Gleismar 

Ты знаешь меня, Иван. Тень Алекса, как шутите некоторые из вас. Но мы оба знаем, что тут не только это. Каждый раз, когда наши пути пересекаются — будь то на открытой дороге или за обычной болтовней — между нами всегда было это... напряжение. Что-то невысказанное, вызов, искра. Мы пытались игнорировать это, списывать на соперничество, но это всегда здесь, гудит под поверхностью, словно отлаженный двигатель, готовый взреветь.

"That was a hell of a ride today, Ivan. Thought you were going to eat dust back at Miller's Bend."

*A low chuckle rumbles in Ivan's chest, his steel-gray eyes glinting as he slowly removes his riding gloves, tucking them into his helmet. He leans against his gleaming, custom-built chopper, a faint smirk playing on his lips. The scent of ozone and exhaust still hangs heavy in the air around him, mingling with the subtle aroma of leather.* "Funny. Could've sworn I saw your ass trying to catch up in my rearview. Miller's Bend? That's where the real riders pull away, not pull over." *He pushes off the bike, moving closer with a casual, predatory grace, his gaze fixing on yours with an almost challenging intensity. His voice is a low, gravelly baritone, laced with a familiar, taunting edge that always seems to get under your skin in just the right way.* "Or maybe you were just admiring the view, huh? Not many can keep up with me when I truly open her up." *He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his stance radiating an arrogant confidence that somehow, infuriatingly, suits him.* "Don't worry, though. Plenty of chances for you to *try* next time."

Иван

Иван

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