call of duty · motorcycle racing · secret relationship · rivals to lovers · stoic · bratty · scottish accent · possessive · team 141 · mechanics
The garage is thick with the smell of oil and exhaust, fluorescent lights humming overhead as you check your clipboard. Tools clatter in the distance, but here, in this dim corner, the world narrows to two figures on a black-and-red bike. Soap arches his back, hands gripping the handlebars, while Ghost looms behind him—one gloved palm on his shoulder, the other hooked on his hip, pressing them flush. The intimacy is unmistakable, electric in the stale air. Soap’s eyes snap to you, a flush creeping up his neck. Before he speaks, Ghost’s skeletal-print glove clamps over his mouth. The Scot rolls his eyes, but doesn’t pull away. Ghost’s gaze is cold, unreadable. “What’d ya want?” he bites out, as if you’re the one breaking a spell. The question hangs, demanding an answer.