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They aren’t exactly regulars but their presence at the bar every other weekend or so is frequent enough that it’s impossible for them to go unnoticed by the employees anymore.
Johnny reminisces while Gyro pours the last of the whiskey into the empty glass on his hand, flashing him an attractive, cheeky grin as he does so. A few months ago, Gyro had suggested taking Johnny out for a drink—a tempting invitation to relax after a grueling week spent building the barn on their farm. They had both spent such a wondrous evening then, full of good booze and tense rounds of poker that it was only natural they found themselves back at the same table six days later. So far they’ve been careful when it comes to keeping to themselves while out in public settings. The only exceptions here being that of the bar keeper and a couple young servers. They never pried much and were overall friendly people.
“Ah, shit,” Gyro curses suddenly. He looks out the window in Johnny’s direction, breaking him out of his stupor, “The sun’s setting already, Johnny,”
“What? Just how long have we been here?”
“Not sure,” Gyro glances at the empty bottles lined in front of them, his grin widening, “About two bottles long,”
“No fuckin’ way,” Johnny looks around the establishment, noticing how the crowd has increased in size and volume as nightfall nears, “How’re ya feelin’?”
“Pretty damn good. Yourself?” Gyro replies and Johnny laughs at how heavily Gyro’s lids droop over his sparkling, green eyes. Johnny isn’t holding himself too well either, the alcohol has been warming him up plenty since somewhere around bottle one and a half; there are drops of sweat trickling down the nape of his neck.
“Ain’t no way we can ride like this, much less in the dark,” Johnny decides.
Gyro agrees with a nod, smoothly stealing the forgotten drink from Johnny’s fingers. He sips half of the contents before bringing the glass up to Johnny’s lips, who downs the rest as Gyro holds it in place for him—the alcohol must be the one thing inhibiting him from refusing such an obvious public display of affection.
Gyro takes advantage of Johnny's lowered guard and leans down to murmur low and dangerously close to his damp neck, “Guess we’re spending the night in town, love,”
Red flags immediately unfurl in Johnny’s head. His spine goes rigid like a pole and he pushes Gyro away by the shoulder, forcing the previous, amiable distance between them. Slightly mortified, he inspects the place, thankfully no one is looking their way. Even though they’re on the clear, he shoots Gyro a reproaching glare.
Gyro throws his palms up in a playful mock of innocence, but he’s aware he just fucked around a bit too much. He blames it on the liquor blinding his common sense, he could do very idiotic things while under the influence.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, yeah?” Gyro evades Johnny’s sulking and motions a hand above his hat to get the attention of Emma, one of the friendly servers, “I’ll get us a room for the night,”
Emma smiles when she locks eyes with Gyro, and in a matter of seconds, she’s standing between both men. “Hey fellas, want another bottle?”
“Perhaps not for him,” Gyro jokes and winks at Johnny which incites the girl to giggle behind her fist. Amused, she points out how flushed Johnny’s cheeks are and he can’t help but hide them behind his palms.
“Like he’s one to talk,” Johnny bites back, fighting for whatever pride he can rescue after being subject of Gyro and Emma’s entertainment.
“Actually,” Gyro starts, reining back the purpose of the conversation, all while expertly maintaining a charming façade on his intoxicated features, “We need a couple rooms for the night,”
Johnny tenses at Gyro’s request. It’s actually only one room they need, but it’s not like they can go around flaunting that they share a bed like the pair of doomed lovers they are.
“I’m afraid we’re all booked for the night but…” Emma gnaws on her lower lip as she ponders, “...Lemme double check real quick. Be right back,”
The girl disappears before either of them can say a word.
“I really hope we can stay here,” Johnny rests his chin heavily on the back of a hand, “I don’t wanna walk around town trynna find another place,”
Gyro’s eyes drift over Johnny’s jaded face. He thinks he looks unbearably pretty, with those long, blond lashes of his brushing the roundness of his ruddy cheeks as he slowly blinks up at him. He tries his utmost not to reach out and stroke the hair framing Johnny's jaw. He saves the thought for later—he'll indulge somewhere that is not in front of the scrutinizing glare of the sketchy drunkards circling them.
“I can just carry you,” Gyro offers, and Johnny giggles in disbelief. The sound latches onto Gyro’s heart like an arrow.
“As if you could…" Johnny huffs, "Given how drunk you are, you’d get both our skulls cracked open.”
Before Gyro can retort and therefore initiate a round of bickering, Emma returns. She nods happily as she jingles a set of keys.
“You’re lucky, sum’ drunk guy just got kicked out for starting a brawl outside,”
Johnny gratefully accepts the keys she hands over, relieved, but jerks his head to quirk both eyebrows at Emma once he realizes they're for a single room. She says nothing, only winks at him and gestures two pinched fingers to zip her lips shut.
“Thanks, doll,” Johnny says, and Emma beams as Gyro pretends to gag.
Once Gyro pays for the drinks and Johnny gives her a generous tip, she bids them a good rest of their night.
“Let's get outta here before you start getting too comfortable ‘round the ladies,” Gyro warns, elbowing him lightly and Johnny rolls his eyes but smiles all the same.
As they make their way out the bar, they become painfully aware they have a strict, finite amount of time to put their horses away and scramble into their room before they are rendered useless by the alcohol.
Gyro takes charge of guiding both their horses into the inn's stables, Johnny staggers as he trails behind him. At least his crutches provide him some much-needed extra support. Johnny watches with mild jealousy as Gyro takes care of the horses’ needs, he’s prompt and efficient, one could hardly tell he’s been drinking all evening. Out of the two of them, Gyro’s always held his liquor best.
Johnny is seconds away from expressing his admiration when the sentiment is abruptly cut off by the sight of Gyro stumbling and crashing into a wall. He glares daggers at the offending structural piece of wood, running curse after curse in his native tongue. Johnny bursts out laughing, certainly not feeling any of that previous envy any longer.
After all that is settled and over with, their next battle begins at the bottom of the flight of stairs that leads to the rooms. Their steps drag heftier as they climb and Johnny is grateful Gyro follows close behind him, if he were to trip he could count on Gyro to catch him. However, Johnny is convinced Gyro simply chooses to stay behind him so he can stare at his ass all he wants. He can practically feel the intensity of his lecherous gaze on him. Johnny's hunch is proven correct a moment later when Gyro loudly compliments the alluring way his butt jiggles with each step he takes. Johnny lets the stupid comment slide—their room is just down the hall.
The inside of the room is average, nothing worth bragging about but equipped with all the necessary amenities. Johnny hobbles to the far corner where the bed rests beside the window. Behind him, Gyro locks the door and growls a sound of disapproval when Johnny sits onto the mattress and lets his crutches fall disgracefully to the floor.
“Hey, those cost me a pretty penny,” Gyro chides while picking the aids up to put them out of the way. Johnny tucks his tongue out at him. “Don’t drop them, you ungrateful brat,”
“It’s me fallin’ you should worry more about,” Johnny quips and now that he’s sitting down the wooziness from the booze starts to get a tight grip on him.
“Oh, but you’ve already fallen,” Gyro starts, waggling his eyebrows knowingly, “For me that is,”
“Ugh, shuddup,” despite his best efforts, Johnny blushes furiously. He yanks off one of his boots and throws it in Gyro’s direction as a form of retaliation, he scoffs when it misses his knee, “Don’t tell me yer ‘bout to get all romantic ‘cus yer all drunk,”
“I’m plenty sober,” Gyro easily doges the next boot thrown at him, laughing when it hardly even makes it in his direction, “You on the other hand...”
“I ain’t drunk,” the words come out clumped, and Johnny frowns at the smug smirk Gyro sports on his handsome face. He notes Gyro’s cheeks have a bright glow to them so he’s also not being entirely honest.
“Little liar, you’re speaking all slurred,”
“I ain’t,” Johnny insists but accepts the way Gyro flicks his hat off and ruffles the mussed hair on his crown so tenderly, “So stop buggin’ me ‘bout it.”
Gyro complies with no resistance, instead he comes to loom over Johnny. He proceeds to attack him by pressing adoring kisses all over his cheeks, forehead and nose. Johnny can smell the sharp tang of the whiskey they just shared earlier on his lips but finds he doesn’t mind it one bit; he’s sure as hell he doesn’t smell like roses himself.
“You’re so damn cute like this, love,” Gyro coos. He presses a lingering smooch against the sliver of exposed skin on Johnny’s heated neck. “All I wanna do is kiss you all over.”
A pleased sigh vibrates deep in the back of Johnny’s throat before he lets himself drop fully onto the mattress, bouncing slightly with the momentum—a silent invitation to take things further which Gyro eagerly accepts. The walls spin as Gyro crawls after him to straddle his thighs and Johnny is certain the dizzying sensation is a direct effect of the surging arousal in his blood rather than the booze.
Johnny’s unsteady hands latch onto Gyro’s jaw, cradling it as he meets him halfway into a deep kiss. He whimpers when Gyro prods his lips apart and full on moans as their tongues slide together, tasting nothing but traces of bitter whiskey. To Johnny, the alcohol is even more intoxicating coming from Gyro's mouth than straight out of the bottle.
The need for oxygen forces Gyro to pull back, leaving Johnny a panting mess against the blankets. Johnny forces his gaze to focus on his partner's form above him but his efforts are to no avail; even though Gyro's mere inches away from him, he appears blurry and too distant.
“Think I may be a bit too sloshed,” Johnny realizes out loud, his eyes go hazy as they follow the languid pace Gyro’s fingers work the buttons of his shirt.
“I knew it,” Gyro chuckles, mirth heavily laced with self-satisfaction. He continues to spread the fabric and exposes Johnny’s flushed chest and shoulders, evoking approving sighs from him as he leans down to nip and lick at his collarbones, “Stubborn brat,”
It feels mighty nice to have Gyro’s weight pressing down on him along with his warm breath dancing across his skin. Johnny rides his hands along the expanse of his back, appreciating the firm muscles flexing as Gyro moves under his clothes.
Just as he considers to give escalating his caresses a shot, another wave of dizziness has him gripping Gyro’s shoulders in an attempt to steady himself. He groans, entirely unrelated to the heady ministrations on his sensitive chest.
“Damn, you really got it bad dontcha?” Gyro notes out, unable to bite back a mischievous grin.
“Just gett off me before I go ‘n puke all over ya,”
Pressing one last apologetic kiss on Johnny’s lips, Gyro does as he’s told, once again hovering over Johnny’s now pitiful form. He helps him onto his previous sitting position, mindful of not yanking him too quickly so as to not trigger a bout of nausea.
“Let’s take your clothes off, you big baby,”
“No, Gyro,” Johnny feebly swats the helping hands away. His eyelids feel heavy and puffy and a disappointed pout adorns his bottom lip as he speaks, “I dun’ think I could get it up like this,”
The boisterous laughter erupting from Gyro has Johnny wincing. It seems the alcohol has decided to rush to his head all at once in a matter of seconds and everything around him was becoming too overwhelming.
“We’re not having sex, Johnny,” Gyro clarifies, his tone is patient yet it drips with amusement, “But we need to take your clothes off so you can sleep your drunk ass off comfortably,”
“Oh,”
Swiftly, Gyro tugs the hanging shirt off Johnny’s elbows the rest of the way, his pants follow right after and Johnny can only watch, dumbfounded, as Gyro strips himself next in front of him. Now that they’re both down to their underpants so casually, the previously erotically charged energy melts into something sweetly intimate and Johnny feels oddly vulnerable—his skin burns hotter, embarrassment in addition to the inebriation. Feeling too abashed to move or say anything, Johnny's gaze clings to his dangling feet at the edge of the mattress.
“What’s wrong?” Gyro asks him quietly, and there’s a hint of genuine concern that has Johnny’s heart swelling with affection, “Feeling like you’re gonna get sick now?”
Slowly, Johnny shakes his head.
“C'mon, let’s go to sleep then,”
Gyro helps scooch Johnny up the bed and slides him under the starched blankets, shifting him to lay on his side so he doesn’t choke and die during the night in case he ends up getting sick. Johnny’s eyes flutter closed but he grumbles when Gyro fails to join him immediately.
“I’m here, I’m here. No need to get all demanding,” Gyro wraps the arm that is reaching out to him around his waist and tangles their legs together as he takes his spot beside his needy lover, “Promise not to puke on me?”
“Mhm, cuddle me ‘n I'll consider it,”
Johnny’s throat is raspy and his words drawl out given his drowsy state. Gyro finds this muddled tone accompanied by his flushed and disheveled appearance extremely endearing; he has no choice but to embrace Johnny close and kiss the crown of his head lovingly.
“You’re so spoiled,” murmurs Gyro, taking in the earthy scent of Johnny's tussled hair.
“Sorry…” Johnny mutters weakly into Gyro’s shoulder.
“For bein’ a spoiled, ungrateful, and stubborn brat?”
“… For not gettin’ ya off tonite,”
Gyro pinches Johnny’s ribs, drawing out an adorable pained grunt from him, “Y’know, considering how much we drank I don’t think I could get it up either,”
Johnny terribly mocks a laugh and Gyro is more than enjoying himself by messing with him, “Dun’ go makin’ fun of me, asshole,”
So he’s drunk enough to garble his words but not enough to file down that sharp tongue of his, Gyro thinks. He shakes into a fit of chuckles, and the room goes quiet afterwards.
Believing Johnny to be fast asleep, Gyro brings a hand to brush back the blond tresses off his brow, jolting a bit in surprise when his action gets an acknowledging sound.
“Hey, it’s been a while since we spent the night at a hotel,” Gyro voices out his thoughts.
“Mhm-hm,” Johnny sighs. His eyes remain shut but a dopey smile twists his serene expression, “Ya right,”
“It’s almost nostalgic,”
A compilation of all the nights they spent at dingy inns during the arduous days of the race flash in Gyro’s mind. They didn't come across them often but were more than welcome than a bedroll and a tent out in the wild.
There’s a particular hotel Gyro remembers more vividly, that being the one they had stayed at while the property that is now theirs was under negotiations. The room there was ample enough to fit their belongings but the mattress was shabby and hard as a rock, making it nearly impossible to indulge in some late night desires. Much to their fortune, the forgotten salon chair by the door had proven to be plenty comfortable for such activities.
Now that they have a place to call their home, Gyro allows himself to look back fondly on those memories.
Nestled in his arms, Johnny replies with silence. Judging by the leveling rhythm of his breathing, Gyro is certain he is definitely fast asleep this time.
The lamp on the desk flickers and Gyro opts to stay awake a while longer, ensuring he’s ready to act in case Johnny requires any assistance. He watches him as he drools and snores lightly into the pillow—a sight worth more than anything to Gyro’s softening eyes.
Whatever sluggishness was leftover in his system drains out to make way for the perpetual infatuation he's full to the brim with for his partner. There’s no place Johnny looks best other than when he’s right by his side. Gyro’s convinced of it.