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    Soap knew what Ghost was trying to do, but he was slipping past the point of no return. Burying his face in Ghost’s bulge and licking the sweat off of him sounded like the best God-forsaken idea he’d ever had. He thinks of hot skin and firm flesh and the tender burst of ripe fruit between his teeth, juice dribbling down his chin to pool over his collarbones.

    “Behave,” Ghost growls, and Soap groans, eyes fluttering. His voice softens when he instructs, “Just breathe, Soap. Be patient until we get back and I can take care of you properly, alright?”

     

    The gears in his mind settle with a damning, thunderous grind. The strange urgency from Simon, the newest level of heat to their flirting. The fucking offer that Simon had mentioned. John had shoved his slick-wet pants in Simon’s bag and Simon had found them and understood them as the only reason an omega would do such a thing.

    If only the omega in question weren’t a daft fucking prick who put his things where they weren’t meant to go.

    or —

    step 1: wake up in pre-heat; step 2: accidentally put your slick-soaked briefs into your superior’s bag; step 3: ???; step 4: profit

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    23 Jul 2024