Work Text:
Three years ago, Il-nam said to Gi-hun:
"You're our horses."
It wasn't an insult. It wasn't a compliment either, of course. It was merely a remark. A frosty remark mingled with the final breaths of a dying man, for it to linger deep within the wrinkles of Gi-hun's brain – an insidious fever of the mind that seeped like acid into his eyes. All glimmer of life within was incinerated, burnt into the premature wrinkles of a disturbed visage.
A mark, like a lip tattoo on a racehorse to identify it.
But that glimmer of life... In-ho saw it on the first photo of him that shone beneath his shoes, amidst all the other players on the screen. It was a picture frozen in time, forever imprinted in his mind. And boy, did that gleeful face look sweet beneath his feet.
"You people are horses," In-ho too had spoken to Gi-hun over the phone, whilst holding his own throbbing dick in his hand.
It had been engraved into In-ho's mind to the point he could hardly concentrate on that Red Light, Green Light Game. Fly Me To The Moon in the background was no help either, because those lyrics...
His member was a rock by the end of the game. It was straining agonisingly against his black trousers; he could feel the pre-cum slicking through, an unspoken cry for his attention... or Gi-hun's attention, perhaps, because that was all he had on his mind. That smile.
Needless to say, In-ho grinded that hard-on against the screen, the heels of his palms pressed into the corners of Gi-hun's enticing grin. A horse. These players might be this facility's horses, but Gi-hun? Gi-hun was his horse – a literal ride or die.
And here he was, feeling it again. In-ho had just turned on his so-called teammates in their little revolution where bullets were exchanged. This time, Gi-hun was on his knees, Jung-bae's corpse next to him. And oh Lord, In-ho could feel his cock twitch with recognition. This was just like having him beneath him on that screen, but this was no frozen image from the past.
No, this was real. This was Gi-hun in the flesh, below him, staring up at him with desperation. Desperation to live, certainly. But desperation was desperation.
Fuck, In-ho thought, resisting the urge to palm himself. This cannot be happening.
"Take him to my quarters," In-ho ordered steadily. With a pause, he then added, "Tie him up, too."
♘
It was worsening.
There was a pool of magma within In-ho's lower abdomen that a feeble adjustment of the trousers could not alleviate. It was bulging through, peeking curiously out between the hems of his coat. Subsequently taking that coat off did not help either.
Like last time, In-ho felt his undergarments dampen with pre-cum, dribbling desperately into the fabric. His palms were sweaty as he tried to wrap his fingers around it, arousing a whimper from his throat.
That whimper woke Gi-hun up.
Gi-hun was tied to a chair, blindfolded, with a rope improvising as a gag. Such an enticing sight, though when In-ho pictured Gi-hun in this same situation, but on his bed, it alone elicited another whimper from his throat.
With a trembling hand, he reached out towards the bound man, raising his face towards his own, removing the gag and blindfold.
In-ho's mask was off, so Gi-hun would see his face, and probably scream with the upset of betrayal. Maybe In-ho would have to be the first to beg.
"Young-il?" he eventually gasped. For the first time, there was a sign of life in his eyes. A glimmer of horror, bewilderment, and panic. His breathing immediately quickened.
Fuck, he looked so good. But not now, In-ho knew. Not now.
"You may call me In-ho, Player 456," In-ho stated, releasing Gi-hun to slowly circle the chair, admiring Gi-hun from all angles.
"It was you all this time?" Gihun cried, thrashing in his bindings. "I trusted you! I trusted you! We were friends. I trusted you!"
"Trust," In-ho echoed. He turned away from Gi-hun to hide his boner, gazing into the large screen on the wall. "Trust is a fable, Player 456. It leads to deceased friends, and a broken man who does not learn. If you cling too much onto trust, you become ignorant to what is truly essential: your life." In-ho glanced down, grimacing at the cosmic tent in his trousers, causing him to mutter under his breath: "And your libido."
"You foul beast!" Gi-hun screamed, thrashing in his chair to the point it tipped to the side. "You traitor! You heartless, cold traitor!" In-ho could hear his sobs. Gi-hun was sobbing because of him. Imagine if Gi-hun was sobbing with In-ho deep inside?
The need was worsening. In-ho resisted another whimper. Frontmen don't whimper.
"I simply played the game," he responded calmly. "I joined the race, if you will. I became a bet – I had to, after I saw you show your face once again. That photo... your eyes were so sullen and hollow. There were no windows to your soul: only condensation."
Gi-hun grunted, and sneered. "You joined the games because I was there? You joined the games because you wanted to become a horse." He struggled against his ropes. "I'm not a horse, In-ho."
That contemptuous way Gi-hun spoke his name... In-ho shuddered ever so slightly. He could feel the player's eyes scald into his back, tearing along each ridge of his spine. The black shirt he wore beneath the coat fit snug around his form perhaps too well, from the broad upper half to the silkenly slender waist – In-ho should not be imagining Gi-hun admiring him, though he desired it.
At this point, the pre-cum was leaking into his trousers.
He released a soft grunt, subconsciously cupping his bulge beneath his fingers. It wasn't until he released Gi-hun was snapping and yelling and thrashing until an eerie silence filled the room.
Gi-hun broke it with a jeer. "Nothing to say? I'm disappointed. I thought the Frontman would be more well-spoken, but instead he cannot even look me in the eye after deceiving me. You must feel guilty, eh?"
In-ho grimaced, catching his breath in his throat. His member was beginning to ache at this point, throbbing with that same unspoken cry for attention. He cursed under his breath.
"Why did you bring me here, Frontman? Why didn't you kill me?"
"I..." In-ho breathed heavily.
"Why?"
"Because..."
"WHY?"
In-ho turned around, the enormous bulge in his trousers on full display. "I fell in love with you."
Gi-hun was, for once, silenced. Even for In-ho, who had many a time been plunged into combat in his days as a police force and a player of the game, such silence was unsettling – a nemesis that even he could not defeat. And that horror, that hint of life in Gi-hun? It diminished. They were, once again, sullen and hollow.
In-ho's tongue felt to dry for him to speak more. He let out a low, shuddering gasp as he approached the bound player, the material of his trousers and undergarments like sandpaper around his throbbing cock.
Lowering to Gi-hun's level, In-ho tried to speak, but those eyes... he could see not condensation, but through a window: a scene of heartbreak and tribulation, yet so empowered by it to the point of vengeance. In-ho could not supress it. Right into Gi-hun's face, he whimpered.
"I need you."
Gi-hun's eyes bore into his cock. No mischievous smile came to his lips, nor did it flicker in eyes: only a stoic countenance, a living replica of the most recent picture snapped of him. In-ho swallowed, his stomach burning not only with desire but also... was that anxiety?
On the other hand, his member seemed to appreciate Gi-hun's eyes. It twitched towards his face.
A dry chuckle heaved from Gi-hun's chest. "You're pathetic."
"Please," In-ho heaved out, "I was on your side. I was a Player once, just like you. I'll stop these games. I promise. Please."
Gi-hun glared at him silently, unconvinced.
In-ho whimpered. "Please," he repeated, palming his own tent. "I made you cheer in that game. We hugged each other's shoulders and cheered for that team. You had life in you." His breathing became heavier. "I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but... I want your gift in my mouth."
"I'm not a horse," Gi-hun huffed. "You are. You were a horse once before, and you were a horse again. Back on the tracks."
"Please."
"Untie me."
The command had sweat trickling down In-ho's hot, flushed skin. He could feel the magma in his cheeks, tears at the back of his eyes as he fumbled to untie Gi-hun. Even his fingertips were sensitive, the rope about the same texture as his garments against his leaking cock.
Gi-hun knocked the chair down as soon as he was untied, and grabbed In-ho by the collar of the shirt. In-ho gasped, his legs buckling to the point he lost his balance and dropped to his knees. He hadn't realised that Gi-hun held the blindfold in his hands until darkness shrouded his vision, a silky texture swiftly settling on his face.
"Do you know why they put masks over workhorses?" Gi-hun questioned frostily.
"I... I don't..."
"Of course you don't. Horses don't know why their eyes get covered either." Gi-hun must have pressed his foot down on In-ho's middle leg, because he felt a taunting pressure against his hardness that had his hips involuntarily jerking forwards.
"I'm not a..." In-ho trailed off.
"You're not a human."
"I'm human," In-ho mewled, only to groan as Gi-hun placed more pressure on his bulge, before stepping off.
He felt his teeth sink into rope, and movement around him. Gi-hun's voice came from behind as he whispered into In-ho's ear, "On your hands too."
In-ho whined, but compliantly leaned forward so that he was on both hands and knees. His stomach churned with humiliation, though the heat intensified; there was a fiery thrill coursing through him, because he knew he deserved this.
He groaned as his trousers and boxers were pulled off him, any attached weapons tossed aside, and hardly careful around his erection. Cold air hit his legs once the garments were fully off, and In-ho felt Gi-hun's weight atop his back. The rope was snagged, forcing his head upwards, and In-ho shivered as he felt fingers course through his hair, before a tuft of it was grabbed and yanked further back.
"Say neigh."
"Neigh."
All of a sudden, In-ho felt cold, calloused fingers wrap around his shaft. He gasped loudly, the throbbing growing more intense. His hips jerked, back arching, with his head pulled back by the rope. With his vision deprived, In-ho could feel each of Gi-hun's fingers around them, perhaps even name them.
He moaned as Gi-hun pumped him, slipping in the occasional "neigh" and the mewl of his name. Veins protruded in In-ho's hands as his fingers pathetically grabbed at the fibres of the carpet. He felt each stroke, in which a lot of thought was put into.
The tears at the back of In-ho's eyes poured forth. His mind swam with pleasure as Gi-hun toyed with his member, running his hand along the elongated shaft, squeezing his palm against it, and speeding up the process. In-ho's voice was rendered a liturgy of neighs and cries.
"Ngh... oh fuck," In-ho bellowed, "Gi-hun, I'm... I'm gonna... Ngh.. I'm close!"
"Giddyup."
With that said, In-ho let out one last cry as his hips bucked into Gi-hun's palm, a stream of white substance squirting out over it. In-ho panted, shaking from the afterglow, tempted to just flop onto his stomach.
Gi-hun lifted himself off him and pushed him onto his back, leaning over him. In-ho was still panting, his hair sweaty, lines of tears down his flushed face. There was an unwavering bitterness in Gi-hun's eyes, and yet...
... their lips collided. Gi-hun's against his, tongue slipping between In-ho's teeth and exploring his mouth.
And In-ho felt like he could go again.