Gone are the sheets, along with the warmth of Kabal's body, and any chance of falling back to sleep.

"Why are you awake?" The man nearly died last night. Twice. Kabal should be unconscious, never mind asleep. Len figured he would wake up sometime in the afternoon, and shake Kabal awake long enough to get food and water down his gullet, and check his arm for any signs of infection.

Instead, he wakes up to Kabal is sitting over him, dick practically hanging in his face. Raring to go in spite of of his injuries, or how those injuries might affect them if they actually get down to business.

Another groan, hand over his eyes to block out the sun. A cat-like stretch. Fingers curling in towards his palms like claws. Kabal is dangerously close to getting swiped.

"Do you really have an appetite right now, or are you just trying to get one last screw in before you finally kick the bucket?"