There's a contented sort of growl from behind the mask as Len gives a clear go-ahead for Kabal to keep at it. Immediately his hands are back on the prowl, grabbing at available flesh, digging and pressing with a harshness that may leave bruises on that pale skin. His hips snap up into Len's hand, seeking even more. That slip-sliding feeling is real good, and brings Kabal's brain temporarily back on line.

Does he want to do this dry?

No, he really doesn't, this isn't some one and done prison fuck. Also the last time he'd been in prison the mask wasn't a mandatory part of his fuck-fit and he could use spit. Not something he really wants to do now.

His injured arm stops it's assault of Len's meaty backside, and digs around in the crevice between the bed and the wall, unearthing a few socks before finding a tube of lube out from the depths.

"Ruining the theme here, I should have grabbed something ice cream scented." Because the intimacy lounge had not disappointed in variety of lube flavors and scents. But since this is mostly for Kabal to use on Kabal it doesn't smell like anything. Missed opportunity.

Flicking the cap open one-handed without looking he deftly coats his fingers. There's something to be said for the whole 'Practice makes Perfect' adage because he's got his fingers slicked up and pressed against Len all in a matter of seconds.