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That morning the sky was in a terrible mood. It started pouring even before the sun rose, and by looking outside the room’s window you could tell it definitely didn't have any intention to stop.
Usually, in such conditions, the race wouldn't have been affected at all, but that day the racers were occupying a village located near a long and mighty river, known to flood under heavy rain.
The problem had escalated so much that horses were almost swimming in the water, and these unexpected conditions threatened even the most powerful and influential men in America, who couldn't buy their way to the solution and fight against nature like they always tried to do.
Racers were simply told to remain inside their accommodations for the time being, awaiting new instructions.
Johnny and his travel companion Gyro were just gearing up when they received this news, and they were quick to complain about it: surely enough, the older's voice could've been heard across the whole block of buildings.
"Sir, we understand your concerns but we kindly advise you to please calm down-"
tried to explain one of the servicemen.
"Ya think I'm just jokin' 'round here?! Sweatin' my ass off 'cross the whole fuckin' desert to be told race is suspended?!" he instead shouted out. His face had a pinkish colour to it, most likely due to his anger, which didn’t go unnoticed by the shorter man, still in his wheelchair. “Gyro!”, he exclaimed, in between loud chuckling, “You look like a tomato! An italian tomato, swearing up and down and throwing all sorta signs!” he remarked, clearly amused by the whole situation.
On top of all the bullshit Gyro was already dealing with, now he also had an annoying brat ridiculing him with the sole purpose of humoring himself. He growled, exposing his golden teeth to the rainy air and raising his shoulders to corner his head. “Chiudi la bocca disabile di merda!” he shouted again, through the gritted grills.
Of course Johnny didn’t understand what his friend had so passionately shared with the crowd that had formed in the meantime, both to raise complaints and get a glimpse of the scene being caused by the almost-winner of the first stage.
Gyro seemed to regain a bit of lucidity, seeing a group of at least ten racers gathered around the two of them. Breath in, now breathe out , he told himself with his eyes shut. A moment later his cool and unbothered demeanor was back, staring down at everyone with the narrow eyes of a hawk. He was taller than the average American, and surely taller than that Johnny on his wheels. He swiftly gazed at him, an irritating smile still painted across his face. He had the urge to punch that fucker. One more underbreath curse escaped his lime-tinted lips. “Racers! Please return to your rooms! This is the last warning: anyone caught wandering outside past this point will face a penalty! I repeat, a penalty!” one of the race staff members warned, yelling in Gyro’s ear, who happened to be standing right next to the man. “Tsk” he muttered, dramatically swaying his cape as he turned around and reluctantly reached that rathole of a room.
“Hey! Careful you idiot! You almost shoved it in my face!” snarled Johnny, hitting the wooden door with a tight fist. After slamming it shut behind him, he turned to look at Gyro again. The man was spread out on the bed, his gear all over the floor, and his nose buried in the pillow. “Goin’ back to sleep? It’s a quarter to eleven, just so you know” calmly stated the younger man. “What?!” Gyro yelled in surprise. “Jesus, yer so fuckin loud Gyro, yer gonna pierce my eardrums! Stop yelling, for fuck’s sake” the blond went on, frustration rising against the italian man.
To him, it didn’t look like they were getting along all that well, and he wondered if the day would’ve gone by smoothly, being forced in the same space for so many hours.
“Tsk” Gyro mumbled again. Johnny noticed he was aggressively tapping his fingers on the bedside table, filling the room with a repeated and insistent tack, tack, tack, tack . His lips were arched in frustration, and God, he was so skilled at dragging everyone around him into a shitty mood, just like his.
Johnny sighed deeply, resigning to the fate that day had chosen for him. He picked up a book, looking to distract himself for a while at least. Luckily, when he lifted up his nose again it was already mid afternoon. He thanked the heavens above and below, feeling a newfound sense of peace gently spreading inside of his mind. The man on the other side hadn’t been blessed with the same calmness though, and his face revealed his built up and half-suppressed anger. Observing him in that state, as he stomped the floor in frustration when the goggles he was playing with fell off his hands for something like the fifth time, Johnny felt a grain of pity and compassion in his young heart.
“Hey, Gyro-”
“What do you want?!” he spat out, yelling over Johnny’s softer voice.
“I was just wondering if there was anything that could lift yer mood a bit, you look really pissed and, frankly, it doesn’t suit you” he explained. Gyro raised his brows, his face relaxing a bit.
“Would you do… anything?” he asked in a sudden serious and deep tone.
Johnny thought about it for a moment. He had the best intentions, of course, and suspected absolutely nothing. He slowly nodded.
“Yeah… whatever can help you, just tell me. I got a sandwich or we can chit-chat ‘bout what you want… oh I got some cards too!” he offered, a genuine smile stretching on his lips.
Without any notice, Gyro jumped up from the bed and approached the wheelchair hastily. He locked his eyes to Johnny’s and lifted him effortlessly, throwing him against the mattress. “What are you doing?!” squealed the victim of the attack, his voice alarmed. “You said anything, Johnny” the taller one muffled, voice still husky, while climbing over him to settle on his right, inches away from his nose. He let out a shaky breath against his skin. Johnny was frozen in shock, his eyes seemed like those of a scared deer. “Turn off the light, Gyro” he felt his own mouth moving without his consent, pronouncing words tainted with desire. The older man followed his order with no question, returning to his side shortly after.
"Gyro-" Johnny stuttered out his name through his gritted teeth.
In response, the other man shushed him and gently pressed his left thumb on his baby blue lips. More of that soft and wet feeling brushed his skin, making him silently gasp. His ear felt almost uncomfortably ticklish, yet he couldn't bring himself to block Gyro's advances. His fingertips curled tightly into the bedsheets underneath them, as more muffled moans left his gracious lips. "Raise your voice , Johnny... I can barely hear you" spoke that tone, in perfect balance on the thin line between whispering and speaking.
Maybe his mind was exaggerating his senses, but he swore he could feel his hot and humid breath clashing against his lobe's skin whenever he muttered out a sentence. Not to mention, Gyro's voice sounded hoarse, as if he was spitting out those words directly from his throat. Being spoken to like that? Fuck, Johnny couldn't stand it. He just couldn't handle being spoken to with such lust, such dirty desire. These unresolved tensions mixed up inside of his chest, making it rise and fall now much faster than before. Gyro's soaked tongue traced down his neck, stopping to nib at his skin with his metal plated teeth. Johnny's nails practically digging into the mattress, he shakily breathed out one more whimper. That sweet noise set off a chemical reaction in Gyro's body, an electrical impulse travelling all the way down to his core and spreading shivers.
"Cristo Santo Johnny" he spoke with a heavy breath, sending more warm air onto the boy’s collar bone.
He wasn't exactly sure why, but God, did he love it when his man spoke in that language he couldn't understand a lick of. His jaw fell open, in an attempt to steady his breath by taking air in directly from his mouth. He huffed out hot air, platinum locks of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.
He suddenly mentally flinched: wait, what was he doing? Weren't they supposed to play cards? Chit-chat? The sensations his body sent to his brain felt torturous, like they had fun messing with his dignity and honour. As of then he knew too well: any attempt at stopping what he knew they weren't even supposed to be doing was futile.
Going back to his slow and thoughtful movements, Gyro licked Johnny's ear starting from the lobe and tracing its whole outline up to the top. There, he gently closed his mouth in on the skin, biting it down carefully. What he planned to achieve from the beginning, stuck in this situation with rain pouring relentlessly outside the room's window, was of course to relieve himself only. He thought of Johnny as a mere tool, who just happened to cross his horny paths.
He chuckled to himself, thanking that idiot for his naiveness. He munched on his ear some more, drool now dripping down its length. Slowly, he started adding a sucking motion to the licks, tasting every inch of his crimson skin again and again.
The whole of it was causing Johnny a short circuit, his brain barely processed all of the sensations anymore. The most he really managed to do was whimper out Gyro's name in between soft moans.
"You sound like a girl, Johnny" he remarked, leaving another bite on his lobe immediately after. In reply were obviously more breathy sounds, getting progressively louder. He tried to collect his thoughts, fighting against the fog clouding up his brain: it was a complete mush, and the other man's touch took up the entirety of his mental space. But Gyro's words had pressed on a sore point he had been partly ignoring until now, and he felt his limit approaching the more his body was played around with. "I ain't-.. Don't...not a chick.." was all he patched together, feeling miserable and pathetic.
"Nyo-ho, Johnny!" the taller one snickered. "You do like being messed with like this, eh? You like my filthy words?" that same needy voice was back, whispering calmly into his head through the left ear. His finger trailed on his chin, then his neck, invading his every inch, tensing up muscles he barely skimmed. Johnny furrowed his eyes, letting out one more shaky whimper.
That was his last straw, the drop that made the glass overflow. He felt violated, but most importantly he felt an urging sense of disgust in himself for what he was letting happen to his body. He lifted one arm from the bedsheets, and finally moved it up to reach Gyro's, squeezing it in a tight hold. His eyes flickered upwards, meeting the deep green ones and immediately crashing into them.
The taller man pulled away slightly, putting a leash on the wicked urge he had succumbed to out of desperation. The race was everything to him at that moment, and hearing those things that morning had sent him spiraling down into one of his episodes.
He'd go mad, lose his mind, act like the whole world was in debt with him and stop thinking.
Coincidentally, the worst one he had had led to ‘The incident’, almost four years ago.
He choked on his spit, trying to forget about it, instead focusing on Johnny's hand on his, on its grip, on the sweaty palm. He felt his chest tighten and his own weight pushing down his legs on the mattress. The air was filled with tension, almost hard to breathe for both of them. "Gyro I-" words caught in the younger's throat. He tried again, breaking eye contact. "I don't think I can give you what you're looking for" he whispered.
Saying those words felt like betraying himself: he was feeling good, better than he had ever felt: he wanted him to continue and do whatever he wanted to his body, to make him completely his. But it was clear in his head that whatever they were doing was not only wrong, but also useless. Half of him didn't work, and he was sure that would've affected them if they carried on with it longer; he was sure Gyro would've been disappointed, and thinking about the kind of expression he would've had on his face by that point made him sick. He pushed his hand away abruptly, as his touch became annoying.
Gyro was stunned for a moment, his eyes wide at the words of the man below him. Out of all the things he was expecting him to say, this was probably the last one. No, it wasn't even on the list to begin with! He couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply readjusted himself on the bed, further away from where he was before. An upset mug tainted his otherwise perfect features.
"I'm sorry... Johnny-" he finally tried, after a terribly long silence.
Nothing in reply.
"I didn't know it was such a problem for ya... I kind of got carried away there" he continued, trying to figure out what the other had issues with, not even sure he was being paid any attention.
But Johnny's sudden burst made him jolt: "Didn't think it was a problem?! Are you fucking kidding me, Gyro?!"
Had he underestimated how big of a cultural difference there was, between his homeland and the USA? He now felt confused, but didn't want to give up on it just yet.
"I.. couldn't have known, Johnny! I'm not from here! Back in Italy it's not a-" but his rushed explanation got cut off with more rough words tainted with anger: "What the fuck are ya on, ya fucking moron?! Ain't it clear 'nough I'm not in the condition to satisfy yer horny wants?! Did the horse spit in yer eyes or something?!" He yelled out, his accent slipping through the sour tone. His fists were clenched at his sides, and he tried to avoid Gyro's gaze by turning his head to the window. Right then, his stomach was tight and he hoped the tear on his cheek wasn't nearly as noticeable as it felt.
That shut Gyro up for good. His mind struggled to process what happened, let alone form a coherent reply. He couldn't deny he still felt confused, but nothing could be done about it right then. His mood darkened again, and the sad mug turned his whole face into an upset expression.
He settled at the opposite edge of the bed, laying in a pond of his own fucked feelings, and closed his eyes hoping for the tiredness accumulated throughout the day to finally kick in. Something similar to a hiccup reached into his ear, but just seconds after, his consciousness slipped into slumber and its fiery nature, too, was dimmed just to be slowly turned down completely.