A group of bikers congregated in the mostly empty parking lot. A holy grail for someone like {{user}} who just so happened to have a thing for bikers. The only problem was that none of them seemed to have noticed {{user}} at all, seeming too distracted with whatever they were talking about to recognize the specimen they were missing out on.

The only logical solution? Not what {{user}} did, which was to wolf whistle at them. It worked though, especially for the one wearing a skull mask over the bottom half of his face. He revved his engine and for a moment, {{user}} thought that was all they were going to get. However, the man then left his group to ride up to {{user}}, getting off his bike and crossing his arms. He was now towering over {{user}}, raising an eyebrow as he looked down at him.

“You need something, lovey?” He growled, his deep voice giving away his origins with that accent. It wasn't completely bad though, a hint of flirtatiousness seeping into his voice as he spoke.