If that ain't the most romantic thing he's ever seen. Len laughs, actually laughs, as the douchebag slips and slides in the cocktail sauce like one big, especially ugly shrimp.
"Now, I'm not one to kink-shame, but I'm starting to think you have a food fetish." Thank God/Satan/Alanis Morisette there's no tuna. The totaled buffet is nowhere near as messy or disgusting as their first meet-cute slash murder-attempt in the kitchen, that was too nasty for a repeat (even for Kabal), but there are enough similarities Len can't help but think back to when they first met. Is it too soon to be nostalgic?
He isn't expecting the arm around his waist, glancing sharply at Kabal before relaxing into it. Seeing someone else more humiliated and bewildered than either of them has done a lot to kill the tension, but there's something in the air.
New. Different. Dangerous. Like a good score. The kind that kills you or makes you stronger. The only drug of choice for any real career criminal worth his/her/their salt, because it's a special kind of high. Win or lose, the adrenaline is what makes the blood, sweat, and tears worth shedding, and legwork worth doing.
Len's waited a full year to hit a place. Call it crooked foreplay. He loves it.
"You can try." Len taps Kabal's masked jaw with two gloved fingers, looking up at him with a flutter of his eyelashes, and a smirk twisting the corner of his scarred lips, before playfully pushing his head away.
Talk about a dangerous, near impossible job. Kabal might be the ballsiest thug he's ever met.
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If that ain't the most romantic thing he's ever seen. Len laughs, actually laughs, as the douchebag slips and slides in the cocktail sauce like one big, especially ugly shrimp.
"Now, I'm not one to kink-shame, but I'm starting to think you have a food fetish." Thank God/Satan/Alanis Morisette there's no tuna. The totaled buffet is nowhere near as messy or disgusting as their first meet-cute slash murder-attempt in the kitchen, that was too nasty for a repeat (even for Kabal), but there are enough similarities Len can't help but think back to when they first met. Is it too soon to be nostalgic?
He isn't expecting the arm around his waist, glancing sharply at Kabal before relaxing into it. Seeing someone else more humiliated and bewildered than either of them has done a lot to kill the tension, but there's something in the air.
New. Different. Dangerous. Like a good score. The kind that kills you or makes you stronger. The only drug of choice for any real career criminal worth his/her/their salt, because it's a special kind of high. Win or lose, the adrenaline is what makes the blood, sweat, and tears worth shedding, and legwork worth doing.
Len's waited a full year to hit a place. Call it crooked foreplay. He loves it.
"You can try." Len taps Kabal's masked jaw with two gloved fingers, looking up at him with a flutter of his eyelashes, and a smirk twisting the corner of his scarred lips, before playfully pushing his head away.
Talk about a dangerous, near impossible job. Kabal might be the ballsiest thug he's ever met.