Johnny Joestar is nothing if not stubborn. He’ll get his way when he demands it or he’ll refuse to do anything at all. He’s internalized this behavior since Nicolas died. It’s not a surprise, he was the only one who could get Johnny to do just about anything. Now? It’s basically background noise. He’s heard it from his father like a mantra whenever things go wrong. Gyro’s called him selfish a couple times too. It doesn’t even sting anymore. He’d describe himself as selfish, stubborn, and brash if anybody asks without batting an eye like he just told them he’s got a great sense of humor or something.
That’s why Gyro’s not surprised when Johnny refuses to take “wait,” “more,” and “Johnny, please,” for an answer. Since the early days of setting up camp and traveling together, Johnny finds it increasingly difficult to quell his attraction to Gyro fucking Zeppeli of all people. Even Gyro’s a little surprised when Johnny presses himself up against his chest and says, “C’mon,” drawn out and a little slurred in a way Gyro finds a little too sexy, “it’s been so long, hasn’t it, Gyro? It’s just to feel good, relieve some stress.”
Johnny says the last part maybe for himself more than for Gyro, who looks exceptionally pleased with the idea of rutting against Johnny in some shitty makeshift campsite. Not so surprisingly, Gyro gives in to Johnny’s whims and presses his hips hard into the ground while he grinds against Johnny’s front until he comes in his pants. It lacks grace and makes Gyro feel incredibly juvenile, but it feels good, and he’s doing it with Johnny — which for Gyro, makes it even better.
The first time at a bed in the inn, Johnny comes. It’s the first time since the accident with another person and it’s alright, but he could’ve sworn it felt a lot more satisfying than this. Every time after this, Johnny starts finding it even harder and harder to, well, get hard. Johnny whimpers and whines the whole time, face tightening up and eyes screwing shut like he’s so close, but no cigar — literally and figuratively.
Gyro comes, Johnny’s face flushes at the taller man shaking above, underneath, behind, him and that feels satisfying in it of itself to see him fall apart like that because of Johnny’s doing. So when Gyro recommends giving him a hand, Johnny refuses profusely. It’s not that he wouldn’t quite literally kill to feel Gyro’s hands on his dick taking him apart, he’s embarrassed at the idea that it might not even work. Instead, he’s happy propositioning Gyro nearly every night and getting him to come against Johnny pushed into the dirt, bedroll, and on the rare occasion that Johnny says something a little too suggestive, against the rough bark of a tree nearby in broad daylight.
“Johnny?” Gyro asks across the fire Johnny’s getting started.
“You ever slept with a man before?”
Johnny looks up from the last of the kindling he’s tossed into the pile glowing in front of him. Gyro looks back at him, expectantly, like he question he asked wasn’t one of the dumbest things he’s ever said.
“Gyro, are you - what d’ya reckon we’ve been doing for the past couple weeks?”
Gyro throws his head back and laughs, Johnny winces like the stupid laugh doesn’t turn him on immensely.
“No, Johnny, I mean really slept with a man. You never had some Joekid fanboy throw himself at you?”
Johnny thinks back to his cornucopia of sexual encounters. Men? Few and far between. They’d never gone further than some suggestive touches to the arm and seductively asking for an autograph. However, he does remembers the one time Diego dropped to his knees in the stables -
“Do you want to?” Gyro’s head tilts to the side. Johnny thinks he kind of looks like a dog. It’s cute, but it’s useless. He rolls his eyes.
Yeah, Gyro. There’s lots I’d do if I could move more than your fuckin’ spin would let me, he thinks. He doesn’t say as much out loud.
“What’re you suggestin’?” Johnny’s not a moron, Gyro didn’t bring this on for no reason. If Gyro thinks Johnny’s going to fuck him, he’s either delusional or in love. Delusion or love won’t get his hips to move more than a couple centimeters without some serious upper arm strength though.
“You know, I’m a doctor,” Gyro smiles and the gold on his teeth glint from the fire in front of him. It’s gaudy, it looks stupid, and Johnny can see the etchings of an exclamation point from under his curled lip and thinks, if he could get hard as quickly as he’d like, he probably would be right now.
“And what’s that got to do with what we’re talkin’ about?” Johnny settles down onto the dirt, legs fixed straight out to get warm.
Gyro crawls over on his literal hands and knees and sits right next to Johnny staring down at him from the few inches he’s got over the blond.
“All I’m saying is I feel real bad not making you feel as good as I do and I might have a solution that’ll make both of us happy.”
Johnny stares up at him, his eyes are squinted like he’s waiting for Gyro to break character.
“Gyro, I hate to break it to you, darlin’, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to fuck you like this, if that’s what you’re implyin’.”
Gyro scans over Johnny’s face and laughs, this time it actually does hurt Johnny’s ears.
“No, Johnny, that’s not,” he pauses, Johnny’s scowl making Gyro take a good three mental steps back to rephrase his next suggestion, “Well, alright, have you ever, uh, considered — Johnny, you ever tried finger —,”
Gyro groans and runs his hands through the front of his hair, “Johnny, it’s going to feel good, I’m a doc-,”
“A doctor, I get it, but I’m fine with what we’re doing now, aren’t you?” Johnny isn’t as satisfied as he’s letting on, but he doesn’t know if he wants to deal with the mental gymnastics his brain is performing between being completely disgusted and horribly turned on at the idea of Gyro taking him apart on his hands.
“Cazzo, Johnny, you’re sure fucking stubborn.”
“Can you just let me be right, just this once?” Johnny looks up at Gyro, half his face glowing from the light of the fire and Johnny can feel his face warm at how genuinely handsome Gyro is. If Gyro asks, I’m gonna blame it on the campfire. Johnny searches his features and sees nothing in Gyro threatening to spill over at the edges and take it all back just to call Johnny a queer for even considering it.
“D’ya know what you’re doin’?” Johnny asks softly. He’s not scared, not Johnny Joestar. Gyro might just get excited and make him hate sex all together. (Johnny knows that’s not possible, not with him of all people, but he’ll entertain the idea if it’ll get his mind on board with the possibility of fucking Gyro.)
Gyro leans over him, sandy blond hair falling over around them like a curtain, and Johnny suddenly feels real safe here even though Gyro’s probably going to have some fingers in his ass in a couple minutes. Gyro leans down and kisses Johnny, hard, but not for his own benefit. He doesn’t snake his tongue between Johnny’s lips and he doesn’t get rough with it. Johnny kisses back, his hand making its way to the back of Gyro’s neck and pulling him closer. Gyro pulls back and kisses the corner of Johnny’s mouth.
“‘Course I know what I’m doing. I wouldn’t want to hurt my little jockey,” Gyro’s lip curls up and Johnny can see the faint glow of the grills underneath lime green lips. The jockey comment makes him roll his eyes, but he can’t deny the way his cheeks flush hot at the tone of adoration in his voice.
Gyro’s hand rests on Johnny’s waist, fingers slipping under the thin cotton clinging to his skin and his fingers dig into the soft skin there. Johnny’s eyes look over tan skin and black bands pulled taut over the muscles in Gyro’s arm and back at his face. Johnny would never tell Gyro as much out loud, but Jesus, he really is fuckin’ pretty even if every defining feature is a rebellious act against hundreds of years of tradition.
“Okay, yeah, Gyro. Make me feel good,” Johnny’s voice sounds foreign to his own ears. It comes out breathy and soft, lilting softly at the end. He feels Gyro’s fingers flex against his waist and sees the way his eyes are half-lidded at the comment.
Gyro pulls Johnny close for another kiss and sighs into it. Johnny feels built up too. Maybe pent up is a better word for getting half-hard every time Gyro comes in his pants from grinding against Johnny without getting to come himself.
Gyro carefully lifts himself off the ground, Johnny half in tow and juggling him around to get him comfortable in his arms before laying him down on the bedrolls set up a couple feet away. Johnny’s short, sure, but he’s got muscle, he’s not light by any means and Gyro carries him with ease. Johnny feels almost embarrassed at how attractive that is to him.
Gyro reaches over to the canvas backpack settled to their right and digs through it quickly. He pulls out the little tin of petroleum jelly they had been using to keep their skin from cracking in the snow.
“What’s that for?” Johnny realizes after he’s said it that it came off defensive. Gyro looks at him from under his bang and Johnny mutters out a little, “sorry.”
“It’s not like it is with a girl,” Gyro explains, “I’m not trying to hurt you and you’ve gotta be lubricated to make this feel good.” Jesus, he does sound like a doctor.
Gyro settles himself between Johnny’s thighs and leans over him to give him a kiss. Johnny melts into it, blue fingernails snaking their way into sandy blond hair and digging into Gyro’s scalp at the nape of his neck. Gyro sighs against Johnny’s lips and pushes his hips up against Johnny’s own. Johnny feels Gyro, hard and still in his jeans, against his stomach and a dizzying rush of heat is sent to his own when he realizes Gyro’s getting off just at the thought of making Johnny come on his fingers.
“Is this- are you comfortable?” Gyro asks. It’s soft, almost nervous. Oh my God, this is so fuckin’ strange.
Johnny nods and pushes Gyro away for just a moment to pull his shirt off himself. Johnny follows Gyro’s eyes down his body and feels like he needs to cover up. Get it together, moron, he thinks. Johnny reaches up and brings Gyro back down again. Gyro’s chest presses into his and Johnny slips his tongue into his open mouth when Gyro moans at the momentary relief against Johnny’s stomach. Gyro drags a hand down the side of Johnny’s body and tugs at the star-printed pants on his hips. Johnny’s free hand helps him pull down the other side and Johnny suddenly understands what all those girls felt like when he’d tug at their clothes in an attempt to get them undressed when he was thinking with his dick and not with his brain.
Gyro pulls off and Johnny can admire the flush on his cheeks and the way his lips look red and shine with shared saliva. Gyro sits back on his knees and pulls Johnny’s clothes off the rest of the way before moving back in to kiss down the column of his throat and over his chest.
“You’re hard,” Gyro whispers into his ear before pulling on the lobe with his teeth.
Johnny keens and looks down between them. Huh.
“Yeah, but I get hard every other time too. That doesn’t mea-,”
“Just let me take care of you, alright?” Gyro’s voice is deep and feels syrupy to Johnny’s ears. He nods and lays back while Gyro uncaps the tin and dips his fingers in. Okay, maybe Johnny’s a little nervous. Gyro’s hands are big. He’s not a virgin, this shouldn’t feel this exciting and new, it’s just sex. It’s sex with Gyro, he thinks. Immediately, the thought is pushed out of his head when Gyro hoists his leg up around his hip and keeps it there with an arm placed under his knee. Johnny, practically folded in half, doesn’t know how to act. His senses are overwhelmed with Gyro on top of him, the muscles in his arm pressed against the skin under his thighs, and the all-encompassing sensation of just Gyro.
“It might feel weird for a bit, but I promise it gets better.”
Johnny scoffs, “You speakin’ from experience?”
Gyro bites back a smile, “I’m a doctor.”
“Oh, Christ, get on with it.”
“You could come from this alone, you know? I wouldn’t even need to touch you,” Gyro says and Johnny’s dick twitches against his stomach, leaving a clear streak behind on his skin.
Gyro trails his finger up over Johnny’s hole and he gasps. The lube is cold, Gyro’s fingers feel soft against his skin, and Gyro lets out a little “nyoho~” at the sound that escapes Johnny’s lips. He pushes his middle finger in, slow. It feels foreign, not necessarily painful, just … weird.
Gyro moves his finger until he’s pressed in at the last knuckle and Johnny lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. Gyro leans down over him again, hair draping over Johnny’s line of sight of the scenery besides them, and kisses him again. A quick succession of chaste kisses over Johnny’s mouth and across his cheek.
“Good so far?”
Johnny exhales, “Feels like a finger in my ass, Gyro. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Gyro laughs low against Johnny’s cheeks and plants another kiss on top of the freckled skin, “Alright, give it a second.”
Gyro pulls his finger out to the first knuckle and pushes back in and Johnny whimpers at the feeling. This could be good, he thinks. It’s just not enough.
Gyro starts building up a rhythm, fucking his finger in and out of Johnny before curling his finger up on a particular thrust in that sends Johnny’s eyes flying open.
“Th-There, that. What the fuck was that?” Johnny says, chest heaving. Gyro presses up against the spot once more and pulls a whimper out of Johnny who screws his eyes shut when Gyro reacts to the noise.
“Feel good now?” Gyro asks, and Johnny can hear the smirk in his voice, only thickening his accent already drowning out the sound of Johnny’s own heavy breathing and the crickets chirping wildly.
“Yeah, it’s- that’s really good,” Johnny sighs when Gyro curls his finger up again before pulling away.
“Could you take another?” Johnny opens his eyes and looks at Gyro, flushed red in the face and staring down at him intently. Johnny notices the way his eyes wander lower when he tightens around Gyro’s finger.
“Please,” Johnny’s voice sounds foreign to himself. He’s never begged, he almost can’t believe he’s begging now.
Gyro slips out and Johnny whines, low in his throat, before breathing in sharply at the stretch of two of Gyro’s fingers inside him. It’s a dull throb below the waist, but Johnny’s just excited at the prospect of feeling; and it feels good. Johnny could come like this, maybe Gyro was right, not that he’d admit it out loud and face the consequences of Gyro getting bold and holding it against Johnny for the rest of their time spent together. Gyro presses his fingers up again on the thrust of his wrist in and Johnny can’t bite back the moan that crawls its way out of his throat.
Johnny sits up on his elbows and looks at Gyro sitting back on his knees, Johnny’s knee still hooked around his forearm while the other drills away inside him. Gyro’s focused intently on his own hand and the way Johnny’s cock twitches against his belly. At a particularly sweet keen from Johnny, Gyro thrusts up his own hips, barely grazing the back of Johnny’s thigh.
“Stai bene così,” Gyro sighs and Johnny lets his head loll back against his own volition. He can’t help but imagine how it would feel to have Gyro fucking him into the bedroll instead. Not his fingers, but Gyro, sweet, stupid, beautiful Gyro pinning him down and making him take everything he has to offer. He can almost feel Gyro’s warm breath against the side of his face whispering shit in Italian he wouldn’t understand anyway. The thought sends a flash of heat down to his belly and Johnny pushes himself against the bedroll by his elbows closer to Gyro and Gyro shuffles closer, leaning over to take one of Johnny’s nipples into his mouth.
Johnny’s hands fly to Gyro’s hair and he presses his fingertips into his scalp, encouraging Gyro laving his tongue over the skin. Johnny’s not surprised he’s this sensitive from the waist up, but he’s a little pissed he didn’t consider trying this himself first. Gyro closes his teeth around the peak and Johnny groans out Gyro’s name and pulls his hair. Gyro’s mouth opens up against Johnny’s chest when he tugs on the strands and Johnny doesn’t forget to make a mental note of how fucking hot it is that Gyro likes his hair pulled.
Johnny feels the familiarity of the heat bubbling up low in his stomach. He wants more.
“Gyro,” Johnny breathes out.
Gyro hums with Johnny’s nipple back in his mouth and Johnny sighs at the feeling, “Can you — I want more. Can you put another one in?”
Gyro groans against his chest and Johnny knows he must be painfully hard at this point, “Cazzo, Johnny. Yeah, you like it?”
It feels so good, he can’t say no. He whimpers in response and Gyro slips his fingers out to cover them with more of the lube. He presses back in and Johnny winces at the stretch. It burns, only a little, but it’s adding exponentially to how good it feels. Gyro massages at that spot and with the pressure of three fingers, Johnny genuinely feels like a dam about to burst. He arches his back into it and moans, eyes fluttering shut. Instead he pictures Gyro on top of him, fucking into him like his life depends on it.
Johnny gets back up onto his elbows and glosses across Gyro’s lips, smearing green over his cheek before he sticks two of his own fingers into his mouth. Gyro closes his eyes and sucks down onto them, fingers stuttering inside Johnny when he gets distracted at the new task at hand. Johnny presses his fingers down onto Gyro’s tongue and a wave of spit floods the inside of Gyro’s mouth. Gyro’s wrist picks up its own rhythm back up and Johnny moans when Gyro’s fingers keep their insistent pressure inside him. He pulls his fingers back after pressing down on Gyro’s tongue one more time and is enthralled with the trail of spit that follows Johnny’s fingers out of his mouth. He takes the saliva collected on his fingers and wraps a hand around himself. He presses his thumb against the head of his cock and falls back onto the bedroll with a thud.
It’s overwhelming to say the least. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good in his life. He strokes himself, fast. When he opens his eyes, he notices how he’s raked Gyro’s hair out of place and how the smudges of green are shiny from spit. It’s painfully attractive to look at.
“Oh my God, I’m gonna come,” the words almost tumble out of Johnny’s mouth before he even realizes he’s saying it.
Gyro’s eyes flit up to Johnny’s face. His mouth is open in a moan and his freckles are made that much more clear from the blush on his cheeks. Johnny feels both embarrassed and horribly aroused at the way Gyro seemingly doesn’t want to miss how he looks when he comes. When Johnny flicks his wrist on the downstroke, he just groans and feels himself tighten around Gyro’s fingers.
Johnny’s never come this hard in probably his whole life. Not even when he fucked two girls after the derby, not even when Gyro straddled him the first time and ground his hips down against Johnny’s in that shitty little bed at the inn. He hasn’t come since then. This is entirely different. His nerves feel like they’re on fucking fire. He can feel sticky pools splash against his skin and his chest heave as Gyro fucks him through it. He makes eye contact with Gyro and Gyro’s eyes are switching between Johnny’s face and his dick pulsing out ropes of cum against his abdomen and over the top of Johnny’s hand.
Gyro slips his fingers out of Johnny while he’s stroking himself through possibly the best orgasm of his life and quickly undoes his belt buckle and tugs his pants down just enough to get his dick out.
Johnny clenches around nothing and opens his eyes in time to find Gyro jerking himself off in front of Johnny. Johnny reaches out a hand not covered in cum and pulls Gyro over him by his tank top.
“Want me to do it?” Johnny’s voice shows his satiation; it’s low and his accent is thick when he draws out his words. He dips his fingers into the white ropes on his stomach and wraps a hand around Gyro.
Gyro groans and lets go to settle a hand into the dirt next to Johnny’s head while Johnny tightens his grip around the base of Gyro’s cock.
“Johnny, I-I’m not going to last very long,” Gyro sighs out, his brow furrowing when Johnny swipes his thumb over the head.
“That’s alright, darlin’,” Johnny’s eyes are half-lidded and he thinks he’s playing the part real well if Gyro can’t even look at him in the face right now.
Johnny reaches up his other hand and tugs on Gyro’s hair, hard and close to the scalp, Gyro’s neck follows back, “Come on, Gyro, wanna see you come,” and he whimpers before coming on Johnny’s stomach and chest. Johnny strokes him through it and Gyro shakes above him while emptying himself onto Johnny’s flushed skin. He starts to soften up in Johnny’s grip and Johnny pulls him down for a kiss, slow and deliberate, he just knows there’s green smeared across both their faces now.
Gyro pulls away and grabs a cloth from the inside of the knapsack. When he turns back around, Johnny’s swiped two of his fingers through where Gyro’s cum has melded with his own and sucks it off his fingertips.
Gyro shakes his head and mumbles, “Jesus,” before cleaning off the rest of it before it gets tacky on Johnny’s torso. He helps Johnny back into his clothes and pulls him into his arms, Johnny half-laying on his chest while Gyro presses kisses into the crown of his head.
“Say, Gyro,” Johnny trails off, fingers tracing patterns along the black bands around Gyro’s arm.
“You ever slept with a man before?” Johnny asks.
Gyro laughs and Johnny can feel it rumble in his own chest, “What do you reck-,”
“I want you to fuck me next time,” Johnny cuts him off before he can finish the shitty Southern drawl he’d adopted to make fun of his own phrasing from earlier.
He looks up at Gyro from his chest, and Gyro looks down at him, eyes wide, “Yeah, sure, Johnny. Whatever you want.”
Johnny almost wishes he stopped being so stubborn a little bit sooner.