Kabal was out like a light before the credits rolled. Len crept out of bed, carefully, to eat something, grab a shower, and wash his disgusting clothes in the tub.
He washes Kabal's dirty pants and leather jacket too. Only because they're reeking up the place, and the tub was already full. Len would bite off his own tongue before admitting he takes comfort in mundane domestic tasks, or that focusing on laundry instead of survival is almost enough to take the edge off.
After all the hiding, stealing, and fighting for his life, living like a person for a few hours instead of mouse on the run from a particularly large, aggressive cat feels... good. Len knows it can't or won't last, but he would be stupid not to take advantage of the situation while he can.
In the morning, Kabal will wake up (or not), they'll screw (or not), and then Len's ass is getting kicked to the curb unless he gives the man a reason otherwise.
There's a part of Len that wants to flip this to his favor. Keep on seducing and screwing Kabal in exchange for a safe place to sleep, eat, and bathe, but... that would make him a whore, and hooking is the one crime you'll never see on Len's rap sheet. He's better than that.
More than pride, it's his father's voice that stops him. How fucking smug he would look knowing Len fell that far without him, like he always said he would. Because he's too weak to cut it on his own.
Len stews for a while, picks up the trash from all over, pours the sloshing, soggy-skin water down the toilet, and wipes everything down. He's not spending the night in a petri dish of bacteria.
At some point he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, closes his eyes, and the next thing he remembers is burning. Mick's eyes on fire as he brands something into his back. Hotter than hell. The smell of plasma and raw tissue thick in the air. He gasps in his sleep, clawing at the bed-sheets trying to pry himself away from the heat, but there are strong, burning arms wrapped around him. Holding him claustrophobically tight.
Len's eyes snap open. All at once he knows where he is, who he's with, and what's happening.
"Kabal, wake up." He pinches his good arm, twisting in his embrace to glare back at him "Wake up, and let go of me. We need to move. Now."
He reaches for a cup of water on the bed-side table, and dumps it over his shoulder onto the other man's face/head. Len needs him awake. There's no way in hell he can drag Kabal's ass to the tub without the other man putting in some leg-work.
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He washes Kabal's dirty pants and leather jacket too. Only because they're reeking up the place, and the tub was already full. Len would bite off his own tongue before admitting he takes comfort in mundane domestic tasks, or that focusing on laundry instead of survival is almost enough to take the edge off.
After all the hiding, stealing, and fighting for his life, living like a person for a few hours instead of mouse on the run from a particularly large, aggressive cat feels... good. Len knows it can't or won't last, but he would be stupid not to take advantage of the situation while he can.
In the morning, Kabal will wake up (or not), they'll screw (or not), and then Len's ass is getting kicked to the curb unless he gives the man a reason otherwise.
There's a part of Len that wants to flip this to his favor. Keep on seducing and screwing Kabal in exchange for a safe place to sleep, eat, and bathe, but... that would make him a whore, and hooking is the one crime you'll never see on Len's rap sheet. He's better than that.
More than pride, it's his father's voice that stops him. How fucking smug he would look knowing Len fell that far without him, like he always said he would. Because he's too weak to cut it on his own.
Len stews for a while, picks up the trash from all over, pours the sloshing, soggy-skin water down the toilet, and wipes everything down. He's not spending the night in a petri dish of bacteria.
At some point he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, closes his eyes, and the next thing he remembers is burning. Mick's eyes on fire as he brands something into his back. Hotter than hell. The smell of plasma and raw tissue thick in the air. He gasps in his sleep, clawing at the bed-sheets trying to pry himself away from the heat, but there are strong, burning arms wrapped around him. Holding him claustrophobically tight.
Len's eyes snap open. All at once he knows where he is, who he's with, and what's happening.
"Kabal, wake up." He pinches his good arm, twisting in his embrace to glare back at him "Wake up, and let go of me. We need to move. Now."
He reaches for a cup of water on the bed-side table, and dumps it over his shoulder onto the other man's face/head. Len needs him awake. There's no way in hell he can drag Kabal's ass to the tub without the other man putting in some leg-work.