"What in God's name is that?"

Ezekiel was going to have to kill Jacob. He really was. He stood just outside the doors of the Annex, staring in horror as his boyfriend rolled up to the kerb not in his car, but on a cherry-red motorcycle. What was he doing, riding one of those monsters? Was he out of his bloody mind?

Oblivious to Ezekiel's horror, Jacob pulled his helmet off and waved. "Hey, Jonesy!" He set the kickstand on the bike and got off, walking up the path to the front doors of the Annex. With his hair ridiculously tousled, in his leather jacket and boots, he'd usually look mouthwateringly good, but Ezekiel was too terrified to even consider being turned on at the moment. "You like it? My brother gave it to me a while ago, and I figured since the weather was so nice, I'd take it out for a while, stretch her legs," Jacob said brightly, tucking his helmet under one arm and apparently ignoring Ezekiel's wide-eyed stare.

"Are you insane?" the thief nearly shouted. "That thing is a two-wheeled deathtrap!"

The cowboy only laughed. "No, it's not. It's fun, really. Have you ever even been on a motorcycle before?"

Ezekiel shook his head rapidly. "I've been on a Vespa." And even that had been a little nerve-wracking. He did not like being on any motor vehicle capable of exceeding certain speeds without some form of barrier between him and the bone-snapping, skull-splitting, skin-removing pavement. Call it a personal quirk of his.

The historian blinked a few times. "A...a Vespa? You've...a scooter?" he asked, sounding disgusted by the very notion of such an egregious pretender even existing. "Wow, man. That's...something. Well, you wanna go for a ride? I'll take you, if you want," he offered, gesturing back to the motorcycle.

"What, and get on that rolling monstrosity? I don't think so," the thief retorted immediately. Not only no, but hell, no. He took a step back for good measure.

To his surprise, Jacob looked almost amused by his refusal, glee slowly creeping onto his face. "Are you afraid of riding a motorcycle?" he asked; Ezekiel folded his arms over his chest but didn't reply. He let out a loud bark of laughter. "Oh, my God, you are! Ezekiel Jones, best thief in the world, is scared of a motorcycle! Dude, of all the dangerous things we face on a daily basis in this job, you're afraid of a bike?"

"It's not just a bike!" Ezekiel snapped. "It's a fucking death machine, that's what it is! Built by some adrenalin-junkie madman who should've been shot for his crimes against automobiles!"

Jacob, damn him, let out another bright burst of laughter. "Aw, c'mon. Here, lemme take you for a ride."

Excuse me? "No!"

"C'mon, Jonesy, one ride. Okay? That's it, just one ride. Just to try it. I won't even go far, I promise," Jacob coaxed. "What if you really like it? A scooter is not a motorcycle, okay?" When Ezekiel hesitated, he softened his voice a little more, laying the accent on thick. "Please? For me?"

Oh, dammit. He hated it when the cowboy pulled that trick. Largely because it always worked. "Fine. One ride, and that's it. And I swear to God, if you try to pop a wheelie, I'm leaving you," he snapped crossly.

"I wouldn't do that to you, Jonesy, I promise," the other man reassured, already shrugging out of his leather jacket and holding it out for Ezekiel to put on. It was surprisingly heavy and stiff, and he wasn't sure it was actually made of leather at all. But it was warm, and it felt very comfortingly armor-like. "Here, put this on, too." He held out the helmet.

"You're not going to wear a helmet?" Ezekiel demanded, his voice climbing into a near-screech.

Jacob laughed a little. "I don't wear one all the time. And if I wear it, that means you won't. C'mon, babe, I'll be fine for one little ride."

He glared at the other man for a moment longer, torn between wanting to tell him put the damn helmet on and wanting to wear as much protection as possible before getting on the death machine. Finally, he snatched the stupid helmet. "Fine."

"Alright. Now, before you get on, I'm gonna give you a rundown on riding double. It's not like a pedal bike, and it ain't like the movies where you just hop on and go riding off into the sunset," Jacob said, then proceeded to explain where Ezekiel could put his hands, what was hot, how he should lean into the turns, and so on.

"Can I put my feet on that?" Ezekiel asked once he'd finished his little lesson.

"No."

"Why not?"

Jacob smirked. "Because that is the exhaust pipe, and it will melt the rubber on your shoes. And fuck up the chrome."

"Oh."

"Yeah. So, you think you got it?" the historian asked.

Ezekiel nodded a little. "Yep, think so. How Not To Die On A Speeding Death Machine, 101."

"Y'know, you can stop calling it a death machine," Jacob noted as he swung a leg over the seat and patted the empty space behind him.

"Yeah, I don't think I will, though." He pulled the helmet on and tightened the chin strap until he couldn't pull the helmet off, just like Jacob showed him, then braced both hands on Jacob's shoulders and climbed onto the bike. It didn't feel all that uncomfortable, really. More comfortable than sitting on a normal bike. So far, so good.

Jacob glanced back at him, and Ezekiel gave him a thumbs-up with one hand. The historian grinned, then lifted up and brought his foot down on the kickstart. Ezekiel let out a muffled scream inside the helmet as the bike thundered to life, throwing his arms around Jacob's waist and holding on for dear life. Suddenly the whole world seemed to be vibrating from the force of the engine, shuddering around him; it felt like his bones were in danger of being shaken apart. He closed his eyes tightly against the nauseating shaking. The bike leant a little as Jacob turned them into the road, and then they were off.

The shaking stopped, but now they were moving. Ezekiel opened his eyes a little, and of course, he was looking straight down at the road, able to see the central white line flicking past in rapid staccato. He could feel the air rushing past him, absolutely nothing between him and the rest of the world. He raised his gaze from the road and saw trees and storefronts whipping past, and oh, wow, they were close to the other cars. He closed his eyes again and tightened his grip on Jacob's waist and oh sweet Jesus, he was about to die, this was it, this was how Ezekiel Jones met his end, on the back of a stupid death machine with his even stupider cowboy boyfriend and...

There was a hand patting his thigh. Gently, but insistently, and someone was saying his name, the voice muffled from inside the helmet.

It took him a moment to realise that they'd actually stopped in front of the Annex, and Jacob had shut the motorcycle off; the vibrations he felt were just his body still humming with aftershocks. Ezekiel unwound his arms and reached up to take the helmet off, his fingers fumbling the chinstrap twice before getting it undone. "Jesus Christ, how fast were we going? I think I felt my soul leave my body," he gasped once he got the damn thing off.

Jacob was trying not to smile but losing pitifully. "We went around the block once, and I was only doing twenty-five," he replied, voice strained with muffled laughter.

Oh. Well, then. Ezekiel tried to get off the bike, but apparently, his legs were made of jelly after all the anxiety he'd just gone through. He wobbled off-balance, staggered back a step, and fell hard on his arse in the grass. Jacob finally lost the pitiful fight he was putting up and burst out laughing, bent over the handlebars as he howled in mirth. Ezekiel glared up at him unhappily, looking around for a suitably large rock to throw at his stupid face.

Still chortling, the historian got off the bike and held out a hand, which Ezekiel grudgingly accepted. "C'mon, babe, was it really so bad? You wouldn't wanna go again?" he asked, keeping his fingers wrapped around Ezekiel's hand.

He very nearly said 'fuck, no' just on principle, but...underneath the bone-liquefying terror, it'd been kind of...fun. Like on a rollercoaster, almost. And he kinda hated those, too, but that didn't stop him from getting on every ride in Six Flags. "Maybe," he relented at last.

To Ezekiel's everlasting surprise, Jacob leant forward and kissed him soundly on the mouth, despite his general aversion to public affection. "Thank you, Jonesy. I'll make a biker out of you yet," he teased.

"Yeah, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Ezekiel replied dryly, then paused and smiled at Jacob. "You know what. I'll make you a deal. I'll ride your metal danger machine with you...on the condition that you wear the leather pants when we go, and I get to take them off you afterwards."

Jacob's eyebrows hiked up a little, and he stepped into Ezekiel's personal space, sliding both arms around his waist beneath the jacket and pulling him close. "You got yourself a deal, Jonesy."

"Then let's ride, cowboy."