Work Text:
In hindsight, it was a fantastic idea. The best idea Gyro had ever had maybe, other than the ring on Johnny's finger.
The field along the hiking trail that Gyro had picked out a week in advance was blooming, just as he'd predicted, with the most gorgeous blue and white blossoms. Here and there, fat nectar-drunk bumblebees buzzed heavily, their little legs laden with the spoils of a full day. Cicadas sang distantly at the tree-line. Every now and then, the shadow of a feathery cloud passed over, delicately widening the shadow of an oak whose rich green leaves rustled pleasantly in a barely-there breeze.
It was damn near the most perfect spot on the planet.
The only problem was that he'd forgotten the picnic blanket.
"Shit," Gyro cursed under his breath.
They were too far from the parking lot now to turn back, not unless Johnny went on ahead. But Gyro didn't want to waste a minute and he really, really didn't feel like hiking back all that way by himself.
The heels of Johnny's boots crunched in the gravel-dirt behind him, crutches clicking as he came to a stop.
"What is it?" Johnny's voice came closer than Gyro expected. He was making to grab for the water bottle on the side of the picnic backpack Gyro was carrying.
"Just realized I forgot the blanket in the truck," Gyro grunted as he pulled the water bottle out and handed it off to Johnny, who took a decadent swig and wiped his lips with the back of his thin plaid sleeve. His cheeks were flushed pink with exertion.
The trail was fairly flat with hard packed dirt and only a little gravel (Gyro had made sure to think of that) so it wasn't much different from what Johnny was used to walking on at the ranch, but Johnny had to be sweating a little in that shirt in the early summer weather, putting those toned muscles in his posterior upper arms to work.
Handing the bottle back, Johnny chuckled.
Gyro knew that laugh. That was the laugh of a Kentucky boy who grew up perpetually coated in an extra skin made of sand and hay and horse manure.
"Lucky I ain't afraid of a little dirt," he uttered as he passed Gyro on his right. His shoulders were squared and Gyro could see the half-shell shape of sweat forming at the back of Johnny's collar, but his voice didn't sound strained or tired at all. In fact, he seemed determined to get to the nearest patch of dirt as quickly as possible and gorge himself on whatever secrets Gyro had in his bag.
"'Course not. Should've known," Gyro rolled his eyes and followed Johnny like he always did, like that was all he ever wanted to do. "Just wanted to make it nice for you, y'know?"
Johnny looked back at Gyro briefly, his eyes hard and brow furrowed like he was about to chastise Gyro for having the gall to open his mouth.
"Baby, this is nice," he said, and shit, his voice had gotten all tender and low, shoulders gone soft in contrast with his expression. "You ain't gotta roll out the red carpet, you drove me out here and...look at this shit," he gestured with one crutch. "You kiddin' me? Hush up,"
Gyro couldn't help beaming at him at that, even when Johnny turned around and kept making his way towards the shadow of the oak. He loved him so much his chest ached.
Mood lifted, Gyro projected his voice to where Johnny was finally leaning against the tree's strong trunk, "I know. Still kind of a bummer though. We're gonna have to fight off the ants,"
"I'm armed, I got 'em," Johnny waved a crutch as he slowly slid down between a knot of roots at the base of the tree.
When Gyro caught up, he slipped his arms through the backpack's straps and lowered it to the ground, along with the linen shirt jacket he had been wearing.
"Here," Gyro said, laying the lightweight olive green fabric on the ground so Johnny could slide on top of it. "Just in case."
He winked down at Johnny, then he stood back and admired the spot again.
It really was perfect. All the more so with Johnny Joestar there.
Gyro watched as Johnny set aside his crutches, settled on top of Gyro's shirt, and pulled the backpack towards him so he could unzip the main pocket. Inside, he found what Gyro had hoped he would find first: a bottle of red wine and a bag of juicy golden-pink cherries.
"Oh my god," Johnny's voice was barely a breath over the breeze in the tall grass, "these look like little peaches."
"I know, right?!" Gyro blurted as he sat down across from Johnny.
He'd been so excited when he found the little fruits at the grocery store. So excited, he remembered pulling one off the stem right then and there, in the middle of the Kroger, and then deeply regretted it when he had to spit out the pit and put it in his pocket until he could find a garbage bin.
"Try one!"
Johnny did. Immediately, all his features softened. He knew Johnny would like them.
Johnny spat the pit into the field to his left.
"Damn," he reached for another one and handed Gyro the bottle of wine to uncork with the little corkscrew he knew Gyro kept on his keyring, "I love you."
"Love you too. Not gonna comment on how expensive this wine is?" Gyro chuckled, tongue between his teeth as he worked the cork out.
"You know me. Ain't know shit about wine. Dad tried to teach me but...end of the night I'd end up two sheets to the wind off Bud Light anyway," Johnny replied and spat out his second cherry pit.
Gyro did, indeed, know this about Johnny.
"Just know it was expensive and I went out of my way to find it, so I expect head later," Gyro teased.
Then, he pulled two plastic wine glasses out of the backpack and offered one to Johnny.
"Only head you're getting is your head dunked in the toilet," Johnny said matter-of-factly and took the glass. Then he stuck his pinky out. "Sorry, where're my manners? Booze, please," his face cracked into an almost imperceptible smile. Smug bastard.
"Yeah, okay, fair," Gyro poured Johnny's wine first. Just enough to coat the bottom of the glass, "Hold on. Gotta let it breathe."
His grill just about blinded Johnny in the setting sun. Johnny rolled his eyes.
"Give it a whiff. Go on," Gyro poured a little of his own and swirled it around at the bottom of the glass. When he lowered his nose to the rim, Johnny mirrored him and took an experimental sip.
"Yup, that's wine," Johnny held out the empty glass, "I like it. Cheers."
"Jesus...you're so American," Gyro said with a teasing click of his tongue as he filled both glasses, "so uncultured."
"You're still marryin' me. I'd wager to say you like it," Johnny tapped the rim of his plastic glass against the rim of Gyro's in a silent toast, then looked him right in the eyes with those stupid baby blues of his.
God, Gyro was weak for a confident Johnny.
Carefully, he set his glass down beside him in the dirt.
"I hate that you're right," Gyro whispered, leaning in to take Johnny's face in his hands, "gimme that ring back," he smiled, breath ghosting Johnny's parted, wine-pink lips, and kissed him.
Johnny, bless him, returned the kiss with a surprised sound in his throat that went straight like cupid's arrow through Gyro's weak, gay little heart.
"Okay," Johnny said and kissed him again. His free hand delicately tucked a loose strand of Gyro's hair behind his ear and came to rest against his jaw.
A bee buzzed past. The wind in the oak above them was like a sigh, carrying with it the perfume of millions of blue and white blooms like stars blurred on the surface of shoreline waves. The cicadas kept singing. The backpack full of food sat between them, ready to be unpacked and shared. But there at the center of it all was the two of them--the entire universe spun between them like a singularity, wanting for nothing.