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Ghost usually wears the most utilitarian underwear possible. On base, it’s boxers. On a mission, boxer briefs.
When he wants to mess with Soap, a thong.
Right now, he wants to mess with Soap.
So the bright red scrap of fabric keeps popping up over his waistband and he can feel Soap’s eyes on him constantly, nearly burning holes in his lower back.
Good.
In an hour, they will be heading out on a mission. As much as their horny brains want to convince them otherwise, they don’t have time for even a quickie. Ghost can be a quick shot, but Soap has the endurance of a god. So that’s out.
Which means Ghost can fuck with Soap as much as he wants, and the man will have to wait until they’re back home to do anything.
(ghost willfully ignores how it ignites a flame in himself too, edging and teasing them both)
{--}
Three hours later, he might be… regretting things.
He doesn’t know what possessed him to do it, but he’d kept the thong on. Had even been admiring the way the waistband of it sat just a bit higher than his jeans, so that if he bent just a bit too much, reached too high, he’d be showing something off.
Now, he’s sitting in the most awkward possible position, hidden in some closet in the house they’re meant to be infiltrating, because intel was wrong (of course) and there were a lot more guards here than were reported. He’s squashed as small as he can get into a lower corner of the closet, mostly blocked from sight by a large bottom shelf. He’s cramped as hell, but he’s had worse.
That doesn’t mean this doesn’t come close.
With how fast he’d had to crawl in, Ghost hadn’t exactly had comfort on the mind. He’d clambered into the spot, not thinking about how he was sitting, so long as he wasn’t dying. Now, however…
Now, his thong, which he’d foolishly decided to keep on just to rile Soap up, is riding up his ass, pulling taut in the front, rubbing uncomfortably up against his bits. He groans, deeply reconsidering his life choices.
“Alright, LT?”
Ghost jumps, abruptly reminded that he’s not technically alone. Soap is his overwatch, and he’s been following Ghost’s movements step-for-step. Including his hiding in the closet.
“Fuckin’ peachy, sergeant,” he answers, grouchy.
“Aye, well, yer gonna be stuck there for a while. More just showed up,” Soap regretfully explains. Ghost lets his head thunk quietly against the wall.
“Any guess on how long is ‘a while’?”
“Negative, sir.”
God dammit.
{--}
Approximately forty five minutes later, Ghost starts to feel it. Just a mild almost-tingling sensation in his lower abdomen, and he realizes with horror that he has to piss.
And he still can’t leave.
Biting his lip, he mutters into his radio again, “Any news, Soap?”
“Negative, sir. Ye alright?”
“A-firm. Just gotta fuckin’ piss.”
“Can’t hold it?”
“Been holding it for two and a half hours, Johnny.”
There’s silence, then, “Not even a bottle ye can use?”
Ghost scans his surroundings, not exactly liking that option, but it’s better than nothing. However there’s nothing around him, and it’s with a grim tone that he tells Soap so. He shifts, just a bit, and the string of his underwear grinds against him roughly.
“Sorry ta hear that, sir. Guess ye will have ta hold it.”
“Sod off!”
He hears Soap chuckle.
{--}
Twenty minutes later, it’s like the gods themselves have poured an entire gallon into his bladder, because it certainly feels that close to bursting. He’s been fidgeting endlessly, trying to find a more comfortable position that isn’t compressing it, but nothing works. If anything, every movement is a tingle coursing through him as his over-full bladder sends unfortunately pleasurable waves down his limbs.
“Johnny, please tell you have good news,” he groans.
“I have good news,” Soap obliges, and Ghost’s heart soars for a moment before he reads the sarcasm.
“Fuckin’ hell, Soap. Gonna fuckin’ piss myself. Least you’re not stuck in a closet.”
“Aye, sir, then why don’t ye come out?”
Ghost dearly wishes he could see Soap, so that Soap could witness the utter deadpan look he has on. Soap must clock it anyway, because he laughs.
It’s quiet for a few minutes while Ghost suffers, still desperately attempting to get situated, but again, it’s fruitless. Everything he does just makes it worse.
“God dammit,” he bites out. He’s reluctantly aroused by the sensations he’s feeling, and it’s doing even less to help him. The thong, previously ignorable, is now basically stroking his cock. Every time he rearranges, it’s a bright spark of pleasure.
“Still holdin’ it, LT?”
“The fuck do you think?” Ghost snaps. “Rather not sit in my own piss for the next good while.”
There’s naut for him to do to detract from the urge though. It’s overpowering, and it’s been creeping up on him for so long that it feels like a distant friend who won’t shut up.
He adjusts once more, and against his will, his hips buck, thong catching his cock like a strike of lightning. He moans, biting the glove on his hand as he settles.
“...Ghost?”
“Fuck off, Johnny.”
“Dunno if I want to, not with ye soundin’ like that.” Soap sounds intent, focused. Of course this is what would center him.
“S’ppose yer lucky though, cuz they’re pullin’ out now.”
Relief flushes through Ghost, making him relax, and he realizes too late what a massive mistake that is.
The muscles now lax, a burst of wetness springs forth between his legs, and Ghost has half a second to clench off and stem the flow. He sits there, legs somewhat crossed, gathering himself and thinking of a way he can roll out from where he is without making a mess.
“I’m headed in, sir.”
“Negative!” Ghost answers, appalled. “There might be-”
“Watched ‘em all leave, Ghost. No one in that house but you.” There’s a rustling in the background; Soap must be packing up his kit. Ghost wants to scold him into staying where he is, but there’s another jolt and he has to bite his lip, hard, to suppress the sound he almost made.
“...Fine. I’m in the second bedroom. In the closet.”
The time it takes Soap to reach him feels interminably long. Ghost can barely move; if he goes even one inch, he probably will wet himself. He’s fucked, but at least he knows Soap has an extra pair of pants in his bag. Stupid over-prepared partner.
The door to the bedroom opens. “Ghost?”
“In here.”
It’s way too bright in the room for how dark the closet is, so when Soap opens it, the light floods in, momentarily blinding Ghost. Soap stands in the doorway, haloed by the light, looking like an angel come to steal Ghost’s dignity.
“Gonna fuckin’ piss myself,” Ghost warns.
Soap scoffs, thinking he’s joking. “Right. There’s a toilet right down the hall.”
“Won’t make it,” Ghost butts in. Ghost watches in real time as Soap’s eyes darken, absorbing the implications. Like a switch flipped, Soap’s demeanor changes.
“Waited for me, aye?” Soap leers. Ghost whines instinctively at the change in tone, rocking minutely against the seam of his jeans, through the thong. “Naughty little thing.”
Ghost doesn’t want to move, but he also doesn’t want to risk getting his shirt wet too. So he rolls forward, finally fully out from under the shelf, launching himself to his feet. All at once his bladder unclenches and there’s a veritable flood of warmth ruining his jeans.
Soap whistles as he watches, holding a steadying hand on Ghost’s arm as the man relieves himself. Unable to help himself, Soap moves in front of Ghost and shoves his other hand down the front of Ghost’s pants, palming his pussy and feeling the piss sluice over his fingers.
Ghost moans loudly, stumbling to the side as Soap starts toying with his cock, rubbing it harshly as the stream continues. “Yer gonna kill me, Simon. A thong? Knew ye were a slut.”
Rocking into the friction, Ghost whimpers, putting one of his hands on Soap’s shoulders and the other on the desk near them in a bid for some stabilization. It barely works when Soap pinches him, rolling his cock between his fingers and making Ghost’s knees go weak.
The flow eventually rolls to a stop, only after Ghost’s jeans are drenched and Soap has worked him almost all the way to orgasm. Ghost only needs a few more passes, just a little more-
Soap retreats, pulling his hand back and stepping away. Ghost whines, edged, and pleads with his eyes to get Soap to come back.
“Take yer pants off,” Soap orders. Ghost hastens to obey. He unlaces his boots as quickly as possible to slide the filthy denim off, leaving him standing in front of Soap in his favorite lacy thong, soaking from both the piss and his denied orgasm.
“Bend over on the desk.” Ghost does, pressing his torso to the wood and even going so far as to spread his legs for Soap’s perusal. The slick sound of his lips parting around the string of the thong is beyond obscene.
“Fuck, yer a sight,” Soap breathes, running a hand over Ghost’s exposed ass. The skin there is dry and the hand feels almost gentle. Ghost holds his breath in anticipation. There’s only one reason Soap would be gentle-
A loud crack echoes in the room as Ghost slides up the desk, ass cheek smarting and eyes wet. Another, and then one more for good measure; Ghost sobs dryly at the last one. He hears, vaguely, as Soap gets on his knees behind him, full kit rattling as it collides with the floor.
He shivers as a finger traces down the fabric of his underwear, stopping to tap lightly on Ghost’s cock, sending brutal shocks of pleasure down Ghost’s legs. “Beautiful, an’ all for me,” Soap murmurs, before he buries his face in Ghost’s pussy.
Soap always eats him out like a man starved, but it’s always more intense right after he’s had Ghost let go for him. He loves the taste of Ghost’s slick and piss combined, finds the cocktail incredibly addicting. Ghost is just happy to let him devour his cunt because it means he’ll get an orgasm out of it.
(or two)
(or three)
(or four)
(or-)
(ghost usually has to pry him off)
It’s just as powerful now, as Soap licks and sucks and coats every inch of Ghost’s cunt in his attention. Ghost can’t move much, not pressed as tightly to the desk as he is, so Soap gets free reign the entire time. It’s head-swimmingly good.
Ghost was already on edge before Soap bent him over, so it takes very little time for him to approach that peak once more. He starts grunting, huffing incrementally, wanting so much to buck back and take the orgasm Soap is giving him.
Until the motherfucker pulls away again-
“Johnny, please-!” Ghost begs, far past caring about pride or dignity. He just wants to come.
“Patience, doll.” Soap’s hand cups Ghost’s pussy, warming the whole thing. Ghost jerks, surprised by the soft sensation after everything. “I’ve got ye.”
Ghost shoves his face into his arms.
“Please,” he whispers.
Soap grinds his palm on Ghost, using his fingers to roll Ghost’s cock. Ghost is practically sobbing, overwhelmed, so close to coming and yet he can’t, not until Soap deems it allowable.
The man’s hand disappears. Ghost sobs, hiccups, is just about to plead again-
A smack, a zipping painful pleasure up his spine, and Ghost is coming, squirting all over where Soap’s hand still rests on his cunt. Soap pulls back and smacks him again, lighter this time, and it jolts Ghost into another wave. Ghost’s knees finally give out and he collapses his full weight on the desk, hips twitching as the last dregs of his peak fade out.
Soap trails his hand over Ghost’s abused pussy, drawing a loud, overstimulated moan from him. There’s nowhere for Ghost to run from the touch, not that he’d want to.
“Yer a fuckin’ delight, doll,” Soap says, breathless. There’s a slick sound of skin on skin and Ghost belatedly notices that Soap is jerking himself off, hand coated with the remains of Ghost’s release he’d gathered. The sight makes Ghost clench around nothing.
“An’ you’re a fuckin’ menace,” Ghost slurs, still dazed.
“Your menace,” Soap repeats back.
“Your delight,” Ghost snarks in return.
“Aye,” Soap grits out. “Mine.” He strokes a couple more times before he’s coming, hot stripes of white landing on Ghost’s still bared cunt, mixing with what’s already there. The thong is ruined, stained and good for nothing but memories at this point.
They stay there for several moments, panting, trying to recover. Ghost, remarkably, is the first to speak. “You still got those extras in your bag, Johnny?”
Soap sighs at the unfortunate lack of pillow talk, but they’re on a mission and they’ve already fucked it up enough. “Aye, sir.”
“Give ‘em here,” Ghost demands. He goes to peel himself off the desk to stand, but his legs wobble and he ends up right where he started. “You fucking ass! Can’t fucking walk now!”
Soap has to physically suppress the smirk that wants to rise to his face. “Sorry, sir,” he says, not sorry at all.
Ghost groans, rolling himself over so that he can at least lay back on the desk instead of face-down. He takes the pants when Soap hands them over, awkwardly trying to get them on while his skin is still damp. Soap takes mercy eventually and helps, pulling the denim up with him.
There’s still a mess at the apex of Ghost’s thighs, slick and piss and come, but Ghost hadn’t asked for anything to clean it, and Soap hadn’t offered. They both acknowledge that Ghost enjoys being marked like that, having to carry that with him wherever he goes.
(both of them know that soap loves to eat the mess off of him at the first available opportunity)
Ghost finally pulls himself to standing, knees only slightly shaky. Soap regards him hotly, gaze still dark with desire. Ghost knows Soap won’t be fully satisfied until Ghost is trembling and incoherent underneath him, fully stuffed and pumped with his come. He shudders, looking forward to it.
If Soap’s hand rides a little too high to be appropriate while on the plane back to base, well that’s not for anyone else to care about.
(even though everyone sees.)