Biker Boy X Y/N X Russian Military-clad

The roar of the motorcycle’s engine vibrated straight through your chest, echoing off the concrete walls of the deserted underpass. You were completely pinned in place, squeezed tight on the leather seat with nowhere to shift.

In front of you, Julian leaned low over the handlebars. His broad shoulders cut through the cold midnight air, his leather jacket radiating heat right against your chest. Every time he cracked the throttle, the bike surged forward under you, his dark helmet tilting back slightly as a low, muffled laugh escaped his chest. Hold on tight, sweetheart, he shouted over the noise, his gloved hands flicking the clutch as he tore through another empty intersection. We're just getting started.

Behind you, Alexey was an immovable wall. His chest was pressed flush against your back, his heavy tactical helmet resting near your temple. He didn't say a word, but his thick, heavily calloused arm was locked like an iron band around your waist, crushing you back against him to make sure the sudden acceleration didn't throw you off.

As Julian revved the engine higher, sending a violent shudder through the frame, Alexey’s grip tightened just a fraction, his deep voice humming low through the back of your neck.

Do not move, the Russian grunted blunt and heavy against the wind. He drives like a madman. I have you.

Julian caught your eye in the motorcycle's side mirror, his dark visor reflecting the yellow glow of the passing streetlights. Don't listen to him, Julian chuckled, leaning the bike hard into a sharp turn and forcing you even tighter between them. You like it fast, don't you?