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Summary
He’s smiling when he answers the phone. “You should be asleep.”
Soap snarls at him, a noise that slithers right into his ear and wraps around his throat like a hand, choking him in place. His eyes close as his hips buck, sending Soap's knife clattering to the seat beneath him.
“You’re lucky I’m not,” he replies roughly. Ghost can hear the rustle of sheets and clothing, just barely. “Looks like you’re achin’, poor thing.”