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Gubo always considered himself a patient man and the current situation he was in only confirmed this fact. After all, for the past nine days he had done nothing but wait.
Ever since Director Hermann had approved the supplemental regimen for Yi Sang, the man had barely left his bed.
At first Yi Sang would still rise in the mornings, albeit slower than before. He would sit at the small desk in his white room, staring at the blank pages or the half-finished drabbles with his usual and distant, unfocused look in his eyes. But by the fourth day he woke only when Gubo personally came to rouse him, ate only when the food was placed directly in front of him, and after a couple of more days, he even stopped speaking entirely.
Even though he was worried, Gubo thought at first that it was just a typical adjustment period. The pills were strong, of course, but they were supposed to help Yi Sang. They were supposed to make him stable and most importantly, usable, but the man at his current state was nothing but useless.
Yi Sang now spent most of his days in bed, curled on his side facing the wall, breathing slowly and shallow. Sometimes he slept for fourteen, fifteen hours at a stretch. When he was awake, he rarely moved. He would lie there with his eyes open, staring at nothing, the dark circles beneath them deepening with every passing day. His mind seemed to have dulled into a hazy fog. And that, obviously, was a problem.
Director Hermann had made her expectations clear during their last private meeting. She had given Gubo three days to “stabilize” him. Three days had become six, then six had become nine. Gubo had spent every one of those days fighting for more time. He had brought her reports, carefully worded and optimistic, often reminding her how much more valuable a functional, cooperative Yi Sang would be once the treatment starts to work.
And all the while, he had stayed close to Yi Sang.
He came every morning to wake him, feed him pills and watch him swallow them just to make sure. He brought meals and sat beside the bed while Yi Sang ate in silence and sometimes fed him when the man had no strength to do it himself. He stayed with him for hours, sometimes simply watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, sometimes speaking in soothing tones about nothing important.
To keep things professional, Gubo often told himself that he was doing so much just because Yi Sang was his responsibility. The project needed him to be functional and that was all. But deep, deep inside, Gubo knew that there was kinda more to this.
The truth was, he really liked Yi Sang better this way.
This version of him… so quiet, pliant and dependent was so much easier to keep only for himself.
Tonight he stayed with him as well. The lights had been dimmed to their lowest setting. Yi Sang lay on his back, facing the celling, breathing slowly under the thin blanket. The latest dose had hit him particularly hard, Gubo thought. He had barely managed to eat half his dinner before his eyes had grown heavy and he simply got back to sleep.
Gubo sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. After removing his gloves, his hand moved almost without conscious thought, brushing a few stray strands of black hair from Yi Sang’s forehead. The skin there was cool and slightly damp. Gubo let his fingers trace the delicate lines of his face, then the corner of his mouth.
Yi Sang didn’t stir at all as he leaned closer, studying the faint flutter of Yi Sang’s eyelashes, the way his lips parted slightly with each slow exhale.
Ah, that urge again… it had been growing stronger every day. The need to touch more. To take more. To see how far Yi Sang would let him go.
Gubo’s hand trembled as it slid lower, resting lightly on Yi Sang’s shoulder through the blanket. He could feel the warmth of his body, the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.
He knew it was wrong, oh, he knew it very well. If Yi Sang were awake and clear-headed, he would recoil and look at Gubo with that disappointed look, the same he had given him when he was put in this room for the first time.
But the thing is, Yi Sang wasn’t awake. And the pills made sure he wouldn’t be for many hours yet. Gubo’s fingers tightened slightly on the blanket. Then, after minutes of thinking, he realized that he was tired.
He had given up so much for Yi Sang, he thought.
He had lied to the Director again and again just to buy more time, shielding Yi Sang from the constant pressure, making excuses when the man couldn’t even sit up. He had brought him every meal, stayed for hours just so Yi Sang wouldn’t wake up alone in the purely white box they called a room. He had held his hand, listened to the slurred, half-formed sentences when the man was too drugged.
And what did he get in return? Nothing.
Not a single word of thanks. Not even a tired glance that acknowledged all his effort. Yi Sang simply existed in this hazy half-life, letting Gubo do everything for him like it was his natural right.
Gubo’s jaw tightened.
He owes him. After everything he had done… he owes him something. Even if he doesn’t feel or want it, it is only fair.
With his heart racing like crazy, he stood up slowly, then carefully climbed onto the narrow bed, moving slowly so he wouldn’t jostle Yi Sang too much. He straddled his waist, knees bracketing Yi Sang’s hips, and lowered himself until he was hovering just above the sleeping man’s body. The position made him feel strangely lightheaded. Yi Sang looked so small beneath him like this. So vulnerable. Gubo’s hands trembled as he braced them on either side of Yi Sang’s head.
He stared down at those parted lips for quite a long time.
Just once. He won’t even remember this.
Leaning down, Gubo pressed his mouth to Yi Sang’s in a soft kiss. The lips were warm and slack beneath his own. No response. The gentleness however, lasted only a few seconds. Frustration surged through Gubo like a sudden wave. All the days, hell, months even, of quiet longing, all the times he had held back — it all boiled over. He kissed him harder, deeper, almost angrily, tongue sliding past unresisting lips to claim the inside of his mouth. It's like he was trying to pour every unspoken feeling into the unconscious man beneath him. When he finally pulled away, he was breathing heavier, his heart hammering like crazy.
He moved lower, his lips brushed Yi Sang’s jaw, then trailed slowly down his throat. He kissed the skin there more softly leaving no marks, no evidence. He didn’t dare. Yi Sang remained completely still. He didn't even make any sound. Shamefully, Gubo’s cock was already hard, straining painfully against his pants. The lightheaded dizziness had only grown stronger and worse. He felt almost drunk with it, with how wrong this was, having Yi Sang like this, completely unaware and unable to refuse.
He wanted more. But should he?
Gubo rested his forehead against Yi Sang’s neck, breathing shakily, fighting the overwhelming urge to take everything all at once, his heart pounding with a mix of guilt, longing, and weird resentment.
But It’s only fair, he thought again. He owes him this, after all. He was only taking what he should have a long time ago. Plus, will there ever be a better opportunity than now?
Ah. He couldn’t stop himself anymore.
With trembling hands, he shifted higher on the bed, straddling Yi Sang’s chest. He carefully unfastened his own pants and freed his aching cock, already flushed dark and dripping. It looked obscene hovering over Yi Sang’s slack, sleeping face. It was shameful, but he couldn't hold himself back anymore.
He wrapped one hand around the base and slowly dragged the leaking head across Yi Sang’s parted lips, leaving a shiny trail of precum on the soft skin. Yi Sang didn’t stir. His mouth remained slightly open, breath warm and even against Gubo’s cock.
A broken sound escaped Gubo’s throat.
He pressed the head more firmly against those unresponsive lips, rubbing it back and forth, coating them until they glistened. Then, carefully, he pushed just the tip past Yi Sang’s lips, resting it on his tongue. The wet heat made his hips jerk involuntarily.
“Shit…” he whispered, voice shaking.
He didn’t thrust deep of course, he was too afraid of waking him up. Instead, he rocked his hips in tiny movements, fucking only the head of his cock in and out of Yi Sang’s slack mouth, letting the wet heat drive him closer to the edge.
This could be enough, but Gubo was still greedy. He wanted to use him more.
With his free hand, Gubo reached down and pulled Yi Sang’s shirt higher, exposing his pale chest. He dragged his leaking cock out of the sleeping man’s mouth and started sliding it across Yi Sang’s skin — over his collarbones, down the center of his chest, across one nipple, then the other.
“You don’t even know I’m doing this” he muttered more to himself, weirdly proud of himself and the power he currently held.
He moved back up, straddling Yi Sang’s chest again. He pressed his cock between Yi Sang’s slightly parted lips once more, fucking the head shallowly into his mouth while his hand stroked the rest of his shaft in fast, desperate strokes.
His breathing was ragged now. He was close, very embarrassingly close just from this. From using Yi Sang’s unconscious body like an object while the other man slept through it all.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, even as his hips jerked. “… but you owe me this.”
He finally came with a choked, broken moan, spilling ropes of cum across Yi Sang’s lips, his tongue, and his cheek. Some of it slid into Yi Sang’s open mouth, some dripped down his chin. Gubo kept stroking himself through it, milking every drop, smearing the mess across Yi Sang’s slack face with the head of his cock.
When it was over, he stayed there for a long minute, breathing hard, staring down at Yi Sang’s slack, cum-streaked face. The sight should have filled him with shame. Instead, it only made the ugly satisfaction in his chest burn hotter.
He finally wiped the worst of the mess from Yi Sang’s lips and cheek, pushing the rest between his parted lips so he would swallow it in his sleep. Then he pulled Yi Sang’s shirt back down, arranging him neatly under the blanket like nothing had ever happened.
To avoid any further self reflection, he stood up, adjusted his clothes, and left the room without looking back. Yi Sang remained asleep. He would wake up tomorrow feeling a little sticky, with a weird taste in his mouth, and he would never understand why.