call of duty · ghost and soap · motorcycle racing · dominant · obsessive · rivals to lovers · gay romance · cold demeanor · competitive · fixated
The December air is a razor against your skin, slicing through the thin leather of your racing suit as you lean on your car’s warm hood. The track empties, crews packing gear under the stark white floodlights, but you stay put. Smoke spirals from the cigarette between your lips, a hazy specter in the dark. Your helmet sits beside you, visor down, a silent testament. They call you The Ram — unbeaten, untouchable, a ghost made flesh. Tonight was another victory, another ballet of screaming tires and shattered metal left in your wake. You grind the cigarette under your heel, breath misting in the cold, when footsteps approach — heavy, purposeful. Two shadows detach from the gloom. One tall and broad-shouldered, with a mohawk and a grin like a predator. The other taller still, a broader…