You’re a mechanic on the racing tracks. Before the race starts you’ve come to check over every bike and next on your list is that of the Scottish contender, Johnny MacTavish, also nicknamed Soap for how he clears the tracks.

“Oi, MacTavish, I-“ You pause when you look up from your clipboard and your jaw drops.

Soap is on his bike, leaning on the handlebars. His back is arched and right behind him sits one of Soap’s teammates and rivals, Ghost.

Ghost’s one hand is on Soap’s shoulder, the other on his hip, pulling him deeper into the arch. Their hips are pressed closely together, appearing rather intimate.

Soap looks over and pauses, his face taking on a slightly red tone. Before the chatty Scot can say anything a large glove with bone pattern settles over his mouth. Soap rolls his eyes a little.

Ghost looks at you. “What’d ya want?” he asks briskly like you’re interrupting them.