…Hard track?

For some reason, you’re in the mood for a risk. ‘Some tasty self-destructive behaviour for the whole table please Monsieur; chef’s kiss.’ You push your bike to the top of the dirt ramp. That is… a long way down. ‘Maybe you’ll die - then this’ll all be over!’ You try to cheer yourself up, rather morbidly. You straddle your bike and rev the motor. You sigh. Another reason you aren’t like these guys - every motorbike dude you’ve met complains about the pressure between their legs but the vibrations feel, uh, pretty nice for you… And now, even more so. You let it calm you. It’s familiar. It’s okay, you’re okay.

You push off and let gravity do most of the work. A joyous thrill blossoms in your chest, albeit very briefly, from the feeling of plunging down a steep ramp. Oh yeah, this is the shit.

For a minute, you’re airborne. Then reality comes crashing down. Literally. The air is knocked from your chest with a quiet “oof” as you come down hard and lodge the handlebars into your ribcage. The jolt and sudden inability to breathe makes you jerk the handlebars and the bike tips sideways. Since you’re following the momentum of the bike, your knee hits the (thankfully plush) dirt first and you tumble off the bike. It skids across the loose dirt away from you and you bounce/roll to a stop. You sit up immediately and just… sort of sit there. The hard plastic armour you’re wearing definitely works, nothing hurts or aches. Or maybe it’s the soft dirt? Only then, your breath comes back and you greedily gulp air down.

“You good, man?”

Oh fuck.

Turning around shows you the approaching figure of none other than cute-boy. Thankfully, without his less-than-stellar entourage. He sticks out a hand to help you up and you take it. His bicep bulges beautifully as he pulls you up. ‘Calm down you horny little shit.’ You mentally scold yourself. He shoots you one of those “white people smiles” where the lips purse together tightly for a brief moment before relaxing, complete with the little head nod.

“I’m Nolan.” he offers. You nod in return, your lips automatically copying the tight-lipped greeting smile in a bizarre attempt at some sort of self-preservation.

“Nolan… Um, I’m Jasper.” you say. This time, he gives a more genuine smile (with teeth) and continues. “I’m assuming you’re good - none of your limbs are twisted the wrong way.” he jokes. “Look, sorry about my friends. Tucker’s always been a dick.” ‘Blonde-guy’s name is fucking Tucker? Go figure. You’ll remember that.’ You nod in response. Thankfully he continues before you have to think of something to say. “You’re new. Want some help? I’ve got time.” Despite needing beta blockers just to interact with another human being, you…. actually accept his offer. Maybe it’s the effect of the adrenaline, but you actually want to spend more time around this guy.