Work Text:
And you can hold me
Like he held her
and I will fuck you
Like nothing matters
"Nothing Matters" by the Last Dinner Party
“Body count?” Gyro tilted his head. “What does that mean?”
He and Johnny were riding somewhere that Gyro wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint on a map, just east of the Rockies but not quite in the fertile middle country yet. The sun was high, the weather fair, the path ahead clear—no other riders in sight. And as so often happened when it was just the two of them, they were talking about… well, anything and everything. Even—perhaps especially—stupid things.
“You’ve never heard that expression?” Johnny mirrored his quizzical look. He’d just dropped the term, oh-so-casually, as if Gyro was supposed to know what it meant. “I guess maybe you wouldn’t have, where you’re from… It refers to how many different people you’ve slept with.”
“That’s how you describe it?” Gyro made a face. The ways in which Americans could be so prudish and yet so vulgar never ceased to amaze him. Or maybe it was just Johnny? “Sounds more fit for a crime spree.”
“Well, I didn’t invent it,” Johnny said. “So—what’s yours?”
How did we even get on this topic? Gyro couldn’t remember. When they were bored on the trail, their conversations tended to meander as much as the road under their horses' hooves.
They could easily go from talking in intense, hushed tones about their most recent battle and biggest competitors to chatting about inane shit like the best meals they’d ever had (slow-cooked barbecue for Johnny, spaghetti alla puttanesca for Gyro), the longest they’d ever gone without showering (before now), or—apparently—the number of people they’d had sex with. They’d probably go back to arguing about the map soon. It was just sort of how they did things.
“Huh… I don’t know.” Gyro pursed his lips. How many people he’d slept with? Well, none since coming to America… last time was probably a few months before that… and then, before that…?
He mentally retraced his steps through different bedrooms and boudoirs over the years. Once he’d reached his first time—an unremarkable fling, looking back, though it had felt momentous to him at the time—he was pretty sure he covered them all.
“I guess maybe twenty,” he said. “Give or take one or two.”
“Really?” From over on Slow Dancer’s back, Johnny raised a blonde brow at him. “Twenty?”
At his apparent surprise, Gyro sat up a little straighter, his ego bolstered. That’s right, kid, he thought, I’m pretty experienced.
Johnny was only nineteen, after all, so twenty different people probably seemed like a lot to him. He wouldn’t hold it over Johnny’s head, but—the ladies of Naples liked him just fine. (And some of the guys, too, but… well, he wasn’t too familiar with the laws of this country, so he wouldn’t mention that. Just to be safe.)
“Yup,” he said, suppressing a smirk. “Pretty sure.”
“Huh.”
Johnny looked forward, lips pursed thoughtfully. He was probably re-evaluating his mental view of his racing partner, Gyro reckoned.
He smiled to himself at the thought. That’s right—Gyro wasn’t just an accomplished Spin user and talented horseman. He was kind of a Renaissance man, in that he was also—
“That’s lower than I thought.”
What?! Gyro’s head whipped in Johnny’s direction. The American was still looking ahead, unperturbed.
“L…Lower than you thought?” Gyro repeated. He laughed in disbelief. “I said twenty, Johnny. Two-zero.”
“I heard you,” Johnny said, with that infuriating nonchalance of his. “I just don’t think that’s a very high number.”
Gyro’s jaw clenched. Why, you…!
“It is totally a high number,” he said through grinding teeth.
“Mm.” Johnny shrugged. “Not really.”
“Fine, then!” Gyro pointed at him. “What’s your number, Casanova?”
“Mine?” Johnny blew out his lips, as if just thinking about thinking about the answer was an exhausting task. “Hard to remember.”
“Well, you better try.” Gyro forced a smile, his mouth aching at the tightness. “Since you think mine is so low, I gotta know yours.”
Twenty-five? His brain was already trying to guess. Thirty? Johnny was once a hotshot rookie jockey, wasn’t he? Maybe as high as… thirty-five?
Gyro adjusted his grip on Valkyrie’s reins, carefully. It wasn’t hard for him to imagine Johnny with a healthy number of partners, what with his talent and that unexpectedly charming smile, rare though it was. But it wasn’t… easy, either.
“I mean, best I can do is an estimate,” Johnny said. He sat back, cool as you like, balancing expertly as his horse’s body swayed. “But… it’s probably close to a hundred.”
He couldn’t help it—Gyro’s jaw dropped. He stared at Johnny. That… He… He had to be exaggerating, right?
“A… a hundred?” he said dubiously. “No... No way.”
“Yes, way,” Johnny said.
“You’ve had sex with one hundred women? Different women?”
“Mm-hm. All different people, not counting repeats.”
“...No fucking way.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, man. It’s the truth.”
Johnny readjusted his legs in his makeshift stirrups. For a moment, Gyro was stuck watching his hips rolling with the motion of the saddle. He had to drag his eyes away.
“That’s just ridiculous,” he said. “You’re not even twenty.”
“And?” Johnny looked at him with an expression that said something along the lines of don’t be naive. “What, didja think I was saving myself for marriage?”
“Wh—no, but…”
Gyro was still trying to wrap his head around the number. He’d never gotten the sense that Johnny was particularly chaste or anything, but… One hundred? That was just excessive, wasn’t it?
“...How?” he asked, plainly.
To his chagrin, Johnny laughed.
“It’s easy when you’re rich and famous,” he said. “You should try it sometime.”
He gave Gyro one of those rare smiles—except it was more smug than charming, by Gyro’s estimation. “Maybe if you do as well in this race as you think you’re gonna, you’ll have a chance of catching up to me.”
Gyro swallowed a growl, wrapping his reins around his fists more tightly. Seemed like Johnny had a lot of fun in his heyday… and yet, Gyro couldn’t feel particularly happy for him.
Rather, when he thought about all of those women—touching Johnny, kissing him, stripping him down… It just kind of made him sick.
“Fucking liar,” he muttered.
Johnny’s self-satisfied smirk only grew as he realized he was successfully pushing Gyro’s buttons—though maybe not for the reasons he thought.
“I guess I just got a lot of ‘em out of the way pretty quickly,” he said airily. “Different fan or two every weekend for a few years… It adds up.”
He licked his lips, clearly delighting in this. “Throw in a threesome here and there and you get double the return.”
Gyro’s eye twitched. A threesome?! This shitty brat had had two girls at the same time? How… How had that worked? Did they take turns fucking him? Maybe one of them rode him while the other sat on his face…
The thought—the image—made Gyro simultaneously nauseous and… and…
Get it together, Zeppeli, he told himself, chasing away the creeping warmth in his stomach. This was Johnny they were talking about. The stubborn, irritating, hopelessly masochistic bastard who was betting the farm on some weird old corpse. The younger, American, straighter-than-straight boy who couldn’t have been any worse of a bad idea for Gyro to get involved with. The handsome, starry-eyed man who surely planned on getting his legs to work again at least in part so he could go right back to the women he’d so generously entertained in his youth.
“C’mon, Gyro,” Johnny teased, seeing Gyro’s nigh-pained face. “At least try not to act jealous.”
Gyro stiffened. Valkyrie tossed her head, snorting, at her rider’s sudden discomfort.
“I’m not jealous,” he said, quick and firm—to Johnny, to himself. “Why would I be jealous?”
Johnny cocked his head. “Because I’ve had more luck with women than you…?”
Gyro allowed himself to exhale, half a breath. Yes. Yes, of course that was what he meant.
“It… It’s not luck,” Gyro said. Then, with a flash of impulsive cruelty: “Half of those women were probably ugly, anyway.”
Johnny scoffed, and not with amusement. “Jesus, dude. You can be a real jerk, you know that?”
Maybe so, Gyro thought bitterly. But those girls got to have something he never would. So who really won, in the end?
“Whatever,” he said, hunkering down. “Just don't let that ego make you think you’re gonna get one over on me again in the next stage.”
Like you did in the last one, he thought, his disgruntlement rising in the back of his throat. Damn this kid… In every way, he didn't know how to stop, did he?
“It ain't ego." Johnny set his jaw. "You remember what I told you about ‘hunger’?"
Hunger? Gyro just barely suppressed another callous comment: don’t you mean hedonism?
"Maybe," he said instead.
"You’d better. Because I’m gonna make you work for it.”
“Good."
Gyro spurred his horse. Forget “hunger.” If Johnny seriously wanted to beat him again, he’d have to focus on Gyro and Gyro alone. Just like he ought to.
Because that was all Gyro was focused on. Just winning the race... and Johnny.
Those two things were all that Gyro cared about. All that he wanted—far more than any of those twenty people who were just numbers now. They were all that mattered.
They reached the next town on the map right before sundown, much to their and their horses’ relief. They’d been camping out for at least a week now and were running low on supplies.
Gyro scouted out the area with narrowed eyes. This wasn’t an official checkpoint, but the town seemed very aware of its placement on the race route: there were streamers hanging from the general store windows; restaurant owners had written out Steel Ball Run specials on their chalkboard signs; and the streets seemed altogether more lively than he imagined was typical for a country village.
“Great,” he said under his breath, as some people turned and pointed as they made their way down the main street. “Now we’ve got tourists.”
Johnny looked at him sideways. “I thought you liked having an adoring public. Weren’t you pissed when you ranked lower in that popularity contest?”
Gyro sniffed. “That was before we had to start keeping an eye out for rogue Stand users everywhere we turned.”
And it was before he realized how many of his “fans” Johnny had slept with. Gyro was hesitant to even call them true fans, though. Who knew if they actually understood and respected Johnny’s achievements? They probably just went after him because he was young, and strong, and attractive… Did anyone even care about horse racing anymore?!
“It’s definitely busier than I thought it’d be,” Johnny mused. “Might be hard to get a hotel room as more riders trickle in.”
At least Gyro hadn’t seen anyone who looked particularly suspicious. He was getting accustomed to picking out potential Stand users. It was always some freak with a hat on.
“Let’s split up,” he suggested. “You get us a room and stables for the night before they’re all taken. I’ll restock.”
Johnny nodded, and they agreed to meet up for a bite to eat in about an hour. Gyro tied up Valkyrie outside of the general store and went inside to get some more essentials for the next stretch of camping out: matches, cans of food, coffee grounds, and so on.
He brought his things up to the counter. A few other shoppers stared at him, whispering behind their hands. Some girls giggled, giddy at their minor celebrity sighting, but Gyro ignored them.
Ever since the stupid “body count” conversation with Johnny yesterday, he’d felt… unsettled. More jumpy, for no discernible reason. He’d even skipped his usual coffee this morning to try and eliminate any potential irritants, but it hadn’t helped. Every time Johnny looked in his eyes, Gyro had to look away; whenever he spoke to him, Gyro found himself only able to respond in short, curt phrases.
What are you losing it for? He scolded himself. It’s all just dumb talk… And anyway, one hundred is probably a major overestimation.
He just… He wanted Johnny to take things seriously, that was all. To care about the same things that Gyro cared about. Like the race.
Yeah. The race.
As the cashier rang him up, Gyro’s eyes fell upon a freshly printed newspaper on the counter. The front page was, of course, all about the race: the latest standings were printed prominently, as well as the dramatic photos from their third stage finish. Gyro scowled at his rank—6th place.
One of the columns along the side of the paper caught his eye. The cashier told him his total, and Gyro dropped a few coins on the counter without counting them. He was too busy reading the headline:
Who is Johnny Joestar? It asked. Former star jockey "Joekid" stuns in Steel Ball Run comeback. The rest of the article was on the underside, folded out of sight.
Frowning, Gyro picked up the paper and turned it over. He wasn’t so interested in the story—which he would say he’d already heard, and from a more reliable source—but in the photo that accompanied it.
It was of a younger Johnny, astride a great brown horse draped in a heavy garland of red roses. Gyro could tell it was an older photo, not from the way that Johnny looked—his physique had not visibly changed too drastically—but from the way he held himself. He was looking down at the camera from atop his winning mount, smiling with just one side of his mouth in a display of haughty confidence, as if to say: of course I won; who else would have?
In that way, it was like looking at a different man entirely.
He read the caption. Joestar after placing first in the 1887 running of the Kentucky Derby. At sixteen, he is the youngest jockey to ever win one of the most prestigious horse races in the world.
Ah. Looking at this… It made a pit of cold understanding grow in Gyro’s stomach. One hundred was probably lowballing it.
The cashier raised a brow at him. “You want that, too?”
Gyro put the paper down, concealing the photo again. “No.”
He collected his groceries and change and headed out.
Gyro put his purchases away in Valkyrie’s saddlebags and untied her reins. As they walked back towards the meeting point, he kept thinking about that photo. About Johnny.
What must he have been like back then, when his career, confidence, and spine were still intact? Gyro had a hard time imagining an expression quite so cocky and sanguine on the Johnny he knew. His Johnny was still an equestrian expert, yes, but he was also sensitive, introspective, driven—far wiser, but also far more sad. In the mere three years since that picture was taken, he’d gained lines on his face that even some old men didn’t sport.
What's more, Johnny no longer looked down at others with the patronizing sneer captured in that image. Not even when he outraced Gyro, fair and square. When Gyro pictured Johnny in his mind, rather, he was looking up. Up at him, with that hunger in his eyes.
That was what Gyro liked about Johnny: he may not have known exactly where he was going or how to get there, but he was pushing forward with all of his heart. For someone like Gyro—someone who had a path and a duty, but was at times stymied by doubt—he was the perfect partner.
In a race like this, that was. Racing partner. Yep.
He arrived at their meeting spot: one of the saloons at the center of town where they could get a cheap meal. Slow Dancer was tied up out front, which meant (barring some misadventure) Johnny was already inside.
Gyro tied up Valkyrie next to her friend. “You two stay out of trouble, now.”
The horses regarded him inscrutably. Gyro cleared his throat and went inside.
The little saloon was clearly overwhelmed by the number of patrons trying to get something to eat and drink at an establishment that usually had fifty customers a week at best. Harried servers elbowed through the crowd with pints and plates held over their heads, hollering at folks to order up or move along. A few people, already deep in their cups, had started up an impromptu band session by the bar, making the din even more raucous.
Usually Johnny was pretty easy to spot, but with people standing shoulder to shoulder inside, Gyro found himself swiveling his head around in search of a wheelchair.
“Gyro! Over here.”
He turned towards the voice, which came from the back corner of the room. There, finally, he spotted a flash of blue and white, tucked away in a booth.
Johnny. Instinctively, Gyro unclenched his jaw. Knowing that Johnny was nearby—that he was safe—now gave him a profound sense of relief, similar to when he checked his holsters and found both of his steel balls in their places. All was as all should be.
He shoved a few people out of the way (and the rest moved when they realized a race competitor was coming through). What he saw when he finally got clear of the crowd, however, made him re-grit his teeth.
Johnny was sitting pretty at the back of the booth with two girls, one on either side of him. They were both young, maybe somewhere between the two men’s respective ages, with long, shiny hair (one dark, the other blonde) and sparkling eyes.
In other words: beautiful. Gyro had never been less happy to see a pair of attractive women smiling at him.
“Ah,” he said. “I see you have… company…?”
“C’mon, sit down.” Johnny gestured for Gyro to sit next to the blonde. He told him their names, which Gyro promptly—purposefully—forgot. “We’ve got a round and some food on the way, but it’s taking some time.”
Already buying drinks for them? Gyro’s eye twitched microscopically. To what end?
One of the girls sighed dramatically and threw an over-sympathetic, doe-eyed look at Johnny.
“They should hurry up with your order,” she said. “Don’t they know you’ve been on the trail?”
Yes, they most likely do, Gyro thought. Just like you do. These girls—with their powdered faces, fashionable high necklines, and tight bodices—were clearly not part of this town’s population of working women. They, too, were race-spotters.
He tried to give Johnny a what the hell are you doing kind of look, but Johnny just nodded quickly to him as if to say go with it. Then he turned his attention to some inane thing that the brunette was saying, smiling and nodding. One of those polite, perfunctory smiles, Gyro noted—not the kind of grin he gave Gyro for landing a successful gag.
Meanwhile, the blonde was trying to talk to him. “Has it been difficult, out there on the road?”
In ways you can’t imagine. “Yes.” Gyro kept leaning over, trying to catch Johnny’s eye.
“...ah.” When he didn’t elaborate, she deflated somewhat. She, too, looked over at Johnny, who she probably wished she was talking to instead of his surly companion.
“...the most important thing,” Johnny was saying to the other girl. “You learn that even in short-distance racing. That’s why the dry route was better, even though it was longer.”
Oh, great. Gyro flattened his lips. Not only was Johnny ignoring him for some broad, he was explaining to her exactly why Gyro lost the last stage.
“You’re not here alone, are you?” he interjected, directed at the two girls. “Where are your husbands?”
The girls glanced at each other, perhaps conspiratorially, and tittered. “We’re not married.”
“Good to know,” Johnny quipped, and they all laughed again. Gyro, for his part, scowled. They always say they’re not married…
“We’re from Kansas City,” the brunette explained.
She flounced a finger in Johnny’s direction. If she touched him, Gyro swore, he’d get out his steel balls.
“Kansas City? That’s where we’re heading next,” Johnny said.
“You couldn’t just wait for the race to come through?” Gyro asked.
“Well, the crowds are supposed to be awful,” the blonde said. She seemed like the more reasonable one (though not by much). “Our daddies thought we ought to try and beat them by coming out a little ways.”
A potential escape route? “Ah, so your fathers are probably looking for you.”
“Not likely.” The brunette smiled coyly at him, like she knew what he was trying to do. “They’re probably at the bookie’s placing bets on your next stage. We saw the line out the door, so… reckon it’ll still take a while.”
She reached across Johnny to touch her friend’s shoulder with a significant glance. “But they let us go off, since they knew we’d keep each other from getting into trouble.”
“Well, y’ain’t gotta worry,” Johnny said. If Gyro wasn’t mistaken, he puffed out his chest a little. “Nobody’s gonna bother ya while Gyro’n I are around.”
That drawl! Gyro drew back, taken off guard. Johnny didn’t usually let his accent come through that thick unless he was drunk or sleepy. It was… kind of endearing… in a weird way. It sounded like he was… having fun.
He stood, abruptly. “I’m gonna go check on that order. We don’t have all night to wait. We have to get going early tomorrow if we’re going to stay ahead of the pack.”
“All right,” Johnny said, without looking at him. He was focused on the girl next to him.
Gyro retreated, clenching and unclenching his fists. He made a beeline for the bar, ostensibly to flag someone down. Instead, however, he watched the booth with eagle eyes.
With him gone, both women coalesced around Johnny again, practically boxing him in. He would say something that Gyro couldn’t hear, and they’d laugh, tossing their hair and covering their mouths—as if that made it better, somehow. Johnny was smiling, leaning back into his seat, one arm thrown over the back of the booth like a king on his throne.
In a flash, Gyro saw the resemblance between this Johnny and the boy in the photo. Between his Johnny and some snotty kid he’d never met.
Or at least—between a kid he thought he’d never met… and the man he thought was his.
The bartender finally made his way over. “For you?”
Gyro slapped some money on the counter. “Bourbon, on the rocks. And don’t water it down.” He flashed the man a grin that turned out more like a grimace. “I’ll know.”
He returned to watching Johnny with a roiling gut. He had never felt like this before in his life: a paradoxical mix of stone cold and utterly livid. In that moment, he saw himself equally capable of two options.
He could’ve walked right out of the saloon, got on Valkyrie’s back, and ridden off, never to see Johnny Joestar again except in newspapers and photographs; going all the way back to his original plan, the one that Johnny’s arrival in his life had shattered: win the race, earn the amnesty, go back to Naples—alone.
Or, he could’ve marched over there and tossed those girls out of the booth, telling them and the whole goddamn town in no uncertain terms that none of them had earned the right to even look at Johnny—the world hadn’t earned the right to him and it never would, not after they’d all left him to fucking die in the gutter—
Gyro didn’t move. In either case… he might’ve gotten whatever he was feeling out of his system, but… Johnny would’ve hated him for it.
The bartender slid him his drink. Gyro gulped half of it down in one swig. He barely tasted whether it was watered down or not. He put down another coin.
Eventually, while Gyro nursed his next drink, one of the girls got up. The other went with her (women always seemed to move in packs like that). His veins burning, Gyro made his way back over to the booth where Johnny was alone.
“They leaving?” he asked gruffly.
“Bathroom break.” Johnny arched a brow at him. “Why are you being such a dick?”
“If you think that’s me being a dick, consider yourself lucky.” Gyro slid back into the seat. “They could be Stand users, y’know.”
Johnny snorted. “I seriously doubt it.”
Now that Gyro had made up that excuse, though, it stuck with him. “Neither of them tried to get at your arm, right? You haven’t eaten or drank anything they gave you?”
“Dude, relax. They’re just girls.” Johnny shook his head. “With an attitude like yours, it’s no wonder your body count’s so low.”
Gyro tightened his grip on his drink so hard he thought he might break the glass. He threw the rest of it back, heedless of the consequences, and glared at Johnny.
“So you are thinking about fucking them,” he accused.
“What?” Johnny was looking at him like he was insane. To his credit, Gyro felt a little insane at the moment. He tried to take another drink but realized there was nothing left.
“Just admit it,” he said, his tongue heavy and woolly in his mouth. “You’re chatting up those women, just like you used to.”
He pulled his lips back in a snarl. “Giving ‘em the Joekid treatment, huh?”
“I sure as hell am not! And don’t call me that.” Johnny returned his glower. “They came up to me, Gyro. They’re just a coupla nice girls, that’s all.”
Finally, a server came up to them with a few plates and mugs. “I got two house meads and—”
“Leave it,” Gyro snapped, his attention still fixed on Johnny. “You need to be focusing on what matters. On—on this race.”
“I need to be focusing? Which one of us is leading in the standings right now?”
Johnny pointed to himself with four fingers—rubbing in the fact that he was in fourth while Gyro was at a lousy sixth. Gyro rubbed his temples. He grabbed one of the drinks and took a gulp, as if to calm his nerves.
“I’m doing the best I can,” he said, “but you are not helping.”
Johnny’s gaze turned dark. “Are you saying I’m holding you back?”
“I’m saying they’re holding us back!”
Gyro gestured to the empty seat next to Johnny: the seat occupied by that brunette girl, or the blonde girl, or any other girl. Johnny just stared at him.
“You’re talking crazy right now, Gyro,” he said. “I got no clue what you’re going on about.”
Gyro stood up, a little wobbly. Maybe straight bourbon wasn’t the best idea. “I’m leaving.”
Johnny gave him a deadpan look. “You don’t even know where we’re staying.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
He turned on his heel. Johnny’s eyes felt cold on his back as he walked away. But the feeling he got when he was out of Johnny’s sight was only colder.
The girls—Anna and Rosie were their names—came back after a few more minutes to find Johnny stewing in the aftermath of his argument with Gyro.
“Hey, Johnny,” Anna (the brunette) said. “Where’s your friend gone off to? He’s not at the bar anymore.”
Probably for the best, Johnny thought. He sighed. “I dunno. He’s… tired.”
“Sure seemed like it.” Rosie (the blonde) scooted primly back into the booth. “You both must be exhausted after what you’ve been through.”
I haven’t even told you the half of it. Johnny bowed his head, suddenly feeling disinterested in the food and drink in front of him. Gyro… Why did the other man have to get so antagonistic toward him when they only had each other to rely on in this race?
“Yeah,” he said. “You could say that.”
The girls chatted for a little longer, although Johnny wasn’t as good a conversationalist when half of his brain was with Gyro, wherever he’d gone. They really were nice girls—sheltered, from what he could glean, but that was no crime—and did their best to cheer him up, but…
Did Gyro really get that angry because he thought I might try to sleep with them? Johnny didn’t get it. For one, the girls were the ones who had come up to him. They’d started off pretty shy, just asking for an autograph. When Johnny learned they were alone, however, he told them to stick around until the crowd cleared out a bit—you never knew what could happen to a couple of unaccompanied girls in a rowdy saloon. That was the beginning, middle, and end of it.
Secondly, Gyro was the one with the belt buckle pointing to his dick. He was as big a player as they came—or at least, Johnny had assumed, from his swaggering demeanor. He was the last person that Johnny expected to suddenly turn Puritan on him.
Just because my body count is high? That was the least offensive thing Gyro had learned about him in the time they’d spent together. Plus, he had to know—he should’ve known—that Johnny wasn’t “Joekid” anymore…
Not one of the people who were so charmed by him before had contacted him after he was paralyzed. No woman—or man, for that matter—had ever looked at him the same. He couldn’t go back to his old lifestyle even if he’d wanted to.
Gyro should know that better than anyone, Johnny thought, half-heartedly dragging his fingertip around the rim of his glass. After all, he was the first person in years to treat Johnny like… like he still mattered.
That was the kind of relationship that Johnny had learned he actually valued and enjoyed having: one built on mutual trust and respect. Until he met Gyro, he’d never had that before.
Or so Johnny had thought.
“Hey…” Anna nudged him. “Is everything all right?”
Johnny cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah, it’s just…”
He jerked his thumb towards the exit. “I should probably check on Gyro.”
“You sure?” Anna pouted. “He’s probably just jealous. He’ll get over it.”
“Jealous? Of what?”
Anna blinked. She looked at Rosie, apparently at a loss for words.
Johnny shifted in his seat, quickly becoming restless. Was Gyro just going to wander around until he found the hotel Johnny had booked? With Stand users about, that was dumb… but he clearly wasn’t thinking straight.
“Sorry, ladies, but I really better go,” he said. “D’you mind…?”
Rosie nodded and scooted out of the way. Johnny moved to the end of the booth as quickly as he could, and grabbed his rented wheelchair out from behind the back of the seat where he’d stashed it. The girls watched with mild awe as he quickly unfolded it and transferred over with practiced ease.
“Ya’ll keep the booth,” Johnny said. He tossed a few coins onto the table. “And stay safe, now.”
“You too,” Rosie said, with a little curtsy. Anna just waved.
Jealous? Johnny turned that notion over in his mind as he forced his way through the crowd (never simple in the chair, but slightly easier now that people recognized him from the race coverage). But if Gyro had really been interested in getting with one of the girls—something Johnny would’ve rolled his eyes at—then why did he act so damn hostile?
Why am I even having to think about this?! Weren’t they in the middle of a deadly race? And here Gyro was throwing tantrums like a kid—it pissed Johnny off. He was five years younger; why did he have to be the adult?
“Damn you, Gyro Zeppeli,” he muttered to himself.
When he next saw the guy, he wasn’t going to go easy. If Gyro wanted to be annoying and petulant, Johnny could give him annoying and petulant. Call it the Joekid treatment.
It took a few tries for Gyro to find their lodging. He walked into two separate inns, declared he had a reservation, and was informed of the reality (i.e., that he did not, in fact, have one) before getting lucky with the third.
“Under Johnny Joestar?” the receptionist asked. Gyro braced himself for another rejection until the man nodded. “Right this way. Someone will see to your horses.”
Finally. Gyro slung his bags over his shoulder and followed the receptionist. But when the man opened the door to a single room, rather than the double he was expecting, Gyro frowned.
“This can’t be right,” he said. “There’s only one bed.”
The receptionist shrugged. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s a shortage of space available with the race in town. This is all that’s available at the moment.”
“Seriously?” Gyro squinted at him. “You know we’re competitors, right?”
The man looked him up and down, as if it couldn’t be more obvious. “...Yes, but unfortunately, we’re not one of the establishments associated with the race organizers.”
He coughed. “And we’re not offering refunds at this time.”
Damnit, Johnny… Another thing to be pissed at him for. Gyro was almost glad for it, since he was already pissed for more confusing reasons. “So, there aren’t any discounts?”
“No, sir.”
“Whatever.” Gyro snatched the room key from the man and waved him off. “This is fine. And don’t call me sir!”
He slammed the door behind him, then threw his bags at the foot of the bed. His head was starting to throb, and only partially because of the drinks. First Johnny had to flaunt his popularity with the women, and now Gyro had to share a bed with him?
He felt himself start to blush and smacked his own cheek, as if that would teach the blood in his face to run somewhere else. Relax, Gyro! He’d only been away from Naples for a few months, and already he was giving into the temptations of sentiment. Remember what you’re here for…
Marco. His family duty. Pride and honor. Gyro sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed heavily. Thinking of those things didn’t make him feel better… but at least they sobered him up.
How much time had he been wasting going after the corpse parts with Johnny? If not for their altercation with Diego in Canon City, would Gyro have finished in first place over Hot Pants in the third stage? Why was Gyro even entertaining this corpse hunting business when his goal was the exact opposite…?
He didn’t know why he asked himself. He knew the answer.
It was because of Johnny. Because, damn him, he’d started to feel attached to the guy and his mission, however suicidal it was. It was hard to watch Johnny fight the way he did and not feel compelled to help him.
The way Johnny felt about the corpse… Gyro hadn’t ever felt like that about anything in his life. Not even the amnesty he crossed the ocean for. He’d never wanted anything as badly as Johnny wanted that relic: so badly that he’d fight to the death for it, endure pain and torture for it, push himself beyond his limits for it.
Never—until he met Johnny.
…I need to stop thinking about this.
He lit one of the lamps in the room and hunkered down with the map at the small table in the room to distract himself with some route-planning. Kansas City was still almost a week’s ride away. They had to get there first, if they wanted to remain competitive in the standings.
Gyro wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the door opened. Johnny rolled in in his rented wheelchair, cheeks ruddy from the evening cold. Or from something else—Gyro didn’t know. He didn’t want to know, he told himself.
“Hey,” Johnny said as he closed and locked the door behind him. “You managed to find the place.”
“Yep,” Gyro said gruffly. “Managed to find the single room you booked.”
He gestured to the one bed with an unenthusiastic arm. Johnny rolled his eyes.
“It was the best I could find,” he said. “I went to multiple hotels, and this was the only one with any rooms available on the first floor.”
Gyro frowned. “Why would you limit us to the first floor?”
“Great question, Gyro. Why would a paraplegic guy want to stay somewhere that you don’t need to take stairs to get to? Gee, I wonder.”
Johnny threw one hand up, fed-up. “They say there’s no such thing as a stupid question, but you might’a just invented the first.”
Gyro bristled. On top of everything, now Johnny had to insult his intelligence?
“You’re an asshole,” he said. “It’s a wonder those girls wanted anything to do with you.”
He got up from the table and trudged over to the bed, kicking off his boots haphazardly along the way. Gyro lay down on his side, pointedly facing away from Johnny, and yanked the covers over his shoulder.
“Goodnight,” he said.
They could’ve left it there: a few bitter words exchanged after a long day. But that resolution wasn’t good enough—or bad enough—for Johnny.
Gyro heard him wheel over and move himself onto the edge of the bed.
“I’m an asshole?” he repeated incredulously. “You’re the one who’s been pissy all day.”
Gyro shut his eyes, one more attempt to brush it off. Maybe he had been a little touchy, but—fuck, could you blame him? Here he was, giving all he had to Johnny and his goal, and getting back—what? Shunted aside for some chicks by some version of his best friend that he didn’t recognize?
But… he couldn’t say that to Johnny. So pissy he would remain. “I said goodnight.”
“No—don’t try that shit with me.”
Johnny grabbed his shoulder and forced him to roll over. Gyro tried to resist—but, to his surprise, Johnny was able to move him anyway. Damn, he’s actually kind of strong!
He looked up, indignant. Johnny was glaring down at him, displeasure and disdain plain on his face, distorting his pretty features. His fingers remained dug into Gyro’s shoulder.
“Why the hell do you have your panties in a twist?” he asked. “Is it ‘cause I beat you in the last stage?”
“It's nothing—you’re just sensitive.” Gyro swatted Johnny’s hand away from where it was burning his skin. “Enjoy that win, because it’s not happening again.”
Johnny scoffed. “Keep telling yourself that, Gyro. You’re not going to get the victory you want if you keep acting like this.”
Gyro narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I already told you.” Johnny turned away, settling on the edge of the bed to take off his boots. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
What the hell? Gyro’s blood flared up, hot with alcohol and unspoken things. This fucking nineteen-year-old—where did he get off on speaking to him like that? He sat up, shoulders hunched.
“If you’ve got shit to say, say it to my goddamn face,” Gyro growled. “Or do you think you’re too good for that now that you’ve got girls crawling all over you?”
“God, you keep bringing that up!” Johnny shook his head, still not looking at him. “They were right—you are just jealous.”
The fire in Gyro’s chest and stomach roared as if Johnny had fed it a bundle of kindling. Jealous?! He couldn’t fucking believe it. Those damn girls were calling me jealous? How dare they imply that! How dare they say it to Johnny! How—How did they know—?
All of a sudden, the sight of Johnny's back infuriated him. He grabbed Johnny’s shoulder and yanked it towards him. “Now, you listen here—”
Johnny turned, but at the same time, he grabbed Gyro’s wrist in a hard grip. “Don’t touch me.”
His fingers were tight, powerful. Truly, his upper body was nothing to sneeze at. He had well-crafted muscles above his waist, which Gyro had only occasionally glimpsed under his sleeves and at the rare watering holes where they stripped to bathe. He could never let himself look too long… but he knew Johnny’s core was solid as iron, his shoulders toned, even his forearms sculpted, and it made him feel so—so—
So fucking pissed off. With his other hand Gyro snatched the collar of Johnny’s hoodie and dragged him closer so he could get up in his face. So he could take it out on him, whatever he was feeling—or denying that he felt.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he snarled. “I’ll touch you how I damn well please, you ungrateful little brat.”
He shook Johnny. “Don’t you forget—you wouldn’t be in this fucking race if not for me. I didn’t have to let you tag along with me!”
He thought that might get Johnny as fired up as he was—get him on Gyro’s level, so to speak—but Johnny just laughed in his face.
“If not for me, you’d be back a hundred places or dead,” he said, with bitter humor. “You think you could do this without me? You don’t have what it takes.”
Like a rider with their horse, anger took Gyro by the reins. The next thing he knew, he’d shoved Johnny down and pinned him to the bed by his shoulders.
“You think you’re better than me?” he hissed.
Their noses were mere inches from touching. Gyro could feel Johnny’s quick breathing on his face, the rapid heartbeat in his neck where Gyro’s hands threatened.
Johnny’s eyes flashed: a signal of danger that Gyro recognized too late. He began to brace for a blow—but instead, Johnny grabbed a handful of Gyro’s hair and yanked it, hard.
Gyro spluttered as pain seared his scalp. What the—!? Shit—he shouldn’t have expected Johnny, of all people, to fight fair!
The second that Gyro lurched to the side, unbalanced, Johnny pounced with alarming speed. He threaded his elbow around Gyro’s neck and used it to haul himself up onto Gyro’s back, latching on like a fucking barnacle. Though he couldn’t make use of his legs, it almost didn’t matter: his arms were so goddamn strong that Gyro couldn’t shake him. Those muscles Gyro had so admired were now strangling him.
“Mother—fucker—” Gyro gasped, which just made Johnny hold tighter. “Johnny—”
“Say uncle,” Johnny said, almost nonchalantly. Was this fucking easy for him?
Gyro grunted, trying to pry Johnny’s elbow off but having little success. Colors popped in his vision like his own private fireworks show.
Is he gonna actually choke me out? The longer Johnny held on, the more Gyro feared the answer was yes. Johnny was going to beat him… Humiliate him, again, after ignoring him in front of those girls… After making him think he could’ve cared, could’ve wanted…
No fucking way. If Johnny wanted to play dirty, Gyro could play dirty.
He still had his holster on. Gyro grabbed a steel ball and spun it in his palm. He twisted his elbow behind him to apply it to Johnny’s back.
“A-Ah!” Johnny cried out as his arms unwound from around Gyro’s neck and spiraled up tight behind him. No matter how muscular he was, the Spin made everything equal.
With a gasp, Gyro broke free as Johnny fell down on the bed, immobilized.
“Shit,” Gyro swore, rubbing his neck. “You little bastard…”
He spun around on his knees, locating his target anew. Johnny’s eyes widened as Gyro climbed atop him and grabbed him by the throat.
“How do you like it, huh?” he taunted. “Not so big now, are we?”
“I…” Johnny’s eyes flicked this way and that, erratic. His face was turning red.
Gyro released his grip, mercifully. “Your next words had better be I’m sorry, before I get really angry.”
Johnny’s chest heaved. Though Gyro was no longer choking him, the redness in his face persisted. He fixed Gyro with a glazed stare.
“I…” he whispered, “I knew it.”
Gyro was only half paying attention, his brain partially occupied with the thought of closing his fingers around Johnny’s neck again, making him show more of that desperation… but when Johnny’s words sank in, he paused in confusion. “What?”
“I knew… you were jealous…” Johnny’s eyes dropped again. “You… pervert.”
What?! Gyro followed his gaze, down to where he was straddling Johnny’s hips to restrain him—and realized, with a cold bucket of horror, that somewhere in the struggle he had… well…
“Is it ‘cause I choked you? Or ‘cause I pulled your hair?” Johnny shifted underneath him, his body rolling in something a little less powerful than struggle. “Or are you such a freak that just yelling at you is enough to get you hard?”
What… What the fuck… Gyro was frozen, his face aflame. When did he—how did he—and Johnny—
He gave Johnny a tense stare. All of a sudden, the friend he held so dear looked to him like a frightening stranger: someone with the potential to ruin him.
“I swear to God,” he said, in a voice lowered so that it wouldn’t shake, “if you fuckin’ tell anyone about this…”
Johnny lifted his chin. “You ain’t in a position to be givin’ me orders.”
Aren’t I? Wordlessly, Gyro put his hand on Johnny’s neck again. Johnny might've been strong, but Gyro had a pure size advantage; he could wrap his hand around Johnny's throat and span the distance between the hinges of his jaw with ease.
He didn’t squeeze, but Johnny’s face flooded with blood anyway. Gyro felt his stomach muscles tense beneath him, and the smallest vibration under his fingers.
God fucking damnit, Johnny. Fear and passion coursed through Gyro's veins, battling for control. He closed his grip slightly, just barely pressing his fingers into Johnny's flesh. Johnny’s eyes narrowed; the moan that was building up in his throat broke free; his hips pressed up, against Gyro, almost... almost as if...
At that moment, Gyro couldn’t have torn his gaze from Johnny if he tried. Even if a Stand user had burst in at that very second, gunning for their heads, he wouldn’t have blinked—this was all-encompassing. He’s… he’s acting like…
“Are you… into this?” he asked, disbelieving.
Johnny was the one to blink first: he looked away, his bottom lip jutting out. He didn’t answer.
Slowly, almost more curious than anything, Gyro cupped the bulge in Johnny’s star-patterned pants. Johnny shut his eyes and writhed a little harder under him. Not struggling at all, it turned out.
He is. The alcohol had made its way through Gyro’s system for the most part, but all of a sudden he felt an intoxicating buzz again. He leaned down, as if in a trance, and experimentally pressed his lips to Johnny’s.
“Hah—” Johnny kissed him back with wild energy, unfettered tongue and teeth. Gyro exhaled hard through his nose. He pressed his hips more firmly into Johnny’s as they licked into each other’s mouths, recklessly smearing their lipstick together. Fuck, it was good.
Gyro pulled back, his temper having softened. He let go of Johnny's neck and sought to share a gaze with him—but the younger man averted his eyes once more.
Gyro leaned down again to peck his lips, as if to remind him what they were engaged in. But Johnny turned his head to prevent him from finding his target.
“Don’t,” he grit out. “Don’t go easy on me just ‘cause I’m—”
He stopped, teeth sinking into his lip. Gyro tilted his head. Just because he was—what? Younger? Disabled? Gyro’s friend, whom he cherished…?
Well, Johnny had nothing to worry about. Of everyone in the world, he was the last person Gyro would coddle. He didn’t deserve any less than Gyro’s worst.
“Why would I go easy on someone who’s slept with a hundred people or more?” Gyro squeezed Johnny through his pants, eliciting a sharp inhale. “Calling me a pervert… I bet you did things that’d make a whore blush during your playboy days.”
He petted Johnny’s cock with loose, lazy strokes. Johnny squirmed, but he was still only half-hard. There’s gotta be somewhere else that’ll work…
“Ha!” Johnny barked out a semi-strangled laugh and shook his head. “You—ugh—you wish you could’ve met me then… but I wouldn’t have fucked you.”
“No?”
Gyro had an idea. He shoved Johnny’s shirt up his chest until it bunched under his armpits. Finally, the muscles of his upper body were revealed to Gyro. As he’d suspected, they were quite impressive: he had defined pecs and a taut stomach that heaved with anticipation. His pink nipples were erect.
“You didn’t like to fuck guys with bigger cocks than yours?” Gyro goaded.
“I didn’t like to fuck jealous guys,” Johnny shot back. “Too much headache when they made their insecurities my probl—ah!”
Gyro tweaked one of Johnny’s nipples mid-sentence, forcing him to interrupt himself. He watched Johnny’s blush spread down his chest and felt his dick twitch in response. He gave Johnny a golden grin as he panted.
“You don’t like that I’m jealous, hm?” Gyro began to rub around Johnny’s nipple with one hand while the other continued fondling him through his clothes. Both hands slow, wandering, not enough. “I should probably just go, then, shouldn’t I? Find someone else to spend the night with?”
He pinched Johnny’s nipple again, harder this time, and Johnny groaned aloud.
“Yeah, you fuckin’ should,” he said, though the slur of his words suggested the opposite. “I c-can find someone else, too.”
Gyro pulled back and relished in the way Johnny’s body tried to follow him but couldn’t, not with his arms still under the Spin’s sway. He surveyed Johnny’s breathless, flushed form with his head cocked, like a sculptor looking at his marble.
“What makes you think I’d let you do that?” he asked.
Johnny’s lip curled. God, he was so sexy when he was angry. “What makes you think you could stop me?”
“Why, Johnny, I’ve already stopped you.” Gyro gave him a predatory smile. “I’ve got you with the Spin. There’s no reason I couldn’t just tie you up and let you suffer.”
He ran his hand up Johnny’s body, nearing his sensitive chest but not quite touching it. Johnny’s mouth twitched into various desperate configurations.
“You wouldn’t,” he said.
Gyro sat up straight. He reached over the end of the bed to where he’d left his bags and retrieved the length of rope he kept on him; such things were essential on the road. Seeing it, Johnny’s eyes widened.
“C—Come on, Gyro,” he said, sounding a little less brave than before.
But Gyro had promised: he wouldn’t go easy. “How many times do I have to tell you not to fuck with me, Joestar?”
He grabbed Johnny’s elbows and flipped him over. He finally released the Spin from his flesh, only to immediately grab his wrists and wrap the rope around them.
Johnny grumbled, but didn’t fight him very hard, nor tell him to stop. He was into it—if his growing hardness wasn’t evidence enough.
“There we go,” Gyro said once his knots were nice and tight.
Skin humming with dominant satisfaction, he pushed Johnny down, flat on his stomach against the bed. Johnny pulled on his restraints, only to find them all too real.
“G-Gyro,” he stammered out, in a way that made Gyro's stomach twist pleasantly. “What… What are you gonna do…?”
Gyro licked his lips at the sight of Johnny’s cute, round ass. But he forced himself to step off the bed. “You told me to leave, so I’m going to.”
Johnny twisted his head to look at Gyro, alarmed. “What?”
Gyro took hold of his chin, like one might evaluate a horse.
“I told you that if you didn’t say sorry, you’d regret it,” he said quietly. “Now, I’m gonna give you a second chance.”
Johnny looked down, pursing his lips. Still defiant, it seemed, even to his own detriment. Gyro sneered and released his chin—though, of course, there was nothing he liked or wanted more from Johnny than his bad attitude.
You wouldn’t give this to a girl, he thought giddily. This was all his.
“All right,” he said, adjusting his pants. Of course, he still had a raging hard-on, but that was besides the point. “See you later, then.”
Gyro turned towards the door—but then heard something, soft as a whisper, behind him. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
Johnny had put his face down in the mattress—perhaps in shame, perhaps so as to deprive Gyro of the pleasure of his humiliation. Either way, he’d definitely just spoken.
“What was that?” Gyro asked. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“I’m sorry.” Johnny shifted on the bed; his voice was still a little muffled.
A catlike smile crept onto Gyro's face. He approached the bed once more, hands in his pockets, swaggering in the knowledge that his belt buckle was no mere decoration right now.
“One more time, gattino,” he said, cajoling. “Make me believe it.”
Johnny turned his head. He was biting his lip hard, his eyes watery. He wouldn’t look Gyro in the eyes, but his expression was so delightful that Gyro didn’t even care: wavering between hostile and desperate.
“I’m sorry, Gyro,” he repeated, audibly hating every second of it. There was the hostility. Then came the desperation: “Don’t… Don’t leave me like this…”
“Oh, so now we want to be nice?”
Gyro grabbed Johnny by the wrists and hefted him up. When he sat down on the edge of the bed again, he maneuvered Johnny onto his lap. He made Johnny face him, straddling his thigh like he’d straddle his horse.
“Okay, I like to be nice,” Gyro said in a sickly sweet voice. “But only if you’re prepared to be nice to me. Can you do that for me, Johnny?”
He braced his hands on Johnny’s hips: a jockey’s hips, narrow but powerful, accustomed to controlling a large animal with his movements. But it was Gyro who moved him, now—just enough for his confined cock to rub against Gyro’s thigh. Johnny let out a soft whimper, then glanced at Gyro with a look of frustrated disbelief.
“You’re not gonna…?” he started.
“Don’t you worry about what I’m gonna do.” Gyro swiped his tongue over his lips. “Kiss me.”
Johnny nodded quickly, pitching towards Gyro—but then, he stopped himself. Gyro just raised his brows, waiting.
Johnny took a deep breath. He leaned in again, more cautiously this time, until his lips just barely brushed Gyro’s.
Gyro was satisfied regardless, and hummed into it. He tugged on Johnny’s hips again, and again, moving him as he pleased. Johnny made small sounds into his mouth that spoke of his own pleasure, thwarted though it was.
God, this was heaven. Johnny tasted like cheap beer, but Gyro loved it. He loved making Johnny grind against his leg, like the horny dog he was, and drinking in his pathetic whines and moans as he couldn’t help but enjoy it. He loved kissing Johnny, taming and claiming him with his mouth, knowing that he was the victor.
“Gyro,” Johnny murmured against his lips. He was trying to roll his hips, but with his arms tied he didn’t have much leverage. “You gotta give me m-more.”
“Mm, but do you think you deserve more?” Gyro gripped his ass with both hands. The soft give of it was so satisfying—so much better than he’d imagined while staring at it whenever he let Johnny ride ahead of him. “With the hell you’ve given me today…?”
“I said I was sorry,” Johnny snapped.
Gyro clicked his tongue. Clearly, this bronco wasn’t fully broken in yet. He’d have to teach him to watch his tone.
“Not sorry enough,” he said. “But I have an idea of how you can earn it.”
Holding Johnny steady with one hand, Gyro fumbled with his belt until he was able to undo it. He quickly unzipped his pants and pulled out his aching cock.
Johnny stared at it with a mixture of trepidation and hunger. Gyro laughed at his wide eyes as he gave himself a few strokes, just to show off.
“Well?” he asked. “You want it?”
Johnny nodded, fast and mute. Gyro huffed out a breath. Such enthusiasm… No wonder his “body count” was so high.
“Of course you do,” he taunted. “With your record, I bet you never say no.”
He deposited Johnny on the ground, perhaps a little roughly. Johnny almost fell over, but managed to catch himself with a shoulder against Gyro’s leg. He glared at him as he righted himself.
“I’m sure you didn’t either,” he retorted. “But clearly you had fewer people asking.”
Gyro scowled. He grabbed Johnny’s hat from off his head and tossed it across the room; the horseshoe made a clink somewhere in the corner. That done, he ran his fingers through Johnny’s blonde hair, exacerbating his curls.
“Forgive me if I dedicated my time to more worthy pursuits than whoring around,” he said. “Did you do this a lot? Get on your knees and suck cock?”
The thought only served to reignite his jealousy. It wouldn’t be like that now that Gyro was around. He fisted Johnny’s hair; Johnny just raised a brow at him.
“Don’t act like you haven’t done it yourself,” he said. “I bet the men love you back home.”
“Fucking brat—” Gyro yanked him forward; Johnny had no choice but to follow, hissing at the pull on his scalp. “No, they don’t. Because I’m not a slut like you.”
He took hold of his cock. “Now shut up and open.”
Johnny gave him a scornful look, but obeyed. Gyro guided himself to his mouth, but had to pause just to take in the sight: Johnny’s haughty mouth, wide and waiting for his cock, his freckled cheeks dusted with pink.
Johnny’s eyes flicked up—those pretty blue eyes, so big and full of lust. Full of hunger. Then, he stuck out his tongue.
Goddamn! Gyro usually had good self-control, even sexually, but something about that view just about made him break. He grabbed the back of Johnny's head and thrust into his mouth, harder than he meant to.
Johnny choked, one eye spasming, and Gyro pulled back quick.
“Sorry,” he muttered, forgetting his role for a second.
Johnny shook his head in disapproval. Hoarse, he replied:
“Again.”
Gyro swallowed, hard. What the fuck was he getting himself into?
He entered Johnny’s mouth again, more carefully this time. Johnny gave him a sharp look, as if to scold him for his gentleness, and Gyro grit his teeth. He really was dealing with another league, here… Ostensibly he was the one supposed to be in control—but was that just because Johnny let him…?
“N-Not so talkative now, are we?” He tried to regain his composure, but it was hard when Johnny closed his beautiful lips around his shaft. “Oh... God..."
Gyro's body had been screaming at him since Johnny choked him, and he finally acquiesced to its demands. He began thrusting into Johnny’s warm, wet mouth and throat, holding tight to his hair. The sight was too much: he had to close his eyes—but then that just left him listening to the filthy sounds of Johnny sucking him, and that was no easier to stand.
“F-Fuck, Johnny,” he stuttered, driving his hips harder against Johnny’s lips. “That feels—so good—”
Johnny responded with a guttural groan, as if in agreement. Gyro’s whole body tensed at the sound, the vibration. He started moving Johnny’s head faster, his cock reaching deeper; whenever he faltered, Johnny kept up the pace, just as eager.
“I knew you’d get off on this, you dirty brat,” Gyro rambled. “You like when I use your mouth, huh? Vuoi di più?”
His brain was starting to short-circuit. As if in response, Johnny closed his lips and sucked hard, tonguing the underside of Gyro’s cock with expert precision. Gyro stood no chance—his hips jerked erratically as his thoughts faded into nothing but background noise to the pleasure. He came into Johnny’s waiting mouth with a sigh.
God… Gyro fell back on his elbows, the wind taken out of his sails. That was… insane. Johnny was…
Oh shit—Johnny. He sat up. Johnny was leaning against his leg, panting from the exertion. His hands were still tied.
“You okay there, gattino?” Gyro swiftly picked him up and set him on the bed again. The heat of the moment having cooled, he was a little taken aback at how rough he’d been. And mean. That wasn’t typically his go-to approach, but—Johnny just kept pushing him. “I didn’t go too far, did I…?”
He untied Johnny’s hands and massaged his wrists. Johnny just leaned forward and let him, almost limp, like he was near unconsciousness.
Starting to get a bit worried, Gyro laid him down. Johnny sank against the pillows, a dazed look on his face: lips parted, turned teal from Gyro’s green, and eyes half-lidded with droplets on his lashes. Gyro was about to ask again if he was okay when he extended a slack wrist towards him.
“Gyro,” he slurred. “C’mere…”
Gyro didn’t know what else to do but obey his summons, however inelegant. He crawled atop Johnny, and found himself getting pulled into a soft, sloppy kiss. A sensation of relief and gratitude flooded him.
“Johnny, caro mio,” he murmured.
“Hmm.” Johnny ran his fingers through Gyro’s hair. “Gyro…”
Whereas before he’d been rigid, combative, Johnny now melted under his touch. Gyro was a little hesitant at first, feeling like he’d somehow broken him. But the more fervently Johnny kissed him, the more Gyro realized: this was what he’d been driving towards. Provoking Gyro like he did, talking back, fucking with him… It was because he wanted Gyro to push him to this state.
Gyro settled next to him and ran his hand up and down Johnny’s body as they kissed. He’d been rough enough… surely it was time to reward him? He was still hard, after all…
But when he reached under Johnny’s waistband to finish him off, Johnny groaned. He shook his head.
“No,” he said.
“No?” Gyro's brows furrowed. “You don’t want to come?”
“Not like that.” He opened his eyes, revealing rare blue diamonds. “I wanna come on your cock.”
Gyro nearly choked on his spit. He wasn’t done, after being tied up and edged and throat-fucked like that?!
“You mean—You want me to—” He started and stopped. “H-Have you done it before?”
“Yeah.” Johnny’s head lolled to his other shoulder, like he was starting to get bored with the talking. “Why are you freaking out? You’ve done it too, haven’t you?”
“I mean…” Gyro rubbed the back of his neck. No use denying it, now. “Here and there, I guess.”
Johnny snorted. “How many of your twenty were men, Gyro?”
Gyro couldn’t help but blush. “...Five.”
“A quarter?” Johnny smiled at him—still teasing, but not as malicious. “That’s pretty good. My ratio’s like thirty-seventy, I think, men to women.”
Gyro tried not to think about how that meant, roughly, Johnny had fucked thirty guys. But he thought about it anyway, and tightened his grip on Johnny’s hip.
“I don’t wanna hear any more about it,” he said brusquely. “Besides—we can’t. We don’t have lube or condoms or anything.”
“Speak for yourself.” Johnny jerked his head towards his duffle bag. “Front pocket.”
“Wh—” Gyro stared at him. “You brought that stuff? For the race?!”
“Just because you use leaves for everything doesn’t mean the rest of us do,” Johnny said. He slowly blinked at Gyro. “Anyway, I just got ‘em here in town today…”
Gyro’s jaw clenched. “For those girls?”
“No, idiot.” Johnny rolled his eyes. “For when you finally came around.”
He jerked his head towards his bags while stripping off the rest of his clothes. “Now hurry up, or I’m gonna get soft.”
“O-Okay.”
Gyro hurried to find the supplies, all whilst turning this information over in his head. For when you finally came around? So—Johnny knew—he wanted…?
He looked back at where Johnny lay. He was naked now, nestled into the pillows, his athletic chest rising and falling with each bated breath. When their eyes met, Gyro saw him suck in his lips, as if he could restrain the physical evidence of his desire.
He wanted me, Gyro thought. All this time…
He returned to bed as quickly as he could, kissing Johnny emphatically. In response, Johnny grabbed hungrily at his clothes, yanking hard like Gyro was a present he was desperate to unwrap. Gyro chuckled to himself at the image, and cupped Johnny’s cheek with soft fingertips.
As if he could sense the tenderness in the gesture, Johnny looked up at Gyro chidingly as he struggled to get his pants and underwear off his hips.
“I told you,” he started to say.
“Quiet.” Gyro nipped his bottom lip. “I won the fight. That means I get to fuck you how I want.”
Which, for him, wasn’t brutal and thoughtlessly, like Johnny might’ve hoped—like he might’ve been used to. Quite the opposite.
Johnny pouted as Gyro leaned back to take his jacket and shirt off, but his brattiness had been tempered by their earlier indulgence. His expression said that he was disappointed, but his blushing cheeks and quick heartbeat betrayed him.
“You’re vanilla, I bet,” he said, a half-hearted barb as Gyro scooped petroleum jelly onto his fingers. “Do you only have sex when you’re in love?”
Gyro scoffed. “I’ve never been in love.”
Johnny looked away. “Me neither.”
With the way his shoulders curled in, Johnny seemed to regret having brought that word up at a time like this. But Gyro forgave him, bestowing on him another deep kiss and a hand slipping down between his legs.
He knew Johnny hadn’t yet finished and was waiting on him, so Gyro worked fast, getting up to three fingers in what must’ve been record time. Johnny ran one hand through Gyro’s hair as he fingered him, taking it all quite stoically—until he began to curl his fingers. Then, he started to pant harder—and Gyro started to really enjoy himself.
“Hurry up,” Johnny snapped eventually. “We ain’t got all night.”
He was, outwardly, threatening to get obstinate again… but he was drawling his words. That was how Gyro knew he was enjoying it, too.
“Well, I’m the one with the cock you want so bad,” he said, doing his best to remain cool and composed (even though said cock was rapidly getting hard again). “So if I were you… I’d try again.”
Johnny huffed. He looked for a moment like he might fight back. But Gyro stroked his inner walls just so, which seemed to erase the last of his willpower.
“God—Gyro…” Johnny tipped his head back, shivering. “Please…”
“Mm?” Gyro pretended to not hear, delving even deeper inside, until Johnny’s grip on his shoulder turned to nails in his shoulder. “Please what, caro mio?”
“You know what I—” Johnny stopped, swallowed his pride. Visibly. “P-Please fuck me.”
Gyro beamed. “See? How easy it is, when we’re polite.”
He grabbed the condom he’d gotten from Johnny’s bag. Which, apparently, Johnny had bought for him. The satisfaction that gave his possessive heart was no less than the satisfaction his body had already received.
He rolled the condom onto his dick. Johnny rolled onto his side, biting his lip. Gyro pouted—he had wanted to look Johnny in the eyes while he fucked him—but acquiesced and laid down behind him.
“You could’ve had this all along if you weren’t such a brat,” he said as he lined himself up. “Remember that.”
Johnny gave a little laugh. “Oh, come on. You like it.”
“Never said I didn’t like it.” Gyro began to press his hips forward. “Just that—ah—we can make it easier, next time…”
And the next, and the next, he thought, deliriously, as he entered Johnny for the first time.
“Oh, God—” Johnny hiked his leg up higher as Gyro sank into him, little by little. “Shit, Gyro—”
Gyro couldn’t help but agree. His mouth fell open involuntarily as he pushed in. Jesus Christ—was it the dry spell that had proceeded this, or did Johnny feel fucking amazing?
“R-Relax,” he stammered out when he felt some resistance. “J-Johnny—amore—”
Johnny didn’t—apparently couldn’t—say anything, similarly stunned by the feeling. When Gyro finally bottomed out they were pressed together, back to chest, both gasping at the sheer intensity.
Holy shit, Gyro thought. Of all of his many—or, what he thought was “many”—partners, none had ever made him feel like this. Like it was a privilege to even dream of being this close to Johnny—to say nothing of actually being there. No stage win could possibly compare.
“G-Gyro,” Johnny breathed, as if in awe.
Does he feel it, too? Gyro hooked his arm under Johnny’s lifted knee, taking over holding it up for him. His other arm slithered under Johnny’s body to embrace him, like a snake embracing its prey. Johnny pressed back hard, as if he could fold himself into Gyro’s body.
“Please,” he begged again, in a whisper. What he wanted did not need to be said.
Gyro nodded quickly and flexed his muscles. His thrusts were slow and shallow at first, small forays into this newness between them. But as they both adjusted he sped up, lengthening his strokes until he was moving in fluid circles. Each time he reached the zenith, the point where he was deepest inside, he felt something in him break, more and more; although he had already come once not too long ago, he could tell that he wasn’t going to last long.
“So beautiful, Johnny,” he blurted out as he rutted against Johnny, harder and harder.
Johnny had shut his eyes. His mouth was open but silent, his stiff cock bouncing against his stomach as Gyro fucked into him. He looked to be in utter bliss—but Gyro had to know for sure.
“Does it feel good for you, too?” he asked, half goading and half desperate. “Y-You like it when I fuck you like this, a-amore mio?”
He pressed against Johnny even more zealously, like a worshipper seeking to earn his god’s guidance with a profound offering. Johnny leaned back, throwing an arm over Gyro’s shoulder to cling ever closer to him. He moaned, but didn’t respond.
Gyro felt that earlier fire flaring up again. He needed Johnny to tell him that it was good—that it was the best. Because that was certainly how it felt for him.
He craned his head to lap at Johnny’s exposed nipple. Johnny jerked at the sudden wet, warm sensation, his dick visibly twitching. His eyes flew open.
“Ah!” It was like a spell had been broken. Johnny looked down at himself, at Gyro drilling into him while sucking at his chest, and let out a loud exclamation. “Fuck, Gyro—yes—!"
“Y-Yeah?” The affirmation only made Gyro want to go harder, like an overexcited dog. “That's right—tell me how much you love it.”
“So much,” Johnny replied immediately. “God, your cock feels so fucking good.”
He let his head fall down against the pillow, his slack mouth forming a smile, his breath barely shaping into an ecstatic laugh. “Fits me perfect… Like we were made for each other.”
Gyro growled deeply with the pleasure of those words, which reverberated through his body like the ringing of a bell. He clutched Johnny tighter. He never wanted to let him go.
“Perfect,” he echoed, and his voice was suddenly thick with an emotion that he couldn’t fathom. “Johnny, you—you’re perfect, I—I—"
He gasped, sentiment spilling from his skin, like sweat. "I j-just want you to be mine."
Johnny let out a small, shuddery sound, and twisted his head to capture Gyro’s lips with his own. It was such a passionate kiss, so urgent and ardent, that Gyro stopped thrusting for a second as they tasted each other.
Johnny pulled back to look at him. His blue eyes were wet with tears—but he smiled.
“I’m already yours, Gyro,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”
Gyro couldn’t speak. He just nodded. Johnny relaxed, his hand coming to lace with Gyro’s on his stomach.
“Then fuck me harder, darlin’,” he sighed. “I’m really close…”
Gyro nodded again, and buried his face in Johnny’s shoulder. He pulled Johnny’s leg up higher and used the leverage to start a merciless pace.
I’m yours. Just like that, his worries evaporated. Johnny—that greedy brat, that selfish bastard, that beautiful man who Gyro had fallen for, so hard and fast he didn’t even notice when up became down—was really, truly his.
Johnny gasped, tightening one powerful arm first around Gyro’s shoulder. With all of the movement, however, his bicep slipped up to cradle the back of Gyro’s neck, his forearm pressing against his carotid.
It reminded Gyro of Johnny’s strength, his power—all the things that he willingly surrendered. He kissed Johnny’s wrist, moaning softly at the exquisite privilege.
Johnny glanced at him, expression hazy at first, but slowly solidifying into a smile. He tightened his elbow, his forearm flexing against Gyro’s throat. Then Johnny curled his fingers into Gyro’s mouth, completing the circuit, both of them within each other, tangled together, inseparable.
Like a sprint to the finish, Gyro pounded Johnny as hard as he could, their bodies slapping loudly together with each sharp thrust. Johnny cried out loudly once more, then seemed to fall into a sort of stupor, trembling. Sensing that the wave was crashing, Gyro took hold of his cock and pumped it fast in time with his own manic strokes. He sucked Johnny’s index and middle fingers as if they were his dick.
Johnny’s body spasmed around Gyro’s cock, milking his own orgasm out of him. Gyro’s eyes rolled back, and he came into the condom with an unintelligible shout. Johnny grunted at the last few harsh shocks to his system before finally going limp.
Even though it was almost November, the room felt as hot and muggy as summer. Gyro’s muscles ached, and he was almost completely out of breath. Half next to him, half on top of him, Johnny sweated and shivered with the occasional aftershock.
“God…” Gyro finally pulled out, eliciting a groan from Johnny. “Johnny…”
He rubbed his arm. “Y’okay…?”
“Mm…” Johnny didn’t open his eyes, or his lips. “Mnh.”
So, not dead, but not capable of speech yet. Gyro knew what to do with that mouth instead. He rolled over on top of Johnny and kissed him. Johnny was too spent to do anything but kiss lazily back.
They made out for a while, now fully relaxed and unhurried. Gyro smiled as he felt Johnny lick his teeth, as if he’d always been curious about how the gold tasted.
Eventually, the chill in the air reasserted itself. Gyro managed to extricate himself from Johnny (albeit not without the younger man thwarting and pulling him back in… twice) and grab one of their canteens. He took a swig, then picked up a rag and poured some water onto it.
Gyro returned to Johnny and began to wipe him off. Johnny groaned, either out of irritation or oversensitivity—it was hard to tell.
“Gyro,” he complained.
“You’ll be more angry at me if you wake up sticky tomorrow.”
“Hm…” It was comical, Gyro thought, how quickly Johnny relented. He always had to resist once, just to show he was no pushover, but then gave in to whatever treatment Gyro decided to bestow upon him…
Because he trusts me, Gyro realized. Because he’s mine.
He tossed the rag aside and returned to his spot next to Johnny. Johnny’s eyes were closed, but Gyro could tell from his breathing that he wasn’t asleep.
“Johnny,” he murmured.
Johnny didn’t respond—but Gyro heard his breath hitch.
“Johnny, I know you’re awake.” He began to move closer, then hesitated. Should he push it?
It’s Johnny, he thought. How could he not?
“I wanted to say—” Gyro sighed, rubbing his face. “Listen… the way I’ve been—”
“D’you know what’s funny, Gyro?”
Gyro looked up. Johnny had opened his eyes at last. He was gazing at Gyro once more—no longer with the nerve and arrogance of the young man in that old photo, but with the weary, discerning look of someone who knew what became of that man.
When Gyro met his eyes, Johnny looked away. He trained his gaze on the ceiling. Gyro swallowed.
“...what?” he asked.
"Sex used to be like a game to me, almost." His voice was soft, perhaps a little sheepish. "Looking back... Sometimes I think I didn't even really do it because it felt good. I just... wanted to be wanted."
He shrugged, but the gesture seemed jerky, forced. "I thought that if I was the most desirable, the most successful, the most famous—that that'd make up for the things I'd ruined. That it'd make me... I don't know. Worthy again, I guess."
He blinked fast. Gyro bit his tongue against the temptation to refute that old line of thinking. That boy, looking down from the back of a horse... Gyro never would have imagined that at his core there was a terrible fear.
“After I got shot… I didn’t think anyone would ever want me again.” Johnny gave the roof a small, sad smile. “It never even occurred to me that I could make someone like you jealous.”
He laughed softly and shook his head. “Really… I’m the one who ought to be possessive of you.”
Gyro exhaled. He lay down next to Johnny and put a hand on his chest.
“You're worth more to me than I can say,” he said, with quiet sincerity. "I wouldn't trade you for the world."
Johnny threaded his fingers with Gyro’s.
"Of everyone I’ve been with… Nobody’s made me feel as wanted as you do." His voice got constricted, as though his throat was closing around the words. “Who’d have thought… someone like me…?”
Gyro squeezed his hand. How could I not want you? he thought. There’s no one else like you. How could he not feel the need to guard this special thing, knowing that he’d never find anything like it again?
He rested his chin on Johnny’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around him. Johnny sighed, relaxing into his hold. He was right: they did fit together quite well.
“Don’t be mad anymore, okay, Gyro?” Johnny murmured. “Because however much you want me… I want you a thousand times more.”
“Not possible,” Gyro said, almost automatically. Johnny laughed again.
“All right, all right,” he said. “But y’ain’t gotta worry ‘bout no regular ol’ girls, in any case.”
Gyro shivered a little at his loose, sweet accent. He nuzzled Johnny’s ear with his nose. He smelled like sweat, like sex—a little like horse—like everything Gyro wanted.
“I know you weren’t really trying to get with those girls,” he admitted. “And I’m sorry for how I acted, I just... I couldn’t stand the thought of anything—or anyone—coming in between us.”
Be it an enemy, or a woman, or something yet more dangerous: Gyro couldn’t tolerate losing Johnny to anything. He pulled Johnny closer, as if this once embrace would decide for all eternity where he would stay.
“Gyro…” Johnny stroked his hair. “You think I’d let that happen?”
He turned his head to look Gyro in the eyes. When he did, he had a look on his face that Gyro was coming to know well.
It was intense—yet steady—like a blinding beam of light, almost frightening in its purity. It was the face of a man who had been down so low that only he knew what further depths he could sink to for the things he wanted.
“I told you, Gyro Zeppeli,” Johnny said. “I’m yours—and you’re mine. No matter what.”
For a moment, Gyro had a difficult time finding his breath. However much you want me, I want you a thousand times more. Could that really be true…?
But—of course. Johnny was the one showing him: the one thing that could overcome fate was hunger. If they were going to make it out of this race together, they would have to want it more than anyone had ever wanted anything before.
Gyro nodded, resolute. “All right, Johnny Joestar. You’re mine and I’m yours—end of story.”
The fire in Johnny’s eyes faded into familiar warmth. He looked like he might cry—which wouldn’t have been out of character for him. But Gyro pulled him in before any tears could fall.
You’re mine, he repeated to himself as they shared another kiss. And I’m yours. Nothing else mattered.
The next morning, Johnny watched Gyro mount Valkyrie with that ever-bored expression he tended to sport.
“So,” he said casually, “how’s twenty-one treatin’ you?”
Gyro stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment, then scoffed and pulled down the brim of his hat to hide his blush.
“Not as good as a hundred and one’s probably treatin’ you,” he said.
Johnny laughed. “That was just an estimate. I doubt you’re really number one-oh-one.”
Gyro thought back darkly to that photo of a younger Johnny. “I’m sure I’m far above that…”
He tipped his head back and grinned at Johnny as they started off. “But we both know I’m near number one in your body standings, nyoho!”
“Body standings?” Johnny arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a new, better version of the body count that I just invented,” Gyro declared. “Not based on quantity, but quality.”
“So… a regular ranking, then,” Johnny said.
“No, it’s different,” Gyro insisted. “Because it’s weighted.”
He released Valkyrie’s reins to hold out his hands, like a scale. “See, I’d say that you and I are about equally matched in bed—”
“What,” Johnny said.
“—but you’ve had way more partners than me, so that dilutes it,” Gyro went on. “The fact that I’m so good at sex despite having fewer partners means that my baseline skill must be way higher.”
“Are you serious?” Johnny asked indignantly. “That’s not how that works!”
“Isn’t it?” Gyro leered at him. “I guess we’ll just have to try a few more times to make sure we’re all calibrated, nyohoho.”
He laughed, the sound filling his chest and the air. Johnny rolled his eyes, but grinned.
“In that case,” he said, “I’ll race you to the next town.”
His blue eyes glinted, dangerously. "And the next time we wrestle... I ain't gonna let you win."
“Let me win?!" Gyro narrowed his eyes. This brat! "You’re on, Joestar."
Johnny laughed as he spurred his horse. Gyro followed close, heart lifting with the certainty: No matter who lost, they'd both win.