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retlasute · 1 year

Note

I've been following your work since the beginning of Turbinio and i'm COMPLETELY IN LOVE with your writing. When i saw that you take requests i just screamed

can you please write a Gyro or Diego nsfw? I'm so curious to read one of your nsfw and i'm sure it will be wonderful!

I HAVE TO SAY THAT YOUR REQUEST MADE ME SHY AND I TOOK LONGER THAN I SHOULD HAVE WRITING THIS BECAUSE I'VE NEVER WRITTEN AN NSFW IN MY LIFE

I really have a problem choosing between two options, usually I always want both. In this case it was no different, I had to put both in the same fic because I love a weirdo and an idiot cowboy together

Well, I hope you like it, because I particularly think I did a good job considering this is my first time writing something like this and thank you very much for your trust😭😭❤️❤️❤️

✦ Change Partners - Gyro Zeppeli/Diego Brando ✦

You didn't consider yourself to be a jealous or even vindictive person. But that didn't cross your mind when you saw Gyro reveling in the whims and attention of his fans and, huffing with rage, you went to the bar in search of something better than a bottle of whiskey.

WARNINGS: NSFW, adult content, sex, birds and bees +18 and that kind of stuff

Word Count: 6216 (I'm incapable of writing anything smaller than that)

Naturally, you had to be on your guard at all times, because you fully realized, in the lucidity of your jealousy, the danger of those flirtations. You tried to turn around, but you couldn't - not because of a physical impediment, just because you simply couldn't move.

You were being a fool to feel hurt. But you were enraged by the whole thing; your mind in an irrational moment called him a disgusting traitor, a pervert, a womanizer and a bastard, and it was possible that you would have ended up losing your mind if you hadn't realized that what angered you most was Gyro depriving you not of a certain specific satisfaction, but of some general freedom, even if without realizing it.

During the months riding with the two men, you and Gyro made a habit of torturing Johnny with flirtations and jokes with ulterior motives. At first, it was all a joke initiated by Gyro, and you took it as such. Until the compliments and flirting continued even in Johnny's absence, and then during a confrontation with a group of terrorists. Of course, you knew that Gyro was never the most serious man in the world, but flirting became commonplace in situations that were too insinuating for what was supposed to be just a joke to annoy Johnny.

Of course, you reciprocated the flirting. Apart from the expected loneliness of taking part in a transcontinental race, the fact that you were one of the few, if not the only, woman in the race didn't help when it came to trusting a partner, even for one night. Your mother did very well to make you paranoid about venereal diseases and broken hearts, and you made a point of honoring her even if it meant sacrificing a certain frequency of pleasures.

But Gyro was everything you needed and more. Handsome, strong, funny, charming, Italian accented and reasonably hygienic, something too high for what you were used to seeing. And, surprisingly, he kept flirting with you. And he seemed extremely happy when you reciprocated, just as he seemed highly frustrated when Johnny made a point of interrupting a kiss he was about to steal from you.

And now he was there, planted at the finish line, paying attention to the dozens of women who made a point of touching his muscles and hair - and he was receiving all this attention with a damn golden smile on his face.

You were trying to be reasonable, though. You couldn't be absolutely sure that in the course of the race he hadn't casually established some inappropriate relationship with unknown women; of course, no matter how much you controlled yourself, there would always be cold stares with extremely elaborate explanations to say that he wasn't unaccompanied. Your jealousy would sink its pointed fangs into the fine filigree of the Italian's falsehoods, but in the end you felt you had no reason for serious alarm. It was normal for him to stay with other women for one night. Irresistibly obvious in this race. From the sweaty drunk with large breasts to the young woman full of herself with the almost insignificant possibility of no venereal disease.

What infuriated you, you already knew. Your feelings for Gyro didn't allow you to be with other men. You'd rejected gentlemen like Mountain Tim based only on the remote possibility that one day Gyro would take the flirting to the next level, as easily as he does with his fans. But months have passed and this man has brought you nothing but frustration.

Clenching your fists and watching the sun go down, you threw your devastated conscience out of the window. You felt romantic, hot, thirsty and very, very angry. You spun on your heels and pulled your horse up in front of a saloon, tying it to the post and taking a deep breath before entering.

Guiding yourself through the depraved netting of the lamp-lit veranda, you walked through the door. The bar had a dim, impossibly ruby light that always signaled dubious strongholds in the old United States, but here it meant a strictly family place made for refuge. As you crossed the saloon, you had to skirt around a group of women who were saying goodbye to each other with mille grâces after an afternoon of drinks. With a harsh exclamation of recognition, one of them lunged at you. It was a short girl who attacked you with a smile of admiration, gleaming with curiosity.

With pleasure, you greeted her. As a woman who was a candidate to win the race, you had become extremely popular, but unfortunately, your positive reputation was restricted to women.

You sat down in front of the counter for a drink. The moon-faced attendant was holding a tray with eight glasses of sherry, but made a point of serving you with your whisky. You thanked him.

The atmosphere seemed to suit your mood and it wasn't long before the cup was empty. Feeling hot, you took off unnecessary clothes and left them on the counter, thinking.

What the hell was wrong with you? You and Gyro had been through so much together, and just one little group of women was enough to make him completely forget about you? You shuddered, feeling foolishly betrayed. It was warm enough that you didn't notice the tingling in your nose as you held back your sobs.

Was he too much for you? No, he wasn't. Throughout your life, you've heard enough compliments to be sure that you were prettier than most other women, even if the obstacles and conditions of the Steel Ball Run left you more overwhelmed. And Gyro was no Mountain Tim or Johnny Joestar, you thought.

He just had charm. Apart from that, you were prettier, smarter, and had a lot more potential than he did. But what on earth did a group of women have that you didn't?

Several women, you thought, being only one. And then your questions began to escape from your head to overflow into your mouth and then into the attendant's ears.

"Me, beautiful, smart, sexy, and alone. Can you believe it?"

It was then that the tired attendant turned around, picked up a fancy cup and placed it on the counter in front of your melancholy head. Before you could look, you shuddered at the thud and, after glancing at the attendant's face, looked down at the glass.

A very fancy drink that you had never seen before. Something like Scotch whisky, you judged by the color and smell.

"For you." The attendant said, and you raised your head.

"Oh, you were touched and gave it to me as a gift?" You asked, holding the cup and smelling the aroma.

''No, that guy asked for you.’’

"Huh?''

A little disappointed, you saw that the attendant pointed at someone behind you.

''Really? How tacky! I just want to see the bragger that...''

And a pair of somehow emerald-blue eyes shone. His hair shone like candlelight as he lifted his face to look at you. A look so intense and direct that, if it could make a sound, it would be the same as a sword being drawn. His expression was seductive, yet cordial, retaining all the life that pulsed from the muscles marked under the sleeve of his navy blue shirt. His hat made him a man who needed no introduction.

Dio.

Then you turned your head back to the attendant like a pigeon would.

Diego Brando? The pretty, talented, British jockey, Diego Brando? What the hell was he doing in a place like that? Why did he buy you that drink?

"Are you going to miss this chance?'' The attendant asked. "Since you're so alone.''

He was right, after all. You felt pathetic like you needed help. Like seeing a kitten with its head stuck in a meat can.

''(Y/N)?'' A voice echoed behind you. ''(Y/N), the horsewoman?''

''Ah!''

You can't help but be startled. You were so surprised that you didn't turn around to see who it was, the person had to sit down next to you before you could look. It was Diego Brando, in flesh, bones and beauty. You'd never seen him so close, and he knew your name? That was an honor. An honor so great that your cheeks heated up ridiculously.

"You're (Y/N), aren't you?'' He asked once more, his relaxed, pointed eyes coming closer to you with a confident smile.

As a last resort, you confirmed your identity, without much idea of how to continue the conversation. Diego seemed engaged with you. He asked interesting questions, made surprising comments and seemed to know you in a strangely satisfying way. Diego Brando ordered the same drink you were having, and now you knew the name. Of course, you were too drunk to record it, but watching the attendant prepare the drink you understood that it was something with Scotch whisky, orange and a strange but delicious syrup.

"I saw some of your work and I found it exciting.’’ He said

Diego kept the conversation going. You were too dazed and drunk to think of anything decent to say, and you were pleased with how elegantly he took on the task of doing it for you. That man seemed like a promise, you thought. A promise seductively concealed yet nobly kept. A promise that tonight you would have company.

"Who knew that the great British jockey liked my work?'' You said when he vaguely mentioned a championship you took part in a few years ago.

"I did my research. You're fascinating, you know that?'' He smiled when he saw you smile in response. ''Your performance in the fourth stage? Fascinating too. You beat me twice.''

''Jeez, do you even remember that? It was pure luck and little reward...''

"Besides...'' He took a sip of his drink and put it on the counter. ''You're breathtakingly beautiful up close.''

Man, what a shame. You thought. But he's so hot.

You weren't very happy with so many compliments coming from someone like Diego. His ulterior motives were obvious, and so were yours. Diego was rich, famous, very handsome and, above all, British. You weren't stupid and you knew that no man like him would compliment a woman so freely.

But then again, he's so hot. And the evening was getting interesting, everyone was looking at you. You couldn't let it end there, on that counter. And Gyro will see.

"Hey, Diego...'' You said, resting your chin on your hand, languid as a mermaid. ''I'm tired of staying down here, it's too noisy. Don't you want to drink and chat upstairs?’’

He looked around discreetly. He was still alone and had already drunk his share of whisky.

''But in this place? Are you sure?''

''Of course.'' You laughed seductively. ''Or are you afraid I'll beat you again?''

''Maybe I'd like that, miss.''

You finished your drinks and went upstairs. You tried to hold back the urge to vomit - so easily attributable to fear and alcohol - but you felt a small weight suddenly burning in your belly. You bit your lip hard, and the nausea didn't overwhelm you.

He didn't want to talk, that much was clear. But if you still had a shred of doubt, it simply disappeared when he locked the bedroom door and grabbed your waist. His breath was warm and smelled of whisky and jasmine as he stood in front of you, his hands tighter, his figure silhouetted against the murky room, illuminated by the thin candles.

"Miss...'' He said serenely. ''Unless you have any other business to attend to, I believe our conversation is over.''

You remained motionless, your vision blurred, and at that instant you heard your heart explode. It was a small, sharp sound, like the snap of a flower stem breaking.

He was slow and careful; so were you. Every touch, every moment needed to be enjoyed, treasured - appreciated like a talisman of foolish revenge.

In the same way that a gentleman pours his guest's glass of wine before serving himself, Diego took off his shirt before taking off yours. You touched every soft cavity of his torso, the hidden places of his body. You felt the grace and strength of every curve of his bones, the wonder of his tightly entwined muscles, slender and supple across the width of his shoulders, smooth and solid across the expanse of his back, rigid as young oak on the columns of his thighs.

Then his hands, cold as a lizard’s, landed on your breasts, giving you a pleasurable thermal shock.

"Diego...''

"You must be honored..." He said, his breath warm on your neck, teasing each nipple with small circular touches. "A man should pay homage to you and your body. Because you are beautiful and you have that right."

He kissed you and you closed your eyes. His lips were warm and dry, familiar - yet you felt a shockwave run through your body.

Your lips, which you threw in front of him so that he couldn't help but kiss them, paralyzed you and encouraged you. Now, looking down, you could clearly see the swelling and commotion in Diego's pants. As you were already too far gone to stop properly, and in fact were no longer able to hold back or wait for the slower progress of your shyness, you slid your hands between his thighs, on one of which you could see and feel something rigid and hard, confined by his pants, and for which your fingers couldn't find the end.

You didn't feel the air moving against your face, you didn't feel the hot breath coming from his nose or mouth. It was like kissing a mask. The air, humid, coming from the depths of his lungs, blew cold on your neck, like the exhalation of a cave. You felt the hairs on your arms stand on end and you took a step back, hoping that neither shock nor revulsion would be evident on your face.

Yes, revulsion. You were disgusted, but not by Diego. Diego was a gentleman, attractive, charming... but an enemy. Kissing him like that tasted like betrayal. Gyro and Johnny saved your life at the start of this damn race, and this is how you repay them?

His eyes were closed tightly. The muscle in his jaw twitched.

"I'm sorry...'' You whispered, squeezing the muscle in his arm to make him believe it. ''I can’t do it.''

"What?'' Confused by the sudden interruption, Diego kept his hands in the air, holding the glowing silhouette of where his waist should be. ''What do you mean?''

His clearly dissatisfied face showed how offended he was beginning to be by the situation. You bent down and picked up your shirt, thankful that it was the only piece of clothing you had taken off, and put it on with the same skill as a chimpanzee, staggering, grunting and cursing.

"I know...'' You said when you finally managed to get dressed. "Sorry, I'm not feeling well. I think the drink made me sick.''

And then you gave an embarrassed smile, opening the door and running out of that damn bar at such speed that you could beat any stage of the Steel Ball Run without needing your horse.

"It's hot as hell!" That's what they shouted after you.

You reached the cliffs just before noon. They weren't really cliffs, more like limestone ledges and columns, jutting out of the yellowish grass of the surrounding hills, like the ruins of an ancient city. The clear tips showed cracks and fissures caused by the passage of time and the weather, dotted with thousands of tiny, strange plants, which found a foothold in the slightest remnant of eroded soil.

You left the horses on the grass and walked up to a wide, flat limestone ledge covered with tufts of wild grass, just below the highest cluster of rocks. There was little shade from the sparse bushes, but at that height it was possible to feel a slight breeze.

"My, how hot it is!" Gyro said. He unbuttoned his shirt, which fell around his feet as he began to shed some of his clothes.

"What are you doing, Gyro?" You asked, trying not to laugh.

"Taking my clothes off." He answered pragmatically. ''Why don't you do the same, bella? You're sweatier than I am.''

"Me? Take off my clothes? Which of those rocks did you hit your head on?"

He laughed, his voice resonating in his broad chest and glistening in the sunlight.

''There's no one to see, don't worry!"

''Oh, yes, of course... You're just another horse grazing around, aren't you?''

"I'm the best audience you can imagine." He joked. "At least take off the parts of your clothes that are making you sweat."

After a moment's hesitation, you did as he suggested. It was an entirely isolated spot; too rocky and hard for sheep, the chance of even a stray flock getting up there was very remote, and Johnny would be busy in camp for quite a while. And alone, naked, away from Johnny and the waves of unwelcome fans... Gyro spread his cape on the ground as you stripped off your sweat-stained clothes, leaving only a strip on your chest and your pants.

All my clothes are making me sweat, you thought critically.

He stretched languidly and lay down, his arms behind his head, completely oblivious to curious ants, sparse pebbles and thorny stumps of vegetation.

"your skin must be like goat leather." You observed. "How can you lie like that on the bare ground?"

Naked like him, you stretched out more comfortably in the thick folds of the cape he had thoughtfully laid out for you.

He shrugged, his eyes closed against the heat of the afternoon sun. The light bathed him in gold where he lay, making him glow in golden-red tones against the dark background of the wild grass.

"That's good for me. But you have to be careful, it would be a shame if those ants stung your beautiful skin." He said comfortingly, and fell silent. The sound of his breathing was close enough to reach you above the faint whine of the breeze that crossed the rocky ridges above you.

You turned over on your stomach and rested your chin on your crossed arms, watching him. He was broad in the shoulders and narrow in the hips, with long, vigorous hips and thighs, and slight depressions formed by hard muscles even when he was relaxed. The warm, gentle breeze stirred the still-damp tufts of soft, hay-colored hair in his armpits and ruffled the golden hair that fluttered delicately about his wrists, where it held his head. The slight breeze was welcome, because you could feel the warm sun on your shoulders and shoulder blades.

God, how you loved that man. Every fiber of your being loved every fiber of his being. The bad jokes, the singing, the flirting, the impromptu songs, everything that made your day in the race better was him. You smiled, and smiling you felt your heart beating like a drum against his cape. You breathed heavily, trying to control your beats, as if he might hear them at any moment.

"Did you manage to sleep?" He asked, smiling.

"I think so. Did you sleep well?"

"Like a baby."

''As always."

The outline of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. After a moment, he rolled over on top of the cover, much closer to you. A few leaves clung to his back and arms, but he didn't mind them as much as he minded the leaves on your shoulders. He pushed one of them away and you shivered slightly at the touch of his fingers.

However, instead of continuing to remove the leaves, he stepped back a little and watched you, leaning on one elbow. Gyro saw something in your expression that he didn't understand and that made him slightly uneasy.

"A penny for your thoughts." He said, tilting his head, his shiny hair sliding down his face.

You looked at him and gave a sad smile.

''Nothing, it's just... Whisky really didn't suit me last night."

''Yeah... If I were you, I'd never drink again." He joked.

''What about you? What are you thinking?’’

He thought for a few seconds, then pulled the leaves back from your hair and shoulders, running his fingers along the ridges of your neck. Then he shifted just enough for you to see all of him and took a deep breath.

"Well... I was wondering..." He began, then stopped, the smile disappearing from his lips. He looked down, playing with a little flower that was popping up from the grass.

''Wondering what?"

"Why... you went into that room with Dio."

You thought your heart had stopped for an instant. You felt all the blood drain from your face, because you could feel the numbness of your lips as you tried to pronounce the words.

"With... Dio?"

''Don't worry, I didn't tell Johnny because I knew he'd be very upset... I know you were drunk, but you're not some kind of idiot. Diego could never seduce you, so... why?"

He raised his eyes, just trying to make a superficial attempt at a lopsided smile. But the unstable smile had faded and his face was as livid as his own. He lowered his eyes again, avoiding your fixed, shocked gaze.

"I guess everything I was imagining..." He muttered. "It was whether I'd done something wrong... Whether I should have gone to the bar with you when you invited me."

You saw him bite his lip as if he wished the words hadn't been said, but it was too late for that.

"How did you know?" You asked. You felt dizzy and exposed. You turned over on your stomach, pressing your body hard into the short grass.

He shook his head, his golden teeth still clenched over his lower lip. When he finally released it, a deep, reddish mark appeared where he had bitten it.

''(Y/N).'' He said, in a whisper. ''You don't know how to lie, let alone omit. I know you more than I should and less than I'd like to, but you're too confusing for me. The only thing I ask of you now that we're alone is sincerity. How long have we been riding? Two months? Three? Since the moment I saw you. And I've seen you smile and cry how many times... five hundred times or more?"

He then touched you with a finger, gently, like a moth's paw, tracing the line of your arm and shoulder, down your back until you shuddered at the touch and rolled over, pulling away and facing him.

"You've never been this distant with me." He said, his eyes attentive to the path his finger had traveled, dipping down to feel the curve of your spine. "Not even when I didn't even know your name did you act like this. But now... I thought you were tired, or simply scared of all these stand users we're meeting out there. But now I know better.''

Then there was a long silence. You could feel the strong, painful beating of your heart against the cold ground and hear the chatter of the wind in the pines. Small birds called, far away, and you wanted to be one of them. Or at least to be far away.

"Why?" He asked quietly. "Why lie to me and Johnny?"

You lowered your eyes, staring at your hands, clasped under your chin, and swallowed.

"If..." You started, swallowing again. "If I'd told you I'd been with Dio... you'd have asked about it, and then thought I was a traitor. I didn't think so... maybe you could forgive, but I would never forget."

You swallowed again. Your hands were cold despite the heat and you felt a ball of ice in your stomach. But if you were telling him the truth now, you should tell it in full.

''If you asked... and you did, Gyro, you did! I'd have to talk about it, relive it all over again and I was afraid...'' Your voice trailed off, unable to go on, but he didn't intend to let you go.

"Afraid of what?" He urged you on.

You turned your head a little, not looking at him, but enough to see his dark silhouette against the light, peeking through the bright curtain of the sun in his hair.

"I was afraid you'd know why I did what I did." You said serenely. ''Gyro... I was angry, I... How long did you stay out there, surrounded by women crazy about you? Long enough for me to drink a bottle of whisky and talk to Diego and go into the bedroom with him and... I was so angry, Gyro, about the race, the flirting. And because you'd forced me to do it... to go to that saloon alone. I wanted to do something to take my mind off you, to make sure I didn't think about you for at least one night. I did it, well, partly... because I wanted to hurt you...''

A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth, but he kept looking down, staring at his interlocked hands. The chasm between you, so dangerously connected by a bridge, opened immeasurably, unbridgeable once again.

"Yes. Well, you did it.''

His mouth closed into a thin line and he didn't say another word for some time. Finally, he turned his head and looked straight at you. You wish you could have avoided those green eyes, but you couldn't.

''(Y/N),'' He said softly. "what did you feel... when I preferred to stay outside, with other women?''

A small shock ran through your body, from your scalp to the tips of your toes. It was the last question you wanted to hear.

You opened and closed your mouth several times before finding an answer.

"I don't know..." You said weakly. ''Anger, of course. I was furious, outraged, afraid and... feeling sorry for myself.''

"Were you jealous?'' He asked, his tone serious.

You took a deep breath, feeling the grass prickle your elbows.

"Yes. I think so.'' You bit your lip, looking down.

"Yeah, me too.'' His voice sounded low and practical next to your shoulder. ''I was angry too. Furious, outraged, and feeling sorry for myself.''

He put his two thumbs together, one on either side of a blade of grass, and concentrated on pulling it out by the roots. The leaf came off its stem with a tiny noise. Then he lifted it between his thumbs, brushing it lightly against his lips.

Your breathing was ragged and your eyes were brimming with tears, but not a single tear escaped to slide down your cheek. You saw Gyro drop the grass and lean his head forward, resting it on his knuckles.

"You said you wanted to hurt me. Well, the thought of you in bed with Diego hurt more than any injury I've ever suffered on this race...''

"But I did nothing!'' You immediately tried to explain yourself. ''I... I was going to, but I said I was sick so I left first. I didn't go to bed with him, Gyro...''

His mouth opened silently, then closed tightly for a moment, until he found the strength to continue.

''I don't know if my injury is mortal, but bella... I feel the blood drain from my body every time I look at you.''

The silence between you grew and deepened. The slight buzz of an insect calling from the rocks vibrated in the air.

Gyro was motionless, his face expressionless as he stared at the ground below. You couldn't bear that expressionless face and the thought of what might be hidden behind it. You had caught a glimpse of his despairing fury at various times and your heart cringed at the thought of that hatred, mastered at such a frightening cost and now held in an iron grip that contained not only anger, but confidence and joy.

You desperately searched for some way to break the silence that separated you; some gesture that would restore the lost trust between the two of you. Gyro sat up straight, his arms wrapping tightly around one knee, and turned, staring out over the tranquil distant valley.

You reached over the chasm that separated them and put your hand on his arm. It was warm from the sun, alive to the touch.

"I love you, Gyro.''

His head slowly turned towards you. His face still looked calm, although his emerald eyes narrowed even more as he stared at you in silence. He reached out and finally placed his hand on your cheek.

"Ti amo anch'io, mia bella.''

You looked down and smiled, letting out an embarrassed giggle.

"You know I have no idea what you said...'' Your lips were trembling so much that you could barely pronounce the words.

Suddenly, the hand that was holding your cheek rested on the back of your neck, and he surprised you when he kissed you forcefully and impetuously. Then he pulled you closer to him, holding you tightly, your mouth matching his. Then he laid you on the ground, his weight immobilizing you. His broad shoulders darkened the bright sky above you and his hands held your wrists, keeping you prisoner.

Then he stopped kissing you, pulling his face away to admire your form.

"Ah, bella... you don't know how long I've imagined what you'd taste like.'' He murmured, leaning down briefly to kiss your neck. You can't help but be exasperated. "But I'm still furious.''

''Furious? Gyro...''

"I'm furious because that bastard Diego kissed you before I did." He said firmly. ''That hurt more than waking up from the hangman's noose to feel the knife plunging into my stomach to extract my guts, bella...''

You let the air out of your lungs with a moan when, firmly, he undressed your breasts and plunged his face into them, emerging again to kiss you, and then caress you.

"I was a fool. But now I know how much I want you. How much I love you. Me. Only me.'' He said, the words punctuated by kisses on your neck. "Do you hear me? Only me. Never anyone else, only me! Look at me, say it! Look at me, (Y/N)!''

Your hands, lost in desire, pulled him in for another kiss. His weight was like a rock on your chest. He moved his hips against you as he undressed you, in an imperious command, and you felt your legs spread for him in ecstasy.

"Gyro...'' You murmured, now feeling him pull down his pants and lean in again. The friction of his skin made you throw yourself at him, wanting more. And more.

"I want you...'' He said, more softly. "for me. I want you to say you're mine. My girl.''

You felt the rough, thorny grass under your body, just as you felt his hand descend from your hip to your folds, exploring, playing, teasing. He felt and slid over every inch of your body, his lubricated fingers occasionally wetting the inside of your thigh when he tried to spread your legs further apart. He was delicate, something you would never expect from him. Calm and delicate, as if he was looking for the right spot to pleasure you - even if he was about to explode if he didn't seek his own pleasure soon, the vigorous member framed by tufts of lightly trimmed blond hair made that clear.

Its prodigious size made you shudder and prop yourself up on your elbows. You can't, without pleasure, contemplate without venturing to touch; such length, such thickness of living ivory. Perfectly tanned and shaped; the arrogant rigidity stretched the skin, whose lustrous, velvety softness was highlighted by a tuft of curly, blond hair around the base; then, the broad, rosy head, and the blue streamers of its veins, you'd never imagined anything like it.

Without being distracted from your lukewarm lust, you kissed him again and jolted when you felt his shaking, wet fingers inside you.

You moaned and Gyro swallowed your moan with another kiss, his thumb firmly and perfectly positioned on your clitoris. You could feel the pungency of pointed rods crushed in the grass, like the scent of the man who possessed you. Your breasts were flattened under him and you felt the hairs on his chest stimulating your skin as your bodies rubbed together.

"Bella... Why are you shaking?'' He whispered in your ear.

Gasping, you tried to organize your thoughts to answer.

''I'm not... Ah!''

He let out a soft, playful ''nyo-ho'' when he saw you squirm beneath him. His fingers were firm on a perfect spot that now made you shiver and moan in a way you had never done before. The fingering continued, to the point where you could hear the sticky sound of his fingers.

"You're shaking, see?'' He joked, but you were too busy exploding in waves of pleasure to laugh.

You felt an intense shiver run down your spine, cruelly interrupted when Gyro took his fingers out of you and caressed your cheek, wetting it with your own fluids.

He suddenly penetrated you hard, and you moaned and would have turned your head, but he held your face between his hands, forcing you to face him, to see his sweet, wide mouth contorted with pleasure. You gasped as he gave you what you were looking for. You thrust against him as if you wanted to escape, your back arching, pressing against his body. He lay fully on top of you, barely moving, so that your most intimate connection seemed little more than the joining of your skins.

You closed your eyes, escaping the intensity of that gaze, and sharpened your ears to hear him panting and moaning just like you. A delicate, inexorable pressure turned your head to face him again, while the rhythmic movements continued, softer.

"No, mia bella...'' He said half-voiced. ''Open your eyes. Look at me. Look at what you've done to me.''

And you looked, trapped, bound to him. You watched as he dropped the last of his masks and revealed to you the depths of his own being. His body held you captive, guiding you ahead of his noose, like the west wind in the sails of a ship.

And you traveled into him, as he into you, so that when the last little storms of love began to shake you, he moaned louder, brutally usurping control as he moved to the rhythm of your inexorable pleasure.

Gyro didn't need more than a few thrusts before he was overwhelmed by the wave that rushed down his spine and erupted like a rebar crashing against the rocks. When you parted, he plunged his face into your breasts again. His head was just an indistinct golden spot against your chest. The holes in the granulated leaves in the sky above you admitted only a faint glow into the heavy sky; the distant rumble of an autumn thunderstorm murmured constantly in the hills beyond your fragile tree walls. Gyro was still stiff, so stiff with desire that the touch of your hand made him moan again with a need close to pain.

When he could no longer endure the rest, he possessed you again, and you moved together, hard, pressing, desiring, longing for that moment of ultimate union, and fearing to reach it, knowing that after it there would only be exhaustion and uncertainty.

Over and over again he brought you to ecstasy, without you knowing exactly how, holding back, stopping, gasping into your neck with affectionate and sometimes nonsensical words in Italian, then shuddering. Until finally, you touched his face, threaded your fingers through his hair, squeezed him tightly and arched your back and hips under him, pushing, urging.

"Come on...'' He said in a whisper, "Now. With me, bella.''

He surrendered to you and you to him, desperation taking over passion, so that the echo of your moans seemed to die away slowly, resounding in the darkness of the cold clearing floor.

You remained embraced, immobile, his body was a blessed weight, a shield and a consolation. A so solid body, so full of life and warmth. Why did you wait so long for this? Should you believe what he told you a few minutes ago?

"Listen...'' He finally said, softly. "Can you hear?''

At first, you heard nothing but the humming of the wind and the dripping of the dew through the leaves and daisies. Then you heard a steady, slow beat of his heart, pulsing against you, and yours against him, both in the same rhythm, in the rhythm of desire. The blood flowed through his body, and through its fragile link, through you and back to him.

You lay like that, entwined. Finally, he pulled away and got dressed, looking around.

"Are you looking for Johnny?'' You asked, standing up and feeling your legs go numb and somehow sticky.

"He must have left us by now.'' Gyro replied, in a good mood. ''What did we come here for anyway?''

You sighed and laughed.

''Water, Gyro.'' You replied. ''To get water for us and the horses.''

#diego brando x reader #gyro x reader #steel ball run #diego brando #gyro zeppeli #jjba part 7 #jojos bizzare adventure #ao3fic

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