"I never said I don't enjoy torturing you." Blithely, with a strategic flit of his eyelashes. Just because Len hadn't enjoyed defrosting Kabal doesn't mean he isn't sadistic. It means he's sadistic with standards. There's nothing interesting about a half-dead man writhing around in pain, helpless to put up a proper fight.
He slams the door to Kabal's closet, finding absolutely nothing worth wearing. It's going to be a long night, and he's not going to be sitting around wearing a harness and pants so big he could get lost in them. He would rather walk around in panties than look like a kinky clown.
A slow turn, leaning against the closet. Len knows his angles. A professional uses every asset they have at their disposal. Eyes, ears, and fingers are the obvious choices for a thief, but there's something be said for the distracting power of lips, legs, and ass. Magicians don't own the monopoly on misdirection.
Sometimes the best tool in a criminal's belt is a smile.
His lips curve up at the corners, but the real amusement is in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The way they glitter beneath his eyelashes, equal parts steel and sapphire. Overcast when he's in a bad mood, and bright when he's up to no good.
This kind of torture is more his speed. Kabal glaring at him from behind his mask, oh so frustrated, and powerless to do anything about it. If he has enough blood left in his body to split between both heads, there's a good chance Kabal will make it through the night.
"Don't be silly. I'm expecting a return on my investment. When I kill you, I'm going to take my time. Make it nice n' slow. Until you're begging for mercy. Or screaming my name."
Murder. Len's definitely talking about murder. Not something else similarly sinful, satisfying, and intimate. No double entendres here.
"So everyone knows who took down the biggest bastard in this prison."
no subject
He slams the door to Kabal's closet, finding absolutely nothing worth wearing. It's going to be a long night, and he's not going to be sitting around wearing a harness and pants so big he could get lost in them. He would rather walk around in panties than look like a kinky clown.
A slow turn, leaning against the closet. Len knows his angles. A professional uses every asset they have at their disposal. Eyes, ears, and fingers are the obvious choices for a thief, but there's something be said for the distracting power of lips, legs, and ass. Magicians don't own the monopoly on misdirection.
Sometimes the best tool in a criminal's belt is a smile.
His lips curve up at the corners, but the real amusement is in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The way they glitter beneath his eyelashes, equal parts steel and sapphire. Overcast when he's in a bad mood, and bright when he's up to no good.
This kind of torture is more his speed. Kabal glaring at him from behind his mask, oh so frustrated, and powerless to do anything about it. If he has enough blood left in his body to split between both heads, there's a good chance Kabal will make it through the night.
"Don't be silly. I'm expecting a return on my investment. When I kill you, I'm going to take my time. Make it nice n' slow. Until you're begging for mercy. Or screaming my name."
Murder. Len's definitely talking about murder. Not something else similarly sinful, satisfying, and intimate. No double entendres here.
"So everyone knows who took down the biggest bastard in this prison."