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Hwang In-ho expected to be grabbed by the collar. He expected to be cursed at. Spat on. Knocked out. Hell, he even expected to be stabbed with the knife he just handed on a platter.
Anything but this— Silence.
Ignored.
His wife, the beacon of infinite wisdom herself, once told him of a quote she once discovered in an English-language novel. The opposite of love, she said, wasn’t hate; it was indifference. This was a memory from a different time. A happier one, when she was still around to recite lines from her books, when she was still healthy enough to read them, and before he packed them in one suitcase and crammed them into the shelves in his rented gositel, where he spent years poring over them. But back when he still had her, still had their house, he rolled his eyes at her. She who always made matters more complicated than they were. “If you don’t love something, then that means you hate it,” he had laughed as a response. Why must everything be difficult? When your boss gave you an order, you should comply. When a criminal broke the law, you should discipline them. When you were offered a knife and a chance to survive, you should take them—the knife and the chance. You were either a loser or a winner. A trash or one of us.
But he digressed.
Seong Gi-hun must hate him. Seong Gi-hun should have grabbed him by the collar, cursed him, spat on him, knocked him out, stabbed him.
Seong Gi-hun didn’t dignify him with anything at all.
“Player 456,” In-ho called out as Gi-hun trudged across the office’s short hallway and toward the elevator that would transport him back to the players’ dorm. “Do you still have faith in people?”
Still nothing.
Even the piles of garbage that passed through this island once a year, not unlike semi-finished products on a conveyor belt, were treated with more respect. When In-ho sent his guards to explain the rules of every game to them, didn’t he allow them questions? And didn’t he provide them with answers to help them understand? But here In-ho was, unmasking himself for a man who never talked back, never asked, never replied.
Now, In-ho knew hate. It was in the drunken suspects’ incoherent insults that he used to sneer at while he typed his police reports. It was in the shouted profanities from the players that he would shrug off while he sipped his whiskey. It never had any power over him.
Would his wife snicker at him from wherever she was now? Because this indifference did offend In-ho more than hate ever could, evoking in him the very emotion that was the antithesis of love.
See, In-ho also knew love. It was in the spare magazine handed to a false comrade.
Or so he presumed.
Even if there was love on Gi-hun's part, it must have vanished with the curiosity he never cared to satisfy. If he was ever curious at all.
But wasn’t it curiosity that compelled Gi-hun to remain by Oh Il-nam's deathbed two years ago? Unbeknownst to Gi-hun, In-ho was in another room in that same vacant building, surveilling them through a CCTV camera as the two gambled on a stranger’s life. Was that what it was? The bet? Was it the game that made Gi-hun stay?
His train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the ding of the elevator that, to his ears, bellowed as loudly as the klaxon in the arenas. But instead of a recording of a female announcer proclaiming the start of a game, it was followed by the boom of In-ho's own voice.
“Wait,” he said, just as the doors opened to reveal a rifle-slinging guard, who could only stand dumbstruck until In-ho resumed, “leave us!” And like any good soldier, he obeyed his captain’s instruction without a tinge of hesitation. In-ho's view was obstructed by Gi-hun, who stationed himself in front of the elevator, but In-ho could still glimpse the guard as he extended his arm toward the panel inside the cabin—before the doors slid shut in Gi-hun’s face.
“What is the meaning of this?” Gi-hun exclaimed as he spun on his heel, while the hall lantern on the wall behind him signaled the elevator’s descent.
Well, at least that got his attention.
“Player 456,” In-ho said in a tone that belied his dissonance. “Would you like to play a game with me?”
Gi-hun stalked toward In-ho again at that. With a scornful expression on his face and a knife in his clenched fist, Gi-hun was a facsimile of himself from a few days ago, who wandered the make-believe alleyways, on the hunt for Player 388. And yet, in spite of his rage, there was a smidgen of weariness that slowed Gi-hun down as if he had to exert all his energy to perform even the simplest act of drooping his shoulders.
“I thought that’s why you gave me this knife! Are you going back on your word already?”
From where he was still nestled in his leather armchair, In-ho raised his chin to stare at Gi-hun, now lingering at the end of the hallway. Flanked on either side by two black walls, Gi-hun seemed too exhausted to traverse the small distance that would bring him within In-ho's vicinity. Then again, as the tiny voice inside In-ho had so kindly reminded him, maybe Gi-hun thought that it wasn’t worth the effort. That In-ho wasn’t.
In-ho cleared his throat inconspicuously. “The knife is a gift. No matter how you’ll fare in this next game, I promise you that you will still have it at your disposal after you leave this room. And you will leave this room. You have my word.”
“So, the reward for winning will be the same as the punishment for losing?”
“Not so much. The winner will be entitled to do whatever he wants. For you, you can leave right away and do what you need to do with the weapon in your possession. Or you can—” And here, In-ho paused to gesture at the bar on his right. “Sit back. Relax. Have a drink or two.”
“And?” Gi-hun asked, suspecting a catch.
“And then,” In-ho continued. “We can talk.”
“What more can we talk about?”
“You’ll hear it for yourself. When I win.”
“That’s my punishment?” Gi-hun scoffed. “Listening to you talk?”
“And my reward, yes.”
“What more can we talk about?” Gi-hun repeated, pronouncing every syllable with more emphasis this time. “I’ve listened to Oh Il-nam and to your lapdog of a recruiter going out of their way to make excuses for themselves. And that’s what they are: Excuses. Nothing else. Why would I want to hear yours?”
“You don’t have to want it. When you lose, you will hear it, anyway.”
A frown etched itself between Gi-hun's brows. “When I lose? You seem so confident.”
In-ho could hold up a mirror to him, so he could see the fading red stain on his temple and the dark dents of his cheeks. How did he ever hope to be victorious over a more put-together In-ho in a game that was about to commence? Of course, In-ho could spell this out for Gi-hun, letting him accept his impending loss sooner rather than later. But that wouldn’t really help with the image of fairness that In-ho wished to reflect, would it?
In lieu of a reply, In-ho probed, “You remember learning about Prince Yeonsan of Joseon at school, don’t you?”
The creases on Gi-hun's forehead became more prominent. “Our worst tyrant? Who slaughtered men and abducted women? How could I forget, especially now?”
In-ho threw aside the insinuation, opting to engross himself in his gloves, which he then systematically peeled off, one digit at a time. “Then you must remember that he didn’t just abduct women; all hundreds of them. He stole wives, mothers, and daughters from their loved ones and turned them into his personal whores. I don’t suppose you’ve heard about his method for selecting his royal concubine?” When Gi-hun didn’t react, In-ho ploughed through, “It is said that his most loyal ministers handpicked the candidates from the captured women, choosing them based on their physical appearances and talents in many aspects, including in the art of fulfilling the king’s carnal desires.”
By this time, In-ho had completely removed his right glove, which he nonchalantly deposited on the accent table beside him, on top of his neglected mask. Now bare, his hand weaved its way toward his left one, still covered in luxurious lambskin. Its buttery smooth texture had never failed to delight him, who grew up with rags or mass-manufactured uniforms. His fingers traced the outline of the pliant material absentmindedly, the same way his eyes roved the length of Gi-hun's body, wondering if the human skin was just as supple underneath the suit.
With that in mind, In-ho proceeded to take off his left glove, narrating as he did so, “Through a grueling process of eliminations, two emerged as the finalists. All they had to do next was demonstrate their ability to please the king. His retainers figured he’d simply take them to his bed to make his decision, but the king had a much more unconventional idea. On an auspicious night, he summoned the beauties to his chamber and commanded them to compete in a game as he kept a watchful eye. The game only had one rule.” The glove came off. It slipped out of his grasp. He couldn’t care less where it fell. “He ordered them to fuck each other, and the first one to make her rival climax would be crowned the winner. She would be bestowed the coveted title of the royal concubine and the head of the losing woman.”
Not even the blackened circles under Gi-hun's eyes could conceal the shock in his widened pupils as realization befell him. Sheer disbelief unhinged Gi-hun's jaw and cemented him in place, and In-ho took the opportunity to finally spring to his feet and creep forward, ever so steadily reducing the gap Gi-hun didn't want to cross. And still, Gi-hun could only gape incredulously; an immovable deer to his brakeless car.
“Welcome to your next game,” In-ho said, synchronizing every step with each sentence. “You and I will be playing against each other. There is no limit to what we are permitted to do. The goal is to coax an orgasm out of the opponent. The player who ejaculates last will be declared the winner. He will receive the privileges of a champion, as previously described.”
A voice cut through In-ho's. A sentence uttered through gritted teeth, low as a whisper. Yet the indignation with which it was laced resounded throughout the room, distinctly loud and chilling the very marrow in his bones in ways only the speaker knew how to do.
“You’re depraved.”
At this, In-ho finally reached Gi-hun. Steadfast as ever, Gi-hun refused to retreat, even when the toes of their dress shoes nudged each other. In-ho, too, stood his ground, as though being so near could make up for the space Gi-hun created earlier. When In-ho looked into Gi-hun's now-alert eyes, he could easily label the emotions whirling in them. Disgust. Defiance. Fury. And amid those, dread.
Good. These were good. None of these was indifference. These, he could work with.
“If there are no further concerns," In-ho added. “Game start.”
In-ho only gave himself a split second to marvel at Gi-hun's glower before shoving him toward the wall on his left. Gi-hun’s countenance quickly changed into that of pain when his spine crashed against the jagged motif of the decorative wall panel. The moment he recovered and became cognizant of his situation, it was already too late for him. Gi-hun already got himself pinned between the wall and In-ho, who kept a firm grip on his waist as he began to brush his clothed crotch against Gi-hun's, over and over.
In-ho was at war with himself. Although every fiber of his being yelled at him to abruptly claim his prize, he found himself doing anything but. He was being cautious with Gi-hun, moving his hips deliberately rather than with reckless abandon, like he initially planned to. Then again, In-ho supposed this was why they said patience was a virtue; his leisurely pace allowed him to better feel the contours of Gi-hun's cock as it grew bigger behind his cheap cotton suit pants. In contrast, Gi-hun was appalled by his own arousal—something that In-ho was aware of because their proximity granted him an unrestricted view of the muscles of Gi-hun's face as they pinched together in self-loathing. But no betrayer was as great as the inky ring around Gi-hun's irises, which went increasingly larger the longer In-ho ground against him, until it seemed to provoke a dangerous chain reaction that caused Gi-hun to burst open his lips and mewl rapturously.
In-ho could pinpoint the instant that shame struck Gi-hun like lightning. It was as if a jolt of electricity coursed through Gi-hun to paralyze his limbs, one after the other, before it was carried toward In-ho by the ions in the thin crevice between them. But the current didn’t numb In-ho; in fact, it resuscitated him, getting his blood running.
With a grunt, In-ho used his hold of Gi-hun's waist to flip him over and press his torso against the wall, sending the knife that neither of them remembered flying from Gi-hun's grasp. In-ho paid it no mind, too busy trying to unzip Gi-hun's pants from behind. It took him no time at all, what with Gi-hun being so dazed and, therefore, malleable. Before he knew it, In-ho had yanked Gi-hun's underwear down with his right hand and, with his left one, seized Gi-hun by his penis, already hot to the touch. When In-ho swiped his fingers over the tip, they became wet with pre-cum, and In-ho smeared the fluid all over Gi-hun's shaft as he started pumping it in earnest.
It all seemed so effortless afterward. Now that his hands were empty, Gi-hun was defenseless as he scrambled to find purchase on the wall in front of him, essentially giving In-ho free rein to his cock. Remnants of Gi-hun's perseverance existed only in his groans, stifled, so as not to give In-ho a reason to relish. But what difference did it make when In-ho could feel Gi-hun's cock twitching in his palm?
“Admit it,” In-ho hissed in Gi-hun's ear. “You want this. You like it.”
Gi-hun twisted his head to the side, albeit haltingly. In-ho examined his profile and was astonished to discover that Gi-hun’s mouth was no longer sealed shut; on the contrary, it curled into a smirk before it went slack, poised to deliver an answer. In-ho couldn’t resist bending down slightly, eager to hear Gi-hun’s admission of defeat.
When the reply came, it was in the shape of a question. “Me?” Gi-hun spewed out between his gasps. His tone was nowhere resembling submissive. “I can feel you, you know?”
Just then, something clicked in In-ho, like the sound of the safety of a firearm going off that ricocheted inside his skull. It was as though he was back in the game—his game—and a trigger-happy guard was standing sentry behind him, waiting for him to make a mistake. And a mistake was what he’d done, after all, when he gingerly glanced down and bore witness to a sight as terrifying as the barrel of a gun pointed at him.
Not only had his cock been swelling at an alarming rate while he was preoccupied with Gi-hun's, but he had also been unwittingly gyrating, dragging the bulge in his pants up and down Gi-hun's backside. In-ho could only watch as his pelvis seemingly gained sentience, creating friction so delicious that it plummeted him into a state of blissful reverie, where there was no fabric separating them and they were joined as one.
A jab to In-ho's right lower ribs broke the spell altogether, setting off a terrible sequence of events that put In-ho at a disadvantage. First, there was his yelp, a deafening counterpart to and replacement of Gi-hun's muffled noises. Then, it was as if he’d been deafened in the most literal sense when, in some kind of karmic retribution, he felt pressure on his chest, causing him to stumble backward and hit his head against the wall behind him. The sharp ache and ringing in his ear canals appeared after, conspiring to disintegrate every substance in the atmosphere, physical and otherwise, except for his suffering.
Eventually, the pain did subside, painted over by another sensation that horrified and excited him in equal measure. As his eyes retrieved their ability to focus, so did his mind. Gradually, In-ho became conscious of his pants, already unzipped, and his underwear sagging below his waistline. It was apparent that Gi-hun was responsible for this, as he’d made the most of In-ho's temporary slip-up to relieve In-ho's penis from the confines of his clothing and stroke it with what In-ho deduced to be his spit-coated palm. The speed of Gi-hun's onslaught was also his doing, no doubt motivated by his need to best In-ho in his game.
But everything else was In-ho's own. How his hips involuntarily snapped toward Gi-hun's hand, like he couldn’t get enough. The way he clawed at Gi-hun's forearms, not to stop Gi-hun, but to hang on as his body thrashed wildly. And then, there were his eyes, fixated on Gi-hun's still exposed erection, with its tip glistening and veins protruding. The crude image only made In-ho snap his hips faster, claw at Gi-hun stronger, fix his eyes harder, and, in what became a display of his weakness, let out a string of whimpers that he didn’t even try to suppress.
“Why?
It took a few beats before it hit In-ho that he wasn’t just fantasizing Gi-hun's faint voice. In-ho had to tear his gaze away from Gi-hun's hardness to meet the other man’s quizzical squint. In-ho wondered what Gi-hun saw in his face that got him to ask the question. What did Gi-hun find out?
“What’s so important?” Gi-hun resumed. “Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just handcuff me and force me to listen to whatever you have to say?”
It was difficult to be intelligible when Gi-hun never once quit squeezing his cock. However, In-ho managed to drawl, “No— I can’t.”
“Why?”
“You must—”
“What?”
In-ho swallowed. “You have to ask.”
In-ho could tell that it took Gi-hun aback from the way his hand’s movement faltered. It was brief, but it reactivated the flow of In-ho's blood to his brain, nonetheless.
“Ask,” In-ho said again, clearer now. Even Gi-hun noted the difference in In-ho's tone, if the way his eyes went round was any indication. It was the last thing In-ho noticed before he pushed Gi-hun toward the wall across from them.
All of a sudden, they were right where they started. Gi-hun had anticipated In-ho's ambush this time, and he was able to avoid bumping the back of his head against the wall. Still, the impact of the collision kicked the air out of his lungs, and In-ho wasted no time, using the moment to wield what he hoped to be the final blow.
In one swift motion, In-ho hooked his arms around Gi-hun's armpits and flattened himself against Gi-hun. Their cocks made direct contact with each other in the process, making them sigh in a lewd manner simultaneously. It spurred In-ho on, and he carried on rubbing himself against Gi-hun. But just when he thought he’d regained the upper hand, Gi-hun went on to clasp In-ho's shoulder blades, using them for leverage as he rocked his hips with the same intensity.
With their noses within a hair’s breadth from each other, In-ho had no option other than to maintain eye contact with Gi-hun, peering at his own silhouette in the other man’s blown-out pupils and knowing very well that Gi-hun could perceive his in In-ho's. Practically glued to one another, there was no more room for them to disguise the truth that it was no longer their raw instinct to win alone that drove them. It was also their search for pleasure.
They moved in unison, then, receiving as much as they gave. Their moans, unbidden. A pair of split-open mouths expelled warm air that converged in the middle. A duo of hearts worked overtime as they continued the marathon with the finish line approaching. It wouldn’t be long now, and if In-ho could feel it, so could Gi-hun.
In-ho subsequently shifted his arms to wrap them around Gi-hun's upper back. A boa constrictor coiling itself around its prey, In-ho dipped his head toward the area on Gi-hun's neck not covered by his shirt collar to bite the skin on it. Doing so proved to be overwhelming for In-ho himself. His tongue tasted salt and traces of metal, his nose caught a whiff of the soap from the players’ communal bathroom, his ears picked up Gi-hun's desperate sobs. Beyond that, he also got a sense of how close Gi-hun was. The knowledge only served to sprout greed within In-ho. And wasn’t that what humans were? All greed and lust and craving. And crave, In-ho did. For a win. For the opposite of indifference. For— “Gi-hun-ssi,” In-ho mumbled against Gi-hun's jawline. “Please. Please come. Come for me, please. Please.”
There was something wrong with his speech. He sounded too soft. Pleading. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. He didn’t mean for any of this to happen. His hope that Gi-hun had failed to hear him was crushed when he felt Gi-hun tensing up in response. Still, he dared to muse, “This is it.” He was about to make Seong Gi-hun come. More than anything, the mental picture of Gi-hun asking, listening, talking, asking, asking, understanding, was enough to make him giddy with pride already. So much so that In-ho relented when he felt Gi-hun tug at the hair on his crown to bring them eye to eye again.
But it wasn't the look of a man on the brink of surrender that greeted In-ho. Rather, Gi-hun was the most sober he had ever been since he entered In-ho's office. Gi-hun's furrowed brows weren’t those of bafflement, but of apprehension. Like he had figured something out. Figured In-ho out. What did Gi-hun find out? What did he see?
His racing thoughts quieted when Gi-hun's face came up to his. Suddenly, it was as if In-ho was peeking through his opera glasses once more, and a magnified Gi-hun, larger than life as he always was, had dominated his line of vision. In-ho stared cross-eyed as Gi-hun leaned closer—to finally lay his mouth on In-ho's.
Nothing could have prepared In-ho for this. Not just the kiss, but also the tenderness of it all, made more palpable by the contrasting roughness of Gi-hun's chapped and dehydrated lips. There was no hint of the Gi-hun from before, who almost stepped into the elevator without so much as a glance over his shoulder. The Gi-hun currently suckling on In-ho's bottom lip was insistent. He invited himself into the hollow cavity that was In-ho’s mouth, wedging his tongue between In-ho's incisors to tease In-ho's own. And when Gi-hun gave In-ho's palate a lick, a shiver ran through In-ho before he thoroughly melted into the kiss.
As his eyes drifted closed, In-ho futilely tried to remember the last time he felt this loose; it seemed that he had been on the lookout since he joined his game a decade ago. But now, he tilted his head to offer Gi-hun more access and, as if by reflex, disentangled his arms from Gi-hun's back. As though he had just lost his lifeline, In-ho swayed somewhat on his feet at that, creating a crack that might as well have been a chasm between them—into which Gi-hun slithered his right hand to capture In-ho's cock.
Like a video stuck in a loop, a scene from earlier began to play afterward, one where Gi-hun fondled him aggressively as In-ho inadvertently bucked his hips. Despite appearances, In-ho was wise to his own unbecomingness, but Gi-hun's tongue swirling around his had effectively put him in the back seat of his own yearning. In-ho was just a passenger along for the ride, reciprocating Gi-hun's kiss as he let Gi-hun do whatever he wanted to him.
In-ho wondered what would have happened had someone walked in on them. In-ho imagined that in any other circumstances, they could easily be confused for two people locked in a romantic embrace. Yet, even as the thought crossed his mind, something else built up inside him, shattering the illusion.
All at once, In-ho was flung back to his office. To the game. This game, in particular. He made a promise. A bet. A ploy to get Gi-hun to stay and listen and care. All he had to do was win. But how could he achieve that when pleasure was consistently mounting in him?
In-ho's eyes flew open.
It was as if the fog had dispersed, allowing him to assess his surroundings and then, more urgently, himself. There was no use denying it; he was teetering on the precipice. He attempted a squeal of protest that was immediately muzzled by Gi-hun's mouth, still enclosing his. Muted as it was, the sound fueled Gi-hun, whose battering redoubled. In-ho's body reacted without his permission, fucking Gi-hun's fist as if he were nothing but passion made flesh. Inevitable changes were happening all over him, from his pulse bounding, his nerves seemingly going haywire, his testicles contracting, and his viscera threatening to explode. He said a quick prayer inwardly, although he’d lost faith in higher beings for the longest time. But what kind of benevolent gods would regard him, anyway? Besides, In-ho's savior was already here with him in this hell on Earth, and he had every intention to torment In-ho instead. With deft hands, he molded In-ho's insides into heated magma that crawled to the top in time with the slamming of In-ho's hips, each one more brutal than the one that preceded it, until it reached the edge at long last. And with a final jerk, he toppled over, shooting ropes of cum out of the tip of his cock.
There was no joy in it whatsoever. In-ho only realized how suffocating the kiss had been after Gi-hun finally released him from it, and his lungs wheezed on the inhale. With his airway unblocked, In-ho was unfettered as he let out a cry, not of ecstasy but agony. In a show of callousness, Gi-hun had also withdrawn his right hand, propelling In-ho's orgasm to an anticlimactic end. In-ho groped for his penis, clumsily struggling to preserve what little satisfaction he got, but it was all for naught.
Stray tears pricked the corners of In-ho’s eyes, and he turned to scowl at the marble floor if only to hide them from Gi-hun. Another brand of humiliation awaited In-ho as he lowered his gaze, in the form of his wasted cum that marred the front of his clothes and dirtied his palms.
That Gi-hun allotted ample chance for In-ho to wallow in misery before claiming his reward was nothing short of merciful. By then, their breathing patterns had stabilized. In In-ho's case, his heart had ceased thumping in his ears, and he could hear Gi-hun's voice, so casually calm, like he hadn’t just partaken in the ruining of In-ho.
“I want to go back.”
Keeping his eyes downcast, In-ho indulged in the sight of Gi-hun's cock, still stiff, as he nodded. “I have to call a guard to escort you.”
“You do that—”
Even through the haze that his failure brought him, In-ho could recognize a phrase uncompleted. His curiosity got the better of him, and In-ho gathered enough courage to lift his head. It was then that he registered the presence of Gi-hun's left fingers, threaded through In-ho's hair yet again—or maybe they had been there the whole time, and he was just too distraught to notice. Gi-hun's heavy-lidded eyes, in the meanwhile, couldn’t seem to decide where to land as they roamed over In-ho's features.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Gi-hun rasped, as In-ho surveyed his flushed cheeks silently. “You say anyone who comes last will be the winner."
Gi-hun didn’t elaborate on that. He didn’t need to; not when he could just clutch onto In-ho's hair tighter and, with a push downward, urge In-ho to sink to his knees until he was facing Gi-hun's crotch.
From In-ho's new angle, Gi-hun's penis looked so much thicker. In-ho could spy the retracted foreskin around the smooth cockhead, and he would gladly spend the rest of the night observing other details if Gi-hun's right hand didn’t come up to cradle the shaft, shielding it from view. In-ho surprised himself with his own unmeditated reaction at that, an annoyed whine that was equivalent to a child stomping his foot when he didn’t get his way. But the sound soon died on his tongue when Gi-hun plunged his length into In-ho's waiting mouth.
To be honest, In-ho didn’t require much encouragement.
In-ho wasn't exactly being discreet as he shuffled forward with his knees to devour Gi-hun's cock in its entirety, pausing only after In-ho felt the tip poking at the back of his throat. Gi-hun barely guided In-ho; his left hand might still be perched on In-ho's head, but his grip had slackened, as if he’d put it there just to have something to cling to. As for In-ho, he knew not what to do with his hands, still damp from the residue of his own cum. But it didn’t matter, anyway; he impulsively reached out to dig his nails in Gi-hun's ass when Gi-hun began to thrust without warning.
In-ho got his wish, after all, as he went on to explore the topography of Gi-hun's cock with his tongue. Gi-hun moved at a moderate tempo, making it possible for In-ho to carefully trail his taste buds across the ridge of tissue on the underside and savor the texture of the skin. He kept the inside of his mouth solidly pressed against the surface of Gi-hun’s penis, as though he wanted it to leave an impression, even if it was just on his memory, so he could recall it later in the privacy of his company. Like a man starved, he created suction with his lips and lapped at the glans, drinking Gi-hun's pre-cum straight from the slit-like opening.
A groan reverberated from somewhere above In-ho. His eyes flickered up to locate the source, finding Gi-hun's face all scrunched up and contorted by pleasure.
In-ho was a rapt audience of one. The mere notion of him being the person to make Gi-hun feel good, combined with the sensation of Gi-hun getting more rigid in his mouth, was enough to fill up In-ho's cock once more. Witnessing Gi-hun's titillating expressions through his lashes was a stimulating experience in its own right. Promptly, he keened around Gi-hun's penis.
In-ho could make out Gi-hun muttering a “Fuck” before his sensory systems were seemingly impaired by Gi-hun's furious pounding. In-ho's body wasn’t his anymore; it wasn’t even a body, as it no longer existed as one. It was a plaything to be controlled by Gi-hun, who had returned to pawing In-ho's hair as he rammed his cock incessantly. In-ho had trouble breathing again as Gi-hun choked off In-ho's windpipe with the tip of his dick and squashed In-ho's nostrils against his balls.
Thus, In-ho assumed it was the lack of oxygen messing with him when he heard Gi-hun whispering a name.
“Young-il-ssi.”
If In-ho hadn’t caught Gi-hun's lips manifesting the word with his own eyeballs, he would have faulted his brain for playing tricks on him. For nothing about it was logical. The name belonged to a ghost.
Gi-hun never even asked for In-ho's.
Never wondered how he got here, where he was from, if his wife was real. If any of it was.
Despite his rising body temperature, a cold chill ran through him. It awakened him to his jaw that had grown sore and his saliva that had leaked out of the corners of his lips. His joints were complaining from kneeling too long, but he had nowhere to go, what with Gi-hun having him in the palm of his hand, quite literally.
Gi-hun was oblivious to In-ho's distress—a choice that, to his credit, was not of his own volition. At this point, Gi-hun was merely a vessel to his own desire. His raucous panting, his screwed-up eyes, his violent pulling of the roots of In-ho's hair were signs of his nearing peak. The most telling of all was Gi-hun's progressively hurried fucking, which caused In-ho's head to bob to and fro in a rhythm that got more irregular with every frantic pump.
In the last seconds, Gi-hun barely pulled out, every inch of his cock burrowed as deep as he could. Still, what foretold In-ho of Gi-hun's imminent climax was not the throbbing of his dick against In-ho's molars, but his broken wails. A few stuttering thrusts followed, before Gi-hun, eventually, emptied himself inside In-ho's mouth with a full-body shudder and an accompanying scream.
Seemingly carried away by euphoria, Gi-hun relaxed his grip on In-ho's hair, giving In-ho a chance to slightly draw his head back, so he could gulp down Gi-hun's cum more easily. In-ho could now hold the hilt of Gi-hun's cock in both hands, seeking to mark it with what was left of his own release on his palms, like it was some kind of a souvenir; thumbprints of a man whose name Gi-hun didn’t even care about. Let it be remembered that it was In-ho who continued to suck Gi-hun dry, even when his throat burned by the warm fluid and the overflow dripped down his chin. In-ho wouldn't stop until Gi-hun, overstimulated, wrenched his head away, making him drop his hands at the same time.
Freed though he was, In-ho was welded to the spot. He remained on his knees, not trusting his shaky legs to support his weight. His hands flexed once at his sides before he used the back of his wrists to wipe Gi-hun's cum off his face, along with the tears he didn’t know he’d shed, for want of anything better to do. The only part of him strong enough to wander around was his eyes, which were now studying Gi-hun as he leaned against the wall behind him with his head tipped back, noisily trying to catch his breath.
Gi-hun looked disheveled, but no more than he had been in the last few days. If anyone could see him now, they wouldn’t bat an eye, as his general state of disarray could be attributed to the stress from the games. In-ho wasn’t sure they would say the same thing about him. The absence of a looking glass notwithstanding, he knew how unkempt his hair was or how bruised his lips were. It didn’t help that he was still kneeling with his cock left to dangle.
Even at this moment, it was In-ho who found himself transformed by Gi-hun. He would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been interrupted.
“Make that call,” Gi-hun said, all composed.
In-ho managed not to wobble as he rose to his full height. Shortly after tucking his penis back into his underwear and zipping up his pants, he sauntered toward the desk where his corded telephone lay. He picked up the handset, and, between having to listen to the dial tone in one ear and the rustle Gi-hun made as he tidied himself up in the other, it was a miracle that he could still punch the correct buttons and articulate to the disembodied voice from the other side.
More unwelcome sounds continued to demand his attention after he hung up, rendering him motionless as he glared at the telephone. The scrape of the sheath of the nearly forgotten knife as Gi-hun picked the item off the floor. The pad of shoe soles as Gi-hun walked the hallway. The bell of the returning elevator that arrived too soon for In-ho's liking. And lastly, the swish of its doors as they opened and closed.
The only thing missing was Gi-hun's parting shot. So ready was he to put an entire ocean between them, just to come back to a baby he had just met.
In-ho blinked—and raised his head to smile at the blank wall.
Right. The baby.
She almost slipped his mind. In his defense, he’d been rather distracted.
But the thought of her had reenergized him, adding a bounce in his step as he turned around and headed toward the ensuite bathroom to clean up. He had to look decent for the grand finale. Seong Gi-hun had the knife. Seong Gi-hun would do anything to protect the baby from the other finalists. Seong Gi-hun would end the game tonight, and In-ho would watch it happening live with a glass of whiskey in hand. He would personally congratulate the champions in a limousine, as tradition would have it. Then, he and Seong Gi-hun could finally have their talk. He would make Seong Gi-hun listen no matter how. He would make sure of it. He would win.
In-ho couldn’t wait.
End.