Archive of Our Own ^beta

He wakes up beside In-ho and watches his face as he sleeps.

He doesn’t know if In-ho has always been like this, if he has always been the type to take on all the fear and responsibility, and not tell other people.

His wife had died after he won the games. He probably never told her.

It’s not an easy thing to tell people.

He had known that the games existed all over the world, and he had decided to end the South Korean ones anyway, putting himself in danger in the process—and not telling Gi-hun about the danger he was in. He had quietly made sure they weren’t in any danger, and then eventually—he had told Gi-hun about the other games, even though he didn’t need to, he could have let Gi-hun live in ignorance. Then he offered to help Gi-hun, if he wanted to stop the other games.

He thinks that if Gi-hun was in danger because of In-ho, In-ho would have disappeared. He hates the idea.

Gi-hun’s heart feels strange. The trust In-ho has in him, to tell him something like that and still trust Gi-hun would not hate him, knowing that Gi-hun might decide to send them both to their deaths and still want to follow him.

Gi-hun has sent so many people to their deaths. In-ho has tried so hard to keep him alive.

Gi-hun is overwhelmed for a moment, watching him.

In-ho’s eyes open slowly, and he blinks at Gi-hun.

“What would you have done, if I had died in the games?” Gi-hun asks him.

It feels very domestic, lying in bed in the early morning and talking.

“I would have destroyed the island and died there with you.” In-ho says.

Gi-hun takes that literally. He would have found Gi-hun’s body, and laid beside him as the island exploded.

He can imagine In-ho doing that.

“What about the baby?” In-ho wouldn’t have left her, even though he was dying from a bullet wound.

“I would have made sure Jun-ho took her as he left. I would have died anyway.” In-ho says.

“What if you weren’t dying?” Gi-hun asks. “Would you have raised her yourself?”

“Why are you asking me this?” In-ho asks. “It’s all hypothetical, it’s as good as me asking you what you would have done if I had died in your first games. You wouldn’t have been able to chase me, you wouldn’t have had Jun-ho. Would you have chased the games that didn’t care about you forever?”

In-ho wouldn’t have called him back, and coaxed him off that plane. He might have gone to America.

There are games in America. He might have done all this, but in America, and died in America.

The hypotheticals are pointless, he’s known that for a long time. What happened, happened, and all he can do is keep working towards a life he wants.

“Is it because I told you about the other games?” In-ho asks.

Gi-hun presses his lips together. It has been a few days since In-ho told him, but In-ho knows it has thrown him off guard, In-ho knows he doesn’t know what to do, and he keeps coming back to it, chewing on it, trying to figure out if he can really live a good life while knowing he is ignoring the other games.

In-ho’s gaze turns intense, and he shifts closer. Gi-hun’s breath catches in his throat.

“I don’t want you in danger, I don’t want you to throw yourself into stopping any more games.” In-ho says. He reaches out, and his fingers touch very softly on the underside of Gi-hun’s chin, on the scar from the knife that was shot out of his hand, where he tried to take his own life. “I have this life now, and I want you to be a part of it.” In-ho’s eyes go dark. “I wouldn’t be able to take it if you died for something pointless, when you could have lived with me. But if you do change your mind, tell me first.”

In-ho’s fingers feel like fire on his chin, his heart is beating so fast. His hands, his neck feel hot. He feels like he is frozen.

In-ho pulls his hand back, and sits up, the covers dropping to around his waist. “I wouldn’t have wanted to live if I’d survived and you hadn’t.” In-ho says. A beat passes so slowly Gi-hun feels like he is stuck, frozen in time. In-ho gets out of bed.

In-ho pulls his loose shirt over his head. He has lost the dressing on his back, exposing the harsh pink of the freshly healing exit wound. Gi-hun had never helped him with his dressings, he had always taken care of it himself. Gi-hun can see the rest of his skin, the curve of his back disappearing into the loose trousers he wears to sleep, on the slight hair on his chest, his soft, flat stomach, marred by scars but—beautiful, alive.

In-ho pulls a new shirt over his head and runs a hand through his hair, then walks around the bed to Mi-rae’s crib and picks her up, talking softly to her, smiling at her, wishing her good morning, asking if she’s hungry.

Gi-hun sits up sharply and watches as they walk out the room and disappear into the corridor.

His heart is still beating so fast.

He runs into the bathroom, and splashes water against his face.

In-ho’s fingers had felt so hot on his chin.

Gi-hun puts his fingers there. It’s not sensitive, it’s maybe less sensitive than the rest of him—he can’t feel anything on the surface of the scar.

He huffs, and stares down into the sink.

He hasn’t felt like this in a long time. He barely even recognises the heat that is making the hair on his arms tingle, that is sending shivers across his stomach and down his thighs.

He’s turned on.

He stares accusingly at the bathroom door. Hwang In-ho turned him on, and then left.

And he’s so turned on, he feels like he has been charged up to beyond maximum and sparks are flying from him.

This can’t be right. This is just because they are sharing a bed, because there is that strange intensity between them.

He turns the shower on. The cold water does nothing for him—he is too amped up. He turns it hotter, and slides a hand around his dick.

He hasn’t had much to get turned on about in the past few years. He has been too focused, too distracted, too filled with grief. He occasionally jerked off in the shower when he couldn’t ignore it any more, his mind empty, just trying to work the restless energy out of his system.

Now, his touch is so deeply satisfying, he gets hard almost ridiculously fast. His knees go a little weak, and he has to put a hand on the wall to brace himself.

He strokes, the hot water making the slick of it easier, and somehow—he gets harder.

The arousal thrumming through him is enough to push him through without thinking about anything else, it’s enough to get him there if he just stood here and mindlessly stroked himself off, but he feels like he needs to—

He hasn’t felt like this in a long time, he hasn’t wanted this in a long time. He wants to treat himself—

He needs to try—

He tugs on his balls, and runs a hand across his chest, tweaking a nipple the way he likes it. It’s fine, it’s just fine. It feels like it always does, when he takes his time with himself, but a little better, since he is so charged up. Compared to the mindless tugging in the motel—this is amplified by a hundred.

But he almost—he he doesn’t want it to be like that, he doesn’t want it to be the mechanical, thoughtless pumping of working out frustration.

He wants.

He wants to try—he wants to see if—

He lets himself imagine In-ho’s expression, his calm, expectant expression with a small smile at the corner of his lips. He imagines In-ho’s hand on Gi-hun’s chest, as he rubs his thumb over one of Gi-hun’s nipples.

Gi-hun’s dick jerks in his hand and he gasps.

He imagines In-ho pressing close to him, breathing hot over his mouth as he licks across Gi-hun’s jaw, his ear—it seems like he would like to bite—Gi-hun pinches sharply at the base of his neck, where he thinks In-ho would like to sink his teeth, and his dick jerks again.

Gi-hun digs his nails in, his hand working faster, faster—he isn’t even imagining In-ho touching him, just In-ho’s mouth on his neck.

If In-ho touched him, his big hand would fit around Gi-hun’s dick so perfectly. He would work Gi-hun up slower than Gi-hun usually likes it, getting Gi-hun to whine and gasp against him, beg him to move his hand faster, give Gi-hun what he wants. In-ho would smile into Gi-hun’s neck as he whimpered, and maybe—he would bite again, he might say something into Gi-hun’s neck, low and deep and hypnotic, the way he coaxes Gi-hun to sleep— you’re doing so well, you’re so hard for me.

Gi-hun whines harshly. He can imagine the tone of In-ho’s voice, the commanding way his hands would pull Gi-hun’s body around—he loves the feel of In-ho’s hands on him, the comfort of his warmth and the heat of his touch combining. Gi-hun squeezes the same spot, jerking the head of his dick frantically, thinking about In-ho sinking his teeth into Gi-hun’s flesh, thinking about In-ho coming because of Gi-hun, wanting Gi-hun, wanting to touch Gi-hun, and comes harshly, gasping, it’s pulled from him like his body has forgotten how to do this, and he spurts in long, agonised groans as the high floods him, then fades.

He watches his come flow down the drain absently, all his thoughts cleared by coming so hard.

It’s not until he is drying himself off, and he pulls the towel off his face to wipe a clean part of the mirror, and he sees the part of his shoulder he pinched—it’s red, aggressive, and his nail marks are distinctive.

He just jerked off thinking about Hwang In-ho.

He’s so fucked.

He chooses a high necked shirt when he goes down to eat breakfast with them, but he thinks the guilty expression might still be on his face. He hasn’t felt like that in a long time—he can’t decide if he is happy about coming back to himself, or horrified that he finally wants to have sex again, and he has decided that Hwang In-ho is the person he wants to have sex with.

In-ho is so off-limits. He has been helping Gi-hun recover, return to himself, he is Gi-hun’s friend, somehow. He is trying to find a new life, a new way to live outside the games and Gi-hun is helping him with that. They are just in such close proximity—of course Gi-hun would think about him. The only other person he has done this with—shared a bed, raised a child, was his wife.

In-ho has Mi-rae in the curve of his arm, and he looks up and smiles softly at Gi-hun as he comes into the kitchen.

Gi-hun’s heart thumps unsteadily in his chest. He is so handsome. Gi-hun has always seen it, but it has always been in a detached kind of way—his face is perfect, of course Gi-hun would notice.

Dae-ho is at his flat. Hyun-ju is at her house, it is just the two of them, and Mi-rae.

He looks so soft like this, he looks like—Gi-hun doesn’t like to think that he looks like Young-il, not any more. Gi-hun has been coming back to himself the longer he spends away from the games. In-ho has been coming back to himself, too. He has been smiling and talking more, the tension slowly leaking from him week by week as he becomes more free and himself, and Gi-hun has realised that In-ho—he is just like Young-il. They were the same.

It touches Gi-hun somewhere deep in his heart that he knew In-ho in such a personal way—he knew the person In-ho was outside the games even when In-ho was so closed off, and that was Young-il. He was Young-il.

He looks like Gi-hun could walk over and run a hand up his arm, put his hand on his waist—the way Gi-hun always wants to do. He is a very tactile person, and In-ho is always so close to him, but he has struggled to cross that gap.

He wants In-ho to crowd him against the counter, use his hips to press Gi-hun into the hard surface and lean into him, press their bodies together for a long moment—Mi-rae pressed between them, just to feel him there, close, affectionate. 

If Mi-rae wasn’t there—In-ho could press him against the counter, he could push Gi-hun’s shirt up, slip a hand down, past his waistband—

Gi-hun is going to get hard again. He only just jerked off, he can’t get hard again so soon. He’s too old to be thinking, to be feeling like this. Maybe his body is remembering what it was like last time, over ten years ago, and reacting like that.

But he doesn’t think he was like this ten years ago. He wasn’t thinking about fucking Eun-ji in their kitchen, he was thinking about who would take Ga-yeong when they were both at work, he was wondering if he could stretch to buy some more clothes for her for the cold months, he was wondering if he could get her to sleep if he took her on a long walk.

Why is he so worked up over In-ho?

“Morning.” In-ho says.

Gi-hun nods at him, not trusting his voice. He thinks it would come out threadier and more desperate than he wants it to.

He goes to make some coffee, and In-ho’s nudges Gi-hun with his elbow.

Even the small bit of contact makes Gi-hun’s neck feel hot.

“Are you alright?” In-ho asks. He looks so serious, so focused on Gi-hun. When he is this close, he is so—he is so painfully handsome. Gi-hun had thought it when they first met, he had thought that he was strangely appealing, the little lift of his upper lip adding character to his face. Now—well. Now, Gi-hun wants to lean down, take In-ho’s face in his hands, and sink his tongue deep into In-ho’s mouth.

He wants to kiss In-ho.

“I’m alright.” Gi-hun says. His voice is very unsteady. “Just—strange dreams.”

In-ho nods, like he doesn’t believe him. He probably thinks that Gi-hun is thinking about the other games.

He will let In-ho think that. He is thinking about that as well, even though In-ho is so distracting. He burns his tongue on his coffee, sipping it too fast.

He wants to kiss In-ho. In-ho is only just getting over the death of his wife.

Gi-hun sits heavily down at the table. In-ho joins him, still feeding Mi-rae. He has taken over so much of her feeding, sometimes Gi-hun wakes up after sleeping for nearly six hours in a row to find that In-ho has fed her in the night.

It feels like they’re doing this together.

Gi-hun doesn’t know how to feel about that.

In-ho asks him what he’ll do today and he absently answers with his usual plans—going to see Dae-ho and Hyun-ju, going to the motel if there’s time.

He is planning a trip with Hyun-ju later in the week, out to the mountains where they can see the stars with less light pollution.

“We’ll leave tomorrow, I think.” Gi-hun says.

“Oh?” In-ho asks. His eyes flick over to the window. “She spends a lot of time watching the sky when she’s here.”

“She wants to see the real stars. She keeps thinking of—“

“The stars from the hide and seek game.” In-ho says.

Gi-hun nods. In-ho looks at him.

“Do you think about those stars?”

Gi-hun doesn’t. He thinks about the bright cloudy sky of the six legs game, he thinks about In-ho held tight against his side, the expression on his face when they won, his real relief and joy when people passed, when they survived. He shakes his head. “I just want to get out of the city for a while.”

In-ho smiles softly at him. “Do you want to take Mi-rae? I can look after her if you want to go without her.”

Oh. “I thought you’d both come.” Gi-hun says. He had assumed—he planned the trip for the four of them, looking for a place that would be fine with young children, where he could feed Mi-rae when she needed it, where In-ho would be there to help him sleep.

He hadn’t considered that In-ho might not want to come. He can cope with that. He won’t sleep well, but he will be fine.

“Oh.” In-ho says.

“You don’t have to—“ Gi-hun starts.

In-ho’s eyes are glassy, his smile is so fond it almost hurts to look at. “I want to go with you. I haven’t been away for—a long time.”

He sounds so cautious, but excited. Gi-hun thinks neither of them have had much chance to get away, to take trips. He wants to take In-ho away as often as he wants. He wants In-ho to experience what it’s like to be able to get away. The deep well of tenderness in his chest expands, aches, and he nods. “I’d like for you to be there.”

In-ho nods.

Gi-hun has to leave the kitchen and In-ho’s soft expression before he does anything stupid.

He goes to the cafe and confirms with Hyun-ju—they will set off tomorrow, then goes to buy some lube, something he hasn’t done in a long time. He feels like he needs it, he feels so amped up, like if In-ho turned up and touched his wrist he would get hard.

He needs to control himself.

He jerks off in the bathroom at the end of the hall thinking about In-ho, his slick hand fisted around his dick, thinking about getting on his knees and sliding his mouth over In-ho’s dick, about the way In-ho would look at him as Gi-hun pleasures him, about the grip In-ho would have in his hair, the way his hips would twitch up into Gi-hun’s mouth. Gi-hun shoves his other hand into his mouth, three fingers spreading across his tongue, imagining it’s In-ho, imagining In-ho’s groans, the tensing of his stomach, the helpless shifts of his hips as he uses Gi-hun’s mouth.

He comes into his hand and sheepishly cleans himself up. He should stop doing this before it gets out of control. He will want In-ho too much, and he will cross a boundary he doesn’t realise he shouldn’t cross.

He doesn’t want to stop. It feels so good, he hasn’t felt this good in a long time.

He wants to try fingering himself next. He used to like that. He doesn’t know when he will get enough time—In-ho helps him to sleep, it will be obvious what he is doing if he goes by himself to his room that he never uses.

Maybe he can do it before he showers. He shares the bathroom adjacent to In-ho’s room with In-ho, they only use this one when they both want to shower at the same time. If he jerked off in there, so close to the bed they share, where In-ho usually showers—the idea that In-ho would be cleaning himself innocently, unknowingly next to where Gi-hun had shoved his fingers into himself and thought about him—embarrassment flushes him, and his dick twitches.

He needs to stop this.

“We’ll leave at around noon and drive Odaesan National Park.” Gi-hun says. “I’ve got a car seat for her, and some food. We’ll be there for two nights.”

In-ho nods, fussing around with something on his nightstand.

Does In-ho jerk off? Does he do it in the shower, what does he think about? He’s been so closed off, so depressed for so long, maybe he hasn’t felt the urge to.

In-ho turns over to look at him, and he looks confused for a moment. “Are you alright?”

Gi-hun realises he has been staring with curiosity. He nods, and turns over. He doesn’t know what his face is doing, he just knows—he is turned on.

Maybe this is how he has to live now, turned on all the time like he’s twenty again. It’s like a dam has broken and his body has flooded. He felt like this when all the grief from the games hit him at once, but then—he waded through it, In-ho held him, and it has been coming back to him in ebbs and flows. If he told In-ho about this, he doesn’t think In-ho would hold him through it.

In-ho’s low voice rumbles across the bed, and he closes his eyes, letting In-ho lull him to sleep.

He is so good at it.

In-ho’s hands are on his wrists, he’s pushing Gi-hun back into the bed, restraining him, holding him exactly where In-ho wants him. He smiles down at Gi-hun, lavacious and filthy, and twists his hips. Lightning hot pleasure goes through Gi-hun. He tips his hips up into it, he can feel it everywhere—through his throat, his stomach, his dick, his legs, like In-ho is lighting up every nerve he has.

“Perfect.” In-ho says, and his hands are suddenly on Gi-hun’s waist, pulling him into In-ho’s lap, holding him to In-ho’s chest.

Gi-hun likes this. He can feel In-ho’s skin against him, he can feel In-ho pressed so deep inside him it feels like In-ho is hitting everything that feels good through his body. He tries to grind his hips, but he can’t get the right leverage, he can’t quite get In-ho where he wants him.

“Gi-hun-ah” In-ho groans into his throat, and he holds Gi-hun tight around the waist, lifts him slightly, and pistons his hips up into Gi-hun’s body.

It is incredible, Gi-hun can’t do anything but make high ah-ah-ah noises as In-ho buries himself deep, hard, manhandling Gi-hun where he wants him.

He is holding In-ho’s shoulders so tight he thinks he will leave marks, but the thought just makes him grip harder, work his hips into the rhythm of In-ho fucking him harder. He wants to feel In-ho inside of him all day, he wants In-ho to feel the bruises on his shoulders all day and think of him, pull him closer and kiss him again then.

In-ho fucks him harder, faster, and he clings, barely holding on.

“Are you okay?” In-ho asks.

Gi-hun whimpers.

“Gi-hun, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” In-ho says.

Gi-hun’s eyes fly open. He’s face down on the bed, his face pressed hard into the pillow, his dick pressed against the mattress, In-ho’s hand pressed against his shoulder blade.

It’s so hot against him. He wants In-ho to tug Gi-hun back into his arms, slide a hand around his dick, and get him off hard, fast, furious. He wants In-ho to finger him open and force his dick into Gi-hun, to take everything he wants from Gi-hun and leave his pleasure deep inside Gi-hun’s body.

“Oh.” Gi-hun says, and sits up. It’s dark in here, In-ho won’t be able to see how hard he is. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” In-ho says. His eyes are intense, soft, empathetic. “Are you alright?”

Gi-hun is not alright. He nods. “I’m just going to—wash my face.” Gi-hun says, and turns his back to stand up, hoping In-ho doesn’t notice as he slips from the room to the bathroom.

He chooses the bathroom down the hall. He sometimes does, after nightmares. Just to get some space to come back to himself.

He closes and locks the door, and shoves his trousers down just enough to tug his dick and balls out, and strokes himself off, dry and uncomfortable, coming hard into his hand.

He’s always been a vivid dreamer.

He’s so fucked.

Gi-hun manages to get some sleep before Mi-rae wakes them up in the morning.

She is sleeping more now, she’s almost making it through the night. Gi-hun is so proud of her, and the longer she is sleeping, the better she is doing, the more he thinks—he could go and see Ga-yeong soon. Mi-rae will make it all the way to America. He has almost figured out what he wants to send to Ga-yeong before he goes, an apology, some kind of contact before he turns up at her doorstep.

He could leave Mi-rae with Dae-ho or Jun-ho while he goes, but he—he doesn’t want to leave her for that long.

She has never been in the car for as long as they will be now. They will drive away from the city for a few hours, to Odaesan National Park. There are mountains in the area that they can go up, and so much less light pollution than Seoul.

He doesn’t know what Hyun-ju will want to do. He will be there for her, and accompany her as much as she wants.

The car ride goes smoothly, Mi-rae doesn’t seem to mind the motion of the car and watches out the window with wide little eyes as the cityscape turns to wide open sky and trees. He doesn’t know how much she is recognising, but she is staring with such fascination.

They get to the place they are staying—someone’s empty house with a couple of rooms, and a small stove in the corner so Gi-hun can feed Mi-rae.

As night falls, In-ho makes them some instant noodles and they sit by the wide wooden doors flung open, looking out at the little courtyard, the night sky becoming clearer above them.

Hyun-ju eats a little, and smiles strangely down at them. “I ate these a lot, in the army and before I went to the games. It’s strange, but I missed the taste of them when I was there.”

Gi-hun smiles at her.

“I haven’t had noodles like this for a few years.” In-ho says. “I used to like them, I used to sneakily eat them for lunch when I was on the police force. My wife would always tell me they were bad for my heart, and scold me for eating them.”

Gi-hun’s heart beats painfully in his chest. He knows so little about In-ho’s history, and the little insights make him so hungry for more, so desperate to know In-ho better. He at least knows—his wife loved him, he loved his wife, and he ran away from the memory when he was in the games. He is glad In-ho gets to remember her more fondly, now. He can imagine that eating these—the memory must have been too much, before.

In-ho doesn’t look like he wants to be reminded of the pain, there is only fondness and light in his eyes.

“Maybe we should stop you eating them then, if they’re bad for your heart.” Gi-hun teases, reaching his hand for In-ho’s bowl.

In-ho lets Gi-hun pull it towards him, but doesn’t let go, he leans towards Gi-hun. There is something teasing, mischievous in his eyes. “Are you just trying to take mine because you’ve already finished yours?”

Gi-hun has barely touched his. In-ho’s face is too close to his. He laughs breathlessly, letting go of In-ho’s bowl and leaning back in his seat. Hyun-ju is smiling down into her bowl.

“We used to barter with the flavours. This one—this is the best.” She says.

“It is.” In-ho says. “Worth getting a bad heart.”

Gi-hun would disagree. But since they have left the games, he has been eating more, he has gained a little weight. He can no longer see his ribs through his skin, and he’s glad of that. He thinks In-ho is as well, his face is getting a little fuller, he looks healthier.

He had seen how many bottles of whisky In-ho had kept in his rooms, in the games. He hasn’t seen In-ho drink once, since they’ve been out.

They talk absently, and Hyun-ju seems to forget to finish eating as the light fades from the sky and the stars become clear.

It’s so much more impactful here than in Seoul. In Seoul there are only a few pinpricks of light, but here—he can see the clouds of distant galaxies.

Hyun-ju takes some cushions and blankets puts them outside, and lies down, wrapping herself up warm, looking up at the sky.

Gi-hun joins her, his coat tight around himself and In-ho stays indoors in the warm, sitting beside Mi-rae’s crib, looking up from the doors to the house.

“Is it helping?” Gi-hun asks.

“It is.” She says.

They don’t talk very much. Gi-hun eventually gets up, to go to bed. In-ho is already in there, Mi-rae in the crib beside him.

He watches In-ho’s face for a while as he sleeps.

He wants to make In-ho happy, as happy as his wife did. He wants In-ho to think of him with that look in his eye, he wants In-ho to want him.

He sits beside In-ho, looking down at him, at Mi-rae.

Is it too much to ask of him, to try?

He has done so much for Gi-hun, but maybe—that would be too much, that would be one step too far, a step that In-ho is not willing to take.

He wants—he wants In-ho. He just hopes In-ho wants him.

He has so many things he doesn’t know how to deal with. He doesn’t know how to deal with this, he doesn’t know how to go about asking. Their lives are so fragile, it feels like it could shatter them.

He wants to make In-ho so happy. He wants to give In-ho a second chance.

He traces the relaxed curves of In-ho’s face with his eyes.

He is filled with grief, for the life that In-ho could have had. If he can just live with Gi-hun, be happy with Gi-hun, if he would be happy with that, he can make up for the lost time.

He doesn’t know how to ask.

He lies down, as close as he can get without touching him, waking him, bothering him, and falls asleep.

Mi-rae fusses early in the morning. The sun is not risen yet, but the grey light of dawn is pressing over the small room they are in.

Gi-hun is curled over on his side, like he usually is. In-ho is pressed against his back, his nose on the nape of Gi-hun’s neck, his arm slung easily around Gi-hun’s waist.

He is so warm, and so comforting. The weight of him feels so good, Gi-hun wants to push back into the contact and pull him closer.

Gi-hun needs to go and tend to Mi-rae. In-ho’s arm is stopping him.

Mi-rae fusses louder, and In-ho makes a low groaning noise into Gi-hun’s neck and presses closer, his arm tensing, pulling Gi-hun against his body, his hand flat against Gi-hun’s stomach.

Gi-hun freezes. He is getting hard. He can feel the whole length of In-ho behind him, he can feel In-ho’s thigh bumping against his ass. If In-ho just pulled him tighter in, shifted his hips—In-ho’s dick would be pressed against Gi-hun’s ass, too. He can’t be feeling this now, he has to go and take care of Mi-rae.

In-ho goes still, then his hand strokes gently against Gi-hun’s stomach, his lips press harder into Gi-hun’s neck, and then—he rolls away.

Gi-hun doesn’t move. He hears In-ho greet Mi-rae, telling her good morning, asking if she’s hungry. She makes noises back at him, and he makes all the right noises back like they are having a conversation.

It makes Gi-hun’s heart ache. It’s very confusing when his dick is half-hard, too.

The door to the room slides open, and In-ho leaves.

Gi-hun is not dealing with this very well. He shoves the blankets off of himself and waits for his dick to soften completely in the cool air of the morning, then goes out to greet them.

He needs to ask In-ho to stop turning him on when Mi-rae is in the room, but when In-ho doesn’t even know he’s doing it—how cna he ask? Gi-hun needs to figure something out.

There is a hiking route that Hyun-ju wants to follow, and Gi-hun straps Mi-rae to his chest in her carrier, everything she needs in a bag on In-ho’s back, as they follow the trail. She is pressed so her face is in Gi-hun’s chest, but she turns her head to look out at the scenery, then she dozes off, peacefully sleeping with the rhythm of their steps.

It’s nice—Gi-hun is not the kind of person who goes hiking. He never particularly understood the appeal, but Hyun-ju pauses to look over a view and smiles, or points out a bird singing in the undergrowth, and he starts to understand.

Being in nature like this, it’s very peaceful.

By the time they get back, Gi-hun is exhausted.

They have one more night here, and it’s late enough in the year that daylight doesn’t last very long, so Hyun-ju sets herself up outside again. Gi-hun sits inside with Mi-rae, In-ho slowly cleaning some of the bowls they had used at breakfast. Gi-hun thinks she slept out there despite the cold, just watching the sky. He hopes it is helping her.

“I’ve never been on a hike like that before.” In-ho says, looking out to the courtyard where Hyun-ju is lying.

“Me neither.” Gi-hun says. “It was nice.”

In-ho nods. “It was. There are some places closer to Seoul we could go.”

If they don’t want to go and look at the stars, if they just want to go and walk.

Gi-hun looks at him. He’s looking up at the sky, drying a mug with a teatowl absently.

Gi-hun hasn’t asked him what else he wants to do, if he has anything he dreamed of doing. He thinks—In-ho will make it happen. In-ho is content, at the moment, just living the way they are living.

His heart warms. He wants In-ho to do things he enjoys. He nods, smiling slowly. “We could do that.”

He doesn’t push it. He has so many things he wants to do with In-ho, but—he feels like he would overstep, if he asked.

Gi-hun wakes up every hour that night, tense, expecting In-ho to be holding him in his sleep again. In-ho sleeps on his other side, facing away from Gi-hun.

Gi-hun doesn’t know if he’s desperate for In-ho to touch him, or if he wants In-ho to keep his distance.

He is exhausted, so he lets In-ho drive on the way back. Mi-rae fusses more on the journey back. In-ho jokes about her missing the countryside already, but she is a little warm, a little unhappy. She might have caught a cold—she has been around so many people in the cafe, and it takes a few days for a cold to take. They chose the right time to go the countryside.

She is so fussy and uncomfortable that either In-ho or Gi-hun has to sit up with her for the next three nights. Her crib is in In-ho’s room, and they sit there and rock her as she cries softly.

It breaks Gi-hun’s heart to hear her so uncomfortable, but there’s nothing he can do. The doctor they took her to told them it was just a cold, and she will just have to recover. They do everything they can, and take her temperature as regularly as they can. The doctor said the next one will be easier—this is the first time she has ever felt this kind of discomfort. 

While one of them rocks her, the other sleeps in the room across the hall, in the quiet. In-ho sleeps fine, but Gi-hun doesn’t make it more than two hours on his own before he wakes up gasping, thinking In-ho and Mi-rae are gone.

He opens the door to In-ho’s room, and In-ho looks at him like he can see all of the softness in Gi-hun’s heart, all the weakness and desperation and desire for closeness.

He can’t help himself. He is too worried about Mi-rae. He can’t sleep without knowing she is safe, without knowing In-ho is beside him.

In-ho guides him to lie on the bed and his low voice comforts them both.

Gi-hun still wakes up more than often, every time he hears her in distress.

It takes her five days, but she recovers. The first morning she had woken up and been able to breathe through her nose, it had seemed like she cried out of relief.

Gi-hun goes to prepare a bottle for her, knowing she will be hungry after recovering.

He turns around, sees In-ho and Mi-rae, and jumps, nearly dropping the bottle.

In-ho looks at him with amusement in his eyes. “You know I live here, too?”

Gi-hun smiles at him. “I just didn’t hear you come in. I’m tired.”

In-ho rubs Mi-rae’s back as she hits her fists against his chest. “Me too. I could call Jun-ho, see if he could take her for a while so we can get some sleep.”

That sounds good. Jun-ho hasn’t gone back to the police, he spends his time hanging around Woo-seok in the motel, or Dae-ho and Hyun-ju in the cafe.

Gi-hun hands In-ho the bottle and nods. “That would be good, now she’s better. I know his umma wanted to see her again, since the last time she saw her.”

In-ho’s hands tighten on Mi-rae. Gi-hun knows he has only seen her once, and she had cried on and off the entire evening. He hasn’t found the courage to go and see her again—they have a complicated relationship.

Probably no more complicated than In-ho and anyone else in his life.

But they will take good care of her while they are sleeping.

Gi-hun gets her bag ready—it has everything she needs when they go out, spare clothes, spare food, spare diapers.

Jun-ho arrives a little while later, the humour-filled judgement clear on his face when he looks at them. 

Maybe they’re too old to be doing this.

It’s not the first time they’ve asked Jun-ho to take her for a while, but they’ve both been nearby, or close to coming back when he’s taken care of her before. It feels strange, to know Jun-ho will be taking care of her for a while.

Gi-hun almost says no, it’s fine, he doesn’t have to sleep, but In-ho pulls him back inside as Jun-ho leaves, strapping her into her carseat.

“She’ll be fine.” In-ho says.

“I know.” Gi-hun replies. He trusts Jun-ho, but—he had gone through this with Ga-yeong, too. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight for a second, even though it was his mother he was handing her off to.

In-ho’s hand is tight around his arm, and he stands and watches as Jun-ho drives away.

He is just as anxious as Gi-hun.

Gi-hun hasn’t showered in—too long. He puts his hand over In-ho’s and squeezes it before he pushes it away from him, and goes to take a shower.

He uses the bathroom at the end of the hall, and nearly decides to jerk off but—he is more tires than anything else, despite not having time or space to get himself off since Mi-rae got sick. He has been too tired and worried to react to In-ho’s touches with anything but warm comfort.

He has felt it, though. The arousal burning beneath the surface, something he can’t deal with yet.

He showers and ignores it. He’s too tired, he can just—shower again when he wakes up. He’s done stranger things, In-ho won’t question it.

He didn’t bring any clothes with him to change into, so on autopilot he goes into In-ho’s room and opens his cupboard, tugs out a sleep shirt and a pair of trousers, and then pauses.

In-ho comes out of the bathroom, wearing trousers but no shirt.

Gi-hun’s cheeks flare, and he hands the shirt he is holding to In-ho.

He keeps his clothes in his room. This is In-ho’s room. These won’t fit him.

“I forgot for a second.” Gi-hun says, smiling, putting the trousers back in the cupboard. He’s so tired, he just needs to sleep. But—it would be easier, if they were just— “maybe I should just move my things in here, it would be easier.” He looks back at In-ho, holding the towel tight around his waist.

In-ho looks at him with that strange, intense look again. “You could.”

Like they are sharing the space as well as their lives, like they are really—something. It makes Gi-hun’s chest feel strange, so he turns back to the cupboard, but before he can close it, he sees something—something green.

He pulls it out.

It’s his jumper, faded bloodstains that have not washed out, 456 emblazoned on the chest.

He stares at it with no recognition for a moment, then looks at In-ho.

In-ho looks back at him. His shirt is still off, his face is blank. “I didn’t want to throw it away.” In-ho says. “Please don’t—“

Don’t throw it away.

Gi-hun looks at it. He hates it, he hates the reminder that he was just a number to the VIPs, that the games would have claimed his life without hesitation, that they could again, if he goes back. “Why do you want it?”

“It’s you.” In-ho says. “It’s yours.”

He was just a number to In-ho, before he was Gi-hun.

In-ho had been saved by this jumper, tied around his waist as he bled. Mi-rae had been saved by this jumper, tied around her as he jumped and fought.

It’s him.

He puts it back, the strangeness of the emotion threatening to overwhelm him, and goes to change.

He is too tired to understand what he feels. He doesn’t understand it, for two years he had not slept for more than three hours in a row, but now he has been sleeping nearly through the night, every night, he suddenly can’t go for only a few days sleeping for three hours at a time.

In-ho watches him as he comes into the room and gets into bed. The curtains are down, the room is dark despite it being day outside. He can only see the shape of In-ho’s face, turned towards him.

He can’t hold himself back. He lies down, and slides closer to In-ho than he usually does. He’s cold and exhausted from lack of sleep and worry, and he wants to feel the warm press of In-ho’s body, supportive and affectionate. He thinks In-ho needs the comfort, too, he was just as worried about Mi-rae. He was worried about Gi-hun, every time Gi-hun was tugged out of sleep and sat up fast, looking for him, looking for Mi-rae. He slept less than Gi-hun did, trying to make sure they were both safe and comfortable.

He lets their shoulders press together, awkwardly on the side of his pillow, flat on his back. In-ho goes very still at the first press of Gi-hun’s arm, but then—he turns to face Gi-hun, sliding closer, pulling Gi-hun over, against his chest.

Gi-hun ends up on his side, his nose pressed to In-ho’s chest, his arm slung across him, his leg over In-ho’s legs, In-ho curved into him.

He didn’t expect to be so close. He expected In-ho to let him press their arms together, and then move closer together in their sleep, unconciously.

It is so comforting, In-ho’s hand is on his back, stroking softly. Gi-hun’s heart feels weak, like he has wanted this so much, he has craved this soft comfort for so long but didn’t have anyone he wanted to hold like this, and he did not know to ask In-ho. It turns out In-ho wanted it too, and he only had to initiate it.

He presses closer, his hand grasping at In-ho’s solid side, his warm chest. He can hear In-ho’s heartbeat. It makes him feel so comfortable, like something is settling in his chest. He breathes in In-ho’s comforting scent, feels him wrapped around Gi-hun, and lets himself drift.

He wakes up in nearly the same position a few hours later. In-ho’s hand is on his leg, his other hand is on Gi-hun’s back. He wakes up slowly, feeling the pressure of In-ho’s limbs around him, the nearly uncomfortable warmth of them pressed together under the cover.

He feels so good against Gi-hun.

Gi-hun pushes himself up slightly, and looks at In-ho’s face. In-ho’s eyes open slightly, and he smiles, loose and half-awake.

Gi-hun is in love with him.

The realisation hits him like something obvious, right in front of his face, something he should have known but couldn’t quite see. It is surprising and not surprising, it hurts him as much as it makes him feel like his chest is going to burst from the sheer hope flowing through him.

He ruined Gi-hun’s life. He saved Gi-hun’s life. He ended the games. He is just trying to live, as well as he can.

Gi-hun loves him. He has decided to be better. He wants In-ho so much, in every way. It blossoms through his chest and sets all of him alight. He has felt this for so long, and barely realised it.

He smiles back. It feels like relief, to know. He wants to kiss him more than he wants anything else.

“Hwang In-ho-ya.” Gi-hun says.

“Gi-hun.” In-ho replies. He sounds a little surprised at the sudden close address, and shifts a little bit like he is trying to get a better look at Gi-hun in the low light, his body shifting beneath Gi-hun’s. Gi-hun props himself up on a hand beside In-ho’s head, his bodyweight sliding from In-ho, lying beside him, one leg still over In-ho’s legs.

“If you don’t want—you can push me away.” Gi-hun says.

He thinks In-ho wants it, wants him. The way In-ho looks at him, he must—he must feel something. If he doesn’t, Gi-hun will survive. He would rather know now, and not have to pull himself away when he has fallen for In-ho even harder.

He curves his free hand around In-ho’s jaw, and watches as his eyes widen, wakefulness coming to him swiftly.

“Gi-hun-ah.” In-ho whispers. It doesn’t sound like a protest, it sounds like he is desperate.

Gi-hun presses his lips to In-ho’s.

It is soft, sweet, barely anything. In-ho’s body twists to meet his, his hand grabs at his waist and holds him so hard it nearly hurts, he can feel his shirt bunching up beneath In-ho’s hand.

Gi-hun pulls back. In-ho is staring at him, his eyes so intense, so focused, so full of—something. “Gi-hun.” In-ho says. His voice is low, rumbling. “If you let me have this, I’m going to want—everything. You’re not going to be able to take it back.” His hand tightens around Gi-hun’s waist.

It lights Gi-hun up from the inside. He is already getting hard, his dick pressing through his soft trousers against In-ho’s stomach. In-ho looks like he wants to eat him whole, like he hasn’t wanted anything as much as he wants Gi-hun.

The way he had enveloped Gi-hun in his arms when Gi-hun had pressed their hands together, the way he had invited himself into Gi-hun’s bed when Gi-hun had asked him to stay while he fell asleep, the way he had cemented himself in Gi-hun’s home when Gi-hun had asked him to stay—every time Gi-hun has given him an opening, he has shoved himself through it and taken everything Gi-hun has offered, but he has never taken the steps himself, he has always waited for Gi-hun to offer.

I’m going to want—everything.

I don’t want to live without you.

He’s going to love Gi-hun more than Gi-hun could have hoped for. Gi-hun wants that. He wants In-ho to take what he wants—he never thought that it could be him, that he could be what In-ho wants.

To be desired like this, it is heady. He almost can’t believe it.

He wants In-ho to devour him.

He presses his mouth against In-ho’s again, and In-ho makes a low noise in the back of his throat and opens his mouth, his hands pushing Gi-hun’s shirt out of the way to get at his skin as he tugs Gi-hun onto him, his entire body rolling up to meet Gi-hun’s.

It feels like he has been waiting for this, wanting this, for a very long time. His mouth is desperate against Gi-hun’s, it makes him think—when In-ho was bleeding out, and he pressed their foreheads together, that was the most In-ho had done of his own volition. Did he want to kiss Gi-hun then? Did he want to die knowing what Gi-hun’s lips felt like against his own?

Gi-hun slides his hand into In-ho’s hair and tugs a little, pulling him to a different angle, kissing him deeper. In-ho makes another noise, and he thinks he responds, but he’s so gone, he can barely feel anything apart from In-ho’s hands on his back, In-ho’s body beneath him, his hand in In-ho’s hair, In-ho’s tongue in his mouth, In-ho’s mouth on his.

He grinds down onto him, he can’t help it. He feels like three years—and longer have all caught up to him in one moment, and all he can think about is fucking In-ho. He wants In-ho to get him off, he wants In-ho’s hand around him, inside him, he wants to feel In-ho push inside him so much. His hole clenches, his dick twitches, and he presses his hips harder into In-ho desperately, his tongue slipping alongside In-ho’s, his lips pressing harder.

He can feel In-ho’s dick, hard against his own, but their trousers are between them. He pulls back, frustrated, but before he can shove them out the way, In-ho tugs Gi-hun’s shirt off.

He’s a little surprised. He lets In-ho pull it over his head, and In-ho flips them, kicking the cover away from them messily so he can straddle Gi-hun properly, and he sits on Gi-hun’s hips, Gi-hun’s dick pressed into the underside of his balls, his dick, but he doesn’t seem bothered with that at the moment.

Gi-hun wants to grab at him, remind him that Gi-hun is so, so turned on, In-ho has worked him up unimaginably, and the least In-ho can do is get him off, but In-ho’s hands start at his hips, and he moves them slowly up his chest, cupping his tits, rubbing his nipples, feeling the weight, the softness of him.

Gi-hun feels like In-ho is living out a hundred fantasies at once, looking down at him, his eyes so filled with that intensity, that longing, that pure desire that is—it’s so overwhelming. Gi-hun hopes he isn’t disappointing, now In-ho has his fill.

In-ho leans over him, licks a long, wet, messy stripe up his jaw, kisses behind his ear, across his cheek, and presses their foreheads together, his hips shifting to press his dick against Gi-hun’s stomach, their trousers still—still in the way.

Gi-hun is so confused. He lets In-ho do it, he lets In-ho’s hands find what they want on his skin, he lets In-ho kiss his face, not even his lips, In-ho kisses along his jaw, his cheek, presses one deep his to his lips before doing the other side, moving down to his neck. Gi-hun gasps, yelping slightly as In-ho sinks his teeth into Gi-hun’s neck. It sends shivers through him, it makes him buck up against In-ho desperately.

Gi-hun knew he would like that.

“In-ho.” He says.

In-ho looks at him, fire in his eyes.

Gi-hun puts his hands on In-ho’s thighs, pulling at his waistband, and rocks his hips up. “Please.”

In-ho looks like he is reluctant to pull away from Gi-hun’s neck, his face, but Gi-hun is already too worked up—In-ho can do that later, he’s got so much time. In-ho shoves his trousers down his ass, and Gi-hun lifts his hips to let In-ho pull his down, too. In-ho looks at him as he presses them together, skin to skin, nothing between them but sweat and heat.

Gi-hun groans, his hands grasping at In-ho’s hips as he ruts up. In-ho leans back—Gi-hun grabs at his arm, trying to stop him from moving away, but he looks at Gi-hun, heat in his eyes, and spits disgustingly between them, directly onto Gi-hun’s dick, and lowers himself back down.

It’s makes everything slicker, easier—it was a little disgusting, but it makes Gi-hun hotter, it makes him want to see In-ho with his come leaking out of his mouth, it makes Gi-hun want to fuck him harder, mess him up, get him panting and disgusting again. He pushes up against In-ho, and In-ho plasters them together, and ruts against him.

It’s not neat, it’s not pretty, it’s not as satisfying as he wants it to be, but he can’t imagine breaking away from In-ho to even take his shirt off or get their trousers off, or move the covers off from where they are covering half of In-ho, let alone get lube, or spending any time opening him up. He’s desperate, he wants In-ho so much. He is rocking down against Gi-hun, his mouth open, panting into Gi-hun’s neck, grunting against him as he fucks them together, grinding hard against Gi-hun, their dicks messily pressing together, sliding hard against each other. Gi-hun tilts his head and catches his lips, his gorgeous, perfect lips, and clutches at the back of his head, his other hand on In-ho’s thigh, pulling him into Gi-hun, making them rock together faster, harder, their rhythm short, hard thrusts. He can feel In-ho’s dick against his own, hard and wanting, and it makes the hunger in him, the want to mess In-ho up, to get him to grunt louder, messier, to let out all his desire as uncontrolled and hot as he can, it makes that hunger deepen. In-ho’s hand is grasping his side so hard, like he can’t get enough of Gi-hun either, like he wants Gi-hun to let go into him, as well.

Gi-hun can’t hold it back much longer. He has been worked up for days, he has wanted this closeness so much, he has been holding himself under control for so long. He comes between them, gasping, whining high and messy, and In-ho’s hips double their speed, he fucks against Gi-hun desperately, his hand finding the back of Gi-hun’s thigh, so high he is grasping his ass, and pulls Gi-hun against him. Gi-hun can feel his come shooting up his stomach as In-ho shudders against him, his mouth slipping from Gi-hun’s, groaning into his cheek, keeping his lips there like he is pressing a chaste kiss into his skin.

Gi-hun’s arms are around him, one hand on the nape of his neck, the other on his arm, holding him gently. He smiles, wanting more of In-ho immediately.

In-ho doesn’t immediately push off of him. He turns his hard, aggressive kisses into gentler, softer ones. He presses kisses to the underside of Gi-hun’s chin, where the knife scar is, then down his throat, on the center of his chest, over his heart. He kisses Gi-hun’s left, then right breast, then takes his hand, and kisses the handcuff mark, his mouth open over it, breathing it in.

He had kept Gi-hun alive. He wants Gi-hun so much. It feels like he is pressing his fingers into a deep bruise in Gi-hun’s heart with every kiss, he aches, he wants to push In-ho away and pull him closer at the same time.

In-ho kisses the knife scar in his hand, and Gi-hun surges up, tugging his hand away and kisses his lips again, sitting up and shifting them so In-ho is on his lap, his arms around Gi-hun as they kiss slower, more relaxed.

He can’t believe In-ho wants him do much.

In-ho’s hands cup his chin, cup his head, and he pulls back to look at Gi-hun, to look at his tired face, the lines around his eyes. His fingers slip to the nape of Gi-hun’s neck, where his hair is so long it is curling, and he tugs a lock of it.

It makes Gi-hun gasp.

“Your hair is getting longer.” In-ho says. “You look so good like this.”

He is getting messier, fatter, and happier. He smiles at In-ho, affection overwhelming him. “So is yours.”

In-ho’s hair is no longer the perfect neat cut of the Frontman’s. Most days he wears it falling over his forehead. It suits him. Gi-hun brushes his fingers through In-ho’s fringe, where it’s long enough to nearly hit his eyes. “Don’t you need this cut?”

“Do you not like it?” In-ho asks. His hands haven’t stopped, they are still finding parts of Gi-hun’s body. His hand slides over the gunshot wound in Gi-hun’s shoulder, and his thumb feels the length of it.

“I love it.” Gi-hun says.

In-ho looks back at his face. He looks surprised, like he didn’t expect Gi-hun to—

Gi-hun wants to tell him. He doesn’t know if he can, he doesn’t think In-ho will believe him. In-ho looks so shocked by Gi-hun saying he loves—anything about him.

Gi-hun pushes In-ho’s shirt up, and off. In-ho lets him, he looks at Gi-hun like he is terrified Gi-hun won’t like what he finds. Gi-hun puts his hand over the gunshot in his shoulder, the gunshot in his side, the surgical scar, the soft centre of his stomach showing he has been eating better, he has been healing, he has not been denying himself. 

“I love the way you look.” Gi-hun says softy.

In-ho’s hands clench on his arms. “Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun looks at him.

“What is this?” In-ho asks. “Do you just want to have sex?”

“No.” Gi-hun looks at him, at the serious fear in his expression. He had not been afraid when faced with death, but with Gi-hun wanting sex with him and nothing else—that is what makes him afraid? “I want—more of what we are doing. I want to kiss you in the mornings, and hold you when I want to.”

In-ho’s hands clench harder on his shoulders.

“What about you?” Gi-hun asks. “What do you want?”

“I want you any way you’ll have me.” In-ho says, serious and grim.

Gi-hun can’t help his surprise. He look at In-ho, he wants to tease him, he wants to ask what In-ho would do if he said he only wanted sex, if he only wanted to see In-ho once a month, once a year? But In-ho looks—he is too serious, he is too easily broken. Gi-hun wants him to believe him.

Gi-hun kisses him lightly, softly.

He is still turned on. In-ho deepens the kiss, and his hands slide across Gi-hun’s back, his spine bends into Gi-hun’s body.

Gi-hun’s dick is filling again. He hasn’t been able to get hard again this fast in years.

In-ho is addictive. He pulls them together, In-ho’s trousers still in the way, but this time—he is less desperate. He lets the kiss separate naturally, and slides a hand down In-ho’s stomach, to where his dick is still soft.

“I have some lube.” Gi-hun says.

In-ho’s eyes flick down to Gi-hun’s hand over his dick, to Gi-hun’s face. He looks so hungry, still.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Gi-hun asks.

In-ho gets up so fast Gi-hun’s arm around his neck tugs him bodily forwards, and he laughs, catching himself.

In-ho shoves his sleep trousers down and off, and looks back at Gi-hun on the bed. “Where is the lube?”

“In the bathroom down the hall. Lower shelf.” Gi-hun says.

In-ho walks out of his room, completely naked. Gi-hun laughs, pulling his trousers off and throwing them across the room, and shoving the covers out of the way. It’s thrilling, it’s so uplifting to know how eager In-ho is, how badly In-ho wants him. He wonders how long In-ho has wanted him—did he want him before Gi-hun joined the games for the second time? Did he want Gi-hun when he was Young-il?

In-ho comes back in and throws the lube on the bed beside him. Gi-hun parts his legs as In-ho comes towards him, In-ho fitting perfectly in between them, stretching on top of Gi-hun, kissing him again like he is desperate, like the walk to the bathroom was too far, too long.

Gi-hun lets In-ho press him into the bed, lets In-ho take his time. In-ho’s hand comes to his breast and he presses his fingers into Gi-hun’s nipple. Gi-hun jolts, his hips rolling up.

“Sensitive.” In-ho murmurs, watching his fingers make little circles around it, watching Gi-hun’s hand grasping at his wrist, pulling his hand closer to Gi-hun’s nipple.

Gi-hun has not always been this sensitive there. He has always liked it, but this—this is a lot. It’s In-ho, it’s In-ho’s fingers, it’s In-ho’s body ramping him up. He has never been with anyone who has focused this much on him. It makes him feel almost strange, to know that In-ho wants him so, so badly.

In-ho’s fingers travel back over him, over his stomach. He presses his thumbs into Gi-hun’s tits again, watching as the shape of them changes, then over his nipples, then over his stomach.

Gi-hun wants to touch him, he wants to put his hands on In-ho’s flat chest, he wants to feel where In-ho is sensitive, but all he can do is hold on while In-ho feels him up—his hands move to the V of Gi-hun’s hips, and his thumbs brush gently against the sensitive skin below his navel, down to his groin. He twitches, the skin there too sensitive, it feels too good, he needs In-ho to dig his fingers in and touch his dick, give him something—In-ho brushes him thumb over the skin again lightly, and Gi-hun whines.

In-ho smiles, looking up at his face. 

Gi-hun loves him. He smiles back, and In-ho slides his hands down, around, to Gi-hun’s ass. He takes Gi-hun’s ass in his hands and squeezes, pulling him into In-ho’s lap, stroking the crease between his asscheeks and his thighs, then down the underside of his thighs. 

It tickles. Gi-hun twitches, his legs tensing around In-ho. “You really like touching me.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.” In-ho says, and he twists, hooks one of Gi-hun’s legs under his hand, lifts it, and presses a kiss to the inside of Gi-hun’s knee, then another, higher up. He moves slowly, breathing hot, wet kisses to every centimetre of Gi-hun’s skin.

It’s overwhelming. Gi-hun feels like he is being worshipped, like In-ho wants to kiss every part of him, like In-ho wants every part of him.

In-ho has seen every part of him, and still wants him. In-ho has seen him at his worst, at every worst he has ever had. In-ho has seen him begging and crawling and bleeding and desperate and angry, and In-ho wants him.

In-ho kisses his hipbone, and the surge of affection and inadequacy crush Gi-hun’s chest. He feels tears rise in his eyes and tries to push them back, but he can’t.

In-ho reverently kisses his navel, his softening stomach, and looks up at him.

Gi-hun doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to be loved like this.

In-ho’s face clouds with worry, and he crawls up, closer to Gi-hun’s face. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Gi-hun slides his hands around In-ho’s shoulders and pulls him closer, kissing him messily, then just pulling him to Gi-hun, holding him for a moment, pressing kisses to his mouth, his jaw.

He doesn’t know how to say it with words. He is just overwhelmed. He didn’t know In-ho wants him this much, he doesn’t know how to deal with this much desire. He has failed so many people, and he doesn’t want to fail In-ho. He wants to be enough.

In-ho kisses him, and presses into him as Gi-hun kisses across his cheek, his hands so gentle on Gi-hun’s sides.

Gi-hun can’t handle how gentle he is. He needs In-ho to fuck him, to be less gentle, to take what he wants. He is still hard, so painfully hard, so desperate for In-ho to touch him.

“Fuck me.” Gi-hun says. He fumbles for the lube, one hand unhooking from around In-ho’s shoulders, but In-ho grabs it before he can, and spreads it over his fingers, pressing them to Gi-hun’s hole immediately,

Ah. Of course he wants to.

“Slowly.” Gi-hun says. “It’s been a while.”

In-ho groans, and his face goes a little shaky as he sinks two fingers in immediately.

It feels so good. Gi-hun’s back arches into it, pressing into the feeling of them filling him, the slight edge of discomfort. He is too worked up to feel uncomfortable, he has dreamed—his dreams never include In-ho fingering him, they always skip directly to In-ho inside of him, or him inside In-ho. He likes the slowness, the stretch, the way In-ho’s hungry eyes keep flicking between his hole and his face, like he can’t decide which one he would rather watch. He’s pumping his fingers, angling them up, just barely hitting the right spot with every flex. It’s so good, Gi-hun thinks—he could come like this, just watching In-ho’s face, In-ho’s fingers inside him. If In-ho touches him, he’ll be gone.

“Give me some more.” Gi-hun says.

In-ho looks at him, twists his fingers, and fucks him a few more times, rapidly. Gi-hun groans, his head tipping back, his hips rolling into In-ho’s hand, desperately trying to keep his eyes on In-ho. Why won’t In-ho just fuck him?

In-ho’s eyes go back to his hole and he spreads his fingers.

Gi-hun chokes on nothing, the air in his lungs suddenly leaving, bright hot pleasure shooting through him. He knows he is making noises, his voice is high and reedy and desperate, his hand clenched hard on In-ho’s arm, on the sheets.

In-ho looks so—satisfied.

He is enjoying this, like he was enjoying kissing Gi-hun as much as he could.

He really wants everything.

“Please.” Gi-hun says, before it can overwhelm him. “Please, fuck me.”

In-ho pulls his fingers out, then pushes back in with three.

Gi-hun whines, his legs pulling In-ho bodily towards him. He is so impatient, he wants it so badly. In-ho just smiles, continuing to fuck him slowly, then faster, then slowing down again, spreading Gi-hun apart and making him whine.

“There you go.” In-ho says. “Gorgeous.”

Gi-hun’s hand slaps over his own face as tears well again. He has not felt desirable, he has not felt gorgeous—In-ho is undeniably attractive, he is one of the best looking people Gi-hun has ever met. Gi-hun has been shaking, struggling to get by for years, barely keeping himself together. It is tough to feel desirable like that, but In-ho—In-ho thinks he is gorgeous.

It chokes him. Tears squeeze out from the corners of his eyes, he feels—he feels so good. In-ho isn’t even in him yet.

“Please.” He says again, his legs clenching, tugging In-ho down.

In-ho is hard again. He has been hard for a while, but he looks like it’s not bothering him, like he has barely thought about it. He has been focused on Gi-hun, on Gi-hun’s pleasure, Gi-hun’s reactions.

He was so powerful and so terrifying, and now he is on his knees between Gi-hun’s legs, watching him like Gi-hun is everything to him. Gi-hun can’t look away from his face, from his deep, probing eyes.

In-ho pulls his fingers out, and wipes them messily on the sheets, then covers his dick with lube.

The anticipation makes Gi-hun gasp, it tenses his entire body. “In-ho.” He says, his hand grabbing at In-ho’s hair.

In-ho makes a low noise of agreement into his ear and leans over him. He is looking down at his dick—Gi-hun can feel the head of it pressing against him.

It slips inside, and Gi-hun gasps. It’s bigger than In-ho’s fingers, but the spread of it, the feel of him—it feels so good. He squirms, trying to shove himself onto In-ho’s dick, but In-ho looks at him desperately, a groan slipping from between his lips, and Gi-hun pauses. In-ho’s hand is grabbing tight around the base of his own dick.

“Give me a minute.” In-ho says.

Oh.

He’s trying not to come, just from putting the tip of his dick inside Gi-hun?

Gi-hun smiles at him, more tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. In-ho is ridiculous—how can he want Gi-hun this much? Gi-hun isn’t this special, In-ho is so—In-ho’s forehead tips onto Gi-hun’s shoulder and Gi-hun strokes the back of his neck lightly. In-ho kisses his collarbone, and Gi-hun tries to hold onto himself.

He loves In-ho so much.

In-ho groans as he pushes further in, his hips shaking, almost tremoring as he sinks himself into Gi-hun. He is holding one of Gi-hun’s thighs hard, his body pressed tight against Gi-hun, holding himself up with his other hand. He groans again, and presses his face into Gi-hun’s neck, his hot breath spilling onto his shoulder.

“Alright?” Gi-hun asks. He feels so full, the press of In-ho inside him is hot and sharp and brutal and everything he wants, it is lighting him on fire from the inside out. He wants In-ho to move, he wants In-ho to fuck him, he is so desperate he is barely holding himself back from shoving In-ho down and fucking himself on In-ho’s dick but—he wants this to last longer than ten seconds.

“Better than alright.” In-ho says, and he laughs softly into Gi-hun’s neck. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

Gi-hun clenches around him without thinking, and In-ho groans again, fucks in further. He’s pressed right against that spot inside Gi-hun, and Gi-hun feels like he is shaking, like he is being held on the edge. It’s so much and so little, just off the edge of being exactly what Gi-hun needs. He needs In-ho to hold him by the hips and fuck into him uncontrollably, to make Gi-hun feel it, to hit exactly where he wants him over and over and over.

In-ho sighs into his neck, and gently moves his hips so he slides in even further.

Fuck. Gi-hun feels like he is so deep, he is in Gi-hun’s throat. His hand is desperately clenched in In-ho’s hair, the other digging lines into his back. He thought he would be uncomfortable, he hasn’t done this in—ever, he has only ever had his own fingers in himself, but In-ho had gone so slowly, In-ho had treated him so gently—he is impatient, he needs In-ho to move.

“In-ho-ya.” Gi-hun whines, pressing his lips to the side of In-hos head, where he is still breathing into Gi-hun’s neck.

In-ho groans, and pulls out a bit.

Gi-hun shudders, his legs tensing, his heel digging into In-ho’s ass.

In-ho pushes back in, and Gi-hun makes a noise, high and involuntary, desperate.

He feels In-ho’s smile against his neck.

In-ho does it again, and Gi-hun feels like an itch he has had for weeks is finally being scratched, like he is being satisfied deep in his core, like In-ho, desperately pressed against him, so reluctant to put any space between them that he can barely fuck Gi-hun, is finally fulfilling what he has been doing for so long—working Gi-hun up, leaving him unsatisfied.

He is so slow, so careful, his hips are so steady. It feels better than anything Gi-hun has felt in months, years. The feel of him moving inside Gi-hun, he feels like he will come at any moment, he thinks if In-ho fucked him harder, faster, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, but In-ho is so gentle and so slow, fucking him so steadily like he is enjoying every single second, his hips rocking, his noises low and desperate against Gi-hun’s throat.

In-ho sucks on his neck as he presses in hard, circling his hips. The sharp pain on his neck shudders with the feeling of In-ho’s dick in him, both feelings heightening and shooting through him. It feels like In-ho is touching every sensitive part of Gi-hun at once. He whines, and In-ho pulls out, returning to his steady rhythm. He pulls himself up a bit, but only far enough to kiss Gi-hun again. The rhythm of their kiss matches the way In-ho is fucking him, slow, steady, purposeful.

Gi-hun feels like he is not being fucked, he is being loved. In-ho is so careful with him, he is so strong and full of intent, he fucks Gi-hun deeply, slowly, and desperately. His mouth is open against Gi-hun’s, his hand clenched so hard on Gi-hun’s thigh.

Gi-hun wants to come, he wants him to move faster. “In-ho.” He gasps.

In-ho bites his neck, and Gi-hun yelps, clenching on In-ho’s his hand scraping lines into In-ho’s back, his hips working back into In-ho’s faster.

In-ho loses his pace and fucks him faster, faster, desperation taking over as he takes exactly what he wants from Gi-hun. It’s what Gi-hun wants, he wants In-ho to lose his careful control and trust Gi-hun completely, he wants In-ho to lose himself in Gi-hun. Gi-hun pants, urging In-ho on with his hands, his hips, unable to help the whines as In-ho thrusts in again, again, he’s pressed so close to Gi-hun he can still barely get leverage, but he’s moving so fast.

“In-ho.” Gi-hun whines again, grabbing at his hair and shoving his face into the crook of Gi-hun’s neck. Gi-hun only needs a little more, he just needs—

In-ho lifts his head and looks at Gi-hun, and the intensity in his eyes, the adoration, the desire, the hunger,  In-ho looks at him with his face completely vulnerable and open, and it hits the most tender part of Gi-hun. He gasps and comes between them, moaning In-ho’s name, clenching around him, staring at his face, his hand pulling In-ho’s beloved face closer to rest their foreheads together as his whole body tenses. The world goes white for a moment—In-ho fucks him through it, he can feel In-ho pushing in as deep as he can saying his name, his breath against Gi-hun’s lips, and it pushes Gi-hun higher, In-ho grinding deep inside him, lighting him up in a way he has never felt.

He comes back to himself, and In-ho has pulled out, and is looking down at him, hunger still in his eyes.

“In-ho.” Gi-hun says, and smiles.

In-ho smiles back at him. “Come on. Let’s have a shower.”

Gi-hun forgot he has three loads of come smeared across his stomach. He nods, and swings his legs off the edge of the bed to stand, but his legs shake and he stumbles, and In-ho appears beside him, holding him up.

“You broke me.” Gi-hun says. “My legs don’t work.”

In-ho is a little flushed, a little sweaty, but his cheeks colour even more. Gi-hun doesn’t think he has stopped smiling. He leans down a little, and kisses In-ho softly, sweetly.

In-ho’s hand sweeps down his chest and settles on his waist. It is so nice, so comforting. He knows exactly how much In-ho wants to hold him, and it feels even better that In-ho is taking what he wants.

He walks shakily to the shower, and he the unfamiliar feeling of come dripping between his cheeks tickles down his leg. He leans down and swipes at it before it drips, showing In-ho his filthy hand with an exasperated expression. In-ho looks back at him levelly, but his hand slides from Gi-hun’s waist to slip gently between his asscheeks, and two fingers tuck neatly into his hole. Gi-hun nearly trips—he catches himself against the shower wall as In-ho fingers him, his fingers sliding deeper, through the come he left deep inside Gi-hun, tugging a little at his rim. Gi-hun doesn’t think he can come again, but the arousal slams into him, he is breathless with it. He pushes back onto In-ho’s fingers—they feel so good, it feels so good to have him press his come back inside Gi-hun’s body.

In-ho pulls his fingers out and turns the shower on.

Gi-hun turns, tugs him closer, and kisses him as the water warms up.

He wants to fuck In-ho again immediately. He wants to try it in as many positions as they can, he wants In-ho to take him from behind, he wants In-ho to fuck him in here, he wants to ride him, he wants to suck him off—all the options line up in front of him, and he feels so desperate for In-ho that he can barely hold himself back.

How long has In-ho wanted him? If this is what In-ho has been feeling for him for so long—

But In-ho doesn’t take things without Gi-hun offering them first.

Gi-hun pulls back slightly, and looks at him. His dark eyes scan Gi-hun’s face, his throat—there must be marks.

“Is there anything else you want?” Gi-hun asks. “From me? From this?”

In-ho’s hand slips from his waist to take his hand, and his fingers slide across Gi-hun’s, between them. “Not right now.” In-ho says. 

“You’ll tell me, won’t you?” Gi-hun asks. “If you want something? Don’t just wait for me to offer it.”

In-ho nods, and looks up at him. “I’ll tell you.”

Gi-hun smiles at him, and looks at him for a moment. With his hair wet in here, his cheeks flushed, he looks so young, so eager.

Gi-hun can’t believe he has him, after everything they have both been through—they ended up here, together.

“We’ll have to ask Jun-ho and Dae-ho to babysit more often.” Gi-hun says.

In-ho laughs, and pushes him back into the spray, grabbing at the body wash and starting to clean off Gi-hun’s stomach. “You can ask Jun-ho. He’ll ask you why.”

Gi-hun smiles at him, affection crashing through him. “I’ll tell him you need to fuck me.”

In-ho’s eyes raise to his face, and his mouth twitches into a smile, his eyebrows raising with incredulity. “Really? My baby brother?”

“What would you tell him?” Gi-hun asks.

“We’re doing some exercise, working on our stamina.” In-ho says.

Gi-hun laughs, delighted. It’s the kind of terrible joke Young-il made. He looks at In-ho’s little pleased expression, and he feels—content.