joekid ☆

Johnny didn’t possess any of that for Diego, but he knew there was no way to convince Gyro to feel the same, not with how stubborn he was. All he could do was watch as his partner got closer until he was arms-length from Diego’s body, leaning down to study the state of his wounds. At first, he appeared mostly entertained, as if this was a game of some kind, but then his smile fell and made way for something much more concerned.

“There’s a gash on his forehead.” Gyro’s tone became rushed, and when he dropped to his knees to try and get a hold of Diego’s body Johnny made a loud noise of disapproval. “Set aside your hatred for one second, Johnny.”

That was asking a lot, but Johnny kept a lock on all the things he wanted to say to get Gyro to leave this guy behind. He had heard it all already, anyway. All the disgust he felt towards Diego, all the resentment he held… Gyro had gotten an earful of it a few times, and yet he knew he couldn’t convince the man to just walk away.

Gyro whistled for Valkyrie, who begrudgingly approached her owner and seemed less than enthusiastic about having to carry not one, but two grown men. Even if Diego was significantly smaller than Gyro, he still added weight. Johnny watched from a distance as his partner studied Diego’s wound, gently cradling the jockey’s body in his arms.

“Get his horse,” Gyro suddenly demanded amidst his caretaking, to which Johnny didn’t immediately respond. “His horse, Johnny. Bring her too.”

Johnny sighed, seeing Silver Bullet standing off to the side, watchful as ever as Gyro lifted her owner in his arms. “Why don’t you do it?” Realistically, it was a dumb question, but Johnny just didn’t want to have any part of this.

“Because I’m making sure her owner doesn’t die. And if he wakes up, by the grace of God, without her around? He’ll be furious.” He nodded in Silver Bullet’s direction. “Grab her.”

Reluctant, Johnny ignored his disdain and guided Slow Dancer over to the other horse. Silver was relatively calm, allowing Johnny to tether her to Slow Dancer’s reins without much of a fuss. For all the bad he felt towards Diego, at least his horse was mostly likeable.

As soon as Diego was safely seated on Valkyrie, Gyro joined his limp body and did his best to steady him with his own. He clipped the bloodied helmet to his own bag, worried that it might slip off Diego’s head again mid-ride. With an extra horse in tow, they took their trek slowly, searching for any sign of a nearby town to take shelter in. Fortunately, just before nightfall, they found themselves in a quaint little group of homes that looked safe and warm enough, and ultimately decided this would be home for the evening.

As they found a place to house their horses for the night, Johnny noticed that Gyro was carrying Diego’s body towards a seemingly vacant house, recklessly kicking the door open as both his hands were a little preoccupied with the jockey’s weight.

“I’m not staying the night under the same roof as him.”

Johnny had made this abundantly clear, multiple times, across the duration of his and Gyro’s trek in the mountains. In fact, Johnny had maintained a significant amount of distance behind, as if breathing the very same air as Diego would poison his lungs. If he wasn’t dead, anyway. Evidently, his words had meant nothing to Gyro.

“And I’m not leaving a man to bleed out from a head wound in the middle of the mountains,” Gyro huffed as he lugged Diego’s body through the front door. As soon as he’d placed the man carefully on the floor in the corner of the room he turned on his heel, fully facing Johnny and regarding him with eyebrows drawn tight together. “Relax. He’s too weak to pull anything scummy even if he wanted to.”

“You don’t know him like I do.” Johnny glared across the room, straight past Gyro, his eyes settling on Diego’s pathetically curled up form. “He’s the worst of the worst.”

“Once he’s awake, I’ll send him away.” Gyro threw his arms up, not willing to fully give in to Johnny’s pleas but wanting to avoid as much conflict as possible. “Alright? Can you live with that?”

“I’d rather he just not wake up at all…” Johnny grumbled, pulling himself up on the kitchen counter and looking around for something else to occupy his attention.

That wasn’t completely true. Wishing death on Diego Brando was extreme, even Johnny knew that, but there was something about seeing his face that filled his gut with a disgust so palpable that it was almost unbearable. Being around him seemed to twist Johnny’s face into a permanent pouty scowl, even seeing him incapacitated and worthless didn’t feel as good as he thought it would. It was hatred, resentment, a flurry of other emotions he wasn’t keen on delving into, not when he expected to toss Diego out the door as soon as his eyes opened.

Once he’d finished bringing their belongings inside, Gyro knelt down beside Diego and gently tended to his wounds, whistling in a way that told Johnny it didn’t look good.

“He lost a lot of blood,” Gyro observed, brushing back one side of Diego’s bangs and placing them behind his ear, “a fall like that might result in a concussion.”

“Falls happen with horse riding,” Johnny deadpanned, finally dragging his eyes away from Gyro’s tender ministrations and locating a canister of coffee to fixate on instead, “I’m sure it’s not the first time he’s bumped his head.”

“He didn’t just ‘bump his head’, Johnny,” Gyro scoffed, now wiping at the blood caked in Diego’s hairline with a handkerchief. “Let’s pray there’s no internal damage.”

“Or we could pray there is…” Johnny started, and as soon as he felt Gyro’s judgemental eyes boring into the side of his face he elaborated, “...so that he gets taken out of the race! Which makes our job easier and he gets professional treatment. Surely he can afford it.” He tacked on the last sentence in a much quieter tone.

“You’re heartless.” Gyro sighed, tossing aside the dirtied handkerchief and carefully placing a bandage against the gash on Diego’s forehead. “Can I trust you alone with him for ten minutes?”

“What?” Johnny nearly dropped the coffee canister he’d been rolling around in his hands.

“It’s freezing, I’m gonna find some firewood.” Gyro stepped in front of him, arms folded across his chest as he studied Johnny closely. “Meaning –”

“I’m not staying here with him, Gyro! I told you that!” Johnny’s voice came out louder, more aggressive than he’d intended, and he was thankful it didn’t seem to stir his rival in the corner.

“Grow up,” Gyro matched his energy, leaning in close enough for the brim of his hat to nearly touch Johnny’s forehead, “he probably won’t wake up, and if he does, you cannot kill him.”

Why not? Johnny thought, but blinked away the prospect. He didn’t intend on doing that anyway, not unless Diego wanted to force his hand, but the Brit seemed fully unable to do much of anything right now, let alone attempt sabotage.

Johnny’s annoyed gaze flitted between Diego and Gyro several times before he closed his eyes and sighed. “Be quick about it.”

“Would’ve been quicker if you’d have just let me do it in the first place,” Gyro mumbled as he headed for the door, barely audible as he took one last watchful look at Diego before slipping outside.

With that, the sole inhabitants of the house were Johnny and his rival, a man he’d wanted to avoid as much as humanly possible upon finding out he’d be taking part of this race in the first place. A man who chewed at the deepest depths of Johnny’s disdain simply by existing, someone who felt like a flea he couldn’t shake no matter what he did, someone who –

– was waking up. Diego was waking up, Johnny caught it from the corner of his eye as he opened the canister in his hands and allowed the aroma of coffee to waft through the air. Even when Johnny briefly closed his eyes and reopened them to confirm he wasn’t seeing things, he was met with the unfortunate truth that Diego was rousing from his sleep and groaning pitifully in pain.

“Where –” The man started, his voice weak and strained as he rolled over onto his back and rubbed at his eyes. The action brought him to wince as his hand got close to his head wound, his teeth clenched as a pained hiss broke through their confines.

Johnny did not make any sudden movements or say anything, not wanting to bring attention to himself. Instead he stayed rooted on the counter, glaring over at Diego as he came to his senses. Gyro was right, he was far too weak to pull anything, but Johnny was also fully aware of Diego’s ability to play games.

“Silver…” Diego called for his horse with a pathetic whine, unable to finish her name before he rolled over on his side and had to muster all his energy to pull himself to his hands and knees. His eyes were still unfocused, half-closed as he attempted to get his bearings.

Now, though it was unfortunate, Johnny knew Diego well enough to be aware of his undying devotion to his horse, and the one thing he assumed would push the man to aggressive action was the assumption that his beloved was in any sort of danger. This realization was the only reason Johnny even opened his mouth to say anything, though he still wished he hadn’t.

“Your horse is fine, she’s outside.”

Diego’s head whipped around to face Johnny, another painful reaction playing across his features at the sudden movement. Immediately he seemed on the defense, scowling at Johnny as if he had been the one to push him off his horse hours ago. Hostility sat heavy on his face and his voice even though he looked close to passing out again.

“Joestar… you did this –”

“No!” Johnny immediately countered, shaking his head and holding both hands up in the air. “You’re lucky you’re even alive, Gyro took care of you, he bandaged you up.”

With the same speed as quicksand, that information marinated in Diego’s mind for several seconds as he continued to come to his senses, one hand lifting to graze his forehead in confirmation. His scowl remained, but Johnny assumed that Diego’s face didn’t know how to do much of anything else.

“And my horse –”

“I told you, she’s outside,” Johnny cut him off, ultimately deciding Diego’s condition meant he had nothing to worry about. Instead he rummaged around through the parts of the kitchen he could reach.

“Is she hurt?” Diego growled.

“No.” And that was the truth. For how much he hated Diego, he did have to admit to himself that, whatever or whoever had given him that injury, he’d very likely done everything in his power to keep his beloved partner safe. Perhaps even to the point where his own injuries would be significantly worse. “She’s tethered to Slow Dancer.”

Maybe it was Diego’s innate sixth sense in relation to horses that caused him to ultimately believe what Johnny said, though uncertainty weighed on his features for several seconds before it seemed to melt away. Johnny didn’t like to give Diego any credit for anything, but what he could admit, at least quietly, was that Diego likely would’ve sensed if something was wrong. Silver Bullet was, in fact, standing outside, relatively content considering the entire situation, perhaps enjoying the company of other horses for once considering Diego’s desire to constantly travel alone.

Eventually, Diego calmed enough to move himself into a seated position, his messy head of hair leaning back against the wall as he kept his eyes locked in Johnny’s general direction. Johnny didn’t particularly like having his eerie blues burning holes in his skin, but at least that godawful accent wasn’t filling the air. Still, he stayed vigilant, even though he knew Diego was out of commission unless he wanted to potentially further hurt himself.

Just as Johnny had located all the tools he needed to brew himself a much needed cup, the situation got a little more annoying.

“Is that coffee?”

Diego’s tired voice was followed by a deep sniff that told Johnny he already knew the answer to that question. He didn’t provide a response beyond briefly looking at Diego and then returning to the task at hand. Perhaps refraining from answering was only making the situation worse, because Diego took it upon himself to start crawling closer, looking like some desperately hungry dog with hopeful eyes.

“Don’t come over here, Diego,” Johnny warned him, pointing a spoon in his direction as if to wave him back to the corner, “I’m serious.”

“C’mon, make me a cup.” Diego ignored the threats, not even posing any himself as he finally reached the counter and lifted himself up to his knees. “Doesn’t smell like Blue Mountain No. 1, but the aroma’s still nice.”

Johnny’s annoyance was having trouble as far as knowing where to root itself: Diego’s insistence on ignoring him, or the fact that he, of course, would prefer something so expensive. Either way, what a pretentious asshole.

“Do you really think coffee’s the best thing for you right now?” Johnny narrowed his eyes, holding the canister aloft enough for it to be completely out of Diego’s reach. “You need water. Or rest.”

Seeing right through Johnny’s caring facade, Diego blinked at him before a knowing sneer crawled across his chapped lips. He continued reaching for the coffee, making a grabbing motion that only pissed Johnny off even more.

“I said no.”

Diego’s pout was putting Johnny’s patience on a fast track to being completely obliterated. There was nothing he hated more than seeing this man put on a show for sympathy, and he most certainly would not be finding any of that here.

By some sort of grace from god, Diego kept his lips shut for a while, silently watching Johnny prepare his own cup of coffee, nose noticeably twitching as he kept taking little sniffs. He really did look quite pathetic, sitting there on his knees with his arms crossed on the counter, chin resting atop them. Johnny wasn’t going to verbally berate Diego for it, considering the context of how it happened, but the state of his flaxen hair was so unruly it looked as if he’d blindly taken a pair of scissors to it himself. Just as he was doing his best not to stare at it, he took a little sip of his finished mug and noticed the way Diego’s mouth tragically opened to speak.

“Make me a cup and I’ll –”

Quickly swallowing the drink he’d just taken, Johnny tried to ignore how hot the beverage was and shook his head, interrupting his guest. “Go rest.”

That’s when it all fell apart. Diego’s hand flew out to presumably reach for the canister sitting atop the counter, Johnny’s attempted to stop him. In the rushed process, his full mug spilled, splattering fresh coffee all over the countertop and down its sides, landing on the floor and going to complete waste.

The room went dead silent and Johnny did not look up, because he knew if he did and had to see Diego’s reaction, whatever it possibly was, he would absolutely lose it. He didn’t, however, consider what would happen if he reacted some other way, until a soft scoff escaped Diego’s mouth and triggered something furious in Johnny.

“You idiot –” Johnny whipped around to face Diego, utilizing far more force than he’d intended and effectively toppling off the countertop and onto the current bane of his existence.

Whether he meant to or not, Diego caught Johnny with an oof, landing on his back and banging his already hurt head against the wooden floor. Another groan rolled out of his throat as his eyes squeezed closed and he gritted his teeth in pain. Johnny remained relatively unscathed, save for the coffee stain now splattered across his lower shirt and the right thigh of his pants. Like this, his knees were on either side of Diego’s hips, his hands landing palm-down next to his neck.

Briefly, Johnny worried what might happen if Gyro were to waltz back in at this moment. He’d likely assume Johnny had attacked Diego, and doubted he’d have any patience to hear Johnny’s explanation of how his rival had simply been annoying him and pushing his buttons, leaving him no choice but to –

“Lovely way to treat a guest, Joestar,” Diego mumbled from his place on the floor, waking Johnny from his thoughts as he attempted to lift one hand.

Johnny quickly caught that hand, then the next, trapping Diego’s wrists in his tight grip and holding them down against the floor.

“You’re not a guest, you shouldn’t even be here,” Johnny hissed his words, fighting the urge to actually defile Diego’s face with his spit. He could’ve predicted something like this would happen, which was exactly why he’d tried to get Gyro to leave this asshole behind in the first place.

“Your partner is taking care of me,” Diego unfortunately correctly recalled, a devious smirk pulling at his lips, “that makes me a guest.”

Johnny wasn’t sure how to refute that, because it was technically true. Dammit, Gyro, he thought, knowing he was wearing an expression that gave away just how furious he was.

“Shut up.” It was the only thing he could think to say to Diego, as childish as it probably was. But truthfully, all he wanted was for Diego to stop talking. The sound of his voice was scraping at the deepest depths of his ire, like a constant tug on his desire to take out his frustrations.

“If you’d have just made me a coffee, I –”

Johnny’s last straw snapped. He quickly gathered both of Diego’s wrists in one hand, slamming them down just above his head as his other hand found the man’s throat. A shocked gasp dragged out from Diego’s mouth as his eyes briefly went wide with shock, his lips parted as a halfway closed cut split open again on his lower lip. Johnny watched as a bead of blood rolled out from it, relishing in both the sight as well as the silence that had finally filled the room.

Though his grip likely wasn’t firm enough to cease Diego’s ability to stop breathing or speaking, Johnny could sense that the man below him was holding his breath. Something childlike flashed in his eyes, reminding Johnny of the days back on the ranch when they’d briefly lock stares in passing. Thinking about those years of his life just made Johnny’s rage grow, and he allowed himself to squeeze a bit more at Diego’s throat.

“Johnny –” Diego barely managed, his voice pitifully weak and gasping. Johnny could feel his adam’s apple bobbing against his palm, and the sense of power it was giving him was hard to ignore.

“I can’t stand you,” Johnny whispered, grinding his palm down and noting the way Diego’s body attempted to lift in response. “Why won’t you just go away?”

Diego gurgled something in response, though it was completely unclear. His cheeks were ablaze, bringing out the array of freckles scattered across their surface. Tears began seeping from the corners of his exhausted eyes as Johnny kept his grip firm, wondering just how far he could push this without actually killing Diego. Still, despite it all, he didn’t want to kill him.

Johnny wasn’t sure how long they stayed like this, but he was surprised by Diego’s lack of willpower to fight back. Was it because he was so weak from his previous tumble? Was he willing to die by Johnny’s hand? That couldn’t possibly be true. Maybe the sick son of a bitch was intentionally playing weak so that whenever Gyro returned he’d be able to gain his sympathy. Either way, something felt off here, and Johnny was beginning to wear his confusion on his face. That’s when it became clear. Diego’s lower body lifted again, his hips pressing tightly against Johnny’s, and his eyes rolled back as if –

“You freak,” Johnny muttered as soon as the realization hit him. He allowed his grip on Diego’s throat to go slack for a moment, glancing down to confirm that Diego was currently sporting a clear tent in his pants.

“You too.” Diego couldn’t gather the air to say much else, but he didn’t need to. One more look down at himself and Johnny noticed he was just as hard as Diego was.

Now he really hoped Gyro wasn’t close to coming back. Johnny shamefully averted his stare towards the wall, failing to prevent a deep blush from overtaking his features as his bottom lip jutted out in irritation. He wasn’t into Diego, absolutely not, it wasn’t his fault that his body sometimes reacted to situations without his brain even knowing it. Of course a little friction and physical power over someone he deemed so utterly beneath him would elicit a reaction like this, even if it was his mortal enemy.

“If I’d have known you liked being choked I wouldn’t have done it.” It was fully an attempt to remove himself from the pleasure of this situation entirely.

“Yet you keep doing it,” Diego observed, rolling his hips again and grunting.

“Yeah,” Johnny squeezed again, hard, “cause you won’t shut up.”

Diego attempted to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze instead. Johnny knew there was nothing he could say to convince Diego of anything, and it probably wasn’t even worth trying. Maybe if he could get him to cum in his pants he’d pass out again from the embarrassment. Oddly enough it seemed like the quickest way to get out of this situation, even if it wasn’t ideal.

Tentatively, Johnny released his grip on Diego’s wrists and instead grasped his chin, holding his head still as he considered what to berate him about. Just as he’d predicted, Diego didn’t attempt to get the upper hand. Instead, he planted both his gloved palms on Johnny’s thighs, pressing his body down tighter to his. With this contact he was effectively able to move their bodies in a consistent manner, grinding their clothed cocks in languid, steady motions.

Now he was too far in it to back out. Johnny closed his eyes for a moment, allowing a pleasured sound to fall from his lips as he continued taking his annoyance out on the man beneath him. Diego’s face was pliable to his actions, almost leaning into Johnny’s angry grip as his eyes continued rolling back with sheer bliss.

When Johnny opened his eyes again, he steeled himself, mentally affirming himself as the one in charge here. Diego was nothing but a toy in this moment. Sure, he was controlling the actions of both their lower bodies, furthering the arousal each of them was feeling, but Johnny held Diego’s life in one hand still curled around his throat, and despite Diego currently having little to no problem with that, it was still the truth.

“You look so pathetic,” Johnny whispered just as he’d tightened his grip again, aiming to prevent Diego from audibly replying.

When an attempt at one was made, Johnny gave Diego little time after his lips parted before spitting directly on his cheek. Instantly, he flinched and gritted his teeth, looking from the neck up as if he had just been shot. Below the belt, however, he held himself tightly against Johnny’s groin, dug his nails into his thighs, desperately seeking as much friction as possible.

Johnny should’ve assumed he’d be turned on by verbal abuse like this. Granted, what exactly turned Diego on had rarely crossed Johnny’s mind. Part of him hated that he was at least a little intimately aware of it now, but having that amount of power and knowledge over Diego was certainly… something.

Spit rolled down Diego’s cheek as he continued desperately seeking breath through his nose and grinding Johnny’s body down against his own, and Johnny did little to stop him. In fact, he was beginning to sense that he himself was close to falling apart, and while that was quite annoying he was also determined to not allow himself to cum before Diego. For his own sense of pride, he wouldn’t let that happen.

Wanting this entire thing to end, Johnny gave Diego’s jaw a solid smack, guessing correctly that it elicited a rather powerful moan from the man beneath him. When Johnny quietly insisted that Diego needed to cum, to just get it over with already, the ire in his tone almost did the trick. It was when Johnny whispered about how disgusting he was that Diego finally came, soiling his pants as his hips stuttered and bucked upwards. He even took one hand off of Johnny’s thigh and instead rested it on the one curled around his neck, making sure Johnny didn’t let up even a little bit for the duration of his climax.

The entire thing was such an experience to witness that Johnny had barely registered his own climax happening just alongside Diego’s. Johnny’s body almost went limp, causing him to take his hand off Diego’s chin and instead anchor it on the man’s chest. His grip remained firm on Diego’s throat, however, only letting go once the pair had fully gone through every last powerful wave of their own orgasms.

Diego’s neck was beet red when Johnny’s hand left it, and a wheezing breath followed as soon as Diego knew he could stop relying on his nose. Now he really looked pitiful. Not only was his hair a mess, but the cut on his lip was crusted with freshly dried blood, spit still caked his cheek and chin, and the bandage Gyro had so carefully placed against his forehead was beginning to lift from the sweat breaking out along his forehead.

As much as Johnny took delight in being able to judge Diego from this angle, he was quickly realizing the awkwardness of the situation. Blush still plastered across his features, he rolled off of Diego and tried to ignore the wet stain so clearly placed on the front of his pants. Without a word, he returned to his place on the countertop, ignoring the coffee spill for now as he began preparing another cup. Besides, it had already seeped into the surface of the counter and the wood of the floor, and he wanted evidence of Diego’s foul play still visible for when Gyro returned.

Diego eventually got to his feet, also staying silent as he went back to the edge of the room and located his helmet from next to the pair’s belongings. Shortly after he placed it back on his head, the front door swung open and let in a chilly breeze.

“Tell me why firewood is so hard to find in this damn town…” Gyro’s annoyed voice immediately filled the room as he stepped inside, carrying a bundle of wood in his arms. It stayed there for a mere second before he dropped it on the floor, locking his stare on Diego and pointing a finger in his direction. “He’s awake –” He turned to Johnny, looking suspicious. “What happened?”

Johnny, still firmly aware of the heat present on his face, looked up, barely opening his mouth to speak before being overtaken by their guest.

“I’m leaving.” Diego explained, looking humorously small next to Gyro.

“You were bleeding from a nasty head wound like thirty minutes ago.” The larger man stood just in front of the door, blocking Diego’s way. “At least let me make sure you’re okay.”

“M’fine.” Diego’s body language was resistant, determined. “I’ll fetch my horse and be on my way.”

Gyro did little to prevent Diego from walking out the door, but confusion still colored his face in a way that almost made Johnny want to laugh.

“I told you he wouldn’t want to be here.” He gave his fresh cup a stir, then took a slow sip.

“Seriously, what happened?” Gyro continued, stepping closer and gesturing towards the mess on the counter. “What the hell, Johnny?”

“He was pissed I wouldn’t make him a cup.” Johnny shrugged, savoring the warm liquid just as he’d wanted to earlier.

“Why didn’t you?” Gyro folded his arms, neglecting to clean up the mess. Johnny couldn’t really blame him, considering it wasn’t his anyway, but he wasn’t sure where all the questioning was coming from.

“Why would I make coffee for a guy I can’t stand?”

Baffled, Gyro leaned against the counter and said the last thing Johnny expected him to. “But you’ll have sex with him?”

The sip Johnny had been enjoying was quickly spit back out into the mug, the effects of it causing another stain to dot the front of his shirt.

“Excuse me?”

“I can smell it, Johnny!” Gyro turned on his heel, stepping back over to his bag to locate the same handkerchief he’d used earlier. “Anyway, you should’ve at least made him one for the road.”

Speechless, both by Gyro’s strangely accurate intuition and the way he’d barreled over it so quickly, Johnny placed his mug back down on the counter to prevent himself from making another mess. He watched as Gyro cleaned up the remains of the previous tussle he hadn’t been present for, hoping and praying this was something that wouldn’t continually be brought up over the next several days.

“Should probably clean that up too,” Gyro suddenly mumbled mid-swipe, pointing towards Johnny’s crotch as his teeth flashed in a stupid little grin. The laugh that followed only added insult to injury.

“Shut up,” Johnny muttered in response, feeling the heat well up on his cheeks again. He’d forgotten about the leftover hint of what had just transpired.

Wanting to avoid giving Gyro’s teasing jabs anymore attention, he turned to look out the window and spotted their horses just a few feet away. Silver Bullet was already gone, likely retrieved by Diego as quickly as possible. Johnny grabbed his coffee again and took a drink, wondering where Diego would end up finding shelter for the night. Not that he really cared all that much, or at least he told himself he didn’t.

“So how was it?” Gyro’s mocking continued, followed by one of his dumb little nyo-ho’s.

“Enough,” Johnny waved him off, fighting the urge to punch him in his ridiculous smile.

“Make me a cup of coffee and I’ll stop,” Gyro offered, tacking on an additional, “for now.”