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Sometimes, Ghost really, really hates his job.
Don't get him wrong, the pay is good, and 95% of the time he gets to be on his own, which he much prefers. Trawling through the vast expanse of the cosmos in his little shuttle, sneaking through and outsmarting everyone's radars, and getting absolute mountains of credits for what is essentially a babysitting gig is nothing to scoff at.
He's made a name for himself as 'The Ghost' - the guy who can get people where they need to go without issue. Infiltrating high-security prisons to rescue key witnesses, or ferrying important diplomats or people with too large a bounty on their heads for more public transport in exchange for a king's ransom.
But other times it's a fucking nightmare. He tries to make it obvious that he's not a people person - people being a pretty catch-all term as he's transported aliens of all shapes and sizes, and once a sentient ball of goop that wreaked havoc on his ship's internal systems. And most of the time, his passengers are pretty respectful of that. They understand that he's the only thing between them and a shot to the face, or endless torture in one of the many galactic prisons, and know to stay on his good side.
This guy, though.
He's smarmy and cocky and arrogant and Ghost can't fucking stand him. Some high-class ambassador or some such shit who pissed off the wrong alien monarch and needed a quick getaway from their numerous warships. Frankly it's a bloody miracle Ghost managed to intercept his escape pod and get him on board in time, jumping to hyperspeed mere seconds before his own ship was blasted to smithereens. The man's home system promises a good payout for his safe return, but it's a long trip, and Ghost might just call it a wash and eject the guy into the void if he keeps fucking around on the ship, talking Ghost's ear off, and making snide comments about his quaint little airship and rather unkempt uniform and abysmal choice of food replicator options.
Ghost tightens his fingers along the edge of his chair, clenching his jaw as the arsehole darkens the doorway of his cockpit once again. "How much longer?" he drawls, draping himself over the back of Ghost's chair like he fucking owns it, flicking at Ghost's earpiece.
Ghost bats him away and glares at him. The guy's bright blue eyes spark with mischief - clearly he likes pissing Ghost off. "Three hours until the refuel station," he bites back. "If you're not happy here, you're welcome to fuck off and try your luck with the Midorans."
The man's nose wrinkles. Ghost doesn't really care that much about intergalactic politicking, but even he knows the Midorans are harsh, mean-spirited people, who only know the value of credits and would sooner melt you down for carbon and meat particles than trade with you. Ghost has a good enough working relationship with their dock Captain to mostly guarantee he doesn't get eaten, but his passengers rarely have the luxury.
"Must we refuel?" the man gripes, folding his arms across his chest. Unfortunately for Ghost, he's a pretty specimen, the kind Ghost would happily take for a spin on one of his shore days, few and far between though they are. Broad-shouldered and bright-eyed, with a haircut more like a handle to get him between his legs and put that pouty mouth to much better use. "Surely this tiny vessel doesn't burn that much fuel."
"Oh, suddenly an expert on that, are ya?" Ghost snaps. "For your information, your bloody planet is another hyperjump away, and I need more crystals. Now, if you're going to be a nuisance, go do it somewhere else and leave me be."
The man huffs, rolling his eyes, but slinks away with another grumble. Ghost glares after him, then double-checks his coordinates and puts his focus back on his route. Midoran airspace isn't exactly easy to navigate, and the fueling station has a bitch of an ingress, surrounded by the jagged rocks of a long-ago exploded planet. He'll have to be careful to get there in one piece.
Thankfully, Ghost is an excellent pilot, and doubts he'll have much trouble.
He notices the difference immediately, because the guy smiles at him when Ghost gets back from refueling instead of bitching and moaning as he has this whole journey. Ghost eyes him, immediately suspicious, and settles down in his pilot seat.
"Alright?" he mutters gruffly.
"Oh, yes," the man says. His accent is different, not crisp and clean, no longer that high-class smarmy arsehole way he talks like he has to speak right down his nose to whoever he's talking to. It's lower, throatier, drawling. Ghost arches a brow. "Are we headin' out now?"
"…Yes," Ghost says, and stands. "But first we need to scan. Make sure we didn't pick anything up on the station."
The man blinks at him, blue eyes widening. "Oh… I'm sure that's not necessary," he says, shifting his weight anxiously. "I haven't left the ship."
"It's protocol," Ghost replies. "Come on."
The man bites his lower lip, but meekly follows Ghost to his tiny medical station, which is little more than a full-body upright scanner, meant to detect basic things like broken bones or fungal infections in the lungs. Given the fact that Ghost rarely spends more than a day in any given landing site, which are mercilessly quarantined and kept clear of any space parasite, he's never needed real medical attention beyond what the scanner can give him.
He gestures for the man to get in first, and he does, nervously twitching his fingers and biting his lower lip again. Ghost watches the scanner as it beams down his body, from head to toe and back up again. The skin scan comes back clear, as does the muscular scan.
It's when it gets down to the skeleton layer that he sees it. There, in the cradle of the man's skull, a tiny writhing centipede-like thing, burrowed just past his ear canal.
Ghost sucks in a breath, but otherwise gives nothing away. When the scan finishes the man steps out, eyeing Ghost warily. There's no trace of the arrogance he wore like a cloak before; his shoulders are hunched in, his haughty attitude replaced with nerves - a near-sweetness to him when he looks up at Ghost through his lashes and says, "Well? All clear?"
Ghost tilts his head, considering. There are a few parasites he knows of that burrow like this, getting into their host's brain and scrambling up their insides to suit their needs. Few are fatal, as that defeats the purpose of being a parasite, but they come with a myriad of issues.
Namely, the complete overriding of the original person. Ghost can't possibly return the man to his people like this.
Would probably be an improvement, all things considered.
Ghost sighs to himself, watching the man for a long while until he starts to get nervous, curled in on himself and afraid; he knows Ghost knows, and he's not acting hostile. Not acting like he's going to fight for his life should Ghost turn a pistol on him.
He presses his lips together and says, "That body you're in was going to be a pretty payout."
The thing winces, remarkably at home already inside this new body. "Ah'm sorry," it says. "I was cold."
Ghost nods, pleasantly surprised by the innocent response. "Are you a propagator?" he asks.
"No!" The thing shakes its new head. "No, Sir, I just wanted to be warm. I can be helpful!"
"Oh? How's that?"
"I know how ships work," the thing says, stretching its host's mouth into a bright, happy smile, that Ghost has never seen on the man's face before. "And once I make some…changes, I can help with more intricate tasks." It lifts its hands, flexing the fingers with a small frown. "These are very blunt and not at all versatile, but I can fix that, given enough time."
Ghost nods to himself. It wouldn't hurt to have some extra help on the ship, someone who could handle things while Ghost was piloting, or fix parts of his ship that are too dangerous to take care of while in flight. Would cut down on the places and times Ghost needs to dock.
"And you're not going to infest me, yeah?"
"No, Sir," the thing replies, shaking its head again. "No, Sir, Ah promise."
Maybe he's spent too long on his own in space, or maybe Ghost just really hated the thing's host, but he's not adverse to the idea. If it won't harm him, he doesn't see the point in making much of a fuss. He's not going to expel the thing back on Midoran, after all, and there isn't another viable ecosystem for days in hyperspeed.
"What's your name?" he asks.
The thing brightens. "You can call me 'Soap', Sir!" it says. "At your service!"
Ghost allows himself a small smile. "Alright, Soap. I'm Ghost. Welcome aboard."
The 'changes' Soap - 'Ye can refer tae me as a 'he', Sir, since that's what this body was. Seems only fair' -mentioned come on rather quickly, once Ghost gives him permission to make himself comfortable. The first change is his hands; he bites off the fingers down to the bone and covers them in a fine chitin, with many additional knuckles that click and snap together when he moves them or gets excited. His eyes turn brighter, glossier, fractal like a fly's and able to take in many pieces of information at once. His jaw loosens and grows mandibles that allow him to work at wiring and peel off metal with ease whenever Ghost directs him to inspect a console. He's impervious to electrical shocks and doesn't complain about the food, seems perfectly content to feed off of the nutrient packs Ghost provides him with.
He's able to brave the void of space, even during flight, his skin hardened to a tough outer shell that protects him against the cold and stops him suffocating whenever he needs to correct a turbine or investigate some dents in the hull. He always shivers when he comes back, chitin and joints laced with ice, and rumbles happily when Ghost puts a blanket on him and tells him to warm up by the heater in the small living quarters Ghost always gives to his passengers, preferring to stay awake and in the cockpit when he transports someone.
Soap's body elongates and grows narrow, like that of a centipede, sprouting additional legs and claws that help him cling to the ceiling and skitter around the floors, under small consoles or between the ship's guns when he needs to.
He's chatty, but not annoying. His strange accent is often punctuated with clicks and chirps when he speaks, his bright eyes eager to learn about Ghost's work and the intricacies of space travel.
"I've only ever seen a cargo hold," Soap tells him, his many legs and knuckles rippling down his flanks when he speaks. He'd shed his host's clothes, not needing them, his shell a rather pretty sand-dune color made of interlocking parts that help him curl up and flex as he needs to. "And that fuel station. But it was very cold there."
Ghost nods. Midorans have thick hides and are not mammalian, so often don't bother heating their stations. They're vaguely photosynthetic, able to survive off the light of the nearby star, and will scoff and rumble to each other in their guttural tongue, laughing when they see someone shivering.
"You're a human, Sir, yes?" Soap asks, tilting his shining head. He kept the mohawk, Ghost notices, though it's hardened to a darker, spiky piece of shell, curving and sharp at the back like a horn that travels in pieces down his reticulated spine.
"That's right," Ghost replies. "Though I wasn't born on Earth - the native human planet."
Soap nods. "Is that planet still alive?"
"No idea," Ghost says. "It's been many generations since humans left it. From what I've heard, we didn't treat our planet kindly. It's probably an irradiated desert by now."
Soap chitters quietly, the sound somehow mournful. "Ah'm sorry tae hear that," he says, one of his longer legs delicately touching Ghost's shoulder to offer support.
"What are you, exactly?" Ghost asks, as he has yet to narrow down Soap's species. "What planet do you come from?"
"Egaris," Soap says, hissing the 's' as he does, his mandibles flexing. "There's a nesting swamp there where Ah was hatched. Many species come there because they use the water for, um, I'm not really sure, if Ah'm honest." He scratches at his mandibles with his uppermost arms, like a praying mantis when it cleans itself. "They scooped me up with all ma broodmates and boiled the water - not many survived," he adds sadly. "But Ah did! And ended up in a water transfer station, then to another station, and a bunch of different ships until Ah got big enough to move on and find a host."
Ghost nods, taking this in. "And…now what? Do I need to find another like you, to mate?"
"Ach, no Sir, not at all," Soap says cheerfully. "The brood will continue without me, the Queen survived." He grins, baring rows of big, flat teeth behind the human lips he kept. "But if ye'd like tae mate, Ah can!"
Ghost arches a brow at him, huffs lightly. "Doubt we'd be compatible there."
"Aye, but matin' isn't always fer breedin', is it?" Soap asks, tilting his head again. "Or do humans only do that fer young?"
"…No," Ghost concedes. "Not exactly."
"Does it feel good? Ah've never done it," Soap says, guileless and innocent, his big, brilliant eyes wide and focused on Ghost. His eyelids click whenever they close, soft translucent membranes that flicker sideways across his vision in a brief blink.
"It does for humans," Ghost says. "Can't really say for other species."
"Well, if ye ever decide ye'd like tae feel good, Ah'll do ma best," Soap says cheerfully, and then he scuttles away with a chirp. Ghost shakes his head, huffing through his nose. Having Soap on board is like having a machine on the fritz, unable to complete a single task or train of conversation without getting distracted. It's oddly charming in its way, how eager and cheerful Soap is even when he's been essentially kept on a tiny vessel with only Ghost's admittedly lackluster personality for company. He never complains and happily obeys every one of Ghost's orders, none the wiser.
Ghost presses his lips together, forcing himself to focus back on his ship's course. They're due to navigate an asteroid belt soon - Ghost let his previous passenger's home planet know that unfortunately, he had perished in transit, and Ghost was unable to make his delivery. They'd taken it remarkably well, insinuated that they didn't have high hopes in Ghost's ability to get their man back safely - apparently that arrogance was a cultural thing.
Good fucking riddance, honestly.
Knowing there's no bounty on his head, and comfortable enough with his current stash of credits, Ghost hasn't had a particular course or destination in mind. Idly, he pulls up Egaris in his log, scanning through the documentation surrounding the planet. Largely covered in murky, brackish water, its swamps are lauded for the medicinal and mineral properties caused by the native inhabitants' brooding nests. Apparently their Queen secretes a lot of iron and calcium in the process of breeding, which makes the water coveted by many species who rely on such supplements in their day to day lives. It says that Soap's species - tiny roach-like creatures that can grow up to seven meters long and feed mostly off small crustaceans and plant life - are imaginatively called 'Yellow-Backed Skitters'. Labeled as parasites but determined to be harmless unless allowed to crawl inside a host. Boiling the water they're in while they're small is known to kill or render them inert, so that the water is safe to be filtered and drank.
A few reports where one has successfully infested a host tells him that they are largely friendly and amenable, which suits what he knows of Soap, and that they will happily acclimate to the environment their host is most comfortable in, and imprint upon the first person - again, 'person' being a very broad term - that they see. They will form a semi-symbiotic relationship with their host, eating what they eat and following whatever natural demands their host has, and will sometimes change their appearance to their larger seven-meter selves to varying degrees depending on the comfort of those in their surroundings.
Which explains why Soap has changed his body so much - Ghost has no issue with his extra appendages, his mandibles, his strangely pretty eyes.
He'll admit, his particular inclinations aren't exactly humanoid-centric. Ghost has fucked anything from sentient tentacle monsters to people of his own species. He's a sucker for big, innocent eyes and an eagerness to please - sue him.
So he's not…entirely opposed. And Soap did offer.
He closes out the screen, knowing he needs to pay attention to safely navigate the asteroid belt and get them into clear space again. He'll bring it up later, he decides.
Ghost isn't the most tactful person, he knows - usually he reverts to silence and biting through his tongue whenever he wants to say something he knows will get a negative reaction. So, once they're clear of the asteroid field and the ship is floating on its merry way in no particular direction, and he and Soap are curled up around the little dining table in the kitchen, he brings it up;
"What would fucking look like, exactly?"
Soap chirps, wiping off his mandibles and clicking them together as he swallows the rest of his nutrient pack, fixing Ghost with his bright eyes. He smiles, his long body undulating happily around the back of Ghost's chair, legs rippling and clinging to any surface he can find. "I kept this human's cock," he says. "Made a few changes, but it still works, best I can figure. Or it should."
Before Ghost can ask, Soap rolls to show his belly, long and lean and tan, his many legs wriggling as he settles into a more serpentine formation so that Ghost can see the underside of his lower half. Ghost watches, expressionless, as between two of the pieces of his body, a long, thick cock-like thing emerges. It's huge and black, shiny and hard like stone, arcing up proudly towards the rest of Soap's belly. Soft fleshy innards expand and ripple around its base, helping to push it further out, the very tip with no visible outlet for come or slick, just a single, blunt, horn-like piece of shell that matches the dark one on top of Soap's head.
Curious, Ghost reaches out and touches it, barely able to connect his fingers halfway down. Soap chitters, almost a squeal, his many legs flexing and curling inward as though ticklish. He wriggles, biting his lower lip, mandibles clicking together in a series of rapid movements.
"Does that feel good?" Ghost asks idly, stroking down the shaft and back up.
"A-aye," Soap gasps, his eyelids fluttering, lips turning red. The rest of his belly flushes darkly too, turning a color more like wet sandstone. "The pressure feels nice, and you're very warm. Do you have one too?"
"I do," Ghost replies, "but it's not as, ah, unyielding as yours."
Soap nods, his brow furrowing. "I don't…think I have anywhere to put yers," he admits. "But Ah can make one!"
Ghost shakes his head, standing. He dusts off his hands and wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, jerks his head for Soap to follow him to the sleeping quarters. Soap skitters behind him with another eager chirp, able to hold his upper body up high enough to dwarf and curl over Ghost's back as he swipes at the sensor to open the door and let them both inside. As it always does, the door tries to close on Soap's lower body, making him yelp and hurry through.
The sleeping quarters are tiny, barely large enough for a bed, the heater, and a closet. Soap takes up the entire space with his body, curling around the walls and staring as Ghost sheds his jumpsuit and climbs onto the bed. He fishes out his bottle of lube from beneath the mattress, largely unused since he's been busy with his passenger since the last time he's needed it, and squirts some onto his fingers. Soap doesn't have hands anymore, and his own appendages are quite sharp, so Ghost figures he'll have to do this part himself.
Soap crowds over him immediately, his many legs clinging onto Ghost's flanks and thighs, heavy on his back, his mandibles parted wide around Ghost's skull. "Don't fuckin' bite me," Ghost warns, hissing, and feels Soap obediently loosen his mandibles, stroking his many legs down Ghost's sides, teething softly at his hair and cheeks.
"I won't, Sir," Soap says breathily. "Ah promise."
Ghost hums, and reaches back with his fingers to shove them into his rim. He's tight and dry, naturally, but no stranger to having to work some gargantuan piece of alien anatomy inside him. Most aliens have the graciousness to self-lubricate, but Soap clearly doesn't. His species is probably not used to having to make their own slick, water-borne as they are.
Soap's long legs curl around his thighs and hips, nudging curiously at his balls, his cock as it hardens, the soft flesh of his belly. They don't pierce him, thankfully, too dull at the very tips to cause harm unless real force is put behind them. The hard jut of his cock is a persistent pressure between his thighs, Soap's undulating body chasing the desire to penetrate and only finding the space there to press his cock. It feels like being thigh-fucked with a bloody missile launcher, if Ghost is being perfectly honest; he can only imagine how it'll feel to be split open on something so unyielding, so massive.
He's more than a little dizzy, just thinking about it.
He manages to work himself up to four fingers, pours more lube on them for a second go 'round just because Soap won't make any precum to help, the noises wet as he forces them inside him, grunting softly into the thin pillow. He pulls his fingers out and uses the rest of the lube to slick Soap's cock, braces himself with both hands on the hard mattress.
"Slowly," he warns. "You'll tear me open if you go too fast."
Soap chitters quietly, anxiously, his longer legs wrapping over Ghost's shoulders, his weight impossible to keep upright under, pressing Ghost to his chest on the bed with only his hips raised. Soap's long, dexterous body curls and flexes, tail twitching on the floor by the door, as he uses his other legs to heft up his cock and angle the tip to Ghost's hole.
He pushes in - slowly, as Ghost commanded him, always so wonderfully obedient. Ghost sucks in a breath, gritting his teeth as the pressure grows, Soap's cock sinking in and just getting wider and wider, until it feels like he's taking his own bloody forearm inside him. He grunts lowly, hands flying up to brace himself as Soap bottoms out with a rough, excited chittering, Soap's legs gripping him tightly as he sinks fully into Ghost.
"Oh," Soap breathes, the rest of his carapace rippling in turn, butting against each one of Ghost's vertebrae. "You feel incredible, Ghost. Does it feel good?"
Ghost swallows, unable to speak. Incredible is the right word for it - not exactly pleasant, not yet, but overwhelming just the same. He turns his head to one side, able to see Soap covering him completely, his body entirely eclipsed by the skitter's giant glistening bulk, his many legs like tiger stripes on Ghost's pale skin. Soap bows over him, long enough that he can turn his head and peer at Ghost upside-down, his big eyes shining, mandibles clicking together tentatively around Ghost's flushed cheeks.
"Ghost?" he says, a little more urgently. "Ah'm not hurtin' ye, am I?"
Ghost shakes his head, gasps when he clenches down around Soap's cock, causing the bug to hiss and wriggle again. It makes his cock press meanly against Ghost's prostate, sending a tidal wave of pleasure up his spine and choking the words from his mouth. Ghost reaches out to grab onto Soap's face, tugging one of his mandibles to bring him closer so that Ghost can put his mouth between them, press his lips and tongue to the human lips Soap kept, just as plush and soft as he imagined.
Soap chirps, his mandibles able to encase Ghost's skull completely, his own tongue darting forward, rough and ribbed - and fuck him if Ghost isn't going to get that tongue in his arse at some point, he can only imagine how that would feel. Ghost moans quietly, the overwhelmed feeling receding into a more gentle, pleasant arousal, that liquefies his spine and turns his muscles molten.
"Doesn't hurt," he manages to say when their lips part, Soap tenderly cradling his skull, petting him from his throat to his feet. "Just - just need a minute, fuck, you've got a bloody weapon for a cock, Soap."
Soap tilts his head, making Ghost tilt his as well just from the grip on his face. He grunts and shudders, gives a testing roll of his hips that drags Soap's cock in a long, unending line over his prostate, making him see stars.
"Gonna make me come, fuck," Ghost hisses.
"Oh? I'd like to do that," Soap replies brightly. "How can I do that?"
"Just…back and forth, there's a lad," Ghost murmurs, grunting as Soap carefully withdraws just a little, then pushes back in. His entire body clenches around Soap, feels like he can fucking taste the bug in his throat with how deep he's getting. Can see Soap's legs flex around the bulbous protrusion of his cock, distending Ghost's belly every time he bottoms out. His own cock is red and hard and leaking, twitches at every touch to his prostate. "There we go, a little faster."
Soap obeys him with a quiet chitter, rolling his entire body in a long line over Ghost's back, his hips rocking with the motion, his tail twitching and horned mane rippling, rising to steep points. Ghost reaches up to pet Soap's mohawk, earning another little twitch from the bug, his eyelids clicking together rapidly as he blinks.
"Feels good?" Ghost asks.
"Aye, feels wonderful," Soap breathes. "Yer so warm."
Ghost flushes, pleased despite himself. It only takes a few more of those cautious, gentle thrusts before he's coming - completely untouched and entirely from stimulation from his prostate, his cock remaining hard even as he writhes and shudders beneath Soap's gargantuan bulk. Heat rises in him, gnashing and needy, has him bracing against the wall and fucking back, eager for more.
Soap follows his lead as effortlessly as he always does, uses his long legs to tease Ghost's nipples, the sensitive nape of his neck, licks up through his hair and into his mouth again for a long, messy kiss. He keeps his pace measured, easy, hissing and mewling whenever Ghost clenches down on him.
Another powerful orgasm rushes through Ghost, making him flinch when Soap continues to rut over his prostate, now far too sensitive and sore. "Pull out," he commands, and Soap obeys him quickly, easing himself out of Ghost and curling up on the floor. Ghost collapses onto the bed, rolls over and gestures Soap to him, pulls his mandibles apart and guides him to his cock. "Suck," he says. "Don't bite."
Soap rumbles quietly for him, mohawk standing straight, every piece of his body ripples as he fastens his mandibles around Ghost's hips and parts his lips. That ribbed tongue feels fucking incredible when it curls around Ghost's cock, not quite soft but not unpleasant either. Ghost can't thrust with Soap holding onto his hips so tightly, so he contents himself with petting his skitter's face and spiny ridges, learning what makes Soap do that charming blinking motion again, purring and rattling around Ghost's cock as he sucks and licks at him until Ghost comes with a low grunt.
Soap swallows, chirping curiously at the taste as he licks Ghost to the point of oversensitivity. Ghost pulls him off and brings him up again, kissing into his soft mouth, able to taste himself on Soap's tongue.
"What makes you come, then, eh?" Ghost asks, reaching for Soap's cock, which is now jutting from a piece of him on the floor since there's no space on his bed.
Soap's skin blushes that darker tan, his underbelly eagerly exposed as Ghost strokes him. "Ah'm not sure, honestly," he admits. "Ah dinnae do that…" He gestures vaguely, smacking his hips. "Cannae make fluid like you do."
Ghost hums, exhausted but proud of his reputation as a decent lover, not wanting to leave Soap hanging after such an admirable performance. He forces himself off the bed and straddles Soap's - well, hips is a bit of a stretch, but the piece of his body that parts for his cock, presses his thighs tight on either side of it.
"Well, just fuck me like this until you're done," he says, securing his grip around some of Soap's legs. "As long as you need to, yeah? And if I'm not too sore you can get back inside me in a bit."
Soap nods, his big eyes wide and adoring on Ghost's face. He clicks his mandibles together and coils himself tightly around Ghost, eclipsing him entirely as he rolls Ghost inside his long body so that he can have Ghost lying down, his cock pressing between Ghost's forced-together thighs, his head near Ghost's so he can keep kissing and licking him.
Soap moves with a relishing laxness, chasing no real peak that Ghost can see. His skin darkens in increments, his body flexing and roiling as he uses Ghost's thighs, and it's slow-going, but he thinks he can see Soap's eyes flicker in the fractal edges, going dark like expanding pupils, his skin turning darker and darker until it's almost entirely black like his cock.
He doesn't come, not in a way Ghost associates with a classic, mammalian orgasm. There's no rush of fluid out of his hard, stony cock as it gently tenderizes the meat of his thighs, or any kind of excretion from his carapace, or any sudden judder and stilling of his hips as he undulates and fucks.
Instead, his legs flex and curl, his lips part, and he lets out a loud, entirely alien sound, his cock throbbing as the fleshy mass around the base ripples and clenches, abruptly pulling his cock back into his body as Soap cries out and grips at him, breathing hard.
Ghost lets out soft, soothing noises, reaches down curiously to pet the exposed mass of warm, rippling flesh. It caves in like an orifice, mouthing at his fingers when he breaches it; he's able to feel Soap's cock inside, still tense and hard, but the flesh around it closes up tightly when Ghost fingers him, pressure like expulsion forcing his fingers out a moment later.
Soap blinks slowly, going limp, almost crushing Ghost as the full force of his weight bears down on him. Ghost smacks at his side until Soap uncoils with a sheepish smile, his skin slowly returning to its normal tan-yellow color, his legs rippling in a pleased, happy motion.
"Yeah?" Ghost asks.
"If that wasn't an orgasm, Ah'm scared of what a real one feels like," Soap huffs, making Ghost laugh. "That felt good. Can we do it again soon?" he asks, blinking at Ghost hopefully.
"Sure," Ghost replies, smiling and cupping his face. "Whenever you want." He has to admit, it's nice not to be coated in fluids and in desperate need of a shower after sex. Water is in short supply on his ship, and while his jumpsuit can handle sweat, gallons of alien come is much more difficult to filter out.
"I'd like to do that again soon," Soap chirps, nuzzling under Ghost's chin, his mandibles wrapping around his throat in an oddly charming embrace, the rest of his legs curling under Ghost's arms and around his hips. "Ah can make some more changes - make it a little smaller?"
"Don't you dare," Ghost chides gently. He's sore and gaping, but he's not going to explain to Soap that that's part of the appeal. "I like you just the way you are, Soap. Don't change a thing."
Soap grins at him, his mandibles clicking together happily. He nuzzles close again, and Ghost sighs, wrapping his arms around his wide shoulders, smooths a hand down his ridged mane in a way that makes Soap shiver, his entire body rippling with pleasure.
"I like ye too, Ghost," Soap rumbles quietly. "Yer the best."
Ghost huffs a laugh, and presses a tender kiss to Soap's temple. What a difference, he thinks, a little parasite can make. A massive improvement over Ghost's previous passenger, and one he hopes to keep for a long, long time.
Sometimes, Ghost really, really hates his job.
But there are definitely perks.