Part 1

The hum of a motorcycle sounded out in the distance, and soon (it was expected) more came to join the purr of the engine, the gravel trembling in their wake and the street seemed to part it's traffic for them, everyone surrendered to them. They were the riders of the night, as cliche as it was.

And in the small town of Canton, Ohio, there was only one thing to do; ride.

Whether you had a new Kawasaki or a 74' Coupe Deville, you rode the streets and for those five minutes, you owned them. The pavement sounded beneath your tires, sometimes the gravel from the back roads kicked up against your vehicle, scratching, revenge but that was what you owed, at least.

But when it came to the streets, whether you had the newest set of rims or a glistening Prowler, you yielded to *them*, on their loud motorcycles, with their women and their racing... you didn't stand a lick of a chance. You might as well move your shit to the curb and watch, study and wish you were one of them.

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It was night and you could hear them, their motorcycles loud and supped up, a few ahead of the bunch doing tricks, wheelies as they zoomed by, the others flying by with a deep zip sound, not allowing you just a glance.

Sometimes the street kids smoking one last blunt before returning home chased after them, but it was always a failed attempt, the blur of riders dust even before they got to the middle of the street.

This time they had a few new stragglers, and one was going to be initiated tonight, the winner of the crucial race.

Their engines revved as they all slowed down, the dirt road they had been on sliding underneath their wheels, gaining to grip against the tumbling pebbles.

Lights were turned on and suddenly, it was like the gates of heaven had opened, a crowd of a hundred all sped into the deserted area lined with barbwire and brush; it was supposedly a ranch some years ago.

Suddenly there was noise, too much noise and a out of the dust the others had kicked up, a motorcycle arrived obnoxiously, it's own wheels kicking up dust and everyone shielded their eyes but as soon as the dirt settled, all paid their respects as the man tore off his helmet, the other person on the bike sliding off theirs also. And it was no surprise to find the startling blue and sweat licked hair of a man second in seat on that bike.

The owner, a tall brute man with black eyes, named Nico gritted his teeth and smiled. The other, this one so much smaller in size, almost as petit as a girl, stood by his side, his leather jacket tight as the night wind whipped around them. His curls swept across his face, light brown against pale creme and he felt eyes on him. He knew those eyes.

He looked to his left and there he was. Justin. He was one of the new ones fighting to get in, and he hadn't quite understood what was off limits to him yet. Not that the brunette minded much, he just didn't want anything serious to come from their wandering looks.

It had been going on for weeks now. And it was partly his fault. Ever since one of the members had brought the younger man, his blonde curls unruly and bright, JC couldn't keep his eyes off him. And the then blonde noticed, used it to his advantage. The leers when JC would ride around, they got to the brunette and he'd lick his lips before zooming ahead.

It was their way of communicating, it was the safe way. And it was their golden rule; Look, but don't touch.

"C," Nico called and the man, JC as he was called, looked up, his eyes catching the other's. "You ready?"

JC smiled and only then did his eyes slide over to the other man on the bike openly and with his crystal eyes dared him to come close, the engines roaring to life as the other contenders all came to the fence lining.

There were four.

The first one was a dark blue with yellow stripes, plain but the Yamaha painted on the side told you not to judge so quickly.

The second one was pink because, as the owner had explained, "Pink is pimp, yo" with blue splashed on in spurts. JC had chuckled once, the paint job reminding him more of jizz than artistic creativeness.

The third was blue also, a lighter color, and an older model and most had counted it out already. The girl who rode it, though, was determined to prove them wrong.

The last was the rider with the wanderings eyes. He was dressed in all black, black jeans and a black hoodie to match the glistening black paint on his Kawasaki, glowing blue on his dashboard, a luminescent light shadowed on his face. JC stood close.

"You think you can win?" This was informally the first time they had ever talked. Just shared longing glances at each other that were more talk than much else.

The man smirked, pulling off his helmet to answer. "I know I'm gonna win," he replied coolly, JC grinning in the dark.

"You better do it then, if not for yourself then for me."

The man smiled. "Don't I at least get a good luck kiss?" he teased and JC smiled, sauntering to the middle. He could feel his eyes, those eyes licking up his back and he took a calming breath.

Raising the gun from his back pocket, he cocked it and held it high above his head, pulling the trigger, and then he was left in a cloud of dust, desperately trying to see if the fourth's tail lights were dimmer than the rest.

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Justin had won.

JC's heart sped.

Nico's blood chilled.

He didn't like him. He thought he was just a pushover with a pretty face. And he had seen them. They weren't discrete at all, but he trusted JC. He just didn't trust Justin. And now that he was in...

Justin got off his bike to cheers and hoots, but the path cleared as Nico came up, a cheery smile on his face. He hoped he looked proud, not like he wanted to smack the punk down to his knees.

"Nice work," he said, offering his hand and Justin looked at it for a second, grabbing it. JC surfaced up beside the tall man and Justin's gaze slid smoothly where he smiled in the confines of his helmet, the brunette giving him a grin as well.

As he tore off his helmet, he ran a hand over his cropped hair, dyed black upon request. But he hated it, wanted something lighter, maybe a nice dark red would do.

"Congratulations."

Justin turned and JC was there, a sly grin on his face. Justin was beginning to like the man's voice, all soft and silky.

"Thanks." He looked around inconspicuously, before whispering, "Does this mean I get a celebratory blowjob now?" He smiled devilishly as JC's eyebrows shot up, his eyes wide as he regarded the comment. But he calmed easily as he looked around for a moment, then back to Justin, almost shyly.

"Over Nico's dead body, ya know." His eyes were serious and warning but Justin was stubborn and he'd have to show JC that.

He laughed and tugged on his helmet again, his eyes holding JC's for a minute before he twisted his handles and pumped the gas, the crowd shrinking back and then he was gone, out of sight and JC turned to Nico. His hard eyes made JC frown and he walked, guiltily back to the other man's bike.

Part 2...
Eyes On The Prize Index