Archive of Our Own

“Does my hair look okay?”

The clamor of roughly two dozen footsteps sauntered down the hall, each striding purposefully towards the same destination. A dozen voices rang out all at once, some offering words of spry encouragement, others’, no-so-much. Gi-hun’s hair stylist, Ji-byeok, pushed Gi-hun’s manager aside, not halting for a second to hear his harsh rap of words following the gentle push.

She plucked a full can of hairspray from her utility belt, gave Gi-hun a brief moment to close his eyes, then sprayed. The residual spray in the air made Gi-hun cough.

“Hey, careful where you spray him,” Gi-hun’s makeup artist—Sae-byeok—called out. “I only just got his blush right.”

Gi-hun wheezed out a hearty laugh. He craned his neck over his shoulder to give Sae-byeok a friendly wink.

He catches the briefest look of the crew that surrounds him; the dozen faces he’s grown painfully accustomed to during on the off and on seasons. His manager, Sang-woo, barking orders like a ferocious pitbull, Dae-ho checking his hair in Sae-byeok’s pocket mirror, and the miscellaneous crew that ensured not one concert went off without a hitch.

Though, there was someone missing.

“Has anyone seen In-ho?” Gi-hun asked.

 They likely weren’t far from the stage, now. Gi-hun had played this venue before, years ago, when he’d first debuted and the glitz-and-glam felt new and exciting. Of late, it’d simply felt like a job.

Being an idol had perks, sure, but it certainly came with its own set of problems. If Gi-hun were asked which aspect was the worst, he’d answer—without an ounce of hesitancy—the lack of privacy. Every single time.

He also wasn’t too sure why he had waited so long to hire a personal bodyguard. Perhaps a stubborn means of clinging to the past.

He’d grown up poor. He’d grown up small and simple, with no real large-scale aspirations to make it big like it seemed Sang-woo had been destined for when he’d torn open the acceptance letter from SNU. His fans saw his rise to stardom as nothing short of admirable, as a sweet and gentle man carrying his family from the throes of poverty into a decadent life of luxury.

Every story had its half-truths. It just so happened that Gi-hun’s were filled with more than usual.

He did successfully escape poverty. He did bring his family with him. But it all came at a steep detriment to his psyche, something that had begun to gnaw at him from the inside out.

He’d been warned about stalkers. Of creeps, and perverts, and overbearing fans who’d do anything if it meant getting to catch a glimpse, or even, a touch, of him. He’d heard the horror stories from his female colleagues, but he’d always rationalized his decision to remain as independent as possible on several factors—until it was no longer an option.

The memory still churned low in his gut, the one memory that time seemingly wouldn’t heal—his first legitimate stalker. The one they still hadn’t caught.

Sang-woo swore to him, up-and-down, they’d pour every resource imaginable into finding them, but that had been a year ago, and no such luck. If Gi-hun hadn’t been so well-versed on the perverted horror stories his colleagues reluctantly grimaced to the press, he would’ve almost thought he was losing his mind.

Items in his house slightly out of place. Missing boxer briefs. His favorite spatula, a gift from his eomma years ago when he had moved into his first apartment, gone. Disappeared into thin air.

The first two could be explained away by his general clumsiness or the morning cleaners. The third, not so much. He kept it on a special hook by the stovetop, everyone knew he kept it by the stovetop, so how…?

That was bad enough, but Gi-hun wished it hadn’t gotten worse. Oh how he wished it hadn’t gotten worse.

Then came the flowers. Then the letters, and the plush toys, and the expensive German chocolates. Each more insistent than the last—they were Gi-hun’s one and only. They wouldn’t stop at anything to make him theirs. Why couldn’t Gi-hun understand that? Why did he keep chucking their presents straight into the trash? Was it something they did? Were the gifts not up to Gi-hun’s standards?

Gi-hun had almost tore his scalp off in agony, blood curdling screams ripped from his lungs as he searched every square inch of the luxurious apartment for signs of someone. Anyone. Anything. Cameras, maybe—but he found nothing.

Tracking the packages didn’t help, the addresses never led anywhere. The name on the package was always different, but Gi-hun always knew.

A pre-typed letter, so no one could trace the handwriting. Gifts clear of any fingerprints. And that sickening, irritating, vomit-inducing sign-off.

Your’s always, Young-il.

It made him sick.

“I’m here!” a voice rang out among the havoc. Gi-hun knew that voice, he knew it well—he’d been the one to pick him after all.

Instantly, his nerves soothed.

“In-ho!” Gi-hun happily yelped as soon as he spotted the older man. He wasn’t short, per se, but compared to the other men in Gi-hun’s crew, Gi-hun sometimes struggled to find him in a crowd.

Sang-woo had mentioned that, once. Gi-hun had brushed him off because, no matter what he did, In-ho seemed to have… an effect on him. A soothing one, certainly, but another, too.

A gentle flutter in his gut when their eyes met for a hair too long. The way In-ho’s gaze seemed to overstay its welcome during dress rehearsals and costume fittings, with Gi-hun’s brain almost entirely convinced In-ho had taken a liking to his ass.

He needed to get laid, he often thought. Quite desperately.

In-ho smiled as their eyes finally locked. His cheeks flushed a warm crimson, dusting gently along the bridge of his nose. He carried a coffee cup in his left hand; his right stuffed into his coat pocket. He took a quick sip from the cup, then took his place next to the younger man.

“Sorry,” In-ho starts, huffing out a sigh. “I had to use the bathroom, then I got stuck behind the coffee cart—they wouldn’t leave unless I got something.”

Gi-hun snickers. “Sure, but what would you have done if I’d gotten attacked between then and now, huh?”

“During my piss break?” In-ho responds, almost sassily. “Please, you’re fine.”

Sang-woo shot him a suspicious eye. In-ho cleared his throat immediately.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “I’ll hold it next time.”

“Oh, please,” Gi-hun teases. He gently squeezes In-ho’s shoulder as the crew comes to a still at the entrance to the stage. “I’m just pulling your leg.”

“Stage in one minute!” Sang-woo barks out. The crew slowly dissipates, paving a pathway for Gi-hun to access the stage door. Gi-hun nods at everyone, then pauses. He turns to In-ho.

“It’d be nice to see you at costume change,” he says, loud enough to hear, but only for the two of them. In-ho swallows.

“I’ll be there,” he replies, earnest. “I promise.”

“Stage in 30 seconds!” Sang-woo yells out again, more impatient this time.

Gi-hun shoots In-ho a friendly smile, then an encouraging fist. In-ho returns the gesture.

“Let’s make this a good one!” Gi-hun calls out as he steps forward. Sang-woo opens the door for him, and In-ho watches, wordlessly, as Gi-hun disappears on stage.

***

At costume change, In-ho was there with newfound energy and a pep-in-his-step.

“You’re killing it!” he swore, bouncing around Gi-hun’s figure as Sae-byeok rapidly removed, then reapplied a hefty heaping of foundation. Gi-hun fought back a smirk, well aware of Sae-byeok’s rather poor temperament when his makeup was involved—especially when time-sensitivity was involved—though he couldn’t help it.

“Aye!” Sae-byeok immediately barked, squishing his cheeks. “Get it together!” A glance at her watch told them both they only had 2 minutes left for application, 3 if they were lucky. Gi-hun immediately stiffened at that, lips straightening into a tight line.

“And you,” Sae-byeok added, with an accusatory finger directed at In-ho, “stop distracting him. You’re worse than a dog with separation anxiety.”

In-ho had thrown his hands up in mock-surrender, opting to quietly observe instead, until—

“Fuck! I forgot something!” Gi-hun suddenly announced. Sae-byeok was more-or-less finished, but their time was nearly up.

“Huh?” she asked, concerned.

“My pants—they’re…I’m missing the chain! For the belt! Oh sweet Christ alive…” he murmured.

“Gi-hun, it’s not a big deal,” In-ho said, “I can run and grab it for you no problem, is it—”

“No!” Gi-hun whined. “My eomma got it for me, I don’t want anyone else touching it. Can you… fuck… it’s in my dressing room, I forgot it when I changed into…” he gestured at his outfit, “…this. I’ll be quick. Have the DJ put something on for Dae-ho to dance to.”

He bolted off before he could be stopped, eliciting a disapproving hiss from Sae-byeok. She shook her head, then placed her tools back into her fanny pack.

“Sang-woo’s going to kill him one of these days,” she said to no one in particular.

In-ho briefly considered chasing after him—it was technically his job—but decided against it. He was practically glued to his hip at all public-facing hours of the day, and barring the ill-timed piss break and time spent on stage, today had been no different. Besides, he promised he’d be quick.

And he was.

Though slightly disheveled looking, he was back in less than 3 minutes, the ever-important chain now glistening across his right thigh. Not a hair on his head had come out of place, nor his makeup—after a thorough investigation from Sae-byeok—so he was deemed acceptable to return back to stage.

With another encouraging fist from Gi-hun, In-ho watched as he disappeared behind the door once more.

If time weren’t so necessary, In-ho could’ve sworn Gi-hun popped his ass out and held his gaze for just a hair too long.

Delusion, that was all it was.

Though, it didn’t satisfy his curiosity.

***

Sweat dripped from his forehead, body exhausted.

He held the microphone away from his mouth to suck in heavy, much-needed breaths after the body-aching choreography included in the finale. Several concerts in during this stretch of tour, and Gi-hun still hadn’t quite adjusted to it.

After another breath, he held the microphone to his mouth and spoke. “Thank you, thank you so much, my Bunnies!”

The crowd erupted. Cheers flooded his ears, the refraction of the light bouncing off thousands of light sticks clouded his vision, cascading the audience in a green-and-black tint. Some bolstered signs, waving them high in the air, though he couldn’t read many of them.

It squeezed his heart all the same.

He ran a hand down his thigh, pausing to tenderly run his finger over the keychain—a small symbol of comfort that he found impossible to function without. He’d have to call his eomma once home, if the exhaustion didn’t seep into his bones before then.

“Please give a resounding round-of-applause for my backup dancers, weren’t they great?” Gi-hun calls out, stepping aside so the light can shimmer on the dancers. They bow towards the crowd as they erupt into another round of cheers.

“And, of course, our glorious team behind the scenes, who, without, there’d be no show to bring to you all. Thank you again, thank you so much! I love you; we love you, goodnight!”

With one final wave, the crowd erupts for the last time. He turns on his heel, blowing kisses to stray members of the audience, before departing alongside his team.

“You fucking killed it!” Sang-woo immediately yelped, scooping Gi-hun into his arms and lifting him off his feet. Gi-hun laughs, smacking Sang-woo on the back and murmuring to be put back down.

Once his feet meet the ground, a towel is immediately tossed into his right hand, an opened water bottle in his left. He wipes the sweat from his brow, then takes long, breathless gulps from the bottle, uncaring if it dripped down his chin. His eyes survey the bustling team that surrounds him, clogging his brain with words of encouragement and various bouquets of flowers.

But, again, someone is missing.

He peels the water bottle from his lips, almost entirely empty, and heaves. With another wipe of his brow, he asks, “Where’s In-ho?”

Sang-woo looks at the crowd, squinting his eyes. He pushes his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, then clicks his tongue.

“That bastard, he has no sense of time,” he seethes.

Gi-hun smacks the back of his shoulder. “Twice, he hasn’t been here twice. Two times. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Twice in one day is a big deal,” Sang-woo insists. “Hyung, I can find someone to replace him, easy, I’ve never…” he pauses, considers his words, then sighs. “…Never mind. I’m being dramatic. He’s probably pissing.” Sang-woo waves his hand in the air as if a sign of dismissal, though Gi-hun can still hear him clucking his tongue.

He opts to ignore it.

“Right,” Gi-hun responds. He gives the team a low bow, asks them to leave their flowers with Sang-woo so he can display them in his apartment later, then excuses himself to his dressing room.

He finishes the water on the short trek, disposing of it in one of a dozen recycling bins that litter the hallways. He hasn’t stopped sweating entirely, though it has substantially subsided. He turns the corner, eyes flicking over the dressing room designated at the end of the hall. The key for all of his dressing rooms was always in a flap hanging from the door, he knew this well.

So why wasn’t it there?

Gi-hun paused, rummaged his hand around, and felt nothing. He took the flap off the door, peered inside, but still, saw nothing.

“Huh,” he mumbled. “That’s weird.”

He could’ve misplaced it, or, perhaps, could’ve simply forgotten to lock the door during the rush that was mid-concert costume change. Sang-woo tended to harp on him for his forgetful nature, as well as his ever-present clumsiness. But Gi-hun was so sure he had locked it tight.

Testing his suspicions, his hand fiddled with the doorknob. He twisted it, feeling no resistance. He sighed.

“Seong Gi-hun, you clumsy bastard,” he muttered to himself, before twisting the door wide open.

The door swung open. The lights were on, something Gi-hun, also, didn’t remember doing. At his feet was the key, golden accents glistening slightly in the iridescent lighting. And at the end of the room…

“Huuu… ah, ah, Jesus Christ, Gi-hun…”

Gi-hun froze.

His pants and underwear were shucked to his ankles, shoes still on. His legs were spread wide open, giving Gi-hun an unlucky front row seat of the depravity. His hand pummeled his fist up-and-down, up-and-down, up-and-down. The disgusting sound of pre-cum and lotion schlicked against his palm, his thumb periodically smearing a tender dribble of fluid around his tip.

Gi-hun’s eyes traveled upwards, though he wishes they hadn’t.

In his other hand was a pair of underwear. His underwear.

He had run to his dressing room for the chain, that much was true. However, Gi-hun had fallen into a routine of sorts. Alongside the change of wardrobe at halftime, Gi-hun found he performed better if his entire outfit changed, as well. Underwear included. He always brought two pairs of boxer briefs, the second always much sturdier than the first, as the heavy hip-swinging choreography in the latter half of the show had, on more than one occasion, ended up with an uncomfortable close-up video of his crotch posted online.

The pair in the first-half was more freeing, easier on the groin, so-to-say. Allowed for more air to his painfully constricted cock. No one was ever supposed to know. No one had ever seemed to notice.

It felt like his heart stopped at the realization.

He recognized the slightly shaggy brown locs. The furrow in his brow. Those eyelashes gently fluttered shut against his skin, as if he weren’t committing an assault against Gi-hun’s eyes.

In-ho. Hwang “fucking” In-ho. Nose deep in the crotch of Gi-hun’s underwear, huffing the smell loud enough for it to be audible to Gi-hun’s ears from the other end of the room. Hwang In-ho, who was too caught up in his own bliss to realize someone was there. Someone was watching him.

And that someone could simply vomit.

“What the fuck!?” Gi-hun shouts, immediately dropping the towel to his feet. One hand grips the wall for support, the other twisting around the doorknob. His jaw goes slack as he watches In-ho’s movements still, followed by his eyes bulging open, staring directly at him. The boxers fall from his hands, landing on his crotch, ironically, sheltering Gi-hun’s eyes from the abrasive scene of his hardened, leaking cock.

It takes a second for his mind to catch up.

“G…G-Gi-hun…?!” he warbles, face contorting into clear shame. He tries to stand, but the fabric around his ankles betrays him, sending him tumbling head-first into the floor, ass straight in the air. Gi-hun whimpers.

“In-ho…” Gi-hun says tentatively, “what… the fuck… are you doing?!”

In-ho places his palms on the ground and shucks his head upwards. He stares at Gi-hun as he shakes his head side-to-side like a dog. His cheeks are fire-hot, crimson-red, shame nipping at his cheeks and spreading downwards as low as his Adam’s apple.

“It’s—I’m—it’s really not what it looks like! I-I… I swear! Gi-hun, please—”

“Don’t say my fucking name!” he shouts, horrified. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god—you’re… holy fucking shit, I could puke…” Gi-hun balls a fist against his lips, struggling to swallow the thick bile crawling up his throat. “You were jacking off to my fucking underwear!” he adds, as if it weren’t obvious.

“I…I…” In-ho whimpers, then buries his face against the floor in shame. He’s so embarrassed he could cry. He should cry, but he knows it won’t make the situation any better.

“Oh my fucking god,” Gi-hun heaves, collapsing against the doorframe. “Pull…” he stops, swallows, then gags. “Pull your fucking pants up!”

“Y-Yes sir—oh god…”

“Sir!?” Gi-hun shouts, even more bewildered.

“I’m—” In-ho’s brain feels like mush. The words won’t come to him. He pathetically pulls his pants up his legs, whining as he tucks his pitifully hard length back into their confines. “I’m so sorry. I don’t—I thought…I thought I had more time!”

Gi-hun scoffs, face contorting. “You’re disgusting. You’re a fucking freak, oh my fucking god. You thought you had more time? What does that even mean?”

Gi-hun should bolt. He should run as fast as he can, find comfort in Sang-woo’s arms as they both shop for a replacement. It’s revolting. He feels disgusting.

But his body won’t move.

“I…” In-ho’s voice is weak, pathetic. It warbles with every syllable, emotions hidden behind a quickly cracking dam. “How do I explain myself…?”

“You can start by explaining why you were jerking off to my fucking underwear,” Gi-hun seethes.

In-ho whines, covering his face in shame. His cock hasn’t softened, his bulge still straining against the expensive fabric. Gi-hun wishes he could look away. Oh god, how he wishes he could look away.

In-ho’s voice cracks, a sob cracked straight from his chest. A tear dribbles between his fingers.

“I can’t… I can’t…” he cries.

The display is, objectively, pathetic.

Hwang In-ho, 48, a former detective with the Seoul Police Force; bulge straining against his pants, on the floor, kneeling, sobbing like a toddler in front of his employer. His employer he was jerking off to mere moments prior, on top of that. If not for the seriousness of the situation, Gi-hun might be compelled to feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

But for now, he doesn’t. Not really.

“You can’t what?” Gi-hun responds, angrily. “I liked you!” he adds, sorrowfully. In-ho’s entire body stiffens at that.

“Do you know how much convincing it took for me to even consider a bodyguard? Do you know how hard it was for me to come to terms with it? That, because of my work, my life may be at risk?” Gi-hun pauses to suck in heavy breaths, then continues. “I was nothing, In-ho. Nothing. I exchanged my life for this one, and as a result, I haven’t felt a semblance of normalcy in years. I thought…” his voice warbles, emotions apparent.

“I thought… when I met you… you’d be able to give me that sense of normalcy back. You were so sweet. So caring. You didn’t treat me as ‘above’, simply as an equal. I thought… oh my god, you… you remind me of them. It’s…” he thinks on it, then says, “…sickening.”

In-ho sniffles. “…Them?” he dares to ask.

“That pervert. The one who sent me all those fucking letters—the presents, the gifts—I felt like I was losing my mind. They…” Gi-hun’s stomach churns. His face contorts into fear. He feels it, now; the same feeling he had when it had started. That sensation that twisted uncomfortably in his gut when he so much as took a piss—a lack of safety. Of privacy.

“Get out,” Gi-hun says instead. “Get out. Now. I—I never want to see you again,” he grits his teeth. “You’re fucking disgusting. You should be lucky if you even get a severance package.”

“Wait—wait, wait, wait…” In-ho pleads, crawling towards the younger man. “Please, let me explain myself—please I’ll do anything, I will, I have a reason, I do! Ple—”

“I said get out!” Gi-hun barks, slapping In-ho across his face. He heaves, pushing his body backwards to put space between them.

“If you leave right now, I won’t tell Sang-woo about any of this. I’ll just say we weren’t a good fit.” He thinks for a second, then finishes with, “…he was never a big fan of you, anyways.”

In-ho’s face contorts into a mixture of sadness and guilt. He can’t do anything except pathetically nod his head, forcing his legs to stand, despite their shakiness. He runs a hand down his face, using the other to hold himself still against the nearest wall. He walks past Gi-hun without another word, closing the door behind him.

Gi-hun lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

He reluctantly pulls his phone from his back pocket and stares at the time. Nearly midnight.

“Eomma…” he says to himself, shakily dropping the phone atop his groin, “…I’m sorry. I’ll call you in the morning…”

***

He hardly remembers the ride back to his apartment. Really, he doesn’t remember the last few hours at all.

He’d sauntered down the hall like a zombie, pausing behind Sang-woo and impatiently asking if he could call Gi-hun’s driver. Sang-woo looked ready to ask why Gi-hun hadn’t done it himself, but stopped, eyes looking him up-and-down in concern, before warily nodding his head.

He rid himself of all of his clothing the second he crossed the threshold of the apartment. Unsurprisingly, none of the flower deliveries had arrived yet, and considering the time, Gi-hun merely assumed they’d be there for him in the morning.

In the back of his mind, he half-wished no one ever talked to him again.

It hadn’t started intentionally. Really, it didn’t.

Gi-hun found In-ho handsome—almost unbearably so. While actively scouring for applicants, Sang-woo made several comments regarding his age. A nearly 50-year-old middle aged man applying to be a personal bodyguard? It felt strange, and in Sang-woo’s eyes, almost constituted immediate grounds for the trashcan.

But Gi-hun had disagreed.

His qualifications, the years on the force, the first-hand testimonies of his references…all squeaky clean. Almost entirely spotless. He carried himself with elegance, a simple, yet slightly withdrawn demeanor that reminded Gi-hun what it must feel like to reunite with an old friend. His age didn’t bother him, if anything, it enticed him.

“Admit it,” Gi-hun had teased, once. “You’re just afraid of having to call him hyung, too.”

Sang-woo had then taken a long drag of his cigarette, then scoffed.

“I’m not,” he insisted, clicking his tongue. “I just…”

“What?” Gi-hun had inquired, humming. He had cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “Then what is it? You don’t even know the guy.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you!” Sang-woo had admitted, irritated. “Like a fine cut of meat. Did you not see it? It felt like he was swallowing the mere sight of you.”

Gi-hun had paused at that, then laughed, weakly.

“I’m quite the sight,” Gi-hun had merely replied, brushing his fingers through his hair. Sang-woo had shot him a look, but opted not to say anything, simply taking another long drag of his cigarette and muttering something unintelligible underneath his breath.

Gi-hun would have to be a lying fool to pretend he never noticed the way In-ho’s eyes lingered. The way they took in his figure during dress rehearsals, and the subtle way his cheeks reddened when his hips sunk to the floor, crotch grinding against the stage.

Moreover, he’d be an even bigger liar if he pretended he didn’t enjoy the attention.

Dating wasn’t necessarily out of the question in his line of work, but it was definitely more difficult. That being said, it was out of the question for him to date who he truly wanted to. He knew about the scrutiny leveled against gay idols, and he especially knew that if he were to be himself, really be himself, it’d ruin not only his own life, but whoever he happened to fall for.

Consequently, he simply thought it safer to play the teasing long game, and from the way things had progressed, it In-ho hadn’t seemed to mind.

Now, there was no denying it—In-ho was attracted to him. More than Gi-hun thought. Way more than he thought.

Gi-hun sniffled, then frowned. He nearly crawled to the kitchen, opening the fridge and surveying the nearly-barren contents inside. Tour had done a number on him, and with this being his first night back in weeks, there had simply been no real reason for him to send the floor staff on a grocery run for him.

How did he always manage to regret just about everything he did?

He clicked the fridge shut, then collapsed at the nearby island. The ice-cold marble tile soothed him, if only a little. The sensation of cold against his forehead levied his thoughts just enough to clear them into a semblance of normalcy, into something more akin to a sentient, functioning 26-year-old.

“In-ho…” he muttered against the tile sadly, “…why did it have to be you?”

It repulsed him.

It intrigued him.

It scared him.

It made him want to beg for answers.

He never wanted to see him again.

He wished he were here, right now.

He peels his head from the tile, runs his hand through his hair, then sighs into his palm. With a groan, he stands from the island and begins to walk towards the bathroom. He feels gross; filthy and repulsed. The residuals of sweat stubbornly cling to his body, and the smell is starting to tickle his nostrils.

Once he reaches the foot of his bedroom door, he pauses.

Ding!

He cocks his head over his shoulder.

Tugging his phone from his back pocket informs him that it’s well past 1 in the morning, and while he’s not necessarily a stranger from a ragged sleep schedule, he tries to keep it as consistent as possible.

He turns his body; eyes squinted at the front door. Then, again—

Ding!

Persistent.

Gi-hun swallows, slowly dragging his body over to the door to look through the Ring camera.

The doorbell chimes three more times—Ding! Ding! Ding! It could be nothing, it could be that flower delivery, it’d certainly lift his spirits. He hopes it’s the flower delivery.

It is, in a sense—but not from who he suspects.

In-ho looks scared. Nervous. His tongue wets his lips as his eyes glance back towards the doorbell. A thick bouquet of roses is wedged between his hands, a card poking out the top that, from the camera, Gi-hun can’t quite make out. In-ho raises his left hand, hovers it above the doorbell one more time, then drops it to his side in defeat. Gi-hun watches, wordlessly, breathlessly, as In-ho begins to chastise himself. It’s juvenile almost—the slight delay of the camera captures his movements, though Gi-hun can hear them clear-as-day from the other side of the door.

“In-ho, you fucking moron!” he cries, slightly muffled. A moment later on the camera, he hits himself on the side of the head. “What am I even doing here?” he then asks, staring down at the bouquet. Gi-hun watches his face contort into guilt, shame, and a tinge of regret.

He’s turning now, bouquet still firm in his hand. He’s leaving, he’s leaving, he’s leaving—

“In-ho!?” Gi-hun yelps, swinging the door open.

In-ho lets out a muted scream, half of it caught in his throat. He turns his body, though it’s completely frozen, as if he didn’t truly expect anyone to come to the door. He tries to cover his mouth with his hands, but due to the flowers, he simply hides his entire head.

Pathetic.

“What…” Gi-hun starts. Just looking at him makes him feel…sick. Staring from behind the door is one thing, standing face-to-face is another. The residual disgust that hasn’t quite left his body is threatening to spill over again, that low churn in his gut that tells him something isn’t quite right.

Turn around, his psyche screams. Take a shower. Go to bed. Close the fucking door!

If Gi-hun had to admit to a weakness, he was never the best at following his own advice.

“What are you doing here?” he finally warbles out, purposefully avoiding In-ho’s fervent gaze. He locks-in on the carpet, suddenly fascinated by the slight red sheen radiating from the fibers.

“I…” In-ho whispers. He moves the bouquet to his side, body taut as a wire. “I wanted to…um…apologize…”

Gi-hun looks up, staring at him. His face looks bewildered.

“That’ll have to be some apology,” he responds, eye twitching. “For, you know—” he pauses, unable to bring himself to say it. He simply gags.

“I know,” In-ho replies, squeaky. “But—I think, if… if you just…if you give me a chance…? Please…?” He holds the flowers straight out, bowing his head slightly. The lighting in the hall isn’t great, but Gi-hun can still see the red that nips at his throat.

“I promise I have an explanation…” In-ho mumbles, no louder than a whisper.

Gi-hun stares, scoffs, then takes a step back to lean against the open doorframe.

He’s exhausted. Ragged, too—he’s poignantly aware of how he must look, a far cry from the well-put-together Seong Gi-hun his fans had come to enamor, with sweaty black locs clinging to his forehead, even more shooting from his part with childish delinquency. He stinks, too, sweat having seeped through the fabric of the cheap t-shirt he’d changed into for the ride home.

Though, from the looks of it, In-ho doesn’t seem to care.

Gi-hun sighs. He runs his hand over his face, scratching at the slight stubble he ought to shave off, then groans.

“…Fine,” he relents, stepping to the side. In-ho looks up, surprised. Gi-hun gestures towards the door with a wave of his hand. “Come on in,” he states, rather methodical, “…I don’t have a change of clothes for you, though. Or slippers.”

In-ho immediately shakes his head side-to-side. “I-I…I wasn’t going to stay the night I just…I didn’t know the next time I’d get this opportunity,” he sputters, tripping over his own words. “Thank you, Gi-hun,” he says with a bow, “thank you.”

“Mmm,” Gi-hun replies, watching the man saunter through the door. He notes the small height difference between them, something he’d always been acutely aware of, though he always preferred to have In-ho behind him as opposed to in front of him when they were in public.

It suddenly feels monumentally larger than it truly is.

Gi-hun closes the door behind him, pausing to stare at In-ho struggling to shuck off his own shoes, the laces tied too tight around his foot. He stifles a snicker, opting to walk down the short corridor and back towards the kitchen. In-ho speeds up his actions as he watches Gi-hun walk by, and by the sound of a semi-loud thunk behind him, Gi-hun can only assumed In-ho has fallen on his butt trying to get off his own shoes.

He won’t entertain him by turning around. He’s still mad at him, after all.

“Meet me at the island,” Gi-hun calls out, rounding the corner and taking his spot at one end.

“Y-Yes sir,” In-ho calls back.

A moment later, he’s there. A flick of Gi-hun’s eyes tells him his shoes are now gone, but the flick back up tells him he’s shucked off his jacket, too, standing in his black slacks and nondescript white button-up with adjoining tie. In-ho simply stares at him for a second, like a fish out of water, before he remembers himself, slinking into the chair across from Gi-hun’s own.

Neither speak for a moment. In-ho has brought the flowers, though they’re simply taking up space in front of him. Gi-hun stares at him, drumming his fingers against the marble tiling as if it’ll punch a confession out of the older man.

In-ho reluctantly breaks the silence.

He slides the bouquet across the tile, brushing the flowers against Gi-hun’s t-shirt. Gi-hun stares at the…present? Parting gift? Apology? He’s not quite sure yet.

“They’re for you,” In-ho mumbles, as if it weren’t obvious. “I had to pay an ajumma twice the regular amount for those, so…” he gulps, nervously jittering his leg against the seat, “…enjoy them. Please.”

“Hm,” Gi-hun hums, running his fingers over the delicate petals. Authentic. High quality, too.

“So…” In-ho coughs, purposefully avoiding Gi-hun’s gaze. “You, um…looked really good tonight.”

Gi-hun almost laughs.

“Sure,” he responds, slightly annoyed. “Thanks,” he adds, though there’s no sincerity behind it. “I should let you know that I haven’t showered yet, so I’m quite…” he gestures towards himself vaguely, “…agitated. So, if you could, can you make it quick?” Gi-hun then yawns, but not because he’s tired, not really, so In-ho feels bad.

It seems to do the trick.

“Ah…” he whimpers, face contorting into regret. “Right. Right, where are my manners…?” He’s muttering something unintelligible under his brother until he suddenly stands. Gi-hun stares at him, bewildered, then watches, tracks his movements.

In-ho walks an extremely short distance, just around the island, until he’s positioned at Gi-hun’s side. The chair’s swivel, so Gi-hun maneuvers himself to stare up at him.

“Well?” Gi-hun asks. “What’s the grand, extraordinary reason you were jerking off into my underwear?”

In-ho whimpers. He tugs a loose seam on his pants, then collapses to his knees. In a moment, his head is to the ground, knees bent in on themselves, with his hands placed above his head.

An honest-to-god bow. A plead for forgiveness.

“Oh dear lord,” Gi-hun says.

“I’m so sorry!” he cries from the floor, warbling over every syllable. “I…I…”

“Words, In-ho,” Gi-hun chastises. “For Christ’s sake—lift your head, too! I can barely hear you!”

In-ho lifts his head to stare straight at him. Tears threaten to spill from the corners of his eyes, but he won’t let them. He can’t, if he hopes to sputter his pathetic confession out in one piece.

“C-Can I kneel…?” he asks, like a dog begging for a treat from its owner. In-ho mewls when Gi-hun nods—a reluctant one, but a nod, nonetheless.

“Thank you, thank you,” he babbles, as he straightens his spine. The ground is uncomfortable, unsuitable for his aging knees, but at least they’ll be the only thing that aches after tonight. He plants his hands on his thighs, shifting his legs uncomfortably beneath him as he sucks in necessary air.

“Gi-hun, to tell you the truth…” he mutters, “…I…I have…um…I think that…I like you…”

The last few words are quiet, no louder than a whisper, but the apartment, aside from the slight hum from the refrigerator, is dead silent. Gi-hun hears it, he hears it loud and clear.

But it’s not what he’s looking for.

He scoffs. “Well, no shit,” he spits, catching In-ho off guard. “In-ho…” he shakes his head, dragging out the last syllable of In-ho’s name. “…do you think I hadn’t noticed the way you stared at my ass? Huh? Do you really think I’m that unobservant?”

In-ho looks appalled. “Well I just—”

“Ah, ah,” Gi-hun cuts him off with a wag of his finger, “I’m not in the mood for this. I’m talking now, okay? You’ll sit there and you’ll listen, do you get that?”

In-ho’s thighs shift.

“Yes sir,” he whimpers.

“Good boy,” Gi-hun replies. It’s meant to be teasing, embarrassing, to treat In-ho as almost like no more than a stray cat. A shaky tabby he found on the street and nursed back to health, gave a semblance of life and tranquility to, and has now grown too pampered for the outdoors. It’s meant to be a punishment, this position In-ho has locked himself in, getting lambasted by a man 20 years his junior—but Gi-hun is many things. Observational, occasionally, not always, but when it comes to In-ho?

He’s always known exactly how to make him tick.

“You’re a sick man; do you know that?” he seethes. Nothing he’s saying is an exaggeration, they are, truly, his feelings on the matter.

Seeing In-ho’s reaction is simply a bonus.

The older man appears to be having a hard time remaining still. His legs are shifting underneath him, and he appears desperate to tug as his collar that, from the lighting above, gives Gi-hun a perfect view of the slight sheen of sweat beginning to pool atop his skin.

“You’re a sick, disgusting pervert,” Gi-hun continues, crossing his arms. “You came here, to my house, and thought showering me in cheap compliments and gifts would get the job done? Do you think I feel bad for you? I knew you liked me—didn’t you…didn’t you see the signs? Huh? The bones I threw you?”

“G-Gi-hun…” In-ho whimpers, again.

Gi-hun scoffs.

“Didn’t I just tell you I was talking?” he replies, agitated. In-ho’s face is beet-red by now, and his body is quivering slightly. His nostrils flare as he tries to maintain his composure, though he’s failing miserably. The tile can’t be comfortable, Gi-hun surmises, especially not for a man In-ho’s age, but then again—Gi-hun can’t quite find it in him to care.

“I’ll tell you when it’s your turn to talk, okay? You’re nothing more than a mutt right now, I don’t want to muzzle you,” Gi-hun spits.

In-ho stiffly nods his head, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs.

Gi-hun nods his head towards the bouquet sprawled across the countertop.

“And what are these for?” he asks, sincerely. “I trust you’re not a moron, right? Do you know how many fucking flowers I get? At least they’re from people who respect me, and don’t, you know, debase me. I’d rather have a wall of flowers leading from the front door to that window…” Gi-hun stops to point over In-ho’s head, at the sprawling floor-to-ceiling glass, “…then even entertain placing these in a vase.”

In-ho appears as if he’s itching to say something, by the way his lips quiver. Gi-hun supposes he can throw him some pity.

“You can speak,” Gi-hun says. “But make it quick.”

“T-Thank you,” In-ho gasps. “They’re—you just get so many, they’re not personal, they’re simply an afterthought, none of them… they don’t…” he’s almost wheezing by how hard he’s trying to speak. “None of them understand you. You said you don’t like petunias, but you posed with a bouquet of lime-green ones once and suddenly they’re your favorite. Do they…? Do they ever Google anything? How could they say that to you? You’re…” In-ho stares at him, right in the eyes. “You’re perfect. You love roses. Your signature color is green, but I know your favorite is red. Gi-hun…”

“That’s enough,” Gi-hun mutters, staring down at him slightly shell-shocked.

“N-No, please, I just need—”

“Christ, use your words!”

“I love you!” In-ho blurts out, straightening his spine. “I’m obsessed with you! I can’t…you’re the only reason I even get up in the morning!” His arms are flailing wildly, the extreme amounts of shame heightening, sweltering his skin as he tumbles out confession after confession. “Everything about you is perfect. Your face, your hair, your chest, your waist, your fucking ass—I wanted to be close to you. I wanted it so bad, I could’ve exploded when you picked me to be your bodyguard. Do you even know what you do to me…?”

As if a terrible punishment from God himself, Gi-hun’s eyes flick down. Below In-ho’s head, beneath his torso, and straight to his crotch.

It’s undeniable—a prominent tent straining against the fabric. If not for the dark color, Gi-hun might swear a dribble of pre-cum soaks through.

He lets out a breathy, shaky scoff.

“Are you…” he forces himself to say, “…are you fucking hard right now?”

Surprisingly, In-ho nods. He nods his head embarrassingly fast, as if he’s been waiting for this. He crawls forward, slightly, figure creeping toward Gi-hun’s taut frame.

“Yes,” In-ho gasps, body wishing to keel in on itself. “Yes,” he repeats, breathier this time. “I can’t help it. I can’t. You’ve done something to me, you’ve changed me—I was a lowly, sulking widow before you came along. Do you know how long I cried before you debuted? How many years I spent holed up in my house, living day-to-day, with no true purpose? You…” In-ho whimpers, whimpers. He’s close enough now to put his head in Gi-hun’s lap, a luxury he needs no permission to take. He’s almost salivating against his thigh, heavy gasps huffing past his lips.

“You gave me purpose, Gi-hun,” he admits, shifting his thighs together for some kind of friction against his clothed cock. “Please, please…don’t throw me out…I’ll never say a word to you again, you can muzzle me, chain me, I don’t care. I’ll do anything you ask of me, but I can’t let you go. I’m obsessed with you. You’re my entire world. Please.”

He rubs his cheek against Gi-hun’s thigh, peering up at him though half-lidded eyes. Gi-hun’s body is stiff as a board—what had started with him in the driver’s seat has ended with him in the back, and, he supposes, In-ho atop of him. Panting like a dog, begging to be kept like a house pet.

Gi-hun squeezes his eyes shut, sucks in a heavy breath, then looks down at him.

He brushes his foot from the chair, his slipper falling from his foot to the ground. In-ho almost makes a move to grab it and place it back on his foot, but Gi-hun stops him with a simple hand gesture. His foot travels a short distance to In-ho’s crotch, before Gi-hun digs his heel into his clothed erection.

In-ho keels.

“Haah…a-ah—MMPH!” he gasps, body seizing as he comes completely undone, spilling in his underwear from a single touch.

Gi-hun is almost appalled.

“Did…did you just…?” Gi-hun asks, but he knows he doesn’t have to. In-ho’s body gives him the answer he needs, jolting slightly against his thighs as a slight trail of saliva drips from his mouth and stains Gi-hun’s pants. He pathetically nods against his thigh, burying his face in shame.

“Please…” he mutters in between Gi-hun’s warmth, “…I need you…”

Gi-hun can barely respond, shock coursing through his system. He was trying to tease him, he just wanted to fuck with In-ho, he didn’t mean to make him cum, and especially not from a single touch. This was so fucked. This entire situation was wrong. This is wrong. He needs to move, he needs to kick him out, he just needs to go to bed—

In-ho’s nose brushes over his groin, and suddenly, all of Gi-hun’s thoughts go blank.

“H-Hah…!” he whines, back arching against the seat. “In-ho…! W-What the fuck are you…?”

In-ho’s panting against his crotch, those half-lidded eyes blown over in lust. Gi-hun had tried to ignore it thus far, but now it was impossible.

He was hard. Painfully so, physically painful to the point he thought he, too, might explode.

“Help you…” In-ho whimpers. “Let me help you…” he pleads, clearer now. He lifts his head slightly, eyes shimmering against the lighting. “Please. You smell so good.”

Gi-hun wants to laugh. He wants to cry, scream, rip a chunk of hair out—but he’s completely frozen in place. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. This was meant to be a punishment, and yet, here he was, with a man 20 years his senior pleading to be allowed the privilege of blowing him.

If Gi-hun had to admit another weakness, it was his kindness. Truly.

“…Okay,” he finally replies. “Okay. Fine. Fuck it—do you want to fuck me? Huh? Do you want to? Hm? Answer me.”

“Yes,” In-ho responds, near in tears. “Yes, please!”

Gi-hun breathes through his mouth, and on shaky legs, drags himself off the chair, lightly nudging In-ho off his thigh. He slinks against the nearest counter—the island—and impatiently shucks his pants and underwear to his ankles in a single motion.

In-ho watches, completely awestruck. His eyes hyper-focus on Gi-hun’s cock, his present, pre-cum glistening against his tip, hard as a rock against his stomach. Gi-hun gives it a lazy stroke, whimpering at the contact, before finally, finally, granting In-ho permission.

“Then come over here and earn it,” he teases, a slight smirk crawling at the corner of his lips.

In-ho doesn’t need to be told twice.

He’s on him like a starved man. He completely avoids his cock at first, instead, nestling his nose in Gi-hun’s mop of pubic hair and inhaling, hard. His arms wrap around Gi-hun’s thighs as his nose explores his pubic region, moaning when he’s lucky enough to inhale the stench of sweat intertwined with his untrimmed locs.

His nose nudges against his length, eliciting a low whine from Gi-hun. It goes straight to In-ho’s cock, the man shifting on his thighs. By the end, his knees would bruise, no doubt.

Though, he didn’t think he minded.

Gi-hun covers his mouth the back of his hand, seething through closed teeth as In-ho teases around his painfully sensitive cock. In-ho’s head leans back, eyes glazed-over simply staring at the head. His breaths—pants, more like—sound sharp and sporadic, like he’s been starved for air for a long time. Gi-hun groans, fingers digging into the marble of the island in frustration.

“Christ…” Gi-hun murmurs, “…any longer and I’ll go soft.”

In-ho stares up at him like a kicked dog. “I’m sorry sir—I’m so sorry, I’ve, um… never… actually done this before…”

Gi-hun huffs out a laugh.

“I’m far too generous to you, aren’t I? Entertaining some sick pervert’s fantasies like this…” he breathes. “Start by jacking me off first, imagine you’re doing it to yourself.”

In-ho’s face, though already beet-red, flushes over in another shade of crimson. Words feel hard to come by, so he says none, opting to nod his head and tentatively reach his arm out, gasping as his hand wraps around Gi-hun’s length. Gi-hun whimpers at the contact, though the sight doesn’t help, either.

Gi-hun’s cock nearly disappears in In-ho’s grasp, with nothing more than a slither of his tip, pink and now dripping with pre-cum, visible through In-ho’s enclosed fist. In-ho appears to almost study it, as if he’s contemplating whether this is real life.

Gi-hun could just scream.

Without warning Gi-hun digs his fingers into In-ho’s sweaty brown locs and tugs, hard. In-ho immediately squeaks, his grip on Gi-hun’s cock tightening for a split second, before easing. He looks up at Gi-hun, lust palpable. His knees ache by now, and by Gi-hun’s next words—

“Earn it, now,” he berates. “Now, or I kick you out, just like this.”

—he ought to get on with it.

Gi-hun releases his grip on In-ho’s scalp then relaxes against the marble once more. In-ho stares at him, nods, then finally, finally, starts moving.

His movements are small, delicate, almost like he’s scared to hurt the younger man. It’s not bad, per se—and from the scene laid out above him, Gi-hun doesn’t seem to think so, either—but In-ho doubts, somehow, that it’s quite what Gi-hun wants.

He speeds up the jerk of his wrist for a moment, thumb smearing the now plentiful spread of pre-cum over Gi-hun’s tip, aiding in the lubrication of the entire process. Gi-hun’s body is shaking, soft whimpers tumbling from his lips one-after-another, with each one threatening to make In-ho spill twice in his underwear.

In-ho’s free hand squeezes his own groin in an attempt to level his head—if he does everything right, he might, might, be able to fuck Gi-hun. That pert and plump ass, the one he’s salivated over, lad out in front of him like a full-course meal.

In-ho’s hand stills.

“Guh…” Gi-hun moans, “…w-why…? Why’d you stop…?” he asks, looking down at In-ho through glazed eyes.

“Gonna…” In-ho starts but doesn’t finish. Instead, he performs a crude face and hand gesture of a blowjob. Gi-hun could laugh if he weren’t so close to the edge.

“Okay,” Gi-hun says in return. “Okay. Be careful—no teeth.”

“No teeth,” In-ho affirms, with a cross over his heart to seal-the-deal.

He tries to remember how he saw it in porn—and, distantly, how his wife used to perform it—hand wrapped around the base to jerk what his mouth couldn’t capture, kitten-licks to the tip, savoring the taste of salty pre-cum before it ravages the inside of his throat. He gulps one last time, before leaning in, and licking a stripe just above Gi-hun’s balls all the way to his tip.  

Gi-hun moans.

“Chriiist,” Gi-hun babbles, fingers now digging into his own shirt. “Just like that,” he breathes, “just like that, puppy.”

Puppy. Puppy.

In-ho might get it tattooed across his forehead.

The praise, predictably, shoots to his cock. He stifles a guttural whine, shifting on his knees once more, then he refocuses. He leans in, plants a feather-light kiss to the younger man’s tip, practically moaning at the taste of his cum, then finally, takes him into his mouth.

It’s sloppy, painfully uncoordinated too—but Gi-hun couldn’t care less. In-ho’s jaw tightens almost immediately, aching around just the tip, but he doesn’t stop, slowly, achingly, inch-by-inch, he hollows his cheeks and swallows Gi-hun whole. He removes his hand from the base, steadying it behind Gi-hun’s thighs and on the wood of the island, and nestles his nose in that glorious mop of pubic hair once again.

It’s suffocating, and yet, it’s perfect.

Gi-hun’s breaths are completely ragged. He runs his fingers through In-ho’s scalp, eliciting a low hum from the other man, sending shockwaves of pleasure up Gi-hun’s spine.

“Good boy,” Gi-hun praises again. “Good puppy, such a good mutt. Now… move…”

In-ho can’t nod nor speak, so he simply moves. It hurts his jaw more than anything, and he continuously fights the urge to gag, but he can’t mess this up. The sounds of Gi-hun coming undone above him are enough to make him finish a second time, but if not for the distant voice telling him to save it for later, he might be compelled to.

Saliva drips from the corners of his mouth, and every-so-often, he makes sure to get another heavy whiff of Gi-hun’s pubic hair, now reeking of sweat.

He’s never smelled anything so perfect in his entire life.

“In-ho…” Gi-hun moans, gently rocking his hips against his face. “Fuck—fuck, oh my god, holy shit…! W-Wait—ah! Huhhh—p-pull off…!”

It aches In-ho to do so, but he’s nothing more than an obedient mutt in this predicament. He peels off with a whine and a swallow, savoring the taste on his tongue.

“Gonna finish on your face, okay?” Gi-hun states. “Do you want that, huh? Does my disgusting dog want that?”

“Yes,” In-ho pleads. “Yes, yes, yes, yes—a thousand times yes.”

Gi-hun smiles.

“I knew he would.”

Gi-hun wraps his hand around his cock and sets a brutal pace. Heavy gasps spill from his lips, eyes hard-focused on the man beneath him. The one who’s looking at him as if he were a god amongst men, the one who might bark for him if he asks. He grits his teeth, moans getting louder, squeakier, by the second. With a gasp, his body completely stills, shooting thick, hot ropes all over In-ho’s expectant face.

In-ho’s eyes squeeze shut, but his mouth opens, catching as much of the savory taste on his tongue as he can. Gi-hun ought to throw him a bone, so he does.

He leans in, slightly, just as he milks the last of his cock, places the tip atop In-ho’s tongue, and commands him.

“Clean it off,” he breathes.

In-ho squeezes open one eye, then wordlessly obeys, cleaning the last traces of filth from Gi-hun’s sensitive tip. Once he’s done, Gi-hun peels back, essentially collapsing against the floor. He takes a moment to gather himself, as does In-ho.

In-ho opens both of his eyes, finally, and blinks.

“Where…?” he asks, gesturing towards his face.

Gi-hun snickers.

“It’s all over,” he says, gesturing towards his face. “I can get you a towel.”

“No!” In-ho responds abruptly. It’s loud enough to make Gi-hun slightly jolt.

“No,” he says again, quieter this time. “I shouldn’t waste it.”

Gi-hun watches, half-disgusted, half in-awe, as In-ho’s fingers swipe layers of cum off his face, then redirect to his mouth, practically moaning with every taste. It goes on for maybe a minute, nether saying a word, until—

“Did I get it all?” In-ho asks.

Gi-hun doesn’t respond, instead lifting his hand and wiping off the last dribble of filth remaining on In-ho’s face. He moves it to In-ho’s mouth, to which the older man immediately opens wide, closing his mouth around the digit and sucking greedily. Gi-hun whimpers.

“All clean,” Gi-hun states.

“Mmm…” In-ho hums. He finally, finally, collapses on his butt, groaning as he stretches his knees outwards. He gently rubs over the clothed flesh, mumbling about how they’d definitely bruise.

“Hey,” Gi-hun says, catching his attention. “Did you think we’re done?”

In-ho’s eyes bulge.

“I-I…well I—um—I had hoped we weren’t, but I—we—are you…? C-Can I…?” In-ho sputters.

With that, Gi-hun shucks his pants and underwear all the way off, and, for that matter, his other slipper, as well. He crawls forward, planting himself in In-ho’s lap. He throws his arms over his shoulders and stares down at him, studying his embarrassed features.

“Bedroom,” he says. “It’s down the hall to the left. Carry me there, okay?”

“Y-Yes sir, yes,” In-ho says, fervently nodding his head.

Gi-hun smiles.

“Good boy.”

In-ho whimpers. He really can’t take it anymore. His hands slink underneath Gi-hun’s ass, and with all the courage he can muster, he lifts them both off the ground. His fingers greedily dig into the flesh, softly fondling the slight curve, eliciting a timid mewl from Gi-hun.

“Walk,” Gi-hun grumbles. “I’m tired.”

In-ho could bolt there if his legs weren’t so wobbly. Each step is timid, a mixture of fighting to maintain his balance and ignoring the painful bulge straining against his pants. Luckily for him, the bedroom door is still open. He doesn’t bother shutting it behind him, he knows there’s no reason to.

He tosses Gi-hun on the bed with a soft oomph, then he’s on him like a starved man.

His lips find Gi-hun’s immediately—whimpers tumbling from his lips between spit-soaked kisses. His lips are bitten-red, spittle threatening to spill with each gasp. Gi-hun writhes underneath him, hands balled into a gentle fire against his chest. After a tender minute, Gi-hun tilts his head to the side, gasping for air.

“Hey—hey! Okay, okay, that’s enough…” he grumbles, an inner part of him purring at In-ho’s grumble of disappointment. He tilts his hand underneath In-ho’s chin, forcing him to meet his eye.

“Do you think you’re in a position of power here?” he asks, sincerely. In-ho blinks, then shakes his head no. Gi-hun smiles. “Good, because you aren’t. Lie down.”

Gi-hun moves aside, then pats the spot he was just laying in, pillows sprawled against the headboard.

“G-Gi-hun, I don’t—”

“Now. Don’t make me ask again.”

In-ho whines. He turns on his back and lies back on the bed.

“Good boy. Now, hands up.” As if to demonstrate, Gi-hun places his own hands in the air, wrists joined together. In-ho does the same.

Gi-hun grins at the display. He crawls forward, sits his butt atop In-ho’s crotch, then slowly, achingly, his fingers find his way to his neck. He drags his hands over In-ho’s button-up until they find their target—that tantalizing tie. He unfurls it, studies the fabric between his hands, then peers upwards.

“Tell me if it’s too tight,” he says.

“Huh? O-Oh…!” In-ho gasps, as Gi-hun makes quick work of his wrists, binding them above his head and to the headboard. Gi-hun hums at his handiwork, purposefully grinding his crotch over In-ho’s groin as he happily bounces in his lap, gut churning at the pathetic moans spilling from In-ho’s lips.

Gi-hun looks back at him, smiling gently.

“Touching me is a privilege,” he states. “Let’s see if you can earn it, okay?”

In-ho stares at him slack-jawed. This really wasn’t how he’d imagined the night was going to go—not that he’s complaining.

Gi-hun runs his fingers back over In-ho’s chest, humming at the slight bump around his breasts. His nipples poke at the fabric, something Gi-hun notes, though doesn’t grant In-ho the luxury of feeling. With a slight hum, he crawls off his lap and off the bed entirely.

“W-Where are you going…?” In-ho immediately cries, face contorting into worry.

“Relax,” Gi-hun seethes between his teeth. He turns so his back faces In-ho, robbing him of the front view sight of his chest as he peels his shirt off. He cocks his head over his shoulder and clicks his tongue.

“I’m gonna work myself open, and you’ll watch. Then, I’ll ride you. Okay?”

In-ho’s brain feels ready to short circuit.

“Yes sir,” he drools.

Gi-hun smiles again, pulls a container of lube from the bedside drawer, then flops back on the bed. It’s large enough to fit both of them, though not without some slight discomfort. He turns around, back facing In-ho, then bends over, ass in the air. In-ho gulps at the sight, drool slipping down his chin at the sight laid out in front of him.

“H-Have you ever—” In-ho starts but is cut off.

“—Done this before? Yes, yes I have,” Gi-hun responds, pouring a generous amount of lube to his fingers. “There’s some things about me that you don’t know, Mr. Hwang.”

His index finger prods at his own entrance, circles the rim, then with a slight gasp, he enters, hips wiggling slightly at the sensation. In-ho stares, hands seizing slightly against their restraints as he watches the scene unfold in front of him.

Gi-hun appears skilled, like he’s done this plenty of times before. The thought of him doing it for another man is enough to make In-ho’s jaw tighten, but Gi-hun’s made the rules quite clear—he’s nothing more than a dog in this situation, and he ought to be an obedient one, at that.

With a shivering moan, Gi-hun adds another finger—his middle—to his hole. The sounds of his moans combined with the schlick of lubricant is driving In-ho mad, and once Gi-hun adds a third, he’s almost convinced he’ll cum from the sight alone.

Keep it together, he fights with himself, keep it together, keep it together, keep it together—

He tugs at his restraints, a loud and audible whine coming from his lips.

“Gi-hun,” he whimpers, “Gi-hun, please—I can’t, I—I, I—please…!” He’s pleading for something, anything, maybe skin-to-skin contact. Maybe for Gi-hun to stop before he makes a mess of his underwear—again.

As if a gift from the heavens, Gi-hun’s fingers exit his body with one final huff. He straightens himself on shaky limbs then turns around, smirking slightly at In-ho’s pathetic demeanor.

He’s red, cheeks sweltering in shame. His hair is caked in sweat, brown locs adorning his forehead. His eyes appear ready to bulge out of his skull, and by the subtle way his hips are thrusting against their confines and the squeak of metal coming from the headboard, if he’s not rewarded soon, he might lose it.

“Poor mutt,” Gi-hun coos, trailing his fingers up the length of In-ho’s leg. “You want me so bad it drives you mad, doesn’t it?”

“Yes!” In-ho cries. “Yes—yes, I need you, I need you, please let me fuck you, please!” He sounds ready to cry. It’s amusing, really.

“Hmm,” Gi-hun hums thoughtfully. “Let me check something, first…”

His fingers skillfully unloop In-ho’s belt, tossing it off the side of the bed. In a single motion, his thumbs loop into the hem of his pants and boxers, tugging them downwards in a single motion. As soon as they pass his crotch, his cock springs out, hard as a rock, a mixture of pre-cum and drying semen staining the length.

“Huh,” Gi-hun clucks, “you managed not to cum. I’m impressed.” In-ho’s letting out a gasp of relief—maybe at the praise, maybe at the relief of tension from his cock, maybe both—and tumbling out thank-you after thank-you.

Gi-hun shimmies his pants the rest of the way off, discarding them on the floor with the same amount of care as the belt. He’s wasting time on purpose, taking longer than necessary to stare at the length of In-ho’s cock, but truthfully—

“It’s big,” he says, suddenly uncharacteristically shy. “I…is that going to fit?”

“Yes! I promise!” In-ho full on wails, smacking the back of his head against the headboard. “I don’t care if you just take the tip, I need you!”

Gi-hun suddenly squeezes the base of In-ho’s cock, sending a pained shrill from his lips.

“Hey,” Gi-hun raps, “didn’t I tell you you’re not in a position of power here? You don’t want to get gagged, too, do you?”

“N-No sir,” he sniffles.

“Good,” Gi-hun replies, releasing his grip. He slowly pulls himself into In-ho’s lap, running his ass over In-ho’s leaking tip. He’s shivering, and every single hint of movement makes his hips jolt.

Gi-hun finally takes some pity on him.

“I’ll start slow,” he announces, grabbing In-ho’s cock. He lines the tip against his fluttering hole, and winces slightly at the already-there stretch. “T-Then…fuck…I’ll speed up… If you’re good—if! —I might let you fuck me into the mattress. How does that sound, hm?”

“Perfect,” In-ho gasps. “Perfect,” he repeats, breathier.

“I knew you’d say that,” Gi-hun replies with a grin.

Finally, he lowers himself. They both gasp as In-ho’s tip slides in, the slight stretch making Gi-hun hiss through his teeth. He sucks in a heavy breath, then continues, inch-by-inch, working his way down In-ho’s cock. In-ho goes slack jawed, watching in almost-silent awe as Gi-hun’s face twists and contorts with each inch. Once finally nestled to the hilt, he sighs, gently wiggling his hips against In-ho’s crotch.

“Christ…” he gasps. He removes one hand from In-ho’s shoulder to run his hand over his own stomach, pausing just above his belly button. “Can feel you…right here…”

“Gi-hun…” In-ho whimpers. “Please…please, I can’t…”

“I know, baby,” Gi-hun coos. “Gonna move now, okay?”

In-ho mewls, leaning in and hiding his face in the crook of Gi-hun’s neck. Gi-hun snickers softly, running both his hands back around In-ho’s shoulder, lifting himself back up, then all the way back down on In-ho’s cock.

“Ah!” he squeaks, “h-holy fuck…!”

He sets a tender pace—up, down, up, down, up, down. In-ho drools against his shoulder, moaning and cursing obscenities into his skin. Slowly, his bouncing speeds up. Gi-hun’s arched his back, sliding down his length at a specific angle to nail his prostate head-on. It’s mind-numbing, his skin boiling hot, and the grip of his walls on In-ho’s cock feel like they’re going to squeeze him dry.

“Gi-hun,” In-ho moans, “Gi-hun, Gi-hun, Gi-hun,” he repeats, over and over, like a prayer.

“Use your words, baby,” Gi-hun breathes. “Fuck! Jesus christ…! Ah…huhhh…”

“Please, haven’t I been good?” In-ho sobs, lifting his head up. He tugs weakly at his restraints, pulling Gi-hun’s gaze to his bound wrists. “Please let me fuck you. Please, please, please—”

Gi-hun stills his hips at the base of In-ho’s cock, the thick stench of sweat and sex in the air. He breathes through his mouth for a moment, until he answers.

“Admit something to me,” he says.

In-ho stares at him.

“Admit…what?”

Gi-hun pulls his head back to stare down at him.

“You’re him, aren’t you?”

In-ho blinks.

“… ‘Him’?”

“Don’t act stupid,” he replies, tone dropping a notch. “That disgusting pervert, the reason I hired you in the first place. The man who showered me in love and presents, sent packages to my address, made me feel as if I was going mad—it was you, wasn’t it?”

In-ho’s eyes blink rapidly, and his jaw is slack open.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, warbling.

Gi-hun grabs him by his cheeks and tortures him with another roll of his hips, forcing a whimper from behind his closed lips.

“I just said don’t act stupid,” he seethes. “Do you want me to leave you here, huh? Just leave you tied up while I finish the tour? Oh, no, I shouldn’t… that’d be too generous for a man like you, wouldn’t it? You’d love it, wouldn’t you? Stuck in the bed where I let you fuck me—”

“Schtop!” In-ho cries behind squeezed cheeks. The tears, the ones that’d been threatening to spill the entire night, finally fall. They course down his face, angry and hot, flooding him full of shame.

Though, really, he has no right to feel that way.

Gi-hun releases his hold on him.

“Talk.”

In-ho sniffles, cries, then nods his head.

“Everything I said to you earlier…” he warbles out, “…none of it was a lie. None of it. I’m obsessed with you, Gi-hun…you gave me a purpose after my wife died, I never meant to creep you out but I had to…I…I had to get closer to you somehow—and I…I just…when the position opened up…I don’t know…I fit all the right credentials, and it felt like…” he stops, purposefully avoiding Gi-hun’s gaze. He can’t bring himself to admit it, can’t.

“Talk,” Gi-hun repeats.

In-ho cries.

“During the interview…when you saw me… it felt like…I don’t know…that you liked me too…”

He bites the inside of his cheek and tugs at his restraints. His hands have grown completely numb by now, nothing more than a placeholder. In-ho wonders if this was the plan all along—string him up and embarrass him like a cheap whore. He also thinks he deserves it.

Gi-hun doesn’t respond, not verbally at least.

Above him, he shifts. His hands move upwards, and in a few motions, unfurl the knot tying In-ho’s wrists together. His arms fall limply at his sides, to which he immediately rubs his fingers over, trying to reestablish their blood flow.

Gi-hun lifts himself off In-ho’s cock, something In-ho cries at. Before he can warble another apology, Gi-hun has turned. He’s back in the position he was before, the one he’d performed when opening himself up, except this time, he’s not prepping himself.

He’s presenting himself.

He tilts his head over his shoulder to stare at the older man.

“I knew it,” he says, voice low. “Fuck me,” he adds, “…fuck me so hard that I forget what you are, you disgusting pervert…”

In-ho has to bite his lip to hold in another mewl.

“…Okay,” he whispers, crawling towards Gi-hun’s figure. “Please tell me if it hurts…please…”

Gi-hun thinks on it.

“I will.”

In-ho wipes sweat from his brow and lines himself back up. He groans as his cock slips back in Gi-hun’s hole, the man beneath him gasping at the sensation. In-ho’s fingers dig into his flesh, finally savoring the sensation of Gi-hun’s skin underneath him.

And it’s heavenly.

He juts his hips back, then slams back in, nearly collapsing over top Gi-hun at the sensation. His hole sucks him in, encases his body in warmth like a heated blanket. In-ho’s fingers find Gi-hun’s butt, moans slipping past his lips as he fondles the soft flesh. Gi-hun is writhing underneath him, jerking his body backwards to meet the speed and weight of In-ho’s thrusts. He slips his hand underneath him to jerk his own cock.

“In-ho,” he gasps, “In-ho.”

“Gi-hun,” he responds, breathless. “I’m here, baby, I’m here—hah, holy shit—y-you…fuck…you feel so fucking good…”

“In-ho,” Gi-hun giggles, drooling against the sheets. “I can feel you in my belly,” he moans, running his thumb over his sensitive tip. “G-Gah!” he suddenly squeaks, free hand furling in the sheets. “Fuck! Ah…! Oh, oh—right there—!”

“Inside,” In-ho cries, “please let me finish inside. Please, please, please, please—”

“I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t,” Gi-hun whimpers. His hand is now jerking painfully uncoordinated, and with another flick of his wrist, he’s spilling over his stomach, hand, and sheets. “C-Christ—oh my god—fuuuck…!”

“C-Cumming…!” In-ho cries, leaning over and stifling his shout in the crook of Gi-hun’s shoulder, biting into the flesh as he finally, finally, comes undone for the second time, spilling his seed in Gi-hun’s warmth.

They both still, entirely spent. When In-ho unlatches his teeth, a trail of blood-stained saliva comes back with it, a dribble of Gi-hun’s crimson dripping down his back.

In-ho maneuvers them into a spooning position, not yet ready to pull out. Gi-hun allows it, too tired to do much else.

Mustering all his strength, In-ho is the first to talk.

“Did I do good?” he asks, voice low.

Gi-hun scoffs.

“I think I’m still mad,” he whispers. “But…I’ll give you another opportunity to make it up to me.”

And, to In-ho, that’s enough.

***

Gi-hun blearily blinked the sleep from his eyes as he awoke a few hours later.

Neither of them made it to the shower—neither of them made it off the bed, bodies simply too spent from their stressful day and late-night romp. Upon waking, Gi-hun noticed In-ho, still peacefully snoring against the crook of his shoulder, arms wrapped possessively around his waist.

Cute.

He lightly pried himself from his loose grasp, then crawled the short distance to his phone, which he’d placed on the nightstand. He hadn’t charged it, but he had enough battery left to read the notifications that had racked up since he’d been asleep.

From: Sang-woo 💼
Hyung, are you okay? You looked really down after the show last night.

From: Sang-woo 💼
You killed it, by the way.

From: Sang-woo 💼
Was it something about the show? Do you not like the costume changes? I can look into getting them switched around—you’re right, it can get rather stale after a while.

Gi-hun huffed out a laugh, plugged in his phone, then tossed it back on the nightstand. He sat on his knees and tilted his torso to look at In-ho, still fast-asleep at the edge of the bed.

“You kept your shirt on,” Gi-hun mumbles to himself. “Weirdo.”

With slight reluctance, he stands. His legs are shaky, but it’s nothing compared to the immediate grimace that overtakes him as he feels the residue of their…romp, drip down his thighs.

He really needed to shower.

He drags himself into the bathroom, purposefully avoids catching a glance of himself in the mirror, and takes a quick, but refreshing shower. He rids himself of the stench of sweat, sex, and bodily fluid, internally chastising himself for begging In-ho to finish inside—he’d always been so diligent about having other men use condoms.

After his shower, he returns to the bedroom in nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist. Miraculously, In-ho is awake, though barely.

“Gi-hun…?” he murmurs, watching Gi-hun emerge from the cloud of steam pouring out of the bathroom. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, then blinks, eyes steadying on him.

“Woah,” he says, cheeks reddening.

Gi-hun scoffs.

“Don’t give me that,” he murmurs. “You finished in my ass last night, this…” he gestures at himself, “…is nothing special.”

In-ho’s lower lip pouts outward. “Can’t I find you attractive…?”

Gi-hun sits next to him at the edge of the bed—the one part not stained in filth—and huffs. His hand darts out and tugs In-ho’s earlobe, getting a loud grumble of disapproval from the older man.

“I’m still mad at you,” Gi-hun admits.

“I know,” In-ho replies, timid.

They sit in silence for a few moments, neither daring to say a word. It’s not tense, per se, but it’s awkward—neither particularly sure of what comes next.

Gi-hun moves first.

He reaches his hand out, bending over just enough to tug open the beside drawer. In-ho watches his movements, trying to capture a glance of what his hand might be doing, but to no luck. After a moment, Gi-hun’s hand retreats, holding up a golden wrapper.

A large condom.

In-ho’s cheeks dust pink. Gi-hun’s do, too.

“But…” Gi-hun murmurs, “…you could make it up to me right now, if you want…”

In-ho stares at him, mind struggling to catch up.

“Will once be enough…?” In-ho asks, tentatively.

Gi-hun rolls his eyes.

“Depends on how good you do.”

In-ho stifles a giggle. His hands curl into fists against his thighs before he moves, leaning in slightly to plant a soft kiss on Gi-hun’s lips, lowering him into the mattress.

“You’re gonna need another shower,” In-ho says between sloppy kisses.

Gi-hun’s hands come to caress his face, thumbs running over his cheeks.

“I know.”