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“I’ll raise two,” said Johnny. The sweet clinking sound of ivory chips reminded him of old times. He used to celebrate horse race wins by betting big money on Texas Hold’em games. He was good at it too. Good enough to double, maybe triple, his prize earnings. Needless to say, he was totally in his element playing poker against Gyro.
Gyro was terrible. He was no match for a famous ex-jockey star’s seasoned deviance. As his eyes skimmed cards, sweat beaded on his neck. Even the dark cloak of nightfall couldn’t help disguise that pitiful poker face. With a king and queen in hand and a jack in the river, he bet almost everything on a royal flush he didn’t even have yet. That was just like Gyro—to wager hard on something so unlikely.
“Raise two, huh? That’s all?” Gyro asked with the arrogance of a bad liar, “You gotta bet more money than that.”
“All—right.” Johnny said with a shit-eating grin that Gyro loved to hate. A rose-colored wine flush dusted that boy’s neck.
Maybe Johnny swore off the bottle some time ago, but this was different. These boys were celebrating.
This race was dangerous. Between terrorist encounters, stands, corpse parts, and back-stabbing racers—they almost watched each other die every damn day. They always survived by the skin of their teeth. Even on safe nights between races, relatively close to other campers, they clung tight like scared puppy dogs: pissed together, bathed together, brushed their horses together, cooked canned beans together. They were always on edge and there only seemed to be one cure.
Rowdiness with wine and cards was their medicine. Playing hard helped them cope with the violence of the race. When they could really cut loose, they behaved like children.
“You done bullshittin’? Can I flip the river yet?” Johnny asked.
“Yep, keep praying it’s bullshit, fella.” Gyro said. He truly was no good at poker. Wine made it impossible to keep a straight face while fibbing to Johnny.
“All in.” Johnny insisted at once. He, on the other hand, had absolutely no problem lying through his teeth. It was like exercising a muscle he hadn’t used in a while.
Secretly, Gyro was pissed as a hornet. He hadn’t won a single game and wasn’t about to any time soon. Still, if he folded now, he’d be nearly out of chips. So, he impulsively declared, “Easy there. I’m all in too.” What’s a few more?
Foolish. Johnny knew Gyro well enough to know his hand was shit. He also knew Gyro couldn't resist calling a bet. Johnny stifled his devilish smile.
They revealed their hands. Johnny’s winning cards knocked Gyro on his ass. It was a full house: a pair of twos and a triple of tens. Gyro didn’t have so much as a high card. Johnny boy’s lips were finally free to curl into a greedy smirk as he looted the pot. His blue eyes sparkled under the flame light. Nothing could have angered Gyro more than those boastful eyes.
“I’d like to go ‘head and cash out, if you please, Signor Zeppeli.”
“Don’t you tick me off butchering perfectly good Italian like ‘at.” Gyro hissed back like a copperhead, spitefully imitating Johnny’s Southern cadence, “Besides, I’m not out just yet. I still have the clothes on my back, don’t I?”
“Do what?” Johnny asked as he began counting chips to ensure Gyro wasn’t swindling him.
“Oh, spare me. Don’t act like you haven’t played no damn strip poker before.” Gyro shuffled the cards with enough force to rattle the tent overhead.
Strip poker? Johnny’s wine blush crept to his ears. He laughed again, still glowing with gambler’s glory, before asking, “Okay, but…What’s the point? You know, without...”
“Without tits?”
“Gyro!”
“Oh, come on. You’re a damn nymphomaniac, Johnny. Just ‘cause you don’t sleep around anymore doesn’t mean you weren’t running around with floozies back in the day,” Gyro teased back, absolutely compensating for his damaged pride. He was shuffling those cards louder now—almost loud enough to wake the horses. He was awfully mad.
“Says you, you pig! Besides, I was a drunk. Mighty enough to do anything and liquored up enough not to remember it. Not anymore, though, and you know that. So, you’d better talk respectfully about women around me, Gyro, because I don’t do that no more.”
Truthfully, he didn’t give up sleeping around for morality reasons—not like he led on just now. It was because of his accident. Without mobility in his legs, he couldn’t perform anymore, so he couldn’t make love.
Regardless, Johnny took keenly to acting high and mighty.
Gyro was biting back a smile. It was a vengeful treat to get Johnny drunk and riled up enough to sound this Southern. Gyro was too wined out to take any real offense.
In fact, quite the opposite. He could be a real pervert and the wine only exacerbated it. Somehow, the idea of a drunk little Johnny drowning between tits made Gyro want to hump the ground like a hound. He fought himself to keep the image buried, but Johnny’s bashfulness only made it worse.
Still, even drunk, Gyro knew he couldn’t entertain those thoughts. Afterall, they worked together, became best friends, and Gyro chose Johnny as his heir to the Zeppeli spin technique. Queer thoughts about Johnny weren’t just ordinary sins of sentimentality. They jeopardized Gyro’s chances of winning the race. As lonesome and sad as it was, Johnny was his only real source of love, hope, and understanding.
“Alright, whatever you say, Johnny. Just be ready to lose your money this round, playboy.” Gyro said.
Johnny shook his head, sunshine hair bobbing with it. Then he retaliated, “You’d better hope you look good naked.”
Gyro dealt their hands. He studied Johnny’s reaction to his cards before looking down at his own. Johnny was stoic as marble. Gyro, on the other hand, immediately grinned himself stupid over a pair of kings.
Johnny placed a blind chip in between them.
Gyro didn’t have any chips left, so he did something else. He took off one of his socks.
Confused, Johnny watched Gyro slowly drop the thing in the pot like a betting chip.
The little fella quirked a brow.
They flipped a river card. Johnny raised the bet by a chip.
Sure enough, Gyro called the bet by removing his hat and placing it on the table.
They flipped the second river card. Johnny knocked on the earth to signal he wasn’t going to raise. It was a futile attempt to help Gyro keep his clothes on.
“I’ll raise the bet, then,” said Gyro, then lifted his hips up high to undo his fly.
Johnny watched with his mouth hanging open as Gyro hooked his thumbs under the waistband, then began to shimmy his way out of them.
“Gyro!” Johnny hollered.
Gyro froze, trousers halfway down his bright purple underpants.
Johnny couldn’t hold it. Drunken laughter bellowed out of him.
Gyro raised a brow, confused as ever, and demanded, “What? You’ve never seen me in my underwear?”
Johnny’s cutting up evolved from drunk giggling to hollering laughter as he shouted again, “Gyro!”
“What? What’s funny?” Gyro asked as he yanked his drawers back up and zipped them closed.
“Use that brain God gave you between your own two ears, will you? What the Hell is wrong with you? You’re gonna be ass-naked before we even get halfway through the damn game!”
Gyro threw up his arms in a shrug. “How else are you supposed to do it? This is the way I play at home!”
Johnny simmered down and suggested in recovering breaths, “How about you just remove a few clothes after you lose? I’ll even go all in for this round. Ain’t no reason to strip for a game you haven’t lost yet. Lord help you.”
Gyro grinned like a shark and ignored Johnny’s blatant backhandedness. He shouted, “Deal!” Clearly, he thought he had a fighting chance of getting all that money back. He flipped the remaining river card over: two fours and a queen.
Gyro still had his pair of kings, but shit. Now if Johnny had just one four, it’d be a triple and Gyro would be screwed big time.
Johnny pushed all his chips in the pot.
“I bet you’ve got a shit hand, Johnny, you liar…” Gyro bluffed.
“Is that so? You can bet all the clothes off your back, then— since you’re apparently so damn eager to get naked. Awfully clammy out here, though. Might catch a cold.”
Gyro grumbled. No way. How could Johnny possibly be this lucky? Every time he got cocky, he had the winning hand. He must have good cards. No fair.
Spitefully, Gyro flipped his cards facedown on the ground, then crawled his way over to make himself another glass of wine. He always made a point to stick his nose in the cup and sniff before tipping it back. It was to get the “full profile.” Even drinking to drunkness, Gyro had these ways about him. He was nearly as peculiar as he was handsome.
Johnny silently and stealthily admired him in his periphery. Gyro’s blatant stalling wasn’t all that annoying if Johnny could watch him be beautiful and strange.
“You know what!” Gyro demanded suddenly.
“Oh, boy.” Johnny said.
“I don’t even want your money,” That was a lie, but Gyro had a new fixation, “I’m tired of you calling me names all the damn time. I win, you ‘fess up about those dirty escapades of yours. All that celebrity sex you insist on keeping to yourself. We’ll see who’s high and mighty, then.”
Johnny was a little surprised. Did that comment from earlier really bug Gyro that much? He was just horsing around. He laughed, but it was stiff, as he asked, “You’re still caught up on that?”
Gyro nodded solemnly, then sipped more wine.
It was hard to imagine spilling about sex to Gyro, who seemed like an expert, for some reason. Maybe it was because Gyro was such an important person, with mystique and talent, that made him so intimidating to confess sexual sins to. Johnny’s experiences were just hedonistic, nasty, and naive. Surely, a man like Gyro was too romantic not to look down on his hook ups.
“Alright. Have it your way.” Johnny said, “I win, you get ass-naked and give up all your money. You win, you get my money…and I’ll tell you all about my women, I reckon.”
“Deal,” Gyro said.
They didn’t say a word after that, just went down the river of cards between them.
Gyro wanted to win so badly.
Gyro tried his damndest not to think about it, but the very first time Johnny hinted about his sex life, Gyro had a shameful dream about it that very night. He hasn’t been able to fight it out of his head ever since.
It was about a peachy country girl. She was all over him, touching his hair, breathing on his neck, and had her bust all up on him. Arguably, the best part was Johnny. His prideful demeanor easily melted away into weakness and lust. His sea-blue eyes drooped to a plea. His mouth hung agape to taste her slender, polished fingers. He was handsome and lean and wild.
Gyro’s heart throbbed for him like no one else. He knew he was playing with fire but was desperate to taste it anyway. Even if it would scorch him alive. So badly, he wanted to cling on to every detail of Johnny’s sex life, and feed off of it in secret.
“Three, two, one…” said Johnny.
“Two pairs,” said Gyro.
“Four of a kind.” Johnny grinned.
“Damn you to Hell!” Gyro smacked the stack of cards over.
“I want you to do it reaaaaal slow-like. And I’ll sing burlesque music!” Johnny clapped his hands together.
Gyro tipped the last of his drink down in drippy, bloody glugs. He stood on wobbly legs and darted the wine off his lips, smearing his lipstick in the process.
“Badum…Badum-dum—“ Johnny started to sing. It was the worst interpretation of a show tune that Gyro’s ever heard.
That Italian cowboy dipped out of the tent, then. The little ex-jockey almost protested at him. Stripping in front of Johnny was part of the punishment, afterall, and Johnny won fair and square.
Gyro had a different idea.
As Johnny sang his strange interpretation of show music, Gyro swiftly poked his leg into the tent and extended it like a burlesque woman’s. The walls of their shelter veiled the rest of him like a stage curtain. Johnny immediately caught on to Gyro’s antics.
Johnny took the only logical next step. He whistled at him with his fingers like a drunk idiot.
That ridiculous Italian fella began to kick his leg to Johnny’s song like a little line-dancing lady. He reached his hand inside to twirl and shimmy it around the leg, like that would make it any more enticing. Johnny’s singing lost rhythm by virtue of uncontrollable giggling. Gyro grinned at himself behind the curtain. He was a sore loser, but getting Johnny to cut up always made him high.
Johnny sang and sang his piano tune. Gyro switched legs. He pointed his foot and slowly reached inside the curtain to strip the ragged sock off like it was a bedazzled slipper. Johnny clapped his hands as he said, “How much to take you home with me tonight, sweetheart?”
Gyro twirled the stained wool sock before pelting it at Johnny’s head. He missed. As he entered the tent, Johnny drummed his fists on the Earth, “There she is!”
Gyro stumbled. He began to lift his shirt, but soon lost balance and fell his tipsy ass on the ground.
“Da-Da-Da-Ta-Da-Da…” Johnny sang anyway, too lost in his own bullshit to feel anything but glee over his best friend’s humiliation ritual.
Unfortunately for Johnny, Gyro was quick to drop the elegant dancer act after busting his tail on the ground. That didn’t stop Johnny from providing musical accompaniment.
He lifted off the rest of his shirt, then his undershirt, quickly. He raised his hips high enough to strip the trousers. He didn’t let the underpants be a whole ordeal, either, to spare himself the shame. He ripped them off at once and kicked both articles from his ankles. It was all so fast, Johnny nearly missed it.
The little blonde laughed and laughed, “Dum—Ta dum ba da daa.” He mercifully guarded his eyes from the sight of Gyro’s groin and tossed him his big hat.
Gyro sat it over his crotch to stay decent. He was smiling like a fool, unable to keep a straight face when Johnny’s laugh was so contagious.
“Happy, Johnny?”
Johnny nodded and said, “Plum hilarious. Funniest thing I’ve seen you do all week.”
Gyro relaxed his weight back on his elbows and crossed his nude ankles, “You ain’t lying about it being clammy in here. I get sick, I’ll whoop you, you hear me?” He drew a playful fist.
Johnny reclined too, using his arms to pillow his head. “You ain’t getting no fever, Gyro, and I ain’t getting no whooping, neither.”
Gyro laughed. He latticed his fingers into a cradle to support the crown of his head. He stared up at the tent support. The moon bled white light through the linen ceiling. He started thinking of games he might be able to beat Johnny in. If they stopped by town tomorrow, they might be able to find a foldable wooden chess board. That would be perfect.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Johnny interrupted the restful silence, “Have you ever heard of a threesome before?”
Gyro stiffened like someone dumped cold water down his back. “What?” His voice had a frog.
Johnny rolled his drunk body to lie stomach down. He raked his fingers through that small mane of pale yellow hair to tame it. He looked absolutely edible, with curves like a woman and sculpt like a man.
“It’s when you have two women. You know, at the same time…” He said, sweat glistening off his forehead.
Gyro’s heart swelled to his throat. Surely, God was punishing him for being queer. “Right,” he said timidly.
“I don’t know what all you were wanting to hear about my women, but I’ll tell you what. These two girls—they weren’t from Kentucky. French, Italian—your guess is as good as mine, Gyro.”
Gyro stared at the silhouettes of moth shadows along the tent walls. His heart was beating so fast. He felt like he might puke.
“They had a peculiar way of doin’ things. They wanted me to… Well,” Johnny was having a hard time getting his words together.
“I’ll put it this way: I didn’t lay them down. They laid me. You get what I’m saying?” Johnny breathed out a tough sigh, then asked quietly, “You ain’t gonna see me as less of a man, are you?”
Gyro’s mouth slowly dropped wide open and hung there.
“They…They called themselves “dominants,” which really meant they wanted to rough me up. They smacked me around, choked me out.” Johnny took a ragged breath and admitted, “Put things, like, inside…This probably wasn’t the kind of stuff you were hoping to hear, but it’s the truth. I’m sorry if it leaves a nasty taste in your mouth.”
Then, Johnny slid up to a seat. His hair cascaded wildly around his head, some strands stuck in his lipstick. “Anyway, point being, even if you won that poker game, you wouldn’t be missing out on anything you’d like. Just dirt.”
Gyro finally turned to face him. His eyes followed him carefully.
“What?” Johnny asked.
Gyro swallowed.
“I knew it. I should’ve taken that to my grave.” Johnny was red as a beet. “You tell a soul, you’re dead. You hear?”
Gyro was so erect. He felt Johnny’s defensive eyes study his face, then down at the issue between Gyro’s thighs. His confused expression melted into a sober look of realization. He sat there, blinking at him, making Gyro feel an eternity’s worth of shame. The hat did a piss poor job of keeping it discreet.
There was nothing but the sound of bugs for a minute straight. It took Johnny that long to figure out what to say next. He could just laugh it off or tease Gyro over it. It was somehow too serious for that. Gyro looked so ashamed.
It was like Gyro was trying desperately to will his embarrassment and erection away. Johnny felt horrible for him.
“Listen, I’ll just blow out the lights before bed. That way you don’t have to step out in the cold to get relief.” Johnny finally offered.
Bug sounds again.
“Gyro?” Johnny whispered, face hotter than the pits of Hell.
“You do this to me on purpose, no?” Gyro asked, voice hushed and pained.
Those pale blue eyes of Johnny’s went glossy, “What? I-I don’t really know what you’re insinuatin’.”
Gyro looked like he was going to roll over and die. “Don’t you give me that bullshit.”
He finally caught Johnny in a lie. With a heavy sigh, the little man folded, “Yeah.”
It was awkward as Hell.
“Well, you caught me. I don’t really know what else to say.” Gyro said and got up with his hat.
“Where are you going?” Johnny’s question sounded more like a plea.
“It’s killin’ me. I gotta step out,” Gyro whispered back.
“I told you, I’ll blow out the lantern.”
“I’d sooner die than get off while you pretend not to hear it. Especially when I’m lying there thinking about you.”
“Then— let me take care of it.” Johnny said quickly.
Gyro’s breath went still. His sweat turned cold.
Johnny huffed and whispered, “C’mon. It’s just us. Nobody’s gon’ know.”
Gyro’s heart bled.
Slowly, he sank to his knees.
They stared at each other until, finally, Johnny made his way to Gyro, who was just trying to steady his breathing.
Johnny gave him this disarming look. Gyro stayed still as the little blonde slowly crawled himself overtop of him. He sat down on Gyro’s hat, the only thing shielding Gyro’s naked cock.
Gyro’s heart pounded almost loud enough to hear. His throat tightened.
Johnny cupped his cheek. He felt the roughness of his rugged straps of facial hair and brushed it with his thumb. He drank in the delicious bewildered expression on Gyro’s face.
“Why do this for me?” Gyro asked hushedly.
“You don’t know how lonesome it gets,” Johnny said.
Gyro smiled and sighed out softly. His shoulders relaxed. The tenderness of Johnny was comforting, even if the threat of a kiss was spiking his heart. “Don’t I,” He finally said.
Johnny matched his smile, “Reckon you do.”
They kissed. Gyro melted to a puddle. Johnny’s lips were sweet as golden honey. He was a soft, rhythmic kisser. Gyro followed his lead. Electric currents shocked up and down his nervous system like lightning.
Johnny pulled back. Gyro’s heart ached for more.
“You wanna try something I learned from girls?”
Gyro felt the pressure of Johnny sitting his weight back on his cock. It was torture. Still, he nodded.
Johnny leaned sideways to grab the bottle of wine. Slowly, he emptied it down his throat. Gyro touched the little jockey’s abdominals as he stretched himself high to drink.
Then, Gyro was on the receiving end of a bitter red kiss. Warm wine drained from Johnny’s mouth into Gyro’s. Gyro gasped through his nostrils. Wine spilled down his cheeks and into his hair. His cock throbbed against Johnny, who was slowly rocking himself on it. Gyro’s poor hat was getting crushed to death.
Gyro swallowed the wine fed to him like a vampire. Johnny pulled off, giggling drunkly. Gyro’s head swam with alcohol and pleasure.
“You’re wild, Johnny,” Gyro finally said.
Johnny shook his head, “All my wildness came from girls.”
“Show me more, then. Like, how those European girls had you. Rough and all,” Gyro whispered, “Please, Johnny. I want more of you.”
He tucked a loose strand behind Johnny’s ear.
“Alright,” Johnny said, “but just know, I’ve never had a man before.”
Gyro hummed drunkly and teased, “Don’t worry, Johnny, I’ve never had an American slut before.”
That was a mistake.
Johnny slapped him across the cheek, then.
Gyro grunted and cussed. He lightly touched the sting with his fingertips. His cheek kept flooding with heat and pain.
Johnny gave him a half-sympathetic look as he grabbed Gyro’s hair at the scalp. He tugged lightly. Gyro yelped like a kitten dragged by the scruff.
“What did you call me?” Johnny asked.
“An…American slut?” Gyro sounded sorry and his accent was rich.
“You regret it?” Johnny asked. His voice sounded deceptively sweet.
Gyro slightly kicked his feet the way a pinned rabbit might. “Sì. I’m sorry, Johnny. Forgive me.” He easily begged, readily indulging the fantasy.
“Why should I?” Johnny tugged at his root.
Gyro whimpered and said, “Because I’m a good fuck and I’ll do anything, Johnny. Anything you want me to.”
“Yeah?”
“Sì.”
“Funny,” said Johnny, “Now who sounds like a slut? Huh?” Johnny asked, voice husky. He felt like being cruel, so he spat wine-pink saliva in Gyro’s face.
“Johnny, please…” The disrespect of spit on his slapped face made him rabid. He thrust his hips hard like he was trying to buck Johnny off. Johnny stayed steady and just smeared the saliva around on his face with his palm.
“Please what?”
“Fuck—toccami! Touch me, Johnny, please.”
Johnny looked pleased with himself.
Then, something in his eyes changed and Johnny said, “They were really rough. Kind of like that. Those girls, I mean.”
Gyro whined, still in his stupor. He was so riled up, he nearly forgot Johnny was showing him how those European women had bossed him around. His spit wet face was hotter than Hell. He didn’t want it to be over.
Johnny laughed then whispered, “Sorry for hittin’ you.”
“I liked it,” Gyro admitted quickly, also in a whisper, still not fully removed from the fantasy. He squeezed his naked thighs together.
“Yeah? Well, I gotta admit. It made me crazy when they did it to me too,” Johnny agreed.
Gyro couldn’t help but kiss him again. “I want to make you crazier,” He whispered as Johnny pulled back with sultry.
Johnny smiled at him, bedroom eyes and all. Gyro leaned up to kiss him, but Johnny swayed back to deny him. Gyro looked starved and pitiful. It was a very good look on him, Johnny thought.
“Knock yourself out, ” Johnny teased.
Gyro’s brows furrowed.
“What? You don’t believe me, Johnny?” Gyro said, suddenly sounding awake from his stupor.
“Believe it when I see it.” Johnny mocked, voice slick as silk.
Gyro knocked Johnny over, then.
Johnny put up one Hell of a fight. They clashed arms and grabbed and pulled and elbowed and swatted and kicked. Johnny hit Gyro square in the gut. Gyro cussed him in Italian and grabbed Johnny at the throat. Johnny shoved away at his wrists. He nearly succeeded, but Gyro played dirty. He locked legs with Johnny’s, then rolled him on his back.
He kept his hand pinned around his neck as he kissed him. They kissed and kissed until they ate each other’s lipstick off.
Johnny gazed up at him with glassy eyes, chest lightly heaving with arousal. Gyro observed his condition, down to Johnny’s erection beneath his clothes. Gyro kissed his neck slowly. It was soft and wet. Johnny not only bent his head back for it, but arched his spine too. He shook from his own silent whimpers. Gyro’s touch was electric.
He started to strip him. He kissed his neck, then slid his shirt up and off to kiss across his chest. Gyro lapped his tongue over his perky nipples. Johnny shot up to a seat, but Gyro pushed him right back down again.
“Sensitive?” Gyro asked.
Johnny said nothing, just grabbed Gyro by the back of the head and heaved hot breaths. Gyro sucked the pretty pink flesh. Johnny muffled moans against his own stifling fingers.
Gyro left an ugly trail of purple bruises as he kissed down his abdomen. He bit where the muscle protruded and looked most delicious. Johnny moaned out loud. Gyro lost his mind. He yanked the pants off him, then, not sparing the underwear either.
Johnny’s pretty pink cock was erect as could be. It slapped back against his naked hip.
“You lie,” Gyro whispered against his flesh.
“Huh?” Johnny asked with a quiet whine.
“Believe it when I see it. You think you can play me, Johnny?”
Johnny took a shaken breath. He was stupid with lust. Regardless, he baited Gyro’s delicious anger, “You’re just easy to play.”
Gyro leaned forward to tug his hair hard enough to tilt back his head, “Troia—I ain't messing around no more, you fuckin’ tease. You give me one good reason not to split you open right now, Johnny.” He barked.
Johnny wasn't kidding about going crazy for this masochistic shit. He moaned louder than ever. The threat, among the hair pulling, made his breath shallow. He smiled with ecstasy and said, “You can, but it ain’t in your own self interest. You won’t be able to bend me over for quick fucks on the road if you break me.”
Gyro collapsed his forehead to the crook of Johnny’s neck and bucked his hips into Johnny’s open legs. “Fuck!” He whispered. The image was vivid and hot in his mind. Johnny knew how to drive him wild.
Gyro dry humped him hard like an animal. Johnny’s shallow breaths were so whiny and girlish. Gyro’s were just as bad.
Johnny boy wet his palm so he could grab and stroke himself off. Gyro watched. His own cock began to leak.
“I’m assuming—Hah, merda— you can still feel there, no?” Gyro asked.
“Nn…A little. Not like I used to.” Johnny choked out.
“Inside?” Gyro asked.
Johnny flushed, “Yes. That’s…um, the only way I can manage to get off now.” That was information Johnny was planning on taking to his grave.
Gyro, on the other hand, was depravely whispering about how horny that made him. Johnny bit his lip at him, loving his worshipping eyes and drinking in the weakness Gyro had for Johnny.
Gyro licked his fingers. Johnny huffed as he watched his hand snake down low, past where Johnny could see.
“Listen to me,” He whispered, “You’re going to have to beg.”
Johnny clenched his eyes shut tight and shook his head, “Ain’t happening.”
Gyro spat on his fingers, then slowly pressed in the tip of one.
Johnny’s posture stiffened and his breath went still.
Gyro slowly eased in, just to the first knuckle.
“Oh…fuck,” Johnny whispered.
“You deaf or what, boy? I said beg.”
Johnny heaved out a string of pitiful moans. “Make me, you fuckin’ queer.”
Gyro slapped Johnny across the face, then. He didn’t let him process the sting, just gripped his face in his left hand.
Johnny bucked his hips against nothing. Gyro began removing his fingers.
He grabbed Gyro's wrist to make him stay, “Please… Please, Gyro?”
Gyro smiled.
“C’mon. I—fuck this’s so embarrassin’, Gyro…”
Gyro kissed his cheek where it stung.
“I can’t stand it. Come on, break me in. I’ll take it. Please.”
“You still sound like you’re demanding, not asking.” Gyro said against his skin.
“You’re killin’ me! Gyro, please fuck me! I’ll be a good boy, okay?” Johnny said with a biteless voice, “I need it, Gyro. I need you.”
Gyro slowly sank to the last knuckle, then began to push and pull, in and out, over and over. It was the angle that made it so damn good. Johnny had no choice. Between the wine and getting touched for the first time in three years, he was hollering.
“Ahh, fuck! Aah…Hah…Mmnn…Gy—ro…” Johnny surrendered control as he moaned rhythmically to Gyro’s fingering, “Hnnmmn—Ah fu—Fuck! Ah! Ah! Hah! Hahh! Gy—ro!”
Johnny covered his face and muffled his moans into the cupped palms.
“Flip over.” Gyro said, “I want to see you.”
Johnny complied and Gyro lifted him high by the hips. He squeezed his ass hard, then smacked it rough. Johnny muffled himself into his folded arms. Gyro didn’t stop. He couldn’t help himself. He groped and smacked the flesh with two hands. He shoved his face in and squeezed the skin to engulf him.
Johnny laughed lightly at him and shook his head, “You can’t be fucking serious.”
Gyro sounded drunker than ever when he confessed, “You know you got the nicest ass on this side of the Mississippi?”
Johnny, as humiliating as this was for him, was still unsuppressably horny. “Hah…For fuck’s sakes, Gyro. Cut that out. Just stick it in.”
It was swift. Gyro soaked the cockhead in more spit, then pressed it into Johnny. He just couldn’t deny himself another second, not with Johnny demanding while spread apart. The tightness made Gyro nearly fall over. Johnny whined like a bitch in heat. Gyro was holding his breath.
“Fuck it…Fuckitfeelssogood…” Johnny wheezed.
Gyro lost control. He slouched over Johnny, hair curtaining his head like a weeping willow, as he cried quietly, “Sei fantastico—Johnny.”
Johnny got up on his arms and pushed himself backwards into the fuck, forcing Gyro all the way in.
“Wait—Johnny,” Gyro said, trying to sound sober despite it, “Careful. Don’t press back. You have to be able to race. It ain’t worth hindering your performance.”
Johnny laughed, “I’m fine. How about yourself? Can your joints handle a fuck on the ground, old man?”
“I’m serious.” Gyro said.
Johnny shook his head, “I can take bigger than you and still get back up on that horse. Ain’t a thing.”
Gyro clenched his jaw.
He grabbed Johnny by the shoulder, then pushed him down into the earth, “You sure know how to piss me off. How about you learn to shut the fuck up, huh, Johnny? Eat the fuckin’ dirt.”
He fucked him harder. Johnny had Gyro like a trained dog. The more disrespectful Johnny got, the sweeter the fuck. His cheek pressed into the rough ground, roots and grass and all, and he didn’t care.
Johnny wailed his name over and over. “Gyro! Gy—ro! Gy—ro, aw fuck, Gyro—Can’t—!”
Gyro hissed through his teeth. He piped him with all his might. Johnny’s wailing shook the tent. There was something sickeningly sweet about hearing Johnny’s voice break up to the rhythm of his fuck.
“So good—Johnny—fuck…So tight. So fuckin’ tight—,” Gyro whispered, “Hah, fu—Fantastico, Johnny. I make you feel good? You like me?”
Johnny decided to throw the dog a bone and yelped for him, “Yes, Gyro! My—My favorite. Ain’t—no-body fuck-me like—you-do.”
“Nngh! You —Hah ahh…You mean it?”
Johnny’s heart melted into the grass beneath him, “Yes! Fuck, yes!”
Gyro used all his remaining adrenaline. Johnny couldn’t get out a sentence anymore, just a mess of broken words, “Gon’ come…Keep fuckin’ like’at…I’m’a come—“
“Johnny—Aspetta, Johnny—What do I do?”
Johnny whined, “Just don’t stop!”
“Okay,” Gyro said.
He fucked him through the orgasm. Johnny came down his thigh and in the dirt beneath him. He forgot how to use words as he screamed his head off. It was so good that tears swelled in his eyes.
Gyro wet his hand. He stroked himself off. It didn’t take but a second or two until he messed across Johnny’s ass. Once he watched the first ribbon, he heaved over and whimpered as he painted white. When it was over, he was shaking. He collapsed his weight on Johnny, who was already deadweight on the ground.
They breathed. The tent smelled of sweat and sex. Their skin was drenched. When they got enough oxygen back to laugh, Gyro lifted himself up and off to grab a rag from his supply bag. He dampened the thing with water from a canister, then drank some, before offering Johnny the rest.
He wiped Johnny’s sweat-stricken face first, then his neck, and under his arms. He wiped the mess from sex off after, soiling the rag, and tossed it on the ground. Johnny finished off the canister with a refreshed sigh.
They squeezed each other in their arms until their bodies ached from lying on the raw ground. When they had enough of the discomfort, they squeezed lazily into the same sleeping sack. Gyro kissed Johnny’s forehead like a maiden. Johnny kissed Gyro’s cheek like his wife.
“Johnny?” Gyro asked.
“What?” Johnny said.
“We find these corpse parts and win this race. Then what?” Gyro said.
Johnny breathed out his nose, “I go back to jockeyin’.”
“Yeah.”
“And you go back to Italy, I reckon.” Johnny said.
“About that—“ Gyro whispered, “I was thinking. You and me? A ranch.”
Johnny’s heart stilled. He smiled and said, “Now you just sayin’ sweet nothings. You’re drunk.”
He laid his tired head down and closed his eyes, talking softly between consciousness and sleep.
“I’m not kidding.” Gyro said, eyes open and looking at the moon.
“Your father would sooner have your head on a spike, boy.” Johnny said.
“So what?” Gyro asked.
Johnny laughed and mumbled, “You’ll already have forgotten this in the morning. You got a whole bloodline to keep.”
Crickets and grasshoppers and frogs made a big symphony. They listened to it for a moment.
“A ranch with horses.” Gyro said, “And sheep.”
“Cows? Always wanted dairy cows.” Johnny said.
“Sure, Johnny. And cows.”
Johnny smiled. Gyro squeezed him. They slept like babes.