Work Text:
In-ho is a man who lives by few rules.
The rules themselves are irrelevant; it's the principle of following them that matters. They solely exist to rein in the chaos and unpredictability in his life, granting clarity whenever he starts second-guessing himself. As long as there’s cohesion and structure, he can figure out the rest.
A year after being deceived and forced to participate in surreal games of life and death, he finds a package on his doorstep. There’s nothing to identify the sender or the content, but he has a sinking feeling he knows anyway. The gift turns out to be a tablet, one that only unlocks with his player number, like the debit card with his winnings.
The tablet only has a timer running down on an unnamed app.
When the countdown starts nearing zero, In-ho knows he should take his phone and start recording. That’s the reasonable and sane thing to do - his instincts and years of police training scream at him to obey that train of thought. But he only sets the device on his desk, hands busy with pouring himself a drink instead.
The sight of hundreds of people clad in green tracksuits is unsurprising, but nauseating, yet he’s unable to take his eyes off the familiar game. He feels strangely hollow as he watches it unravel, whirling the liquid in his glass distractedly. He’s less concerned about the players than he’d like to admit, thoughts wandering more around how he was perceived when the deadly truth was revealed - if he had been just as pathetic in his terror and confusion.
The first game ends unceremoniously, more than half the players spread across the playground in pools of their own blood. For a moment, he tries to see patterns in the way they are scattered, as if it’s a puzzle he can solve, but drops the idea by shaking his head. Just as he’s about to pour himself more whisky to drown out the memory of what he has witnessed, garishly pink text appears on the now-black screen and catches his attention.
“List three potential winners.”
That’s morbid.
He knows what they’re doing, trying to pull him down to their level. Or perhaps it’s a warning or a taunt because of his background. Whatever it is, In-ho scoffs and thinks. It’s surprisingly easy to remember the numbers that had piqued his interest, and before he knows it, he’s typing in his best guesses.
The ritual repeats for several more days. On the third day, he has to change one of his guesses due to outside interference, but the other two make it to the finals.
That eventually leads him to meeting Il-nam.
A man utterly delighted with his ability to predict the most obvious outcomes.
-
Player 456 doesn’t belong in the final game.
Il-nam’s decision was final, yet In-ho can’t get over it. The host’s fondness for the pathetic player is ruining the grand finale In-ho had been looking forward to. He’s very well aware of Players 456 and 218’s personal connection, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that deep down, 456 is a coward. In-ho knows how it will end and the outcome is already boring him to tears, another year wasted on Il-nam’s whims.
But he’s wrong.
Not only is he wrong, Player 456’s merciful actions genuinely baffle him.
Il-nam is endlessly amused by it, fully knowing who In-ho’s choices were this year, but he never says anything aloud. By the time In-ho slinks his way into the limousine, the confusion has transformed into anger. It’s chaotic, threatening to ruin In-ho’s perception of the world once more. His congratulations aren’t welcome - 456 is mute with disbelief, before he breaks his mourning to question his motivations with audacity In-ho didn’t think him capable of.
But this is only one incident. Every rule has its exceptions. It doesn’t stop him from ramming the winnings down 456’s offending throat with unadulterated glee, eyes glued to the muscles struggling to swallow around the foreign object, chest clenching at the noises he unwittingly makes. He wants to do much worse than that, but is prevented by Il-nam’s ever-present attention fixated on his wildcard.
His world is restored the next year. Two of his picks reach the finale, providing an entertaining conclusion to the games. The harmonious predictability of each year’s competition is as comforting as it is satisfying. Unfortunately, Il-nam’s mind is elsewhere, still on his errant player. Laying on his deathbed, he makes one final request to In-ho, and of course it has to be about him.
The only time In-ho has seen the police make themselves useful in a timely manner is when Seong Gi-hun needs to demonstrate irrational faith in the impossible, as if manifesting them out of sheer stubbornness. Il-nam loses, and nobody is wiser whether it was his final thought. Player 456 had approached the building with uncertainty and apprehension, but leaves with his name reclaimed, head held high and determination in his stride. Anarchy is inevitable.
And he’s untouchable, as far as In-ho is concerned.
Being a former winner grants him privileges that protect him from the island’s influence. It’s those same privileges that feed his delusional sense of security and make him complacent enough to keep defying In-ho, first at the airport, then throughout the years on his mad search.
Until one night he’s back in the limousine again and fearlessly taunting In-ho about his hesitation, as if his victory is already assured. As if he has no idea that the balance of power is shifting back towards order and rightness.
There is just no helping some people, so eager to offer themselves for the slaughter.
Oh, who was In-ho to deny him.
-
Nobody dares to question In-ho when he orders Gi-hun be taken to a separate location from the other players. It's just another command among dozens of others. If there is rampant curiosity, it remains well hidden - there are very few new recruits this year, so most guards understand the virtues of blind obedience.
In-ho leaves instructions for his second-in-command before seeking out his prodigal former winner. He finds him spread across a table in a more private section of the compound, the two guards flanking him immediately abandoning the room when In-ho enters. He’s not sure what to make of the presumptuous action.
The sedative Gi-hun was gassed with should still be in full effect, so In-ho takes the freedom to cast away the mask and rid himself of his gloves. There are more tables in the room, one with player outfits in multiple sizes, another filled with various implements. Before he can make note of his choices, he takes Gi-hun in.
He's a changed man, even if most of his naivety and delusions of heroism remain, as proven by their conversation in the limousine. In-ho trails his fingers down the side of his face, frowning at the sunken cheeks and the pale, faded color of his skin - he had seen the footage, but it's more jarring to witness with his own eyes. He has run himself ragged before the real fight has even begun. His hand wanders to Gi-hun’s chin and throat, imagining the path the bank card had taken.
Despite a conscious effort to ignore him, In-ho couldn’t help but watch him for years, supervising his search from the shadows. Gi-hun so easily inspires such rage in him; he’s an outlier that shouldn’t exist in the scope of his understanding of the world. In-ho’s utterly incapable of understanding him, each prediction always failing and the polar opposite coming true instead, no matter how he changes his tactics and expectations. From his request to forfeit the games, to not using any of the prize money, to refusing to go see his daughter, Gi-hun always makes the most unexpected choice.
There have been times when In-ho has wanted nothing more than to order a hit on him, if for nothing else than to relieve himself of the torturous bemusement the man causes him. But that would hardly be satisfying - especially when he suffers so beautifully.
It’s a conundrum to find him as attractive as he is. Again, he’s the only exception that In-ho has ever encountered. He knows what he likes and how he likes them, yet his mind is often distracted with ideas that he should not be entertaining in the first place. He’d like to think himself above such primitive urges, yet… The only reason he’s here personally is because the thought of seeing Gi-hun alone and vulnerable was overwhelming in its urgency. And like hell was he giving that pleasure to a random guard.
In-ho clicks his tongue, pulling his hand away. He has plans — spontaneous and audacious ones, yes — but plans nonetheless. He has been given an incredible opportunity to destroy Gi-hun’s beliefs and bring him to his knees, he can’t ruin them before they have a chance to come to fruition. That's what he keeps telling himself as he undresses Gi-hun, trying to adopt an objective perspective even while his mouth noticeably dries at the revealed expanses of bare skin.
In-ho has always prided himself in his self-control and discipline; they sculpted him into who he is today. But they always were a mere counterbalance to his endless greed and hunger. His heartbeat has become rapid, his hands clammy as he painstakingly covers his wayward hero in the familiar colors.
In-ho tilts Gi-hun’s head with a crooked finger under his chin, mind returning to the tracker that he also must recover. One of the molars, he remembers from the intel. Fairly clever, but a single GPS locator won’t do much to help him. He traces Gi-hun's lips with his thumb before prying them open. Following the line of his teeth, he inadvertently triggers an unconscious reflex when he reaches the ones in the back, jaws closing slightly around the probing digits.
It's a good reminder that the man may stir awake soon and ruin his attempt to remove the device. Though, even if he regained consciousness now, a second dose would ensure he would be groggy and confused afterwards - unlikely to be able to tell dreams and reality apart. Regardless, there must be preparations.
In-ho withdraws his fingers, unnerved by the slew of unsavory ideas lurking in his head. The ideas only continue to grow and mutate while he spreads Gi-hun’s legs and ties his ankles to the legs of the table with a decent amount of slack. He first binds his upper arms together before lashing the wrists with rope and securing them to his biceps. A bit of a superfluous precaution, since the drugs will keep Gi-hun feeble - but there is a part of him that keeps staring at the display far longer than he intended, dark gratification burning in the pit of his stomach.
The mask is a problem: he would prefer to keep it off since it limits his vision, but the lack of it exposes too much of his plans to come. He rips one of the player shirts and uses a folded scrap of it to block Gi-hun’s sight, leaving the knot to the side of his head. One risk eliminated.
And then, the most important part. The gag - a ring of metal with a leather strap. In-ho had purchased it the moment he had spotted the dentist - and had the information about the tracker bought directly from the source. He’s not entirely sure how Gi-hun’s plan with his team would’ve played out, but he should’ve known that there’s only one kind of loyalty in the black markets, and it relies on the highest bidder.
He can’t help the tremble of his hand as he opens Gi-hun's mouth and slots the ring between his teeth, the leather satisfyingly soft as he secures it at the nape of his neck. Gods, the sight of the gag is obscene, lips stretched unnaturally wide to accommodate it, showing off the pink of his mouth.
A shiver snakes up In-ho's spine to the depths of his skull as his self-control wavers.
The item had genuinely been procured for the removal of the tracker. But holding it in his hands for the first time had filled his head with reprehensible ideas - ones that spread like a virulent sickness the more he tried to banish them. He's not an animal, controlled by base instincts, ready to follow every misguided thought conjured from his subconscious.
But irrationality seems to favor both of them, when it comes to one another. And his mouth is so open, tongue so wet…
Gi-hun isn't naive either, he had to have expected alternative fates for himself when he volunteered for his impossible mission. He can’t have been oblivious to the implications of the bank card. He had been so arrogant in the limousine, as if begging to be shown a better use for his mouth.
It's as much his fault as it is In-ho's for entertaining him. Well, now In-ho can remedy that, a fitting price for his insolence.
His cock is already straining against the zipper of his trousers when he reaches for it, demonstrating how he has already unconsciously decided to go through with this. He gasps aloud when the cool air of the room touches the heated flesh, his fingers squeezing the base of it to tone down his eagerness. He pulls on Gi-hun’s upper body, guiding his head off the edge of the table and supporting the weight of it with his hand. His breath hitches as he lines his cock inside the metal ring, before delving into the heat of his mouth.
This is madness.
In-ho has never had the urge to treat anyone like this, never been tormented by such depraved intentions.
He only inserts the head of his cock, savoring the slickness of Gi-hun’s tongue, the wet velvet of the insides of his cheeks. But it's impossible not to crave more. He sinks deeper until he encounters the tight heat of his throat, and Gi-hun flinches before falling slack again.
In-ho feels feverish, mind blanking as he's entranced by the sight of his cock disappearing into the unresisting mouth. He thrusts deeper in his excitement, growling when the throat constricts harshly around his cock as Gi-hun gags wetly. When he withdraws, he finally notices how Gi-hun's hands have tightened into tight fists, how tense his legs are. He's slowly waking up, thanks to the rough treatment.
In-ho rakes his fingers into his hair as he smears Gi-hun's lips with the fluid gathered at the tip of his cock. He's already gone too far, there’s no use stopping now. He buries himself to the hilt until the throat spasms around him again, Gi-hun choking helplessly. He pauses, panting as the man’s body fully awakens, dark triumph building up while he waits for his reactions. He does not disappoint, writhing helplessly in the restraints halting his movements, a low rumble vibrating up from his chest to his throat and In-ho’s cock by extension. He instinctively thrusts in response and Gi-hun retches as his body struggles against the invasion.
He gets a small reprieve when In-ho pulls back, canting his head to the side. Drool leaks from the corner of his mouth, spilling down as it’s unable to defy the pull of gravity and seeping into the blindfold. It's messy, yet hypnotizing to watch.
The arousal is punishingly painful and In-ho has no desire to hold it back. He doesn't hesitate to angle Gi-hun’s head for better access, while he can only sob and pull at his bindings as his mouth is crammed full. In-ho sinks as deep as he can get, until Gi-hun's lips meet his hips - until he can see the outline of his cock protrude in the man’s throat.
He bucks his hips wildly, the sight fueling his unhinged needs - which only worsen, seeing the bulge pulse along with his movements. Gi-hun sobs despairingly, the gagging threatening to drown the sound of it, and In-ho can see the panicked stutter of his chest. He shudders and moans at the unadulterated obscenity of it.
In-ho pulls back again, withdrawing completely to calm his overexcited senses, to prevent himself from reaching his peak too soon. Gi-hun takes the break gratefully, gasping for air, his fists loosening. He keeps swallowing, but more spit slides from his open mouth regardless, making a mess of his cheeks. As he waits for the arousal to calm down, In-ho idly wonders who Gi-hun thinks is using him, and if he should give him a clue to shed the uncertainty. Would a stranger be preferable to him or the opposite?
Gi-hun tries to speak, perhaps to plead or to reason, but In-ho doubts he would hear it even without the gag, considering how loudly his blood is rushing in his ears. It's almost disorienting how aroused he is, how the thought of continuing this abuse makes his muscles feel weak. He almost regrets the blindfold; he wishes he could appreciate the tears collecting on Gi-hun's eyelashes, the despair swimming in his doe eyes.
This is the mad world of the games; Gi-hun should know better and face the consequences of his ridiculous ambitions. This place has very little morality or mercy to offer him.
In-ho’s hand glides along the stretch of his throat and Gi-hun gulps in response. His voice will be so hoarse, his throat molded to accommodate his cock. In-ho can't wait to listen, hear the garbled mess of it. How he'll clutch his sore throat, distraught over the reason behind it.
In-ho's cock continues throbbing as he tries to temper his arousal, and he soon decides it’s a futile fight. He feeds his cock to Gi-hun, who tries to shake his head, but In-ho’s grip on his hair prevents it. He pushes his tongue back against him in a desperate attempt to prevent the invasion, only unwittingly stimulating him instead. In-ho’s thighs tense at the pleasure coursing through him as he visibly fills out the throat, the shape of his cock jutting out filthily.
In-ho presses his hand to the bulge, squeezing hard on it, moaning openly when he feels the pressure on his cock through the skin and tissue. Gi-hun makes a tortured noise that vibrates down his length, but it gets lost in the wet gurgling as he tries not to drown in his own drool. His entire body is tight as a wire, limbs wasting energy by moving as his body is deprived of air, the binds digging deep into his skin.
In-ho rocks his hips and Gi-hun just takes it, unable to meaningfully resist or protest. He wheezes and makes other pained noises that get lost in the wet squelches of the cock rammed down his mouth. In-ho yanks on his hair, forcing his head to meet his thrusts, inducing more gurgling sobs and thrashing of his legs.
Long gone are the defiance and anger, only helpless despair and panic remaining as he tries to swallow around the obstruction. Reduced to a toy, his mouth fucked like a cunt.
This is dangerous. On a physical level to Gi-hun, on a psychological one for In-ho. He never thought himself capable of this, forcing himself on an easy victim, but it comes so easily to him now, like it was meant to happen. It is so incredibly satisfying, all his frustrations and anger melting away. Yet worryingly, he has the feeling this won’t satiate his craving, only feed the hunger that he wasn’t even aware of. Only because of Gi-hun. Only for him.
In-ho lets go of his reserves and fucks without inhibitions, shuddering at the tortured groan, the wet gargling, the impossible tightness of the heat clenched around him. He has to catch himself with a hand on the table as he comes, a broken moan escaping his chest as he’s pushed brutally over the edge. He keeps thrusting until his cock becomes too sensitive, his heart threatening to break his ribs with the intensity of its beats, as Gi-hun’s body jerks wildly, fighting the assault.
Gi-hun retches hard, gasping for air when his airway is no longer blocked, globs of spit and cum spilling from the forcibly open mouth. They join the sloppy mess on his face, the blindfold soaked with it and his tears.
In-ho kneels, cradling the dangling head, easing the uncomfortable angle of his neck. Gi-hun’s sore throat is still working hard as he pants, mouth still leaking various bodily fluids, teeth straining against the metal ring. His face is bright red, filled with blood from the unnatural upside-down position and his recent exertions.
Unable to resist, In-ho leans in close and licks the filth off his cheek. Gi-hun makes a terrified noise, trying to jerk away from him in erratic, hasty movements, but he’s still as trapped as before.
In-ho finds himself in the middle of a solemn dilemma. He can’t quite decide whether he should proceed with his plans, but summon Gi-hun every night to satisfy the depraved creativity the man stirs in him - or never let him join the games and keep him right where he belongs.
So spoiled with choices he is.