He was sweating into his jock. Every time there was a hint of serious danger, his balls decided to sweat until he was a drippy mess between the legs. Moisture wicking underwear kept him from swimming in his own fear, but he could tell the material lining his cup had worn thin. It was a minor irritation, but he had to force himself not to be distracted.
Getting his team killed because he had sweaty balls would not go over well with Overwatch. Plus the guilt would probably send him right over the edge.
Tony kept his eyes sharp and ignored the discomfort in his pants. “She’s taking a while,” he said.
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