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    Summary

    Soap’s eyes had drifted down, though not by much considering where his eye level was, and Ghost was suddenly very aware once more of the prominent erection poking out of his open jeans. If he could turn any redder he would have.

    “Do m’ hands on you get ya goin’ that much?”
    Much to Ghost’s chagrin, he twitched at the scot’s words as his head dropped a bit lower.
    “Piss off,” he muttered, pulling his hand back from Soap’s to try and cram the button back on to no avail.

    It was embarrassing enough having such a blatant wardrobe malfunction standing in the middle of Soap’s quarters, let alone the unspoken admission that the odd feeling of pushing out past the confines of his clothes had clearly turned him on.
    “D’you, uh,” Soap began, though his cocky grin had melted into something almost hesitant. “...need a hand with that?”

    ___

    The micro/macro smutfic no one asked for. Ghost grows a few feet; Soap helps him out.

    Language:
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