"You can't kill a fever, wise-guy." Kabal isn't just burning up. He's delirious. There's no reasoning with a man in the throes of a fever hot enough to make Mick Rory jealous.
Len's going to learn his lesson and stop fucking around with violent, hot-blooded men one of these days, but today is not that day. And tomorrow isn't either. Maybe not the next day, but the day after. Or week.
Mick's probably going to kill him before he gets over that particular issue, if Kabal doesn't smother him to death first.
It's a stroke of luck they're both mostly naked, soaked with water and sweat. Len slips out of the other man's hold, rolling off the bed into a crouch on the floor.
Kabal is big, wet, and uncooperative. This is going to be fun. Len grabs him by one ankle and yanks him down towards the foot of the bed, ducking kicking legs, until he can lean down and wrap an arm around Kabal's muscular torso, hauling him to his feet with a grunt of exertion. Careful not to aggravate his arm.
Heavy, but not heavier than Mick. Len can make the walk from the bed to the bathroom, one slow, cumbersome step at a time. It's a work-out.
Len hates working out. He's more Mensa than meathead.
"What do they feed the psychopaths where you're from?" A grimace, shifting Kabal's weight. Grabbing onto whatever is closest to keep them from toppling over when he almost trips over Kabal's dragging feet.
"If you don't stop moving I'm gonna knock you the hell out." Struggling through the bathroom door, he drops the other man into the cool bath-tub. Hard. So much for being careful.
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Len's going to learn his lesson and stop fucking around with violent, hot-blooded men one of these days, but today is not that day. And tomorrow isn't either. Maybe not the next day, but the day after. Or week.
Mick's probably going to kill him before he gets over that particular issue, if Kabal doesn't smother him to death first.
It's a stroke of luck they're both mostly naked, soaked with water and sweat. Len slips out of the other man's hold, rolling off the bed into a crouch on the floor.
Kabal is big, wet, and uncooperative. This is going to be fun. Len grabs him by one ankle and yanks him down towards the foot of the bed, ducking kicking legs, until he can lean down and wrap an arm around Kabal's muscular torso, hauling him to his feet with a grunt of exertion. Careful not to aggravate his arm.
Heavy, but not heavier than Mick. Len can make the walk from the bed to the bathroom, one slow, cumbersome step at a time. It's a work-out.
Len hates working out. He's more Mensa than meathead.
"What do they feed the psychopaths where you're from?" A grimace, shifting Kabal's weight. Grabbing onto whatever is closest to keep them from toppling over when he almost trips over Kabal's dragging feet.
"If you don't stop moving I'm gonna knock you the hell out." Struggling through the bathroom door, he drops the other man into the cool bath-tub. Hard. So much for being careful.