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Harsh panting and the sounds of naked skin slapping against skin fill the limited space of the limousine, low groans mingling with intermittent moans. The air is soaked heavily with sweat, arousal and pleasure, drowning out the scent of expensive leather, exquisite perfume, and premium whiskey.
Two naked bodies are entwined together on the leather seats, moving against each other in perfect sync, as close to each other as two humans could possibly be. Bent over a seat, on his elbows and knees, back arched, hips in the air, and fingers clawing desperately at the squeaky leather, Gi-hun is coming undone. Shallow breaths and hoarse moans are uncontrollably leaving his chest, timed with unabated thrusts into the depths of him, each new of them pressing him deeper into the seat. All his senses are overstimulated, pleasure flowing through his entire body and blood drumming in his ears. Every touch, every movement inside of him is pushing him closer to the brink.
"I've wanted to have you like this ever since Dalgona," a raspy voice breathes above his ear, and big hands fondle his hips, squeeze his cheeks, spreading him even wider. Gi-hun shudders, letting out another blissful moan at a particularly deep thrust, aimed directly at his prostate.
Behind him is the weirdest week of his life, as rewarding as it turned out to be. A series of six games, designed as simple fun from their childhood, yet each of them had a subtle undertone to it. And while it might have seemed ridiculous at first, then dark or menacing as the game progressed, now, as the winner, Gi-hun knows better.
The subtext of each game was erotic.
Homoerotic, moreover. Each game specifically designed by the mastermind behind it, the Front Man, in hope to find the one who conquers his heart and shares his bed. Hundreds of contestants, yet only one was allowed to make it to the end and thus under the hot body of the attentive, skilled lover that was the Front Man.
The first game – Red Light, Green Light – tested the players' ability to change poses quickly, and even more importantly, to hold them steadily. It came easily to Gi-hun, his natural flexibility and stamina brought him to the next round before he knew it. The second one, Dalgona, must have been the one that first attracted the Front Man to him – Gi-hun moans and clenches in the present at another deep thrust targeting his prostate, as if confirming his thoughts. In the Dalgona game, Gi-hun had to boast the talents of his tongue, working over a juicy cookie without ruining it. What an arousing sight it must have been – Gi-hun with his back arched, skilled tongue tracing the shape of the cookie, saliva dripping from his mouth as his tongue licked, and prodded, and pushed. He would have given it more thought if he hadn't been so concentrated, but knowing what he knows now, Gi-hun suspects it was how naturally the pose had come to him, how he had thought to use his tongue without any direct request, that made him stand out among all the other contestants.
The third game, Tug of War, showcased the players' grip around long round objects, as well as their stamina. This was a hard one for him; despite his love for adventure and kink – confirmed again in the present by yet another intense thrust to which he willingly submits – Gi-hun had always been a delicate one with his touch, especially when handling long round fleshy objects. He had almost lost that challenge, and probably would have, hadn't it been for the more experienced, rougher men around him who showed him the correct grip and pressure. Likely just the way the Front Man would enjoy it, even if the other contestants aren't there anymore to prove it.
His delicateness came handy in the fourth game, though. Marbles, where the players were supposed to handle little fragile balls with no violence. The intimate atmosphere of the game, the tenderness in Gi-hun's hands, his ingenuity – it all came together and he emerged a victor, proceeding to the next round.
The fifth game turned out to be quite a challenge too, even though of a different nature this time. The Glass Bridge didn't require physical efforts nor a quick wit, but it came with a symbolism Gi-hun hadn't been ready to find himself affronted with. Glass stood for transparency, and transparency stood for coming out. The game was a test of the players' readiness to live and love openly, to commit to their new relationship with the Front Man. By crossing a symbolic bridge to the other side, they declared their intention to be out and proud. Gi-hun wasn't sure he was ready. His deep desires had never been out on the surface for anyone to see, but rather kept inside like a shameful secret. But every new challenge was uncovering a new layer of him, stripping him of pretences and masks, pushing him further in his willingness to reveal his true self. Only three contestants had made it to the other side, one of them pulling away shortly after, no longer able to withstand the pressure of the games. And so in the final game, only two finalists remained standing against each other. One of them Gi-hun.
The final game... Gi-hun would blush just thinking back to it, if only he weren't long past the point of shame anymore, with a thick cock rearranging his insides and his own leaking onto the expensive leather of the seat, even though right now both him and the Front Man couldn't care less about the mess they are making. The final challenge, humbly named Squid Game, consisted of... each of the finalists playing with their squid – a phallic euphemism the symbolism of the games was built around – while the Front Man was watching them directly. His face stayed hidden behind a mask – something about equality and fairness – but his eyes seemed to linger on Gi-hun specifically, to devour him with greed and hunger. And whether it was Gi-hun's raw skill or his opponent realising he had lost already – before Gi-hun knew, he emerged the winner.
The Squid Game had been a prelude, a slow start to what followed. A new kind of game, this time just between the Front Man and his victor. And so, when the Front Man, still masked, gently cupped Gi-hun's face with a hand adorned with a leather glove, and a husky voice asked if Gi-hun wished to join him for a limo ride, Gi-hun, already trembling in anticipation, said yes.
A kinky limo ride, as expected from the mastermind behind the games. And when Gi-hun's eyes were covered with a blindfold, the dark fabric swallowing the world around him, and the touch on his body lingered, as if wordlessly asking for consent, Gi-hun found himself agreeing to everything. To his clothes removed with a tender insistence, his legs nudged apart, thick fingers slicking him up, stretching him slowly and carefully, and then a whole different kind of pressure sinking in, tentative, unhurried, yet deep and delicious.
The Front Man has lodged himself deep inside Gi-hun and sends him unraveling further with each movement. With his vision temporarily taken away, Gi-hun's remaining senses are intensified even further. The mixture of touch at his backside and tender whispers in his ear, the Front Man's voice no longer distorted by the mask and softer than expected, is intoxicating. Gi-hun lets out a broken sound, half a moan, half a whimper, feeling himself getting close. He clenches involuntarily around the Front Man's cock, emitting a gasp from the other man, as Gi-hun tries to fight off his release, the desire to go on surrendering to the overwhelming need to come. His own cock throbs between his legs.
The Front Man must have sensed the shift in the mood – or maybe he has learned the language of his winner’s body from the first touch. His hand, the one that is still gloved, reaches beneath Gi-hun and grabs his cock, squeezing it gently, then giving it a long stroke from the tip to the shaft, smearing pre-cum along the length, and returning back to the tip, a gloved finger tracing the slit. Another deep thrust inside, the blinding pleasure coming from all directions, and Gi-hun sees white, his cock spurting on the leather seat and on the leather glove as he is clenching hard and barely registering the sounds he is making. Above him there is another gasp at the unexpected tightness, then a deep broken groan, and the final few thrusts, erratic and shallow. Then the Front Man stills, buried deep inside, and Gi-hun, still riding the impossible high of his release, feels warm liquid fill him up.
They stay unmoving for a few moments, both panting heavily in the aftermath of their orgasms. Then the Front Man pulls out, gently caressing Gi-hun's thighs, and swipes his thumb lightly just over Gi-hun's hole, smearing his own cum leaking out of it. The Front Man helps Gi-hun turn over, still blindfolded, and locks their mouths together in a kiss that is simultaneously tender, hungry, and grateful. Gi-hun palms the Front Man's face, trying to memorise the shape of it, to trace its edges and feels the other man shudder against him, licking into his mouth messily.
They redress in silence, but the silence is a comfortable one, as if they didn't need words to understand each other. Gi-hun remains blindfolded, but he doesn't protest, his mind still sluggish from the intensity of his orgasm. The Front Man helps him put his shirt on, and tucks something that feels like a little card into the front pocket.
Gi-hun feels hot breath on his lips again. The Front Man caresses his face with one hand, another one already holding the mask, its metal straps clanking softly against the plastic.
"I've left my number. Please call me, I'd like to see you again. I want to do it face to face next time," the man whispers, before bringing their mouths together once more.
Gi-hun, fucked out of his mind, simply nods and moans one last time into the kiss.
***
It has been a week, and yet the call from Gi-hun never came.
At first, In-ho is impatient. His desire to see Gi-hun again, give an encore to what happened between them that night in the limo, is overwhelming. Slowly, impatience gives way to anxiety, and anxiety, after reaching its peak, subsides, leaving him with a strange numbness inside.
He must confess to himself he has grown attached to Gi-hun. It is expected of the Front Man to fall for his own winner, but it has happened so fast, and so... natural. And when they were together, joined in body and spirit, he was sure Gi-hun felt the same. Their bodies fit together perfectly, the connection between them wasn't just anatomical, but metaphysical too. They anticipated each other's needs intuitively, shuddered at each other's touch, came undone at the same time.
And the more time In-ho spends overanalysing it, the less he understands why Gi-hun never called back.
Where did he go wrong? Was it the blindfold and never letting Gi-hun see his face? Was he too harsh? Or too delicate for Gi-hun's liking? Too clingy? Did it all unfold too quickly? Did it irritate Gi-hun they had deliberately forgone protection in the heat of the moment? Or was it the entire concept of the games, orchestrating a contest out of his search for love and company, rather than meeting naturally?
As head of the games, he surely has leverage. He has access to the former players' data, and dozens of guards at his disposal. But In-ho values fairness and consent above anything. Even with the purpose of the games being made clear and the contestants competing with the sole intent, the winner has the power to accept or decline the Front Man's company. Gi-hun being the winner doesn't oblige him to keep in touch with In-ho. And so, if Gi-hun decided to keep their encounter one-time-only, In-ho should accept it, as much as it hurts to admit. Move on, give another chance to his improvised dating show, host another season, maybe come up with different game concepts this time, focused on emotional connection rather than purely on the physical side of things.
He knows, deep inside of his heart, that he will never find a better match than Gi-hun. And so, his days are full of tears and alcohol, trying to mend his broken heart and fill the emptiness his victor left behind.
***
It has been over a year since the warm June night that changed Gi-hun's life forever.
Going into the game had been an impulsive decision, born out of desperation to break free from the routine and feeling stuck and confused, as if he was missing something. Then getting through the games one after another, holding on out of pure stubborness and a bit of luck, following a goal Gi-hun couldn't even have explained to himself. The finale, the game of squids, humiliation mingling with growing arousal, shame giving way to something Gi-hun had never felt before, and it wasn't until the aftermath, the encounter in the limo, that Gi-hun realised what he had been missing all that time.
The Front Man, his heat enveloping Gi-hun, all around, inside him. His whispers, his hands roaming all over Gi-hun’s body, kneading and stroking and groping. Gi-hun can still feel the phantom touch on his skin, hot breath on his spine, above his ear, on his temples. The Front Man’s hardness pressing into Gi-hun, slow thrusts growing erratic, and his final shudder when he came, spilled deep inside his winner. The gloved hand bringing Gi-hun to his climax with precise motions, like the Front Man knew exactly what the other man needed. Sometimes at night Gi-hun startles awake, hard, at times with his hand already in his pants and wrapped around himself, having dreamt of the Front Man again. He then gets himself off quickly, at an almost punishing pace, fantasising about the man whose name he never got to know, his presence, his touch, his lips.
It’s the memory of the Front Man’s lips that leaves Gi-hun aching with guilt whenever these dreams take over him. Drunk on his orgasm as he was during their final moments together, he still remembers the Front Man’s last words to him, the card with his number slid into Gi-hun's pocket. And what could have been a beautiful start, ended in a disaster when Gi-hun realised, to his horror, he had lost the card, his only reminder of his victory and everything that followed.
At first, Gi-hun didn’t worry too much. Surely, the Front Man had his contact details and would get in touch with the winner, wasn’t it his goal after all? But days passed, turning into weeks and clustering into months, yet no call came. No another invitation, nor another encounter, not even a letter. And whether the Front Man has opted for someone else or simply lost interest, one thing Gi-hun can be sure of: the Front Man has moved on. Perhaps it’s time for Gi-hun to do the same.
He feels more confident now, for sure. The Glass Bridge turned out to be symbolic, his first steps to self-acceptance and transparency with himself and others about who he is and what he needs. But going out, flirting with other men and even attempting more never brings him the satisfaction it should, never feels right. His thoughts always circle back to the limo and the Front Man, and finally Gi-hun is forced to admit the mysterious game leader was the only right match for him.
He gives up on moving on and instead gets fixated on moving back, finding the games, finding the Front Man. Be it to try his luck once more or simply stop the game, stop anyone else from entering it and possibly taking his place, stop the Front Man from continuing his search when the one he’d been looking for has already been found. Gi-hun feels obsessive, roaming the streets and stations of Seoul in search for any trace of the Recruiter, frequenting clubs where lonely, desperate men may gather. He employs helpers to keep lookout, but cannot state the true nature of the games nor his real reasoning behind the search, so, with a sting of shame, he invents a lie about the games being violent and running on blood money. And while he feels bad about painting the Front Man in a negative light, taking this back is a future problem. His only focus now is finding the man, or anything that may lead to him, whatever it takes.
October is fading away, when one day Gi-hun finds himself face-to-face with the Recruiter, the man who had brought him to the games over a year ago. The circumstances of their first meeting were less than fortunate, but Gi-hun no longer takes offence at being slapped, already knowing it was the first selection round to make sure only the ones with a taste for kink joined the games. What matters now is the little card with the outlines of a squid the Recruiter is holding out, and his smirk when he says: “Heard you liked it enough to be looking for another round.”
Gi-hun doesn’t respond to the obvious provocation, knowing he’s at fault for fumbling his first chance. He doesn’t ask the Recruiter about the Front Man either, unwilling to reveal his guilt and his obsession. Instead, he simply takes the card, trembling in anticipation, and, with the Recruiter gone, retreats to his bathroom to prepare himself. No matter how many other contestants get their invitation cards, no matter how much competition he has, he will prove himself, Gi-hun keeps thinking as he’s grooming himself, shaving, trimming, and putting his best clothes on. He doesn’t expect the Front Man to go easy on him, doesn’t even expect to be recognised at this point – who knows how many others the Front Man might have spent time with in the meantime? But this time, he is going in the game with a clear goal, and his hyperfocus will keep him going to the very end.
That night, as he falls asleep, he dreams of the Front Man, the other man’s body against his own, moving together in a perfect rhythm, and wakes up hard and aching, but convinced accepting the invitation was the right call.
He will not fumble this again.
***
Being back in the games feels like returning home, as ironic as it may sound, and embracing the feeling of belonging for the first time in a long while. The first challenge is already familiar, seemingly a way to sort out the weakest links at the very beginning. Red Light, Green Light is about precision coupled with grace, and so Gi-hun makes his way through the game, holding the most alluring poses he can think of without making his expertise too obvious. But his conscience and his sense of righteousness won’t let him win the game all by himself, relying on his exclusive knowledge, so Gi-hun decides to share what he knows, yelling at others to bend over and keep still. Surely, not everyone listens, and quite a number of them get eliminated from the game, but even more do pass. It fills him with anxiety for his low chances to be the winner, but feels right at the same time, fight fair and win justly, prove he is worth the honour. He doesn’t even think about being noticed by the Front Man immediately – surely his return to the games is already known to the game leader, but if he made no attempts at reconnecting, the only thing Gi-hun can do now is crown himself a winner, again.
It is later in the evening that Gi-hun is resting at the foot of his bed, immersed in his own thoughts and fantasies about the Front Man watching him just now. Maybe even paying him a visit at night, putting a blindfold on him again, then dragging him to the bathroom and...
There is a slight movement he registers out of peripheral vision, and the sound of somebody’s low voice close to him, but Gi-hun doesn’t react, assuming the player, whoever it might be, is talking to someone else. He is still dwelling on his thoughts, when the voice, a bit louder this time, sounds in immediate proximity to him.
Gi-hun startles, gaze shooting up, to find a stranger standing right over him, mild curiosity written in his features. He realises, belatedly, that he didn’t hear the question addressed to him, and shrugs with a sheepish smile, “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch it.”
“May I sit here?” the stranger repeats softly, eyes drilling into Gi-hun intensely, as if trying to unlock something inside of him, and the tiniest hint of amusement in his tone.
Gi-hun shrugs again, then nods, clearing his throat. The stranger lowers himself right next to Gi-hun with casual elegance, seemingly unbothered by their closeness. He is wearing a player tracksuit with the number 001, the jacket zipped all the way up to his neck. A perfect posture, steady, yet not stiff, and a slight smile on his lips as he turns his head to look at Gi-hun.
The man is objectively attractive. It’s difficult to tell for sure when they sit, but he appears to be a tad shorter than Gi-hun, yet lean and muscular, with heavy pectorals protruding even under his player uniform. Despite the athletic build, his chestnut hair is soft, and his forehead is covered with bangs, making him appear non-threatening, innocent even. A slender nose, a square jawline, and uneven lips, slightly parted as the man studies Gi-hun with the reciprocal curiosity, letting his eyes linger. And it is his eyes that fascinate Gi-hun the most. Hooded and dark, they bear an intensity to their gaze that makes Gi-hun shudder, as if he were bare and exposed in front of the man.
Gi-hun suddenly feels self-conscious. It is not uncomfortable anymore, being eyed with an evident interest like this, not after the game and accepting his true desires, but he cannot let himself indulge in it. He is here on a mission, the mission of finding the Front Man and making it right. He cannot allow himself any distractions, and certainly not such an attractive distraction right where the Front Man may see them. Who knows what intentions brought the handsome stranger into the competition, whether he is looking to conquer the heart of the Front Man or any man? But Gi-hun knows his goal, and while he still aims for a fair play, he won’t let anything – anyone – warp his plans.
He clears his throat again, mentally cursing himself for the moment of weakness, and looks the stranger in the eye, forcing himself to sound stern and his gaze to appear indifferent, “Can I help you with something?”
It probably comes out less friendly than it should, but the stranger doesn’t seem to mind. “I was intrigued by your performance in the first game, mister 456,” the man says, and his voice is low, deep, and vaguely familiar. Gi-hun can’t explain to himself why the sound of it makes his pulse quicken and blood rush to his face. “You seemed to know what you were doing.”
The stranger tilts his head, a barest hint of a smile on his lips, and Gi-hun suddenly feels as if he were struck by lightning. The spark is so unexpected, yet so intense, so tangible, that he wouldn’t be surprised to hear the air surrounding them crack with electricity. With sudden horror, he realises he’s tilting his head to the side too, mirroring the gesture without even being aware of it, as if hypnotised by the profound look of the dark eyes never breaking eye contact.
He sits upright abruptly, slightly irritated, although his anger is directed at himself rather than at the stranger. He is just being friendly, Gi-hun reprimands himself. It is you over-interpreting things.
He allows himself a timid smile, lowering his head this time to avoid accidentally mirroring the man once more. “I’ve been here before. I was... I was a player last year. The winner. I knew the first game because I’d played it before.”
Even with his head lowered and his eyes averted, Gi-hun can sense the surprise on the stranger’s face. “You came back?” he asks, sounding incredulous, “What for, if I may ask?”
“I’m here to stop the game,” Gi-hun explains, studying his own hands intently, but still feeling the other’s piercing stare on him. “I know what it’s all about, and it just... isn’t right to keep it going.”
The surprise in the other man’s voice is obvious now, his eyes never leaving Gi-hun's face even as Gi-hun stubbornly refuses to look at him again. “Why?”
“Because...” Gi-hun bites his lip, still looking straight ahead, “the Front Man – the game leader this is all about – doesn't have to keep doing this. This just- This isn’t the right way to build connection, not with this anonymity, the competition. In the end, he only makes things more difficult for himself.”
The man hums, considering the answer, but luckily doesn’t question any further. Gi-hun risks a quick look at him. His eyes look softer now, and there’s a real smile on his uneven lips, instantly making him even more handsome. Gi-hun feels his face flush, his own lips part, and an involuntary little sigh escape him, and clenches his teeth, cursing himself for being so weak. He opens his mouth again, preparing to ask for privacy before he exposes himself even more, but thankfully, the other man has sensed the shift in the mood and rises with the same casual elegance.
“Thank you for the pleasant conversation,” he says to Gi-hun with a polite bow, and the profound gaze of his eyes musters Gi-hun once more, head to toe. “As long as the game is on, it would be an honour to play by your side.”
Gi-hun's brain blanks out momentarily, the blood seemingly rushing away from it and straight to his nether parts. But he must have replied something, because the man gives him a courteous smile, and then he is gone. Gi-hun catches his own gaze lingering on the stranger’s body as he walks away. He then groans and buries his face in his hands.
Surprisingly, he sleeps soundly that night, and in his dreams the previously faceless game leader has chestnut hair, uneven lips, and his dark eyes pierce Gi-hun intensely when the Front Man enters him.
***
The morning of the next game arrives quickly.
The game hall is decorated extravagantly with rainbow colours and paintings. Rainbows cover the wall and the floor, building two perfect circles, and Gi-hun's heart aches for a moment as he knows what this is about. The Front Man is still looking, still needing someone open and honest with himself about what he wants. No vague hints about coming out anymore, unlike during the Glass Bridge, this is raw honesty and the expectation of reciprocation.
His heart aches even more when he recalls the previous evening, the handsome stranger, their conversation, quite innocent by nature, and his dream that followed. He feels guilty, almost like he'd been unfaithful, even though no promises were made and none were broken. But his resolve to stay away from the man fades away before it could even form, because underneath the layer of guilt Gi-hun knows he has to see the stranger again. There is something inexplicable drawing him closer, not away, a weird feeling of recognition, his intuition telling him to trust it. And besides, he thinks with another sting of shame, if his mission of reconquering the Front Man fails, at least he won’t be leaving the game alone.
Gi-hun looks around, trying to be discreet, searching for the familiar face. And there he is, number 001, with his soft hair, his bangs, and the lips that have explored his body in the dream, even if the stranger is unaware of it. The dark eyes, and their gaze is already directed right at him.
The second time feeling struck by lightning is less unexpected, yet still as intense. Gi-hun feels frozen in place, his legs refusing to move, face flushed and hot, and he knows there must be desperation in his eyes. He can’t move forward, but he can’t step back either, and so he looks at the stranger with pleading in his eyes, begging him to decide for both of them. Then he watches the man take one step forward, and another one, and more, until he’s standing right in front of Gi-hun.
They muster each other for a moment, eyes locked, and for a second there is no one else in the game hall. Then, almost simultaneously, they bow their heads slightly towards each other, “Would you like to play together?”
*
They form a group of five. The game concept is already familiar; the homoerotic subtext of each game is even more obvious now that Gi-hun knows the background and the Front Man’s preferences. Walking around the rainbow circle, chained to each other, and stopping at the stations to play mini-games, one per person. Ddakji, a game that is symbolic and binary in its nature, red signifying the female preference, blue standing for the male one. Covering a red envelope with a blue one and thus committing to the same-sex choice. Flying stone, an even more straightforward one, showing off the player’s aim. Gonggi, boasting one’s skills in using one’s hands and fingers. Spinning top, another finger test, quickly putting adornments on a toy, then removing them just as quickly and efficiently. And finally, jegi, once more about the aim, yet more demanding, keeping one’s aim precise even after multiple strokes.
They split the games between the team members, each one of them claiming something they are most expert at, showing off slightly, but Gi-hun doesn’t register it. Only spinning top and jegi remain when it comes to Gi-hun and the stranger, whose name he still doesn’t know. Gi-hun frowns, fighting his brain going blissfully blank from their proximity, and turns to the man.
“Which one do you prefer, jegi or spinning top?”
The man shrugs, “I don’t know. I can do both, but I’ll play whatever game you want me to, Gi-hun.”
Gi-hun.
This time, it doesn’t feel like a mere lightning strike, but like the earth opening up and engulfing him whole. The blank shock must be reflected on his face because a second later, he sees the same expression mirrored by the other man as he realises what he has just allowed to slip.
But it isn’t just the shock shared by both of them, it is the same spark that emerged yesterday, now flaring up with an unprecedented intensity. Hearing his name spoken in that low voice, spilling from the uneven lips, with a slight head tilt to the side, drowns out the rest of the world, until only the two of them remain. Gi-hun thinks he would forget his own name if he hadn’t just heard it this way. What he does forget now is where he is and why, who they were before and who they will be afterwards when this flame goes out. He is sure it will burn them both to the ground first.
“How did you know my name?” Gi-hun croaks, trying to gather his remaining ounces of self-control. The feeling is so intense that he forgets about maintaining appearances, about the competition, even about the Front Man possibly watching. And from seeing the other’s composure torn, his lips parted, and words struggling to leave his mouth, it appears the feeling is shared in its intensity.
“Wait, no. Don’t answer, not here,” Gi-hun stops the man abruptly before he can answer, holding out his hand between them, terrified of what he might hear. “Just tell me, have we met before? You seem familiar... somehow.”
The only logical explanation is that the stranger is one of the many men he’s tried to experiment with, trying to forget the Front Man and the constant longing. Nothing ever happened between him and any of these men, his attempts at taking his mind off the Front Man failed one after another, and the many faces blurred into one. No wonder he didn’t recognise him instantly.
It makes sense, and so does meeting him again here, in the competition for the Front Man’s heart. What doesn’t make sense is... None of the men he met in the past year has ever felt right. And if so, why does this stranger suddenly not only feel right, but like the only one to ever be right for him?
But he doesn’t have time to ponder over this any longer, not now when the game is about to start. Gi-hun looks at the stranger again, trying his best to sound stern, but not menacing, “We’ll talk later.”
The man nods, looking bashful. His gaze slides down to Gi-hun's lips, and Gi-hun, feeling his own eyes wander down the same path, suddenly thinks he might die if they don't taste each other right now.
He clears his throat and turns away, focusing on the game.
*
Surprisingly, they pass.
Their group partners turn out to be incredibly skilled at their games, but none of it impresses Gi-hun. Player 001 plays spinning top when it is his turn, and Gi-hun can’t tear his eyes away from the talented, long fingers playing with the spinning top, adorning it with the string, then tearing it away just as quickly. He is equally terrified of and already looking forward to falling asleep tonight, having a hunch about what he might dream of.
Unsurprisingly, it is Gi-hun who almost fails right after. He manages to kick the jegi four times, but his aim lacks precision the fifth time. It is Player 001 who saves his streak, bringing their feet together and pushing them both forward, joined. The touch feels like yet another jolt of electricity, but this time Gi-hun manages to take it almost fine. What matters now is that they have mastered another game... even if he is no longer sure what his final goal is.
Later, they sit in the dormitory together, and the conversation started earlier is revived.
“What is your name?” Gi-hun asks, deliberately no longer asking how the stranger knew his.
The man hesitates for a second, sighs and bites his lower lip, before looking him in the eye, “In-ho.”
“In-ho,” Gi-hun breathes out, noticing the other man shudder at the sound of his name spilling from his lips. “In-ho,” he tastes it again, amazed by how fitting, how right it feels on his tongue. But he doesn’t recall anyone with this name. Unless he is forgetting something, it doesn’t make sense, again.
And it appears that In-ho knows something. Gi-hun's brain still refuses to cooperate fully, his thinking languid and unfocused, but there are hints he can’t ignore. The way the other man keeps averting his eyes, at times seeming like he would like to say something, until the moment passes. Gi-hun dwells on it for a while, considering getting the truth out of In-ho, before finally deciding to let it go. No matter how exactly In-ho came to know him, it has to go back to his months of promiscuity – if one could call it that, considering he never gave his body to another man after the Front Man. Perhaps Gi-hun is forgetting one of the many names. Or maybe In-ho never was one of his acquaintances, but rather someone who wanted to get to know him. Whatever the truth is, it seems to be embarrassing for In-ho, and so Gi-hun deliberately chooses to not question him further. They are here now, with their paths finally crossed, and Gi-hun feels oddly safe and comfortable in In-ho's presence. It feels right to have him close.
The only thing bothering him is the guilty conscience about his goal of winning to reconnect with the Front Man. Gi-hun doesn’t dare admit this to himself, but deep inside he already knows it’s happening. The sudden spark between him and In-ho grows more intense with each moment by each other’s side, and the memories of one night with the Front Man over a year ago cannot hold back the crashing wave of fantasies and desires that a single look at In-ho ignites in him. Gi-hun knows he will have to make his choice, sooner or later. But for now, the Front Man remains unreachable, and In-ho is right here beside him, and this is all that matters.
They don’t talk much anymore that evening, just sit in silence with each other, and the silence is comfortable, as if they needed no words to understand one another.
Gi-hun’s dreams are chaotic and tumultuous that night. He dreams of the Front Man again, and in his dream the Front Man takes off his mask, revealing a face that is too familiar now. Gi-hun feels the ghost of the name on his lips as he wakes up. In-ho.
***
The rainbow theme makes a comeback on the third day.
The game is Mingle, getting locked in private rooms with partners of your choice. It fits perfectly with the homoeroticism of the games, and yet Gi-hun frowns when he hears the rules, feeling like some part of the reasoning escapes him.
Why would the Front Man let his potential date spend time in an enclosed space with another men? Especially if by the third day the tension is palpable in the air, and surely Gi-hun is not the only one battling his desires. In-ho is so close, just one touch away, and as much as Gi-hun does his best to not give in, he finds his gaze linger on the other man over and over again, wordlessly praying they don’t end up alone in a locked room.
But the first few rounds seem bearable. They are ten people in one room at first, then four, three, six. In-ho is there, but there are other people between them, and Gi-hun allows himself to relax slightly, thinking that another game is almost done, each step bringing him closer to the Front Man and hopefully out of his dilemma.
The final round seems like a cruel mockery when the number announced on the speaker is two.
A second passes before Gi-hun realises he’s frozen in place, staring blankly into space. He should move, find someone, preferably not In-ho, and make it for the door. But then he turns his head just slightly, and In-ho is right there, looking lost, and confused, and insanely beautiful. Their eyes meet, and In-ho's lips form Gi-hun's name.
The third time feeling struck by lightning is too much for anyone to bear. In-ho's hand finds Gi-hun's, and Gi-hun cannot bring it over himself to pull away. It seems electric, this time for both of them. Gi-hun's fingers intertwine with In-ho's, and they start from the platform and towards the next room, slamming the door behind them just in time. The countdown outside of the room continues ticking.
There are a few breaths they take separately before it becomes shared. Gi-hun's mouth collides with In-ho's with a force that makes the other man shudder and gasp against his lips. Gi-hun swallows the sound down, his tongue already inside of In-ho's mouth, licking into it messily, tasting him, tracing the shape of In-ho's teeth, then intertwining their tongues in an ecstatic dance. His hand finds the back of In-ho's head, tilting it slightly to deepen the kiss even further, his fingers tangle in In-ho's hair, and neither of them seems to mind. Gi-hun is overwhelmed by the need to touch, explore, possess, his world reduced to the hot, alluring body of the man in front of him.
His pants are painfully tight already, and as he presses his body closer to In-ho's, emitting another gasp from the man, he feels the corresponding hardness meeting his. Gi-hun expects it to feel wrong, the same way it had felt with all the other men, but In-ho's closeness, his touch and taste seem right, as if everything up to this point has been leading them here, into this room and each other’s arms. There is no shame left in Gi-hun, nor any doubts, as he starts undressing In-ho, letting the other man do the same to him.
In-ho's hands roam all over Gi-hun's body, lips grazing the tender skin of his throat, hovering over his nipple and giving it a tender lick, kissing his abdomen before ghosting lower. The touch, tentative, yet hungry at the same time, feels oddly familiar, and a weird hunch passes over Gi-hun. He’s only known one man’s touch, so how can anything else feel known to him?
His breath stutters in his throat, and his head goes blissfully empty at once when In-ho wordlessly kneels down in front of him and, never breaking the eye contact, envelops the desperate hardness of Gi-hun's cock in the wet heat of his mouth.
The first touch is already overwhelming, too much and not enough at the same time. Gi-hun arches his back against the wall, throws back his head, mouth hanging open in a silent moan, but In-ho is just getting started, pulling away briefly and promptly diving in again. In-ho traces a vein with his tongue all the way to the shaft, kissing the base of Gi-hun's cock, then gives it another wet lick back to the top, sucking on the sensitive tip before taking the entirety of Gi-hun into his mouth again, deep, and hot, and electric.
The world outside, the game, and even the Front Man cease to exist in this moment, the universe is reduced to the impossible heat of In-ho's mouth as the man starts to bob his head, slowly at first, then picking up his pace, going faster and faster. The room is filled with wet sounds, the slap of mouth against skin, Gi-hun's intermittent moans mingling with In-ho's low, muffled groans as he takes Gi-hun even deeper, and even in the overwhelming bliss shutting Gi-hun's brain down, it suddenly feels like a déjà vu.
The sounds seem familiar, too. The sounds both of them are making, and the way they mix together into one, perfectly in sync with each other, like everything about them. If he closed his eyes, he might believe he was still in the limo, trembling under the Front Man’s touch in a perfect rhythm. But it can’t be, can it? In his sexual deprivation, his longing for the only man he’d ever wanted before In-ho, is Gi-hun imagining things? Has his brain imposed the Front Man’s image on In-ho, merged them into one? Or is it... Is it...
In-ho hollows his cheeks, his tongue twirling around Gi-hun's cock. His left hand flies up to palm Gi-hun's balls, cupping them gently before rolling them in his hand, and Gi-hun audibly gasps. The pleasure has been overwhelming from the start, but now it is too much, akin to pain, the need to come overshadows any rational thought, it almost hurts, he needs to come, he needs to-
“In-ho- In-ho, ah,” he whines, words interrupted by gasps and moans, even a single coherent thought a challenge too big right now, “In-ho, I’m so close, fuck, I’m so close. Fuck, In-ho-”
In-ho hums around him, and the vibrations make Gi-hun's knees tremble as another gasp escapes him. His hand is in In-ho's hair, fingers entangled in soft chestnut strands, and he doesn’t recall putting it there. And then In-ho is pulling out quickly, but before Gi-hun can even bemoan the loss, In-ho is diving lower, past his shaft and to his balls, sucking them into his mouth, while his left hand gently squeezes Gi-hun's throbbing cock, stroking it from tip to the shaft in a fast tempo, and then tracing the slit with one finger, just like the Front Man did that night in the limo...
The realisation hits Gi-hun like a truck as his orgasm washes over him, more intense than ever, sending him shuddering, gasping, sobbing from the impossible overstimulation, his entire body convulsing as hot loads spurt from his cock, painting In-ho's face, his hair, his hands, his tracksuit, but In-ho never lets go, not until Gi-hun is soft and spent, and still sobbing from his incredible high and the discovery that preceded it.
In-ho rises to his feet, adjusting his track suit, and Gi-hun, still gasping and panting, grabs him by the arm as their gazes lock on In-ho's groin, a wet, sticky stain between his legs where he came, untouched.
It’s too much. Tears stream down Gi-hun's face as he throws himself at In-ho, locking them both in a tight embrace, uncaring of the messy state they both are in, covered in cum and sweat. Their mouths collide again, but it’s just as soft as it is passionate now, the kiss between two people who no longer bear secrets from each other. Gi-hun can taste himself on In-ho's lips, and it’s oddly intoxicating.
“I remember you,” Gi-hun whispers against In-ho's mouth, sobbing. “I remember you now. It was you, it has always been you.”
In-ho's arms tighten around his waist, and he lets out a soft chuckle, tilting his head and looking Gi-hun playfully in the eye, “I promised you next time we’d do it face to face.”
“You are the Front Man,” Gi-hun exhales, and the next thing he knows is smiling ear to ear, in delight and relief, while tears are still not willing to stop, as he buries his face in In-ho's chest, inhaling his scent, strong arms holding him tight, and neither of them wants to let go.
In-ho bows his head in acknowledgement, with another hint of a soft chuckle, his chest vibrating against Gi-hun's cheek, and leans forward, his hot breath hovering right above Gi-hun's ear.
“That is correct. And you are my winner.”
Gi-hun sobs one more time, lifting his face and pressing his lips against In-ho's, timidly this time, slightly ashamed of the salty taste of tears on his mouth. But In-ho returns the kiss, just as softly, while his thumb strokes Gi-hun's face gently, wiping away the tears.
“What about the game?” Gi-hun asks, his words interrupted by a hiccup, and he covers his mouth bashfully, but In-ho simply smiles and places another gentle kiss on Gi-hun's forehead before he responds. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Gi-hun sniffles, looking up at the other man, the Front Man. “So, what are we going to do now?”
In-ho looks at him intently, and the familiar piercing gaze of his eyes is impossibly soft. His left hand lifts to cup the side of Gi-hun's cheek, and then he leans closer, until his hot breath hovers right over Gi-hun's temple.
“Are you up for round three, jagiya?” In-ho whispers into his ear.
***
Later, they lie in the bed in In-ho's chambers together, face to face in the dim light, and In-ho runs his hand over Gi-hun's side absent-mindedly, a casual proof this is real, for both of them.
The air in the room feels soaked with emotion, their mutual confessions, their promise of fidelity, and tears shed by both of them this time as they found out a mere miscommunication has kept them apart all this time.
No more. No more distance, no more silence, no more secrets, and no more games. Gi-hun's skin is soft and he is pliant under In-ho's touch, smiling tenderly as he catches In-ho's gaze on him. Gi-hun reaches out, wiping In-ho's bangs from his eyes, and In-ho presses a kiss to the side of his palm.
“I love you,” In-ho repeats, his lips curving in a smile uncontrollably, and Gi-hun's smile grows wider as he moves closer, his hand finding the back of In-ho's head.
“I love you too,” Gi-hun whispers, and locks their lips together in a kiss.
The togetherness they share in this moment makes up for every day spent apart.
In-ho's heart is no longer broken. Love wins.