Oh Scott has plenty of one hole wonder shirts that are just begging to be ripped off him. He is such a dude about the things he wears around the house sometimes. Though he is a jeans and a t-shirt kinda guy through and through but some of them he's had since college and some of them are getting paper thin.

But this shirt is not one of them, a simple light gray shirt to match his dark blue jeans. Something nice enough to be coupled with Phil's own 'sunday best' but casual enough that it just screams 'Scott Lang'.

"I think they'll think that there's a very lucky man, with a very lucky man, about to get very lucky." The good news about San Francisco is that people don't really bat an eyelash at two dudes. It's pretty commonplace out this way and Scotts neighbors don't pry at all. Mostly because he's so weird they don't really want to be a part of it. After all, who really wants to admit they live next to a man who talks to ants, as a profession.

He shivers as that hand dips under his shirt and shifts around, purposefully rocking his hips against the other as he hooks fingers under the loose fabric of his shirt before yarding it up and over his head tossing it aside carelessly. "What do you think they're gonna do when they hear the noises you're about to make me make...?" He teases leaning in for another claiming kiss.