changed me before I changed you.
Silence.
This is it, this is when he will berate me. This is when he'll disappoint me.
Gi-hun says nothing, just pulls In-ho close and smoothes his hair.
"It's okay. This game... this game makes us do crazy things... " he murmurs, running slender fingers through In-ho's hair.
And...
For a moment, just a moment. In-ho feels remorse.