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Tension is running at an all time high for the cowboys as they stop for the night to set up an impromptu camp. At first the pair were going to travel a couple more kilometers before stopping, but the humidity of the air is making it hard to think about anything at all. Gyro was sort of shit at reading the map he had gotten from the previous town and it felt like he was about to lead them through the middle of the fucking desert. It’s hot; all the movement is starting to make beads of sweat drip down Johnny’s brow, and they’re gonna have to haul ass to find a water hole tomorrow so them and the horses don’t get totally dehydrated. As the degrees raise, so does Joestar’s temper.
Something else has been on Johnny’s mind lately besides the uncomfortable (but then again, when has it ever been comfortable) conditions.
Gyro hasn’t been acting the same after a recent attack from an opposing stand user, he’s noticed. One moment when he idly talks to the younger, his smile lingers for a little too long on his face and once his hand leaves its resting place on Joestar’s leg Johnny still feels the phantom touch of his palm there, like a spectre haunting him. But when the next day comes, Zeppeli acts indifferent towards him, barely saying any words at all besides where they’re going and what they’re gonna do. Even with a gruffer tone in some instances. It pissed Johnny off to a degree, because Gyro was acting like that was normal.
There was no word in the dictionary that could describe their relationship with one hundred percent accuracy, but, Joestar was under the impression that they had blossomed into something more. Something deeper than mere friendship perhaps. Could you really be "only" friends with someone you’ve stood in the face of death with?
It hurts a little more especially since Zeppeli is the person who striked this match of curiosity inside Johnny, making him feel something he hasn’t in years, and is quite literally the entire reason he was here in the race to begin with. But maybe perhaps Gyro didn’t see it the same way he did.
Joestar lays on his front, stomach pressed up against the dirt floor of the forest beside the freshly lit campfire. He whittles away at a twig leftover from the pile of wood Gyro scavenged for, chipping at it with his hunting knife. It’s warm and humid, reminiscent of the nightly southern heats he dealt with back at home. Desperate for some sort of cooling relief from it, Johnny’s already cut the sleeves off from his already short t-shirt. He’s been fixated with that hunting knife of his to ease his nerves, toying with it even though it was a weapon.
There’s a spit set up over the roaring flames, but the rod is still bare.
"It’s your turn to catch us some dinner."
Gyro breaks Johnny’s focused silence and when he looks up at him he’s grinning as usual like everything’s fine. It must have been one of his nice days, then come tomorrow it’ll be right back to business and he’ll speak when he needs to with none of this friendly small talk. Just the thought alone of how Zeppeli’s been acting lately annoys the shit out of Joestar, but he pushes it down so his inner thoughts don’t show on his face.
But, still, seeing Gyro’s cheery smile ignites a weird feeling inside of his chest. One that’s occurred so often he’s started to become familiar with it when the feeling washes over him, but he can’t put a name to it yet. "Yeah yeah, don’t you think I know that already? Let me rest for a lil bit, damn.."
Exhaustion drips from Johnny’s tone, and he can’t help but let his mood affect his voice. "We’re gonna eat eventually."
As he drags himself across the ground to leave, Joestar can hear Gyro click his tongue in response. Unfortunately Johnny cannot see what his expression looked like currently being this low to the earth.
"Hey, don’t start all that moody stuff with me. I got the firewood this time, so you get the protein."
"Quit your bitchin’ and let me hunt, will ya?" The blond retorts and he blurts it out of his mouth too quick to take back.
Johnny can’t help but feel some type of way afterward when the air falls silent and the only thing he can hear is the fabric of his shirt getting dirtier as he hauls himself into the darkening forest. Gyro doing something he (rather rudely) asked him to and doing it without so much as a smart remark was surprising.
It wasn’t like he actually wanted him to shut up, his temper was just being pushed to its limits. Being hot, sweaty, and famished’ll do that to you after all.
A couple yards out from the campsite Joestar finds a small clearing in the forest. He hides himself behind a bush and lays his chest down against the dirt… waiting for something. A squirrel, a rabbit, or hell, even a snake would be good right about now. Anything to keep his mind off of whatever lover’s spat he had going on with Gyro right now. He groans, pushing his bangs out of his face and messing his star studded beanie up.
No matter how hard Johnny tries he just can’t focus.
The blonde spaces out, deep inside of his own head, as the rest of his body operates on autopilot to find something to shoot. Johnny positions his finger so that he’d be ready to take the shot when something ran in front of his line of sight.
He needed an answer from Gyro right there and then. The back and forth between acting like kindred spirits and associates was jarring. Johnny knew that he couldn’t take it any longer, there was no way he could just get back on the road again without addressing the elephant in the room. If they were gonna cross that finish line in New York together, this needed to end tonight.
It takes Joestar a pretty minute to finish his hunting. Three hares and a thick snake which may or not may be venomous, whatever, he’d just give it to Gyro to see what he’d do with it. The quickest part was shooting his nail bullet and hitting the target first try. ... the harder, more tedious part was going to pick up the kill himself because Gyro usually did that for him.
The extra time was just enough for the American to think of a plan.
Zeppeli was never one to talk about how he feels up front, he would speak his mind but he wouldn’t verbalize his internalized emotions much. He never did unless it was him complaining about a sore muscle he pulled the day before or something. So.. maybe Johnny would have to coerce it out of him instead.
When he crawls back to the campsite the fire is dim, glowing flames sparkling weakly, Slow Dancer and Valkyrie are sitting on their legs idly resting close to the tent and looking around with their beady little eyes, and of course the man of the hour is there.
Even though they’ve been traveling together for a while now, Johnny feels a little pleasantly surprised each time he returns and Gyro is still there. There’s always a borderline irrational thought lurking in the back of Johnny’s head that one day, eventually, Gyro’s going to up and leave when he least expects it. Every once in a while that anxiety shows itself front and center and the only way he can qualm the internal struggle is being in Zeppeli’s company.
The Italian was seemingly resting his eyes, back pressed against the thick trunk of an oak tree. The humidity had gotten too much for him, apparently, as his shirt was tucked away underneath his thigh (his pants were still on, though..) It’s the only thing Johnny seems to notice, a distracting array of bare skin presented before him.
He hesitates to give Gyro the little burlap sack of fresh game he just shot because he’s too busy staring.
The fire gives the other’s bronzed skin a beautiful golden glow, trailing from his face, down to his chest, then abdomen. There’s a wiry spread of hair on Gyro’s pecs, his stomach, and his toned arms; the hair darker than the honey-ginger blond ringlets framing his face. His arms are crossed, eyes shut with his bottom lip stuck out a tad in a pout - his resting face, Johnny’s noticed - but he acknowledges him with a soft hum, brow raising in curiosity as Johnny comes near.
The younger sandy blond is a little startled from such an intimate viewing of Gyro’s body, and he has to tear his gaze away when eyelids flutter open to reveal the bright emerald green color of Zeppeli’s pupils.
"……. There.." Johnny tosses the sack towards the older man and it slumps once it lands on his lap.
He doesn’t really appreciate the sensations he gets when he looks at Gyro. His head feels funny, maybe a symptom of some sort of fever? A quick rush of heat already went to his face and it felt embarrassing to wear his emotions plainly on his sleeve. Johnny only gets like this when he was around Zeppeli, blushing like a girl whenever he thought about him for too long. He hated it.
At least for once he could blame it on the heat instead of himself.
"Done with your tantrum, I’m assuming.. nyo~ho.." The Italian inquisitively handles the burlap, peeking inside to view what Johnny brought for their dinner tonight.
"Is that a damn snake?" He says with a little chuckle.
Johnny replies defensively, ".. All you said was catch some dinner. If ya can’t eat it, use it for sumn else Dr. Zeppeli." The sandy blond affects his tone at the end, mocking the elder as he rolls his eyes.
Gyro’s soft laughter fills the air as he closes the bag, the burlap crumpling between his fingers as he looks at his partner with teasing eyes. If Johnny ever regained feeling in his lower half the sound probably would’ve made him weak in the knees. He’s not used to someone having such a remarkable ability to tamper with his feelings like this. It feels like a curse.. a curse that makes Johnny anxious, and happy, and brings a smile to his face even though he doesn’t want it to.
No.. no, he can’t get distracted now. He can’t let some of Zeppeli’s stupid, attractive little features get to him so easily. God, did the Italian even know the effect he had on him? The paler blond shakes his head to brush the offending thoughts about his race partner away, before he drags his body over to the tent.
Their bags were pushed all the way in the corner, and Johnny pulls his pack into his lap to search for something that would aid him in his quest for answers.
A small yawn leaves Gyro’s mouth.
The sack is resting against his thigh, left untouched for now while he brainstorms what to cook tonight. There were still a can of beans or two shoved in his pack for an emergency.. maybe he could throw something good together with the rattlesnake meat and whatever else was left at the bottom of the barrel. That would take the least amount of time to do, field dressing all the hares would probably take too long and it’s already getting late, they’re both getting hungrier, and Gyro’s mouth is starting to get drier.
While he was borderline staring holes into the burlap sack, brainstorming about dinner, the Italian notices his riding partner crawling back toward him.
"Why’re you still sittin’ on yer ass?" Johnny says once he sits down on the warm earth below them both. His upper lip twitches in annoyance, like a snarling puppy that wants to bite you cause you didn’t pet it enough.
The sight was rather cute to Gyro, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the younger man as he rests his hands on his broad thighs.
"Johnny, you just gave me the stuff like a minute ago, are you that hungry?" He grins that stupid golden grin and Johnny’s fist clenches in annoyance. "I’m gonna prep in a little bit, what’s got you so worked up tonight?"
"Nothing.. I’m just tired as hell and I am hungry." The man was close to rolling his eyes again but he decides to squint down at the ground instead. Johnny sighs, resting his hand on his shin with a frown.
Now that they had some down time and neither of them were riding their horses, Gyro could finally get another good look at Johnny. What seemed the most different were his eyes. The little patches of skin underneath them are puffier than the rest of his light olive skin from either constant insomnia or crying. His gaze, normally so passionate and fiery, had cooled into this.. somber, wistful expression. Johnny’s furrowed brow was about as lax as Gyro’s ever witnessed it.
It was saddening to witness up close. Johnny’s overall attitude and demeanor had the essence of a person who thought that they were pathetic for bawling their eyes out when in pain. Gyro hates when Johnny looks miserable, because it dampened all of his naturally beautiful features.
And Johnny had so many of them; the sweet hazel brown of his eyes that brightened and crackled like flames whenever he was upset or determined, the slightly curled bottom lashes that flutter about like butterflies when he blinks, the soft curve of his nose, how plush his lips were, and the unassorted mess of freckles and beauty marks on his face. Gyro’s personal favorites were the ones on his cheekbones, underneath his left eye.
Maybe it was because he hadn’t been this close to anyone else in the past couple of weeks, but Joestar’s boyish charms kindle a warm feeling deep within the pit of his stomach.
.. What the hell was Gyro thinking? He can look, gawk, and gaze all he wants to, but he knows that never in a million years Johnny would ever see him the way that he does. Never would return the feelings Zeppeli kept trapped inside in that faulty, rusted cage he called his heart.
He just wanted to stop being so vulnerable when it came to Joestar, he needed to let the hinges to the door rust and lock up tight so he couldn’t come so close inside; but when Johnny leers at him with those melancholic eyes the cage door can’t help but creak open just a tiny bit.
"Are you too tired for dinner tonight?" Gyro asks, his voice subtle among the ambience of the tall surrounding trees and various other parts of nature. "C’mon, the night’s still young. Lemme lift your spirits up a little and you tell me if you still feel down."
"Never too tired for some grub," Johnny’s head tilts up; curiosity piqued at the thought of whatever Gyro wanted to do to (quote, unquote) “raise his spirits”. He squints, "What’re you gonna do, huh? Another joke you just pulled outta your ass or something?" He replies before rubbing the apple of his cheek with his thumb.
An amused puff of air leaves Gyro’s nose and he uses his fingers to faintly smack the younger man on the upper thigh.
"Like you don’t laugh at them anyway.. nah, I’m talkin’ about something more fun. Something we can both do. We could play a game."
Joestar curiously raises an eyebrow with the same blank expression, "A game?"
"Yeah. Don’tcha know any good games Johnny-boy?" He teases.
The sandy blond glances at the ground, poking his cheek with his pointer finger as he ponders the question. His lips were in a little pout. For someone who looked tired, Johnny was still cute without meaning to be. "Hmm.." Then his brow relaxes and raises as if he realized something. "There’s.. there is this one thing we could do."
"Oh yeah? Hit me, whatcha got?"
Joestar’s hand drifts down to his ankle after the elder leans towards him to hear better, "You gotta close your eyes first though."
"And what kinda game is-"
"It’s just a part of the game, stop askin’ so many questions." The younger man huffs.
Johnny couldn’t feel the bundle of rope he was sitting on, but it was in the back of his mind the entire time he was talking to Gyro. He had shoved it in his pocket after he went into the tent. The Italian had closed his eyes just as requested, his back still pressed against the trunk of that tree.. in perfect position. Was it too late to change the plan he had in his head already? Is something this drastic actually necessary?
If something or someone tried to attack them out here, he could always just cut the rope..
He glances at Gyro, blissfully ignorant as to what was going on, shirt still tucked underneath his leg.
Joestar drags himself towards the side of the tree, behind the older man, just enough to get a three-quarter view of his neck and profile. He’s still hesitating on how to move forward until he recalls the whole reason why he wants answers in the first place. Gyro might have been acting all warm and caring now but will he still be like that in a few days time? Johnny scowls at the thought alone and he reaches out for Zeppeli’s hand.
Before he realizes it, the brown hemp rope curls around one of the Italian’s wrists and ties into a knot tight enough to hurt if he moved around too much.
" ….?! Johnny, what the fuck are you-"
His panicked response makes Johnny squeeze him just a little bit tighter; at least until both of his wrists were bound with the scratchy hemp. The younger man then takes another piece of rope and loops it through the makeshift cuffs, wrapping this longer piece around the trunk of the oak and tying several small knots in the back with the excess. There, now Gyro couldn’t up and avoid any of his questions. He had to sit here and take it.
"We’re gonna play this real fun game," Johnny scoots back around to the front of the tree where Zeppeli is now ensnared. His sheathed hunting blade is coincidentally in the other pocket in the back of his pants, and he pulls it out to rest on his thigh when he sits in front of the older man. The young man is on his knees, growing now uncomfortably close to Gyro as he speaks. He leans forward, frowning,
"It’s called “tell me what the hell’s the matter with you,” where you tell me .. what the hell’s the matter with you."
Gyro thrashes about in an attempt to loosen the rope but it’s hopeless- Johnny’s knots are too tight that any maneuver to undo them are in vain. He can’t even turn around fully to look at what he did with his hands. The Italian squirms around like a critter caught in a beartrap.
"What are you talking about!!" He grimaces, thick brows furrowed tight.
Johnny clicks his tongue, "Don’t play around like I’m stupid cause 'm not." The younger man clenches his fist, Zeppeli’s deliberate ignorance stoking hot coals of anger inside his chest.
He hikes his knee over one of Gyro’s spread legs, picking his own lame leg up on impulse to straddle it and get up in his face; the internal vexation takes over Johnny’s body like a devil. The Italian’s limb is wedged between Joestar’s thighs. Johnny pokes Gyro in the chest, huffing again,
"Ever since we got in that fight you’ve been actin’ so damn weird around me! One day you’re all nice and the next you’re so cold to me I don’t even know what to say! It’s like you just-"
A loud groan of frustration follows.
"Jesus shit, I don’t have any fuckin’ clue about how you feel about me ‘cuz you’re sendin’ me all these mixed signals!"
At such a close distance, Joestar notices that Gyro had started to sweat. Either from the muggy night temperature or oncoming pressure, he doesn’t know which and it doesn’t matter. The salty droplets ride the side of the Italian’s bronzed face all the way down from his temple to his cheek, disappearing under his jawline. There was also the quickened pace of his breathing, bare chest was still heaving from the earlier attempt of escape..
Gyro pants, warm gusts of air pushing past his lips. He’s solely focused on Johnny and Johnny alone, his eyes trailing from his comrade’s face down to the accusing finger prodding him in the breast, then further south where their legs start to tangle together. A pink tongue darts out over his mouth to remoisten his lips and he can barely look Joestar in the eyes. There’s a faint flush over his cheeks, slowly spreading over the entirety of his face. The soft glow of the campfire illuminates him as if he were under a primitive spotlight.
Joestar realizes the intimate position that he’s unwittingly put them in but that doesn’t make him back down: but the way he comes across in this moment turns more soft, in a manner that was a little bit uncharacteristic for the brash Joestar kid. He’s never seen Gyro blush that much.. he never even knew his face could tinge that red of a color.
".. you ain’t got nothing to say about that?"
A frown works itself onto the American’s face, but his gaze is soon stolen again by the grandeur of Gyro’s warm, inviting body. His hand raises then rests on top of his trapezius muscle, thumb brushing against one of the little divets of his collarbone. He notices that Zeppeli’s eyes (pupils very obviously dilated) are taken with the movements of his hands as well.
All of a sudden Johnny feels a sudden pang of arousal in his belly, the feeling sends bursts of exhilaration through his veins into his chest; where right his heart is. It’s this moment where the blond recognized just how badly pent up he was.
He hasn’t felt this excited long before he had gotten shot years prior. The feeling of getting turned on again had faded away into obscurity: and now the young cowboy is picking up his leg again to swing it fully over Gyro’s lap, straddling him with maximum efficiency. Their groins brush up against each others and he can hear a soft gasp leave the older man’s mouth. He’d come to know that Gyro was a man of few words when it came to expressing his emotions- but fortunately the longing, borderline begging look he had in his bright jade colored eyes conveyed a lot of what he wanted to say already.
Gyro grunts. ".. I didn’t wanna get attached to you too much. Thought pushing you away would be the better option, but," As Zeppeli speaks, he sneakily tries to rut his hips up against Johnny’s in an attempt to provide himself well needed friction. He shudders, "It was k-kinda.. kinda an asshole move."
When the American takes note of how desperate Gyro was starting to get, he rests his palms on his chest and gently pushes his shoulders back onto the bark of the tree. Zeppeli acted so pliant and malleable under his touch, and it was starting to get dangerously addicting. Johnny had the upper hand here.
"Attached? Attached how?" The shorter man fixes the older man’s bangs, brushing them off of his flushed forehead with his slender fingers.
Gyro scoffs, "You already know how. Like you said.. you’re not stupid. I’m not gonna spell it out for you."
Johnny lifts himself up a little to adjust their compromising position, their clothed crotches brushing again in the process, and a low whine escapes from Zeppeli’s mouth. It seems like Gyro was just as badly pent up as he was.. and maybe even more so. Joestar’s tongue peeks over his lips at the pleasant sight before him, Gyro writhing underneath his touch - under his mercy.
"No.. I don’t know, actually. I have no damn clue what you mean, Gyro."
Johnny feels something poking him in the middle of his abdomen and it confirms that Gyro was just as into this as he was. The sandy blond glances downwards to where their warm bodies meet, Gyro’s gaze matching the same direction soon after; and he’s greeted with the unmistakable visual of a pitched tent in Zeppeli’s dusty coloured pants. And if Johnny didn’t notice it before, Gyro’s gaudy green bult buckle helped point it out… quite literally pointing him in the right direction.
Johnny looks back up to the older man, with a frown and an eyebrow raised as if he were displeased with the result of all his teasing.
"I’m tryna tell you off and you’re over here getting off on it. I always knew you were a fucking pervert." The sandy blond snarls, and he can see a nervous looking gulp travel down Gyro’s throat, making his adam’s apple bob up and down.
".. You’re already at half mast too genius."
It’s been so long since he’s gotten any action that Johnny hadn’t even realized the harrowing effects this ordeal had on his own body. He can faintly feel the hesitant rubbing of something against his dick, and it’s then when the smaller man notices how Gyro weakly lifts his hips up to rut against Johnny’s own, seemingly shameless in his own desperate pursuit for pleasure. He couldn’t just sit there and let Gyro grind himself on him like an inanimate object, not without first taking out a little bit of his revenge.
He eyes the bowie hunting knife that fell onto the grass nearby after he straddled Gyro and his slender hand slowly goes to pick it up. The silver weapon gleams in the peeks of moonlight shining through the forest branches. After Johnny retrieves it, the leather sheath falls off and onto the ground; he gently presses the blunt side of the cool blade against Zeppeli’s beating carotid artery. His tanned skin is flushed from the damp heat of the forest and Johnny’s ministrations.
Deep down they both know it’s an empty threat but, Christ, the sound of Gyro shuddering underneath him as if he’d slice him open made it all worthwhile.
Joestar leans closer to the opposite side of the older man’s reddened face to whisper in his ear. Gyro’s square beard patches tickle his cheek as he leans forward, their chests meeting and the young jockey presses himself up against him with more of his weight on purpose.
"Stop moving."
Johnny pulls his head back to look at the older man now. Zeppeli’s breath quickens underneath his touch, panting hard like a mutt in heat and Johnny doesn’t make a move to press the blade any closer.
After all, the last thing he wanted to do was genuinely hurt him with it, this was all just a ploy to see how many notches Johnny could take this up before Gyro taps out from either fear or arousal. .. or both, now knowing Zeppeli’s apparent sexual repression.
His emerald green eyes are darkened from adrenaline, pupils zeroed in on watching Johnny’s every move in anticipation of what he would do next; A deep frown is etched onto his strong features - either from the threat itself or that he couldn’t hump Johnny anymore or else he’d be cut. However, there was this wild look of desperation in his eyes that’d be too complicated to explain through mere words, and Zeppeli glances down toward Joestar’s sapphire blue painted lips, singling them out from all the other features on his face.
This was like.. five of Gyro’s fantasies combined into one. Johnny had him forcefully bound to a tree with his hands tied behind his back, he was getting more assertively physical with him, and last but not least degrading him and calling him out like the freak he was for being so hopelessly turned on by it. The best part was when the younger man started to straddle him with those thick thighs of his. Once Johnny started dragging himself onto him to invade his personal space, Gyro’s resolve started to crumble like sand and it was so over for him.
His head is overflowing with need for Johnny; the need to hold him close, to run his hands all over him and show him what all he’s been holding back from since the very beginning of the race. He’s been too afraid to grow their connection further in fear that it would’ve became a weakness, but instead it’s backfired in a way he could have never dreamed of.
The cold blade to his heated flesh was a surprise addition that made matters worse.
As soon as Johnny felt merciful enough to toss it back to the ground, Gyro’s breathing is unsteady again as he tries to gaze down where it once was pointing at his neck. In another effort to break free from this torture Zeppeli tries to move his hands, but the makeshift cuffs tighten over his wrists and causes him to wince. The damned brat really knew how to tie some knots.
His bottom lip turns pouty, looking at Johnny with pitiful puppy eyes as he speaks.
"Okay.. I was wrong. You didn’t have to do all this extra stuff though.."
Joestar just looks at him with another raised brow as if he was expecting more than that. The bastard was probably still waiting on an apology. There’s an urge to rebuild his ego after Johnny so forcefully knocked him down a few pegs, and Gyro’s prideful nature makes him not want to apologize just because.
However, with a starting to ache predicament still straining his jeans right now he had an important choice to make. It was either make amends with his racing partner or don’t say anything, probably get blue balled, and stay tied to this tree until Johnny decides to cut him loose.
Johnny lifts his pointer finger and drags his blunt nail against Zeppeli’s abdomen as if tracing the imaginary medial line. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either. It’s just gonna be more torture until he gives in, isn’t it? The older man huffs; he was still considering his options on what to do when all of a sudden Johnny’s fingers sneak further down, rubbing against his abdominal muscles and lowering until his fingertips stop at his pelvis. He presses down and a moan leaves Gyro’s lips.
The Italian stifles a gasp, "Okay-! okay… I’m sorry, alright- Stop teasin’ me so much!"
His apology earns a boastful smirk from the sandy blond and Gyro can feel him reaching to the side over by the rope. Johnny makes haste to cut the long piece of hemp tying him to the tree, but not the one keeping his wrists bound. It still relieves a great deal of pressure against Gyro’s skin.
"Thank you." Joestar replies sarcastically, tucking one of the other man’s stray curls behind his ear.
His hand rests along the curve of Zeppeli’s jaw, cupping it, making him unable to look anywhere else except directly at him. With so little distance between them, their noses are brushing against each other’s; each passing graze fueling Zeppeli’s desire to pull Johnny into him. Without the use of his hands, Gyro leans forward just enough to capture Joestar’s mouth in a heated kiss marked with impatience. The sandy blond returns it with a hunger equal to, if not greater than Zeppeli’s own passion; slender fingers hooking themselves into the messy assortment of blond Italian curls to yank Gyro closer, expertly angling his head to the side.
Gyro’s jaw opens a little in surprise after feeling him pull on his hair so harshly.
Johnny’s tongue glides over the soft expanse of the Italian’s bottom lip, in which he’s almost instantly granted access into his mouth. He wastes no time in searching for Gyro’s tongue with his own, the soft pink muscles soon intertwining in a messy lustful encounter. It was so unfair that Gyro couldn’t touch Johnny right now; he couldn’t touch his face, his waist, or hold his hips still so he couldn’t grind against him too much. The only thing he was able to make camplete use of was his mouth.
Both of Johnny’s hands adjust to either side of the Italian’s jaw, holding him in place as he begins to suck his tongue. It makes Gyro’s dick twitch with aching need for something, anything to come into contact with it.
After a minute of sensual torture the younger man finally moves away from his lips.
Gyro (still reeling from the earlier stimulation) takes a moment to breathe before he feels Johnny pepper kisses down his neck, down the middle plane of his chest, all the way to his hairy navel. Zeppeli’s abdomen twitches after each kiss near his stomach, the muscle practically having a mind of his own disconnected from Gyro’s mental want to not fully give into Johnny’s advances. The American had to adjust himself accordingly so that his elbows rest on Gyro’s thighs, and he gazes up at him with an impish look. Johnny’s blue lipstick was smudged to all hell and back; it was smearing around his mouth along with various marks of bright green and drops of saliva. Whether the spit was Joestar’s or his own, he couldn’t tell.
His hands fiddle with the gleaming belt buckle for a moment before snatching his belt apart, fingers soon scrambling to unbutton Gyro’s jeans. Much to Johnny’s surprise, Gyro wasn’t wearing any underwear and was immediately greeted with the sight of the older man’s dick.
It stood proud, perpendicular to his sweaty navel, nestled in a thick bed of dark body hair. Just about the same caramel tone as the rest of his body, but the tip is colored a rosy shade of pink. A thin vein runs across its length a straight shot from the base to near the head; now Gyro wasn’t one to brag (.. yes, he was) but his physical prowess was one of his favorite parts about himself.
After keeping a close eye on where Johnny’s hands were going, Zeppeli notices that the younger man has stilled. He just seemed to be staring.
"What, you don’t know what to do?"
Gyro teases the younger man on purpose, knowing that Johnny is very reactive to little jabs like that. Almost immediately it makes the sandy blond roll his eyes and scoff; the silent beginning of another challenge between the pair.
".. of course I know what I’m doing, I have a dick too don’t I? Dumbass," He huffs.
Joestar’s hand wraps around the thick base of Gyro’s member, thumb pressing up against the side near the flushed pink head. He sharply inhales - it was enough to make him moan out loud but he bites down on his lip to prevent the noise. Gazing below his navel at Johnny’s hand wrapped around him with his blue painted nails, he notices how the American’s skin tone constrasts so nicely against his own. It almost makes Gyro’s head spin in circles. His hips lift up from the ground to chase that ever so fleeting sensation of pleasure from Johnny’s fist. Joestar has to hold him down again with a firm palm to the thigh and he scowls, "Stop bein’ so damn impatient."
Gyro lets out a particularly loud whine in response in a cadence that was higher than either of them heard his voice go before.
The American starts off with a languid stroke, "I really shouldn’t be doing this anyway. You got to be an asshole for a couple days, it’s like rewardin' bad behavior." He complains, his second hand resting palm open on Gyro’s thigh.
Zeppeli squeezes his eyes shut, a heavy shuddering sigh leaving his mouth. Mostly out of relief that his problem was being taken care of. Yeah, Johnny was bitching and moaning but he continued to jack him off anyway, wasn’t he such a generous guy?
Deep mewls pour from Gyro’s mouth as Johnny moves his hand faster to quench his insatiable thirst for stimulation, and he presses his head back into the oak of the tree. The Italian’s chin is pointed towards the night sky, only things illuminating the pair being the twinkling little stars up above and still blazing fire below. His curly bangs get all tousled and messy in his eyes as his jaw drops open - Johnny was tracing the swollen tip of his member with his finger, - and he can’t help but squirm underneath his touch.
"Oh my fucking.. god-!"
Joestar reaches for the blade he dropped on the ground and eyes Gyro’s erection with mischievous intent, smiling up at the older man who can’t see him because his eyes are squeezed shut.
"Still can’t believe you just sit up here and let me have my way with you like this. I always knew you were a little queer." Johnny softly chastises, but he can hear the grin subconsciously in his tone. The Italian feels a weight pressed up against his thigh, and his eyes crack open. Joestar rests his cheek against the expanse of Gyro’s leg, gazing up at him with his brown lashes fluttering oh-so innocently. His hunting blade is dangerously closing in on Zeppeli’s crotch, and the older man can’t back away because his back is already pressed against the tree.
"That’s what you like, ain’t it? When a man plays with your body like a toy.."
Johnny holds the side of the cold steel up against the head of Gyro’s heated member. Gyro’s body jerks immediately at the sensation and the longer the knife is pressed up against his cock the closer he feels to his release.
"Jojo, please.. mmngh.. cut the rope-" His whimpers become louder after Johnny grips the base of him so it won’t move. "I need you. I wanna touch you so goddamn bad,"
The younger man chuckles heartily as he raises himself up back onto Gyro’s lap, straddling him again, and purposely puts his arms around him, blade in hand as he starts to work at the hemp binding Gyro’s wrists together. "God, who knew my racing partner was such a whiny faggot?"
Joestar’s cheekbone is pressed right up against Zeppeli’s own, his hot skin and mocking tone beginning to be too much to handle. He was almost there.. just needed that extra something to knock him over the edge. Suddenly the rope snaps and Gyro’s wrists break free.
As soon as the "handcuffs" fall to the ground, Gyro’s hands excitedly trail from Joestar’s thigh muscles up to the illustrious curve of his ass, manhandling him hard enough to press fully into his lap before smashing their lips together once again; this time the kiss is messier than the last, the hues of their bright creme lipsticks swirling into a new tone of muddied blue-green.
Though the sensation was faint Johnny knew his body was on fire.
One of the Italian’s hands perch on the side of Joestar’s head, holding onto locks of straw blond hair as if otherwise he’d die without touching some part of him. Johnny can’t help but moan at the sensation, his heated lips parting - more to Gyro’s satisfaction, due to how rough he was being now compared to earlier. The American had kept him tied up for so long, now that the dog was free from his cage he wanted to run wild.
As much as Johnny teased Gyro for being so flagrantly aroused by him, he was just as bad as he was, if not worse. Soon as he had the Italian where he wanted him, settled underneath his body with his hands tied and no shirt on, it was the stuff only pictured in his imagination.
And by God there were many a time where Johnny imagined what Gyro looked like under him, on top of him, what’d his skin would feel like beneath his fingertips, how he would touch him with the hands that were slightly bigger than his own. Every stray touch and brush of their bodies and Joestar would compartmentalize it into it’s own special little section of memory to look back on, always yearning for something more purposeful in nature.
The quiet nights when Johnny tries to masturbate to take the edge off and destress and Gyro’s already asleep next to him, those are the only moments he can think of to get him going. Reminiscing about former flings and girlfriends from the good ‘ol days wasn’t cutting it anymore. Although most of the time the effort was futile due to his paraplegia, he’d made more progress touching himself thinking about Zeppeli than looking at girlie magazines and imagining various women he saw in bars he only found half as attractive.
Johnny never knew where his life was going to go after he had gotten shot. First, it was trying to learn the mysterious art of Spin from a foreigner because his weird green steel balls made his legs move. Next it was plunging head first into a cross country horse race alongside him and they were actually chasing after the corpse parts of a Saint. Then Johnny spends all of this time with this stranger who’s risked his life for him and their friendship blossoms into something.. incredible.
Now they’re hunched up in the woods on the literal ground, exploring each others mouths and bodies like horny teenagers.
Johnny’s never felt this alive before.
There’s a small part of him inside nagging at him that this isn’t right because they’re both men. But as Gyro trails kisses over the side of his neck and Johnny digs his nails into the muscle of Zeppeli’s shoulder, that voice is easily tuned out and he just does what comes naturally.
"Are you close?" Joestar huffs, running out of breath after kissing so much for so long.
There’s a rushed nodding from the elder and Johnny spits in his palm. His hand trails back down to Gyro’s member and he starts to pump as quick as he can, resting their foreheads against one another’s as the Italian ruts up feverishly into his fist with strangled moans muffled by a bitten lip. "Mmmmn- fuck! Johnny-" There’s a repeated whining mantra of his name spilling from Zeppeli’s mouth as he reaches his breaking point.
His voice cracks as spurts of milky white cum shoot from the flushed head, dribbling onto Johnny’s fingers as he pumps him through his orgasm. It makes a sopping mess over Gyro’s lower stomach and thighs, making his curly pubes gleam in the low firelight. The Italian’s abs twitch, hips pressed up hard against Johnny as the high of his orgasm starts to cloud his brain.
The sight was so incredible Johnny almost forgot to breathe himself. After about a minute he stops moving, hand resting at the base of Zeppeli’s dick as he looms over the fruits of his labor. He didn’t know Gyro could get so messy like this. Next time he’d have to bring a rag or something.
Johnny’s own high starts to wear off as the two men pant in unison, hot from shared body heat and the humidity in the air. Zeppeli was quiet otherwise, bronze skin flushed warm from the American’s touch. Lipstick marks were littered all over his neck and the curve of his adam’s apple. Welts from Johnny’s long nails digging into the muscle of his shoulder. He looked beautiful. If Johnny was artistically talented he would’ve carved this view of Zeppeli out of marble, display it as an art piece for his own personal museum. A long standing artifact of quite possibly the greatest night of his life.
It completely slips Johnny’s mind that he was already thinking about having sex with him again.
The younger man leans over Zeppeli and wipes his hand off on a nearby patch of grass. He tries to clean his racing partner off as well as he can before pulling his jeans back up towards his waist. Gyro’s hands trail over Johnny’s sides, firmly holding him in place as his breathing goes back to its normal rhythm. He presses a kiss against the plane of Joestar’s forehead, brushing his bangs out of his face.
"Christ, Jojo.. you’re gonna be the death of me."
The Italian hums affectionately against his temple, the tip of his hooked nose and mouth resting idly against Johnny’s skin. He can’t feel it but he knows that Gyro’s hands are grabbing at his ass again.
Zeppeli talks softly, fingers twiddling with a stray sandy blond curl;
"Did you need me to return the favor?"
At this point Johnny doesn’t feel that hardness between his own legs like earlier. The perfect opportunity slipped through his hands like trying to hold water in open palms. He figures it’s because Gyro didn’t make direct contact with anything.
"No.. it’s fine. It’d probably take a long time, and it’s gettin' late now. It’s not worth it." He couldn’t see his entire face since they’re so close but Zeppeli’s mouth is curved into a frown at this response. The older man lets out a soft grunt, chest puffing as he takes a deep breath - nose filled with the scent of Joestar’s shaggy hair.
"Alright.."
Perhaps they were both thinking "maybe next time, though." but the words were simply left unsaid. Johnny, for certain, felt pleased enough for one night already.
".. I’m gonna start cooking so we don’t starve tonight." The taller man tries to joke to resolve the little bit of uncertainty in the air, but his hands make no motion to move away from Johnny’s body. His wrists were patterned with the texture of the rope he was tied with, skin reddening in its wake. Johnny almost feels bad for leaving marks on him, but the picture of Gyro whimpering and begging to be untied immediately resolves the guilt.
When his lips curve upwards the dimples in his cheeks unveil themselves like an additional surprise. Joestar smiles, genuinely, for the first time in a long while. "Mmkay," The paler blond hums. "Could I get another kiss first though?"
Hearing the cheeky tone in the younger man’s voice, Zeppeli can’t help but smile and play along as well. He tugs Johnny closer by the waist, borderline manhandling him again, and plants one right on the lips. "Somebody’s getting greedy." Gyro smirks. "You get one little taste of me and you just can’t get enough~"
Johnny rolls his eyes in response. "I could always tie your ass back up to that tree."
"Don’t threaten me with another good time."
Zeppeli’s ability to be a dickhead in any circumstance was amazing. Johnny swiftly dismounts from Gyro so they can continue settling down for the night.