Archive of Our Own

“Hey,” A man– fellow racer, going by the number on his saddle– was speaking to some other guy near the town entrance. Seems they had just reached the end of the last stage. “Y’hear about that horrible fire down in Hutch?”

“Yeah,” The other man confirmed. “Heard the sheriffs were sayin’ it was foul play. Whole place went down,”

Slow Dancer’s reins tightened in Johnny’s fists. He loosened them as soon as she huffed at him. A miniscule crack in his impassive demeanor to any normal stranger, but Gyro was neither of the kind.

Johnny could feel a similarly stoic gaze on him from his partner, though watched through his peripheral as Gyro tugged at his collar. Johnny only felt the need to shoot him a warning glare once he began ‘nonchalantly’ whistling as they passed by the yapping strangers.

‘Least Johnny’s worry was mutual.

The small fire was the current hot topic of discussion amongst the racers, and given the fact they were all big-mouthed bastards too busy gossiping to actually win the race, there was no doubt it’d reach the publics’ ears soon, too. Johnny gulped.

…Okay, perhaps the fire wasn’t small , but it sure as hell wasn’t devastating. The fucking place was abandoned for God’s sake.

The only reason it was even known about was because the barn happened to lie near a direct path of the race, but even then, it was far enough off the main road Johnny had futilely hoped it wouldn’t become this much of a point of gossip.

More specifically, he hoped shit of this nature would stop happening to him all together. Not that he’d ever been shown the mercy of tranquility in recent years anyway.

And, Johnny supposed, with the addition of acquiring the corpse parts to their journey, it would only continue to get harder for them from here on. Still, he could dream.

Like most of the many, many recent tragedies in Johnny’s life, his turmoil was the direct result of one of his and Gyro’s more harebrained schemes. A simple bet. Something to shake up their tense travel.

They’d been at it awhile, never stopping since their previous encampment. Gyro was insistent on making up for the lost time their scuffle with Ringo caused. Johnny didn’t bother arguing about it, just so he wouldn’t have to watch Gyro’s face contort uncomfortably whenever he was eye-level with Johnny’s cracked horseshoe-beanie-thing.

A constant reminder of his failure to win the fight, and maybe his closest brush with death.

It was strange to Johnny how he went from simply existing in the last few years, completely uncaring of whether or not that fact changed, to now. Where just the idea of it made his stomach twist horribly, all because of Gyro. All because he had that awful look on his face, and he’d been so, so frantic. Unfitting for such a serious…whimsical…contradictory man.

But mostly, it was his relief at Johnny’s aliveness that got him so messed up.

He’d have to get his stupid hat repaired in the next town.

Traversing the Midwest was monotonous at best, and downright grating at worst. All it did was put Johnny on edge, poised for the kill, like it wasn’t just rolling hills and wildflowers and bird calls. Johnny wasn’t sure how many more prairies and crop fields he could cross through before he started open-firing at the wheat chaffs that swayed even slightly in the breeze.

The flat land left them entirely visible to any potential enemy stand users, and the general quiet in the short grass at their feet and in the blue expanse above was more off-putting than tranquil. At least the horses seemed to enjoy it.

Gyro had been messing with his maps the last hour or so, and not a single word was exchanged between them during.

The only tonic for Johnny’s paranoid edge, leveling out his adrenaline-heightened senses, was Gyro’s frustrated mutterings to himself, and his tongue-clicking, and his constant paper-flipping. Even his hair flowing in Johnny’s peripheral didn’t make him jump, unlike every other Goddamn thing.

Johnny found he didn’t mind the quiet, however unnerving it was here, ‘cause Gyro always made sure never to keep it that way long.

At some point, between the non-silence and another two or ten or hundred fucking corn fields, Gyro looked up from one of his maps to admire the sky.

It was about the only thing that ever changed in this area. A brilliant blue was entirely replaced by oranges and pinks, outlining the wisps of clouds just barely, and Johnny had failed to properly take notice of it all in prioritizing his lookout of the road.

“Sure is pretty,” Gyro spoke, for the first time in ages, and Johnny finally turned his focus to the horizon that stretched on and on ahead of them.

“Yeah.” Johnny smiled a bit, up at the sky. Some things were nicer here, he supposed. Sometimes he really missed the simplicity of things like this in his hometown. Decent food, a nice sky to look at, no constant threat of some womanlike criminal or other imminent danger, and someone he was fond of at his side. When Gyro didn’t say anything, Johnny turned to face him, taking care not to let his surprise present itself when he was met with full and unwavering eye contact.

“What?” He questioned, lifting a brow. “Got something on my face?”

“No.” Gyro blew air out of his pursed lips, smirking some. “Just think you look nice with the sun on ya like that.”

Johnny brought a hand to his mouth, turning away from him, barely containing his smile. God, Gyro could be such a flirt sometimes. Johnny wondered if that was just a European thing, or one of the many Gyro-specific quirks he’d come to notice throughout their time together in the race. 

He’d never been very worldly outside of the surface level materialistic perks of being a famous jockey, hadn’t even left Kentucky for a majority of his life. Which made Gyro sound like he was something exotic to be discovered, but as far as Johnny was concerned, that was entirely true.

Either way, Johnny couldn’t say he hated it. He’d never known anyone like Gyro before, every conversation with his friend was novel, even when he was pissing Johnny off.

“Bet you’ll be burnt as a tomato by tomorrow.” Gyro added. Case in point. Johnny’s face dropped, which made Gyro laugh too hard and too loud, as he always did. Almost made Johnny want to smile again.

“We should make camp,” Gyro eventually spoke again, once his laughter had ceased on a long, contented sigh.

“Can’t camp in the wide open like this.” Johnny surveyed the perimeter surrounding them. Flat on all sides. The land just sprawled out and out, melding in with the sunsetted sky like blotches on a canvas. “We need to find some trees at least.”

“Haven’t seen a tree in miles, Johnny,” Gyro leaned over and shoved all of his shit into his open saddlebag carelessly, patting twice at Valkyrie’s side on his way back up. “Don’t you worry. I’ll protect us tonight.”

It was clearly meant to be a joke, given the guy was flexing his arm and patting his bicep like it was an animal to be praised, but it still brought Johnny to snap a hard gaze in his direction. He’d love to say it was out of concern for his own safety, to argue that Gyro was certainly as tired as he was, and keeping awake was about just as dangerous as being out in the open. But not even Johnny could lie to himself like that.

The idea of Gyro awake and alone in the night, Johnny unable to help him in sleep, was terrifying.

“No.” He damn near shouted, tone far harsher than he’d meant it to be. He leaned back a bit on his horse, looking out to the road ahead just so he didn’t have to face Gyro’s wide-eyed expression.

“I don’t…” Johnny retried, swallowing thickly. “It ain’t safe, Gyro.”

Gyro took a moment to respond. It was just the sound of hooves crunching in the grassy path beneath them and some bugs chirping, emerging at dusk. Johnny could feel eyes on him, narrowed in suspicion, before Gyro cleared his throat.

“Well, alright,” Gyro’s tone was gentler, but he didn’t speak on it other than that. It made Johnny want to fall off his horse and die. “We’ll keep looking, but only a few minutes more. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah.” Johnny agreed, mortified at himself and his girlish outburst, but he was silently thankful for Gyro’s unusually placative response.

Luck was on their side that evening, and Johnny thanked God for it. They managed to find a divot in a little hill, and even a few trees were there, dotting the border between one crop field and the next. They got to their nightly routine quick, Johnny unceremoniously throwing himself off of Slow Dancer, Gyro grimacing at him afterward.

What the hell was that about? Johnny was too tired to pick a fight about it, especially after his earlier behavior.

While Gyro unburdened the horses, Johnny got to work making a small fire. There was no way in hell he’d be hunting down any rodents for supper, so beans it was.

By the time Gyro sat with him, the sun had fully setted, and the flower-dotted field surrounding them was suddenly mirrored by a crystal clear starry sky.

The perfect kind of night for talking, or stargazing, or relaxing.

“Say, Johnny,” Gyro started, around half a mouthful of shitty beans. He gestured with his fork, “You got any booze?”

Or getting drunk. Johnny nodded, “Yeah. You wanna drink?”

“Sounds great.”

Johnny threw aside his emptied can. He aimed a finger in the direction of his saddlebag, shooting a single nail bullet into the earth beneath it. The disturbance in the dirt helpfully shot the thing up and forward, where it landed near Johnny at a reaching distance.

“Christ, Johnny, don’t spook the horses.” Gyro scolded, his volume above a comfortable level that had Slow Dancer irritably kicking at the ground with a huff.

“They’re fine.” Johnny was digging through his bag til he got what he wanted. Some trashy whiskey. “You’re the one being too loud,” He pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gyro spoke again, annoyed, and also significantly quieter. “You know you can just say, I dunno,” Gyro cleared his throat and piped back up in a far higher pitched voice, “‘Hey, Gyro, could you hand me that bag over there’?”

Was that supposed to be him? Johnny rolled his eyes, glaring at the pesky fuck.

“You oughta shut the hell up, Gyro.”

Gyro’s mild expression soured, almost comically. “‘ Oughta shut the hell up, Gyro, ’” He mocked under his breath. “You’re lucky I don’t slap you upside the head.”

“Try it.” Johnny warned, but there was hardly any bite to it. In fact, a small smile was tugging at his lips. Something he couldn’t blame on the alcohol quite yet.

To remedy that, he took the first hefty gulp straight from the neck of the thing, wiping his mouth before handing it on over to Gyro. He took it gratefully, tipping up his hat at Johnny before tossing it back with a similar abandon. Rough week.

It burned going down, and it certainly tasted what it was worth. Gyro made a face after his chug that proved the fact. They passed it back and forth a while, talking about nothing in particular. Stupid, harmless shit, as Gyro was obviously avoiding bringing up the whole Ringo situation. 

Johnny wondered if he’d ever know Gyro’s feel on things through his own volition, or if he’d just have to get it out by gunpoint or something. If not even the garbage alcohol could drag anything out of the guy, then maybe nothing could. Johnny hated how shitty that made him feel.

As their fire slowly burnt itself into nothing, the alcohol was about the only thing left warming them. It kind of symbolized the sharp downfall of their conversation, which started off pleasant– food, hometowns, route overviews, stuff like that. And it ended on something less than intellectual.

“Oh! I got an easy one for ya, Johnny,” Gyro gestured at him with the now empty bottle, flashing his grills in a shit-eating grin. “Boobs or ass?”

“Boobs, definitely,” Johnny nodded resolutely in his monotone. “You?”

“It depends,” Gyro circled the bottle in the air like he had to really think about it, all leaned back on his unoccupied arm with one leg crossed over the other planted on the dirt.

“All my life, I’d agree and say boobs. But recently, I’ve been thinking otherwise…” Gyro pursed his lips up at the sky when he said that, and Johnny almost laughed at how sincere it came out, like he was bearing a deep part of himself to Johnny. 

The guy was weird. One of the weirdest men Johnny had ever known. Maybe that was some sort of soul sharing.

“Oh yeah? You see a nice girl somewhere back there?” Johnny inquired, sitting up off his palms and adjusting his legs beneath him. Realistically, that had to be the case. They were talking about boobs and ass for God’s sake. But it still made Johnny’s chest tighten for no good reason. He wished he had more shitty liquor to ignore it better.

“Nope.” Gyro said simply, and it didn’t make much sense to Johnny, but he sure as hell would never acknowledge how relieved it made him to hear.

“Hey, Johnny. You been with a woman lately?” Gyro asked all of a sudden. Johnny's eyebrows shot up, for a moment, til he schooled them back into a furrow. He cleared his throat and looked off, elsewhere.

“No… I haven’t.” He said, quietly. And truthfully. Fuck. “You have?” It escaped him out of some ingrained politeness. He really didn’t want to hear–

“Hell no. I got a race to win here, can’t go around chasing tail.” Oh thank God .

“Have you… ever been with anyone?” Gyro asked, and slowly turned to look at Johnny, who instantly snapped toward him in offense, a sneer curling his lip.

“Of course I have.” He said, like it was obvious. Johnny squashed down his internal response of ‘Why would it be? The way I am,’ and was glad to see his face hadn’t reflected the sentiment, considering Gyro was laughing out loud, the fucker.

“Sorry, sorry.” He waved down at Johnny apologetically. Johnny leaned back, because for whatever reason that question out of Gyro’s mouth had him instinctually geared to pounce. “I just had to hear it.”

“Well, I have.” He shot Gyro a glare, before turning away. “Just haven’t done anything since… before the race.” Johnny supplied, under his breath. His grave demeanor resembled the dying fire he was now poking at.

Even drunk, Johnny knew stating the full truth of “since after the accident” would be a bit of a mood ruiner.

“... Anything ?” Gyro repeated. Johnny nodded solemnly.

Speaking of mood ruiners, “Ha!” Gyro laughed, once, chin lifted to the sky and hand on his stomach like a fucking comic book character. Johnny’s brow twitched at that, against his will, though he kept a level look.

Years of fighting with his bastard father had trained Johnny’s ability to remain composed in situations of extreme irritation, those of which seemed to closely follow Gyro in the same way flames did the damned.

When Gyro dropped his head back down, wiping away a tear that for sure did not exist and sighing, his expression neutralized immediately upon seeing Johnny’s face.

“Oh.” He remarked, pointing a finger at Johnny, and his tone was infuriatingly deadpan. “You weren’t kidding, huh.”

Johnny only furrowed his brows, exasperated at the horrible turn the night had taken. He was too exhausted from riding all day, and especially from his residual adrenaline, to do anything properly damaging. Not like he could, anyway, seeing as the middle of wherever the hell they were provided no heavy furniture to throw at the guy.

“Jesus, no wonder you’re such a grouch.” Gyro whistled, loud enough that Johnny imagined if they were nearer to the trees birds surely would have flown out of them. Johnny narrowed his eyes at him.

“Shut the fuck up,” He slapped away Gyros finger, which was still pointed and now wagging around too near to his chest for his own comfort or sanity. “Anyone would be if they had to travel with you.”

“Oh, quit your bellyaching,” Gyro leaned fully back, lithe and unbothered in a way that had Johnny gritting his teeth to stop himself from ogling too hard. Gyro waved his hand around dismissively, clicking his tongue like Johnny was the idiot. “I’m a delight to have around and you need to stop acting like you don’t know it, Johnny.”

“Yeah, you sure are, pal.” Johnny rolled his eyes with unnecessary force, given Gyro was too busy humming with his eyes shut like a careless fool to even see it. Johnny knew he was drunk, but damn if Gyro wasn’t gabbier than a woman. Johnny smirked at the thought. Boy, if he said that out loud it’d really piss Gyro off.

“See! Does you some good to lighten up, huh?” Gyro seemed to misinterpret his devilish grin. He lolled his head around until he was leaning nearer to Johnny and elbowed him. Johnny resisted the urge to swipe Gyro’s cascading hair off of him and into the fire.

Johnny weighed his options: either tell the jackass he was being sarcastic and risk his stoic aura with his pettiness, or say nothing, which should prompt Gyro to shut the hell up, but never did. Lose lose.

“You just need a good lay.” Gyro unhelpfully supplied at his silence, as expected. Johnny sighed.

“Gyro, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” He gestured at their meager surroundings, pausing to let the crickets’ chirps really hammer home just how nowhere they were. “That ain’t exactly an option.”

“You know what I mean.” Gyro scooted closer to Johnny, poking into his chest again, and making a crude jerking gesture with his other hand. “You just need to rub one out.” He whispered roughly, and somehow still at full volume.

Johnny leveled him with a blank stare.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink for the night, cowboy.”

“No, Johnny. Think about it,” Gyro ignored him, but paused to loudly dry-swallow. His hand went from prodding Johnny to wrapping around his shoulder and grabbing at his chin, turning the both of them forward so they were facing the great unknown.

Johnny conceded that he was the one who drank enough for the evening, when he had to beat down the blush threatening his cheeks over such simple manhandling.

“Just think how heavenly it’d feel. Y’know, ‘cause you haven’t done it in so long.” Gyro waved his free hand over the expanse of nothing before them, leaning forward to grin down at Johnny, despite the seriousness of his tone.

Johnny quite liked how slack the alcohol would make Gyro’s expressions, how it forced his already mediocre poker face to fully crumble into sloppy smiles and half-lidded eyes. And also his big hand, which had not-so-slyly made its way from Johnny’s chin to his waist. There was no way in hell Gyro could’ve thought that was subtle. But, hey, he was a stupid drunk.

No matter what Johnny told himself, it still made his heart beat faster.

Though he was plenty glad he wasn’t sober for this conversation, or really any of whatever the fuck was happening anymore, or else he’d probably have tied Gyro to a tree and shot him up for sport by now. Or be busy praying away an unwanted boner.

“You’re sick in the head,” Johnny mumbled, pulling himself out of Gyro’s grip. He missed the warmth immediately. He cleared his throat, “‘S not like you’d know how it feels, anyway.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Gyro puffed out his chest, pouting like a dumb kid. “I know how to let loose, Johnny. It’s how I stay so reliable and nurture my genius.”

“Oh, you sure do,” Johnny agreed in a monotone. “It’s just that, most people with decency don’t ‘let loose’ two feet away from their friend’s bedroll every night.”

Gyro’s position tensed, and he whipped fully toward and also somehow away from Johnny suddenly, his face a violent shade of red that was almost concerning given the alcohol already gifted him a prominent blush throughout the night.

“I do not!” He practically shouted in offense, then not even a handful of seconds after, “How the hell do you– you were asleep!”

“No,” Johnny said simply. “I ain’t a particularly heavy sleeper, Gyro. ‘Sides, that wasn’t what I was talkin’ about,” He waved off Gyro’s mortification easily, leaning on a palm.

“Meant I doubt you could last very long goin’ without.” Johnny chose not to add ‘not as long as I have’ , even if it would’ve been true. At the expense of his pride.

“I have an iron fucking will, Joestar. Don’t you doubt that.” Gyro squinted at him in challenge, his tone far too serious for such a stupid Goddamn argument. Johnny cooly lifted a brow.

“You wanna bet on it?” He offered. He shouldn’t have.

“Fine.” Gyro held out his hand to Johnny, who took it. When Gyro attempted to shake, Johnny gripped him tight, till he stilled.

“Well wait a minute,” He chastised. “We need to settle this, first.”

“Go on then,” Gyro growled under his breath, though made no move to free his hand from Johnny’s. “What do you want?”

“I know you still have one of Hot Pants’ sandwiches,” Gyro’s intimidating mug immediately dropped. Johnny fought with himself very hard not to laugh aloud about it. “If I win, which I will, I want it.”

Gyro took too long to blink too slow, then shook his head back and forth and laughed lowly, like Johnny was an endearingly unreasonable child or something. Johnny squeezed his hand harder in warning.

“It’s yours. And if I win,” Gyro pulled Johnny closer by his grip, looking awfully smug about it, “You’re gonna get us some good whiskey next time.”

Johnny just blinked at him. Wasn’t a hard bargain at all. Man, Gyro really was a stupid drunk.

“Deal,” Johnny loosened his hand, and they shook on it.

The next day was uneventful, in terms of difficulty. No enemies, just more long stretches of flat land and corn fields. They did get to see a farm on their route, this time, with cows roaming the pasture. Johnny felt stupid, how novel the sight felt, simply because he hadn’t seen much aside from Valkyrie and Gyro’s respective asses all day. They even stopped there to all eat lunch and watch the animals roam around for a while.

Aside from that, Gyro’s behavior was normal, if quieter than usual. They were both a bit hungover upon waking, but it wasn’t anything some coffee couldn’t mask, so they set off quick. Johnny never brought up their conversation from the night before.

Speaking of conversation, there was a lack of it between the two that lasted about all day. Which was slightly hellish. Not even route discussion was a possibility, given they were in the midwest and pretty much the only way– for both acquiring the corpse parts and winning the race– was straight through. Even their detour.

Gyro liked to say the detour gave them a leg up in the race, but Johnny was sure he was just being an anti-social little shit, avoiding the other racers. Not that he was complaining. Johnny liked it best, when it was just the two of them. And he could protect his friend easier that way. Though he was sure Gyro would laugh in his face if he ever confessed that.

Whenever Johnny would strike up conversation, Gyro would look his way for a time, then turn back forwards. And all he did was hum his answers. No bits, no banter. Johnny didn’t like it, but he didn’t push on it, either.

When camp was made, later in the night, they weren’t as lucky as to find another safe spot. Gyro offered up first watch, rather insistently. Was probably the most he’d spoken all fucking day. Johnny only let up when Gyro agreed to sit close enough that he could wake him quickly in case anything strange happened.

Johnny knocked out about as fast as he always did, but it was hard with Gyro constantly shifting and moving around beside him. Though his soft humming helped. When it was Johnny’s turn to look out, he wasn’t even sure if Gyro slept at all, the way he was tossing and turning.

The second day was worse. The jump was about 5 to 50, which shouldn’t have surprised Johnny given how dramatic Gyro tended to be, but it still did.

Gyro was beat from the start. Johnny didn’t even have to wake him, at dawn, he just shot up like a vampire rising from his coffin and groaned. Johnny didn’t have a chance to even speak before Gyro glared at him, and specifically said, “Don’t talk to me right now”, which really pissed him off but he benevolently decided not to act on it. Just got to packing up, and convinced himself not to use Gyro’s canteen as a target for his morning shooting practice.

They dipped into their rations for breakfast most mornings these days, because critters were harder to pounce out in the open, but Gyro disappeared for some time and actually returned with a rabbit in hand. Restless , Johnny thought.

“Great catch.” He offered instead.

“Don’t I know it?” Gyro perked up in an instant, looking triumphant. It took everything in Johnny not to roll his eyes and snark ‘ so the talking ban’s been lifted?’. Gyro waited a long minute, like he wanted Johnny to say something, then just sighed and waggled a finger down at him. “Get a fire going, would ya?”

Johnny just raised a brow and huffed, though got to setting up their tiny firepit from the night before. Brooding, then bossy. What a weirdo. As they cooked and ate their breakfast in semi-silence, Gyro interrupting to spit out a bone every now and then, Johnny got to thinking.

He thought about how he was sort-of compiling Gyro’s mannerisms through the duration of the bet, like an experiment. Then he realized he could probably document it. Would help to pass the time, out here doing jack, in addition to being funny as fuck.

Once they’d tidied up their campsite just enough and Gyro packed his own shit, they mounted their horses and got back on route. They rode for about 30 minutes, before Gyro dug out his map to scrutinize it and grumble under his breath, before shaking it out like it was a particularly interesting newspaper article and started up some conversation.

“Hey, Johnny, you think we’ll ever make it out of this fucking place?”

“Yeah, this part of the country has got a lot of land,” Johnny stated simply, not looking up. A little before, he’d pulled out their shared notebook and was busy jotting down whatever he remembered about Gyro’s behavior from the day before til then. “I’d say a day or two more and we’ll be at the next checkpoint.”

“What the hell for?” Gyro gestured around them, clicking his tongue. Irritable , Johnny added to his growing list. “ Cazzo , in Italia if you want to go somewhere, you’re there. This is absurd.”

Johnny only hummed in response, caught up in his note-taking.

“Hey, you listening to me?” Johnny glanced up to be met with Gyro’s raised eyebrow, his gaze flicking from Johnny’s face to the notepad in his hands. “What are you up to?”

“Just revisiting some of your jokes.” Johnny lied, straight faced, and it was only slightly worrying that Gyro’s expression took a few whole seconds to morph from annoyed to delighted.

“Really?” He beamed, then schooled his expression, turning to stoically face the road ahead. “Well, ‘course. They’re all great.” He answered himself. Johnny rolled his eyes, and it was entirely fond. And then he wrote down just as susceptible to compliments.

“Got any new material for me?” Johnny inquired, closing the notebook and tapping his pen against the leather backing. At least the atmosphere was somewhat pleasant for the first time in a while.

“You can’t choose when genius will strike, Johnny,” Gyro scolded, and Johnny took that to mean he probably couldn’t come up with anything. Though he wasn’t sure how that’d be possible, given all his bits were incomprehensible

“Guess you’re right,” He sighed. So much for pleasant.

The rest of the day went fine, nothing notable occurred, ‘least nothing life threatening. It did rain, at some point, which seemed to further damper Gyro’s mood. Johnny cursed the sky for having ruined all his hard work in keeping the guy semi in check.

In hindsight, though, the whole thing really was Johnny’s fault. Turns out he was the stupid drunk, revving up known-stupid-drunk Gyro’s engine like that. Why the hell did he wager a bet against a man whose entire being was never backing down? So then they both were stupid drunks, and Johnny was just unlucky enough that they didn’t cancel each other out. Seemed about right.

As if Gyro’s general behavior wasn’t punishment enough, Johnny was only served more unfortunate situations.

When the paltry storm was nearing its end, a particularly sharp gust of wind came through and knocked Gyro’s hat right off his head. It didn’t help his attitude much, expectedly, but hey neither did the slats in the brim help to keep him dry in the first place.

Still, Johnny made sure to keep his expression neutral when catching Valkyrie’s reins, and while watching Gyro trudge off his saddle and into the nearby tall grass where he snatched up his sopping hat and slammed it back onto his equally sopping head.

He’d been in the grass for a few seconds at most. But the entire rest of their ride until making camp was spent with Gyro complaining about his newly acquired mosquito bites, and “why the hell are they even out when it’s raining?”, and pointing them all out to Johnny one-by-reddened-one incredulously, like he didn’t know what it was doing to Johnny. Of fucking course he didn’t know what it was doing to Johnny.

Johnny really never thought he’d actually find any challenge in their dumb bet, but naturally as it was in God’s will for him to suffer, he now had his own problem to deal with.

They did find another ditch this time around. Despite the mud their setup of camp went smooth enough. As smooth as it could with Gyro stomping everywhere and grumbling to himself, and Johnny trying not to drool over his bitten arms like a dumb animal. Dinner was spent in a tense silence, and sleeping at least came easy to Johnny, but he wasn’t too sure about Gyro.

Day three was the kicker.

Johnny felt like Gyro’s horrible attitude was now actively slowing them down, and he was never known to be a patient man.

He’d managed for most of the day, stewing in his own anger-filled silence, but keeping just that. Silent.

Gyro snapped at him to hurry up with his breakfast in the morning. He mumbled to himself, constantly, and in whatever language, so that Johnny couldn’t even understand his tantrums. He also just straight shot down Johnny’s singular attempt to converse, so he opted out of speaking to the fucker for the rest of the day.

Worst of all, they hadn’t even made a decent pace out of it. The sun had begun to set by the time Johnny spotted a blackened silhouette on the flat horizon. When they approached it, just as slow as they’d gone all day, because Gyro surely forgot this was supposed to be a race, Johnny realized it was another barn. Not even close enough to the next town. And worse, on closer inspection, it was some abandoned rinky-dink thing on the outskirts.

Gyro didn’t say anything as he redirected Valkyrie off the thin trail and into the overgrown grass, towards the barn. He even glanced over his shoulder, like he expected Johnny to say something about it. Then just turned back with a huff.

Johnny rolled his eyes and followed, like he always would. And the fact that even despite Gyro’s attitude, and their horrible day, that Johnny would still follow him off a fucking cliff– it didn’t even anger Johnny. Just made him wish for that cliff to come early.

Once they were settled enough, Johnny having started a small fire just to warm their rations up, he pulled out the notebook and got to ranting. He made sure to recount all of Gyro’s horrible behavior in detail, not that it was easily forgettable. Gyro sat off to the side, staring at the fire with lidded eyes like he would rather be anywhere else. Won’t talk. Last joke: 3 days. Feel like I should call a doctor. Can’t be normal.

“Johnny.” Gyro said. Johnny almost jumped out of his skin. Surely that was the first time he’d been addressed all day.

“What?” He snapped, barely glancing up from his writing.

“Let’s play cards.” Gyro offered, and he was actually looking at Johnny, and his tone was entirely civil. What the fuck?

Johnny just scrunched his brows at him in confusion, which Gyro seemed to take as an ‘okay’, because he’d already gotten up and dug out their worn card set from his bag.

He turned, eyed the dying fire, and snatched up his lamp, too. He bent to light it by the remaining flame, then placed the thing nearby and sat right back down, much closer to Johnny than before.

Johnny looked from the cards to Gyro’s weirdly neutral expression and back, then slowly closed the notebook and set it aside, offering his hand out for Gyro to start dealing.

“...What are we playing?” Johnny asked, and he was entirely suspicious. This whole thing stunk. It reminded him of when an animal was dying and decided to be chipper in its last days.

“What are we playing, he asks,” Gyro scoffed out, shaking his head with a playful grin. Like he was normal. “Poker.”

Okay, seriously this time, what the fuck?

Johnny didn’t have a response for this display. Just took to his hand, which was actually damn good, and got to playing.

The first round went in Johnny’s favor, as it usually did. His luck only ever heightened with petty gambling. Not that they ever bet anything of worth. Johnny wished he’d known the last three days of his life without betting.

Round two, Gyro straightened his hand, even moved around his cards, made them look nice. Entirely straight faced. Then he unceremoniously dropped them to the dirt, face up, and loudly announced “I fold.”

“Jesus, that was quick.” Johnny raised his brows.

“Just ain’t in the mood.” Gyro sighed, standing up and stretching his back and arms out. Johnny followed the movement appreciatively, then shook his head back on track.

“You suggested it,” He muttered, tossing his cards to join Gyro’s on the ground. Gyro just side-eyed him from over his nose and shrugged. Johnny clicked his tongue.

It was really, really his last straw. Johnny was no stranger to giving up. God knew Gyro wouldn’t put a stop to it himself, because then he’d lose, the stubborn ass. If it helped him save face, whatever, at least this whole shitshow would be over. Why the hell had he waited this long, anyway?

“That’s it,” Johnny resolved, and brought both of his hands up and back down against his thighs. “I forfeit the bet.”

Gyro snapped toward him, his brows all furrowed up, lip curling with his annoyance.

“What are you going on about?” He turned to face Johnny still sat on the ground, hands on his hips like a disappointed mother. “It’s only been two days.”

“Three. Three days.” Johnny shouted at him, teeth grit, gripping tightly to his pants. “I seriously can’t deal with this attitude of yours anymore, Gyro. I give up. You win.”

Gyro narrowed his eyes down at Johnny, jabbing towards him with an accusatory finger. “I already told you. Do not go underestimating me.”

“It’s a stupid bet! Not even faring much better than you,” Johnny shook his hands at Gyro, in lieu of slapping the sense into him. “I ain’t boiling your entire being down to whether or not you did… you know what today!”

Gyro raised an amused brow toward the end of Johnny’s sentence, before remembering his irritation and stepping forward.

“No, what’s stupid is this backass pity of yours.” Gyro was suddenly matching Johnny’s volume, and all it did was make his blood rush to his ears, and tighten his hands into fists.

“ Pity? Now why the hell would I pity you?” Johnny yelled out, incredulous.

Gyro should know that Johnny was perhaps the last person to ever feel that way for anyone. Especially not Gyro. What use was there for pity? It drove itself into Johnny’s life after his attack, against his wishes, and with his luck it’d follow him til he dropped dead. It’d been so long, since Johnny believed he could change, could grow, could be better. Do better. Since he wanted those things! Because his efforts went in vain to all those around him. All that he did was fruitless. Pathetic. Pitiful.

But not to Gyro. Never to Gyro.

Why would he feel something so terrible for his best friend, his only friend in this whole world? What use was there for pity, when Johnny could just help Gyro out himself? He’d rather die than submit to some shit feeling in lieu of fighting for someone he loves. Johnny shook off the thought immediately, the tips of his ears hot with anger and only that.

All over a dumbass bet.

“You’re a bigger idiot than I knew, Gyro,” Johnny mumbled, bitterly, and it was like all the fight was sucked out of him with his words. Gyro seemed to blank at that, taken aback by his sudden calm. Then his shoulders slumped, and he sighed aloud.

“It doesn’t matter how stupid the bet is, Johnny, this ain’t about that. You’ve got to stop giving up so quick, now.” Gyro explained and crossed his arms, and for what it was worth, his volume had dramatically decreased. “You hardly changed, during the bet. Can’t blame me for thinking you’re takin’ the easy way out.”

Without stopping to think, Johnny snatched up their notebook, the pen still bookmarked on his ‘studies’, and tossed it to Gyro. He caught it with a firm, practiced ease, and his surprised expression would almost be funny if this whole situation wasn’t just the worst.

“Read that,” Johnny demanded, then stopped for a moment to truly ponder what the fuck he was doing. He swallowed thickly, and loud thanks to his dry throat. “Read that, and… and tell me those are the workings of a normal, unchanged man,” He tapered off at the end, quieting as Gyro aggressively read through the thing. Flipping through the pages carelessly. Then flipping back. Then forward. Then back again…

Gyro’s face twisted up, like his brain wasn’t sure what expression he was supposed to be making, and then it entirely dropped to an almost childish confusion.

Then, a glorious blush spread across the entirety of his finally astonished mug. It was like watching a very perplexing, very masculine flower in all stages of blooming.

He looked from the notebook, to Johnny, then back, quickly. Like it’d disappear before his eyes if the perpetrator wasn’t sat there before him. Gyro suddenly stepped forward and dropped to a criss-cross in front of Johnny, then scooted closer. Johnny’s eyes flicked down to see their knees touching. Gyro turned the notebook to Johnny, and started gesturing limply to the writing by his hand.

“You did this all about me?” He asked, practically interrogating, eyebrows scrunched together like this was information pertinent to saving the world. He tapped into the paper repeatedly to emphasize his question. “You were…were watching me this close?”

“‘Bout as close as I always…” Johnny leaned back slightly with his chin, God, Gyro was so fucking close. He had started under his breath, then cleared his throat. “Yes.”

Gyro just blinked at him, before turning the notebook back towards himself and staring down at it, running his fingers over the paper. He was eerily quiet. Was he debating what punch to throw first? Surely he didn’t appreciate the borderline shit-talking being documented in big, black inky lettering. Johnny fidgeted with his wristbands.

“If you’re wantin’ to fight, at least give me some time to warm up–”

“Why don’t we end this in a tie?” Gyro suddenly offered, way louder than he really needed to, and it caught Johnny completely off guard. Seemed to surprise Gyro, too, the way his words tumbled out like he hadn’t meant for them to leave his throat, and the minute they did his features twisted up in a cringe.

It was Johnny’s turn to blink.

“Uh… huh?”

“Johnny,” Gyro started, already exasperated, and rubbed his temples in harsh circles. Like he would rather not have to say what he was about to say. “Don’t get used to hearing this. But, this one time, you’re right.”

Johnny just sat still, then furrowed his brows. “...Is this a bit?”

“What? No.” Gyro shot down, completely serious. “Let me finish.”

Gyro bit his lip, like he really, seriously did not want to be doing this. It wasn’t as if Johnny was forcing the words out of him. He was doing it on his own. Whatever ‘it’ might entail.

“Ever since our fight with that crazed bastard Roadagain, you’ve been off.” He explained, tapping against the notebook nonchalantly in a way that Johnny could sense was nervousness. “Wasn’t affecting our racing, so I didn’t say anything.”

Johnny looked to the dirt, picking at his nail. It was completely reasonable to keep each other at a distance like that. Gyro did originally tell him to pull his own weight, after all. Johnny knew that. But hearing it spoken aloud, after all they’d gone through, how far they’d come together. It oddly hurt. He ignored the heat building behind his eyes.

“Look, Gyro, if you’re meaning to say we split here why don’t you just hurry up and–”

“Huh?” Gyro balked, loudly, and irritatedly. He shut his eyes and pinched his bridge. “Johnny, listen up because I won’t say this a third time. Let me finish. ”

Johnny looked back up with a sniffle he wished wasn’t as painfully audible as it was in the near-silence of the night. Gyro crossed his arms, staring him down with a determination Johnny would be hard pressed to have witnessed outside of a life-or-death battle.

“I was wrong for that. We’re a duo. Duo’s gotta be in step. I should’ve…talked to you about it,” He muttered the last bit, all sulking, like a kid being forced to admit he ate the last cookie. Johnny could almost laugh out loud, how happy that single admittance made him, but his face thankfully remained neutral.

“Then, you started that dumb bet, and well. It might’ve slightly worsened my mood,”

“Slightly?” Johnny repeated.

“Zip it,” Gyro ordered, then rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. “Okay, I was pissy. Whatever. But you were worse!” He pointed an accusatory finger at Johnny.

Johnny just smirked lightly. Never in his life did he think he’d hear of Gyro Zeppeli’s feelings from the man himself, however short it might’ve been. It was plenty satisfying, dragging something out of the guy like he’d been wanting to do for so long. And he did it before the shitty booze could. Which shouldn't have made him feel like the bell of the ball, but it did.

“How so?” Johnny inquired, and he wasn’t even picking a fight about it. Gyro still sighed heavily like he was, though.

“You weren’t… quipping back at me, I guess.” He rolled his hand around, a blush still present on his scowling face. It was endearing to watch. “I’d say something stupid, because I was… mad, and you were just quieter than a mouse. That ain’t like you. It… fuck, Johnny, it worried me.” He spat the rest out quickly, like his confession was a nasty medicine he’d been forced to down and was now letting back up.

Johnny was actually taken aback. Okay, so he was pulling out more from the guy than he ever could’ve hoped to expect. He could feel the heat in his face now, too, no doubt similar to the red fully coating Gyro’s.

Maybe he should be more thankful for the horrible bet after all. He opened his mouth to say something of worth.

“What?” Was all that came out instead. Then he shook his head a little, retrying, “You’d rather me have fought with you? Called you a too-horny bastard that can’t function properly without jacking off?”

“Okay, watch it,” Gyro warned, squaring his shoulders. He dropped them just as fast, though, clearing his throat and shrugging sheepishly. “But, yeah. Sounds more like you.”

Johnny blinked. Again.

“You want to… end the bet on a tie.” He repeated, slowly, just to make sure.

“Yes.” Gyro nodded, and he didn’t hesitate nor cower this time. He was resolute. Genuine. “Together.”

‘Together’? What did he think this was, some cheap porno novel? And why the hell was it working on Johnny?

He could laugh at how perplexing this whole thing had become, but when had anything ever gone breezily for him?

And, really, he was deeply glad for whatever the fuck was finally happening between them. The bet, in its massive failure, was actually helping them to talk things through.

Gyro had been acting differently, too, since their last Stand encounter. Johnny could admit he noticed it, the way Gyro watched him. It was different than before. He wasn’t stupid. Just couldn’t believe his feelings were reciprocated. Still didn’t. Maybe he was a little stupid.

But Johnny had been building up to break for far longer than he’d care to admit. Shared rations, fireside chats, backs touching under the blanket, tossing canteens on horseback, jokes exchanged and documented, attacks fought through side by side, injuries tended to. Plenty of moments with Gyro that had pushed them to where they were then, too close, knees touching.

It felt like the right way of things, like something in his life finally made sense, and was coming to fruition. Which made him feel worse. Because what if it wasn’t, for Gyro? How the hell was Johnny supposed to drag that out of him? The massive pit in his stomach swirled with a lovely concoction of arousal and a damn near crushing anxiety. It had to be worth asking.

“Do you… know what that sounds like?” He spoke soft, as if anyone but Gyro was nearby to hear him. The fire had gone out ages ago, and the crickets’ song died down with their argument. Gyro looked genuinely insulted by his very reasonable question.

“‘Course I do. I’m no idiot.” He scoffed. But it didn’t hide his red face, or how his eyes flicked down to watch Johnny’s tongue lick over his lips.

“Debatable,” Johnny said, and before Gyro could protest as he was already gearing up to do, he continued. “If that’s really how you feel ,” Johnny narrowed his eyes at him, emphasizing that word that he knew would make Gyro clam up and get all defensive. He was born to pick fights, after all. A trait Gyro apparently sought after in him. “Then prove it, Gy–”

Before Johnny could even finish his damn sentence, Gyro shot forward, like the words out of Johnny’s mouth were all he’d been waiting for. He snatched him up by his waist, grabbing at his chin with his other hand, tilting it up to clash his lips against Johnny’s own chapped ones.

It was chaste, close lipped, and brash. Entirely unenjoyable by any normal person’s standards.

But Johnny could feel that burning fire in his belly migrate up his entire body, to his face, his eyes widening in the shock of it.

When Gyro ripped back, a loud smack resounded in the air, and he was panting like a kid who’d just ran around the yard too fast.

“Does that work for you, brat?” He asked.

Johnny didn’t realize he’d brought his fingers to his parted lips, and was prodding them as if he’d be able to feel the remnant of Gyro’s lips imprinted there. He even felt a little bitter, knowing if they weren’t in fucking Kansas, their lipstick wouldn’t be horribly dry and their mouths could’ve been a nice matching teal color right then.

Well, it definitely cleared some doubts up.

“Yeah,” Johnny nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’ll do it,” His nodding quickened in pace, and Gyro matched that franticness in all of two seconds.

They were instantly back on eachother, Johnny gripping Gyro’s arms, and Gyro’s hands roamed the whole of him like they didn’t know where to land. Like he was something worth the discovery. Eventually he settled on one palm against the small of Johnny’s back, where sensation was dulled, and the other between his shoulder blades, the vantage making it easier for him to smash Johnny against his front.

Johnny settled his own palms against Gyro’s chest, so he could feel his heartbeat there. Quick and thunderous, much like Gyro himself. The pace matched Johnny’s own, and he couldn’t help but think, they were finally back in step. It made Johnny smile against his lips, effectively splitting them apart.

They panted on each other for a moment, and Johnny could hardly hear the sounds of nature around them over the dull rushing in his ears. Gyro swallowed, and that determined gaze never left Johnny’s face, even as his hands smoothed themselves back down and pushed up at his hoodie.

Johnny pulled back, just slightly, but enough to cause Gyro to take pause. Johnny glanced around them, his hands unmoving from Gyro’s body.

“Why don’t we make use of the barn?” He suggested, and tried not to make a face at how rough his voice already sounded from just making out like teenagers.

Gyro instantly, and impatiently, shot up to his feet, with no care for the boner he was now presenting Johnny with at eye-level. Well, that made him feel less bad, he supposed.

“Damn, you really are a too-horny bastard,” Johnny muttered under his breath, and Gyro clicked his tongue at him from above.

“What did you say?” He challenged, loudly, but Johnny could tell his heart wasn’t in it. It helped that when Gyro leaned over, he had a very prominent look of discomfort on his face. “You’re coming with me,” Was all he gave in the way of warning, before manhandling Johnny until he was being held bridal-style in his arms.

“Could’ve followed you, asshole,” Johnny grumbled, but buried his hot face in Gyro’s neck all the same. Gyro shook his head against him, leaning down with no warning and grabbing for the lamp.

“I can’t have you crawling around some shithole barn.” Gyro scoffed, like it was obvious, and then cleared his throat. Johnny felt the vibration of it against his cheek. “Need those hands in top shooting condition.” He added, backtracking. Johnny couldn’t stop the stupid smile spreading across his lips at that.

Gyro made his way to the door, which he had to kick in very slightly but with some difficulty given his state. Johnny really wished he could see what the guy might’ve looked like from afar, swinging around a fully grown man and a lamp and furthering property damage with a noticeable hard on.

Once the thing was open, Gyro lifted Johnny in his arms, just enough so he could properly step over the wooden door frame jutting out of the ground, outlined by the little light. But then he stopped. Hesitated.

When Johnny looked to Gyro, his green eyes were fixed on him, then to the floor, then back to him. His expression would almost be comical, the intense focus and severity unbefitting of their current position against one another, but all it did was make Johnny feel sick.

He couldn't help but tense in his hold, loosening his arms around Gyro’s neck, as if he had anywhere to go but down. Not that he wasn’t familiar with the concept, but it still ached horribly.

“You getting cold feet?” Johnny asked, attempting to keep his tone level, and noticeably failing. His voice was soft, far. That seemed to snap Gyro out of it, as he finally settled his full focus on Johnny, and offered him a sneer of offense.

“Are you kidding? ‘Cause you’re not funny,” Gyro scoffed, pulling Johnny further into himself as he unceremoniously crossed into the abandoned barn. He instantly narrowed his eyes down at a dry-looking area off the side of the entrance, where a few stacks of hay sat illuminated by the lamp, and made his way on over. “No way I’m backing out now.”

“Sure, cowboy.” Johnny deadpanned, though he was sure Gyro could feel his relief, at the overwhelming rate it was coursing through his body. “It ain’t my fault you’re too weak to properly carry a man.”

“Shut it. Leave the joking to me.” Gyro ordered, gruffly, and he began to mercilessly kick at an unfortunate looking hay bale. It surprisingly didn’t give under the force of his boot.

Gyro first dropped the lamp where it clanked at his feet, before gingerly laying Johnny down on top of the now dented-in stack, almost like a lover. It was really, really nice if Johnny chose to ignore their shabby surroundings. The tenderness of it made Johnny’s skin crawl. Of Gyro’s hands, his face, this whole fucking situation. It wasn’t something he was used to. Didn’t want to be used to it. Least he didn’t think he did. Did it ever really matter what he wanted, when misfortune just followed him wherever he fucking went?

Gyro hummed his satisfaction when Johnny didn’t fall straight through to the floor, which snapped Johnny out of his stupor. He watched extra attentively as Gyro leaned down and adjusted the lamp on the ground so the light spread throughout the room a bit better. Then he shot up, dusted his hands off and climbed atop Johnny.

When Johnny was looking up at him like this, with Gyro’s hair almost curtaining them away from the world around them, he liked it. He liked that he could see the hole in the rotting ceiling above them, carved out just right so it was like a halo of stars was hovering above Gyro’s big ass head. He liked how the deep-orange of the lamp’s light bathed the whole outline of Gyro with a soft, flickering glow. He liked that Gyro was still pouting from his earlier comment. He liked that he had all of his attention, too.

Johnny lifted a hand to stroke some of Gyro’s hair behind his ear. He didn’t like the uncertainty that always felt the need to claw its way through his mind, ruining any small moment of peace he had.

“Why’d you hesitate?” Johnny asked, almost at a whisper, and he felt so fucking pathetic. But Gyro’s playful pout simply deepened. His seriousness never made its return. Tenseness didn’t outline his every feature like Johnny had expected.

“It’s stupid.” Gyro said. Johnny simply stared at him in wait for him to continue, his hand still cupped behind Gyro’s ear. Gyro just sighed, dropping his head down so that they were no longer facing each other.

“It’s the threshold,” He sighed out, still not looking up. Johnny lifted a brow in confusion, tapping behind Gyro’s ear a few times to get him to keep talking.

“The hell’s that?” Johnny muttered when Gyro didn’t continue. He suddenly popped his head back up, obviously surprised at Johnny’s confusion, and then his face soured in embarrassment that he now had to explain himself. Johnny held back a premature grin.

“The… threshold. You know,” Gyro gestured, and Johnny pulled his hand away to fold them both under his head, just staring at him, preparing to be unimpressed.

“When you cross one, it means something. Like good luck. Especially when you got someone in your arms,” Gyro thumbed behind him, toward the jagged doorway, “But it’s such a piece of shit, and it's all fallin’ apart. Not very lucky. So… I stopped.”

“I see.” Johnny let his grin shine through, and caught when Gyro’s gaze drifted down to it, with such an oddly gentle look to him. Leave it to Gyro to have such thoughts in clarity even while dealing with a boner the size of his arm.

“Since when do you stop and ask yourself what you’re getting into?” Johnny lifted his hand back up to poke at Gyro’s chest.

Gyro scowled and rolled his eyes at that, snatching up Johnny’s hand, kissing into his palm with a contradictory gentleness. Johnny stilled, breath hitching. “Since you, asshole.”

Johnny squirmed a little under him, that green gaze boring a hole through his face, almost its own steel ball. He let Gyro’s words seep somewhere deep in him, for only a moment, before squinting up at him in a sort-of smile.

“You’re such a girl, Gyro.”

Gyro dropped Johnny’s hand to the hay, sitting back on his knees and crossing his arms like a petulant kid. He squinted down at Johnny in genuine irritation, but it just made him want to laugh hard.

“Johnny, don’t piss me off.” He ordered, and yeah, a real annoyance was there and seeping through every word, which finally got a chuckle out of Johnny. Gyro’s brow twitched at that. “You know, I carried you in here. That makes you my bride.” He snapped back with a self-satisfied grin, only making Johnny laugh harder.

“Ah, okay,” Johnny settled, and wiped his eye with the back of his hand. He could feel the remnant of his smile in the ache of his cheeks. It was hard to feel embarrassed about it when Gyro looked down at him like he wanted to be pissed, but had just seen something special. “I want a big wedding, then. Bigger than the Vanderbilts.”

Gyro started scowling again, shaking his head, still sat over top of him. Too far away.

“And reporters. And a cake.” Johnny beckoned Gyro back down with his hand.

“You done?” Gyro deadpanned.

“No,” Johnny reassured. “Most of all I want you to get the fuck back here.” Johnny lifted a brow expectantly, and held both arms out toward Gyro in invitation. Gyro simply stared, before finally leaning down into him, wrapping him up in his arms with such fervency Johnny doubted it was ever a decision in his mind.

“You’re lucky I like you, Joestar,” Gyro mumbled into his hair, and Johnny smiled against his shoulder. Hurt his face, but it was nice. He smiled a lot with Gyro. Kinda ruined his nonchalant allure, but he couldn’t feel all that bitter about it right then.

Gyro moved a hand up to cup the side of Johnny’s head, tugging him against his lips, now pecking all over his scalp. He made quick work of that area, before descending to Johnny’s cheek, his jaw, and his clothed shoulder. Johnny pet his long hair, trying to control his breathing.

“You know, this is nice ‘n all, but it ain’t much of a bet ruiner,” Johnny pointed out. Gyro pulled down his hoodie to latch onto the skin there, sucking until Johnny was certain a mark would show. Johnny hissed through grit teeth, and Gyro pulled off to raise an unimpressed brow at him.

“You’re an impatient one, Johnny.” Gyro scolded, like he wasn’t the one who’d been hard the last ten Goddamn minutes. He gestured at Johnny’s hoodie, til Johnny got the hint and sat up slightly. Gyro fully yanked it off his head, laying it on the hay beside them. “It’s not everyday we’ve got a roof over our heads. I wanna take my time here,” Gyro spoke with an odd intensity to him. He always picked the strangest moments to get serious. All it did was make Johnny more nervous.

“Some roof.” Johnny joked, and Gyro cracked a grin at that. Johnny pulled up at Gyro’s shirt, too, just so he wasn’t the only one half naked here. It really wasn’t so he could see that rugged physique under the lamplight, and how those muscles would look under his own palms. Gyro wasted no time pulling it off himself, tossing it to land atop Johnny’s own.

Gyro was back down and kissing all over Johnny again, which he appreciated, but looking at Gyro’s stupid armwarmer-gloves manhandling him got his mind thinking about other things.

“Hey,” Johnny said, tugging at his clothed wrist. Gyro just grunted against his skin in response. “Take these off for me.”

Gyro lifted himself off, slightly, and Johnny watched his hands go from his waist to wrapping underneath his hips, and Gyro stared dazedly as he brought them to squeeze at his ass.

“The hell for?” He muttered. “You’ve got me a little preoccupied here,”

“I’m asking nicely.” Johnny explained, and Gyro rolled his eyes, but offered up an arm from the depths without further resistance.

Johnny peeled off the fabric there as soon as he’d gotten his hands on him. His breath caught in his throat, staring at all the nice little bumps dotting his lovely arm, brought out especially by the nearby lamplight.

Johnny squirmed a little, swallowing thickly, and if he wasn’t hard earlier there was no way in hell he wasn’t now. He brought a finger up to poke at the bites, Gyro jerking a bit at the sudden touch.

“I should’ve known. You’re just being a little shit,” Gyro said, shaking his arm a bit to get Johnny to release him.

“Sorry.” Johnny said, and didn’t mean. He ran his fingers over each bump a little rougher, relishing the perfect way they felt, and also how Gyro was wiggling uncomfortably at the sensation.

“Okay, asshole, stop that.” Gyro took his arm back and rubbed where Johnny’s hand had been, which Johnny of course watched intensely.

“You’re hot.” Was all he was willing to offer in the way of explanation, and Gyro rolled his eyes at him, but Johnny could still see the blush on his face clear as day.

Gyro quickly descended again, and Johnny felt him up, for a time, but the most Gyro had moved was to lean over him, and still just caressed his waist. Johnny’d had enough when he could tell Gyro was rutting against his thigh, and their position made it to where he couldn’t even see it all that well, so Johnny gripped at his hardened torso with intent.

“Alright, slowpoke, I’m getting a move on.” Johnny said, and before Gyro could bother protesting, he flipped their positions in one swift show of force, planting both his hands against Gyro’s pillowy pecs. Though as soon as he had him on his back, his triumphant smirk dropped, watching as Gyro suddenly tensed and his face twisted in discomfort.

“What?” Johnny reared back, just slightly, and he wished it came out more concerned than defensive.

“You pushed me on my damn shirt,” Gyro groaned, shimmying his shoulders as far as he could away from the hard balls poking into his back, though not getting very far given Johnny still had a majority of his weight atop him. “Hurts. Lemme move,”

Johnny snorted aloud, and it really was more out of humor than relief (lie), and Gyro was quick to narrow his eyes up at him in annoyance. Johnny forfeited Gyro’s chest to weakly cover his own mouth, hardly able to keep his laughter in.

“That’s your own damn fault,” Johnny snarked, still laughing, and Gyro just raised a brow and tried to look upset, not that it would’ve fooled anyone. “What's with that thing, anyways?”

“Fashion ain’t supposed to make sense, jackass.” Gyro clicked his tongue at Johnny, gripping at him with both hands, intending to move the bastard off himself. Johnny’s expression smoothed itself out in an instant, and he looked almost comically serious.

“You’re right.” Was all he said, and he could see that Gyro still knew he was being fucked with, somehow. He glared up at Johnny in challenge, running his hands down the expanse of Johnny’s waist, slowly, so that Johnny could take a guess as to where they were meant to land.

“I’ll show you who's right,” He promised, under his breath, once his hands were properly full of Johnny’s ass. Johnny just rolled his eyes.

“Just said you were.” Johnny gasped when Gyro suddenly lifted him off his stomach, and fully shifted them both away from his stupid looking shirt. Johnny had the immediate sense to be alarmed at the sudden movement, looking down where Gyro’s feet had slid across the ground. “Hey, watch out for the–”

Gyro’s foot came into powerful contact with something on the floor. The resulting noise of metal clashing onto wood and glass subsequently shattering couldn’t really be described as reassuring.

Gyro instantly shot up, one hand coming up to clutch at Johnny’s back to keep him steady in his arms, and the other stayed faithfully gripping onto his asscheek for dear life.

“--Lamp.” Johnny finished with a particularly put-out sigh, in a tone that Gyro’s ensuing gaped-mouth look of incredulity implied was far too removed and calm for what had just happened.

“What was that?!” He shouted, only a little too late. “An attack?!”

“No. The lamp.” Johnny repeated, leveling Gyro with a blank stare, wiggling an arm out where it was crushed against his chest to thumb behind them at the floor.

Gyro leaned over Johnny’s shoulder to see the damage with his own eyes, and was met with a rather troubling view of the now decimated lamp quickly spreading its flame across the wood flooring. He gulped loudly, then pulled back to give Johnny what he assumed to be the most severe expression he had in his arsenal, if it was doused in one thick layer of panic.

“We gotta go.” He announced, and Johnny nodded his agreement, and he supposed he didn’t look frantic enough as Gyro was now reacting at a speed breakneck enough for the both of them. He instantly stood, bringing Johnny up with him, and even had the mind to grab for their shirts, before speed walking out of the piece of shit barn.

They’d thankfully tethered up their horses on a fence nearer to the field than the barn, so they weren’t too freaked out yet, but the fire was surely spreading quickly in there. Johnny could see the flickering orange burning brighter through every crack in the wood panelling.

Gyro rallied up Valkyrie, and then threw Johnny up on her, patting her back in a way Johnny couldn’t believe he actually thought was reassuring given his rushing. Although, Johnny had to praise him in his panic for not attempting to do more than wake Slow Dancer and coax her into following them through the grass and back onto the moonlit trail, because she certainly would’ve thrown a fit and run off somewhere.

Once they were out on the road, unmoving, Gyro looked at the ground and towards the grass they’d just come through, biting his nail. He then spoke too loudly that he’d “be right back, gotta do something”. Johnny assumed to pick up a bag, or whatever, but neither of them made for their canteens. It would be a waste of water trying to fix that mess.

Johnny watched in amusement as Gyro ran back toward the barn, which was now lit enough to be concerning that they weren’t making a run for it, and kneeled out of sight into the dirt a good distance away from the burning structure. Then, he suddenly shot up again, holding a still spinning steel ball to Johnny’s confusion, and he sprinted back over, ordering “go, go, go” like he'd just left dog shit on his neighbor’s doorstep.

Johnny didn’t prod about it, just sighed, because he was already exhausted and knew they’d have to walk their asses over to that town in the distance. It wasn’t too far, but to be safe Gyro stayed up ahead, directing them onward at a rushing-turned-leisurely pace, away from the barn that was now completely enveloped in flames. Once they were far enough, Johnny looked back to watch it with a barely reserved disappointment.

“We didn’t even break the bet,” He sighed, and Gyro surprisingly let out a shout of a laugh that startled the damn horses, probably woke the whole town coming up, too. Johnny watched with a grin on his face, and thought wow, he really loved him.

“Listen up, participants,” A short, stalky man shouted into the crowded small town square from up on a wooden stage. “The local sheriffs are looking into a recent... event, and are wishing to discuss it with any possible witnesses.”

The previous night, Johnny and Gyro made it into the last town over and managed to beg some inn-keeper for a room passed close. Gyro’s excuse wasn’t overly detailed, just that they’d gotten “caught up with a suspicious lanky fellow”, but it still got a raised brow from Johnny.

They never did pick up where they’d left off, in the barn, but Gyro did provide Johnny with open arms and a grunt of invitation to share the same bed, which was more than the usual silent scooting that left just enough room. They at least made it to the checkpoint quick and early the next morning, though, where they’d been standing around for the past half-hour.

Now, some race worker was up there chatting with a disgruntled looking sheriff, and he suddenly held up a piece of paper. Johnny narrowed his eyes up at the thing. There was a patchy looking horseshoe print on it.

“We have here the print left at the scene,” He explained, waving it around. Johnny’s blood ran cold. “You’ll recall your horse’s prints were documented at the registration…”

Johnny stopped listening. He could seriously shit bricks. Fuck. It was over. Over something so stupid! Just his luck. He turned to Gyro, at least hoping to see him gearing up to run them both out of there, or even just to see a matching terror in his eyes. But the guy looked infuriatingly calm. Almost smug.

“Gyro,” Johnny whispered roughly. “What the hell are we gonna–”

“Quit your worrying, Johnny," Gyro chided, surprisingly at a properly low volume, and crossed his arms. Johnny just looked at him with a mix of confusion and impatience. His stupid little golden grin grew bigger as he patted affectionately on the steel ball strapped to his hip, “I took care of it, nyoho.”

Johnny grimaced. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“We’d like to ask the following racer to come down to the station and have a chat,” The officer up on stage took over, clearing his throat. Johnny gulped, turning back to face the stage in a nervous anticipation. “Jockey Number 001… Diego Brando.”