[Considering how injured he is, it's not a great idea for him to be doing his speedy little teleport tricks. But now his pride is at stake so like fuck will he take it easy and walk like some normal person.]
And here I thought I was more than a pretty face and a fast pair of legs.
[And with that he shifts Len around to his shoulder so he can hold him one handed. It'd be easier to toss him under his arm like a sack of flour, but given all those injuries probably a bad idea. So this'll have to do as he jets forward in a blur of purplish energy, at his room in an instant.]
Keep your insides inside you. My tub hasn't recovered from our last fun little playtime.
[Don't forget about those... sparring abilities. Not every man knows how to duel-wield.
His sword is pretty big, too.
Len makes a noise in his throat when he's manhandled into a fireman carry, significantly less romantic than being carried like the world's worst Disney princess, but it's better than walking.
Or is it?
The initial speed surge is enough to send his stomach into his throat, but the split-second of pure adrenaline was worth it. That flare of purple energy, bright enough to sear neon streaks into his eyes, was beautiful.
Some things never get old.]
Mmmm.
[Is his response to Kabal's demand. No vomit, but he's more than a little dizzy. So he doesn't move right away. Breathing slowly, still, until he's ready to move. Which could take a while, given the blood loss on top of the vertigo.]
[It takes a special kind of man to appreciate his duel wielding prowess, which is probably why they get along so well. Both are fans of each others' swords and the way they use them.]
As if I'd put you anywhere else.
[He elbows the button to slam the door shut behind them, heading over to the bed to sit on the edge and put Len down far more gently than he initially tossed him over his shoulder.]
Let's clean this up before it gets all crusty. Think you might need stitches too.
[At this point they should move the whole medBay into Kabal's room, they're on at least their third first aid kit.]
[Not that Len doesn't like it. Len may make a surprising amount of noise, but he never complains.
Being cut up hurts less without a metal shelf biting into his back. Shifting up onto one elbow, Len yanks what's left of his shirt up to his collarbone. Starscream got him good with those impressive claws of his. Len's torn between anger and genuine admiration.
Must be nice not to bleed. If Len could choose to be made of metal instead of flesh, he would. In a heartbeat. Humans are so fucking fragile.
His scarred body is a testament to that. Len can't count how many times he's been hurt this badly or hell of a lot worse. In the scheme of things, a couple gashes from a razor-sharp edge are nothing.
A sudden, ugly thought that Kabal might think he's weak springs to the forefront of his slightly foggy mind. He sits taller, squaring his shoulders. Wipes any trace of a dumb, vulnerable look off his face.]
Fine. It ain't half as bad as it looks.
[Len squeezes the edges of the cut together, testing the depth, blood welling up out of the wound to streak down his already sticky/crusty/smeared stomach. Too deep for glue.
It isn't fine, but the only thing worse than getting your ass beat is letting them see you flinch.]
Nothing a few staples can't fix. Grab me that gun from the kit. I can do it myself.
[Can doesn't mean should, but Len hasn't lived this long relying on others. He called Kabal because it was faster than dragging his own ass down the hall, not because he needed him.
Len can take care of himself.
Whether he's trying to prove that to himself, or Kabal, in the moment is up for debate.]
What can I say, you look good plastered up against walls all sprawled out. Maybe later. Assuming you don't bleed yourself dry.
[Setting the medical kit down on the bed he pulls the mask off so that Len can get the full force of his glare as he smacks Len's hands away from where he's poking and prodding at his own wounds. It also gives him a better view without the darkened tinge of looking out through those lighted lenses.]
That's exactly what everyone bleeding out says right before they end up needing a transfusion or something. And I speak from experience.
So knock it off and lemme fix this before you turn my sheets red and ruin the whole color scheme of the room.
[He is more than willing to hold Len down with one hand and apply antiseptic with the other while keeping him scruffed like a cat.]
[It's clear Len didn't expect the smack, head whipping up to glare at Kabal with sharp eyes, a split second away from smacking him back. The instinct is so strong his fingers twitch against the bed.]
The colour scheme of this room was 'garbage' before I shacked up here.
[Len almost said moved in. He must be in worse shape than he feels. That's a slip-up he doesn't want to make. There's nothing permanent about this. Kabal never invited him to stay, and Len won't be here forever.
At some point he'll have to find his own place. When Chronos is finally bored of trying to play make believe Guantanamo, or they finally come to terms.
Which could be a long, long time. Mick is the only man more stubborn than Len is.
The glare lingers a moment longer before Len sighs, long-suffering, like he's the one doing Kabal a favour letting him stitch his gut back together. Which is totally what Kabal wanted to do with his evening.]
Fine. You do mine, and I'll do yours.
So you better make it pretty.
[Who wants a thank you when you can have a thinly veiled threat?]
Yeah you're classing up the joint for sure. Corpses don't have the same effect so stop being a tough guy and lemme do this.
[He's dealt with enough of that crap from the rest of the Black Dragon thugs he works with and he genuinely didn't care if they lived or died. With Len he definitely doesn't want him to die. Not that he'd say that, at least not in the way he means. Because this is just one crook helping out another. Honor among thieves or something. Yup.]
Sure I've got some of that teal stitching thread from Tiffany's. I'll do some embroidery while I'm at it.
[He'd likely be a little less antagonistic if he didn't also feel like crap, he just wants to get this over with and have a minimal amount of either of them passing out. Mostly because he doesn't want a redo of last time.
Not the fucking part. He wants that again. The ... caring part. Where they were emotionally invested in each other. Less of that please.
For being a big meaty brute, he's stitched up plenty of other people and himself so while he isn't exactly gentle, he knows what he's doing and isn't fumbling around tentatively. The few smaller gashes get stitches, and the big deep one gets staples. Mostly because staples are a pain in the ass to remove later, and usually bleed when they come out. Stitches are more time consuming to put in, but easier to take out.
That's some forethought he usually doesn't put into anything else.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
And here I thought I was more than a pretty face and a fast pair of legs.
[And with that he shifts Len around to his shoulder so he can hold him one handed. It'd be easier to toss him under his arm like a sack of flour, but given all those injuries probably a bad idea. So this'll have to do as he jets forward in a blur of purplish energy, at his room in an instant.]
Keep your insides inside you. My tub hasn't recovered from our last fun little playtime.
no subject
[Don't forget about those... sparring abilities. Not every man knows how to duel-wield.
His sword is pretty big, too.
Len makes a noise in his throat when he's manhandled into a fireman carry, significantly less romantic than being carried like the world's worst Disney princess, but it's better than walking.
Or is it?
The initial speed surge is enough to send his stomach into his throat, but the split-second of pure adrenaline was worth it. That flare of purple energy, bright enough to sear neon streaks into his eyes, was beautiful.
Some things never get old.]
Mmmm.
[Is his response to Kabal's demand. No vomit, but he's more than a little dizzy. So he doesn't move right away. Breathing slowly, still, until he's ready to move. Which could take a while, given the blood loss on top of the vertigo.]
Bed.
no subject
As if I'd put you anywhere else.
[He elbows the button to slam the door shut behind them, heading over to the bed to sit on the edge and put Len down far more gently than he initially tossed him over his shoulder.]
Let's clean this up before it gets all crusty. Think you might need stitches too.
[At this point they should move the whole medBay into Kabal's room, they're on at least their third first aid kit.]
How're you feelin'?
no subject
[Not that Len doesn't like it. Len may make a surprising amount of noise, but he never complains.
Being cut up hurts less without a metal shelf biting into his back. Shifting up onto one elbow, Len yanks what's left of his shirt up to his collarbone. Starscream got him good with those impressive claws of his. Len's torn between anger and genuine admiration.
Must be nice not to bleed. If Len could choose to be made of metal instead of flesh, he would. In a heartbeat. Humans are so fucking fragile.
His scarred body is a testament to that. Len can't count how many times he's been hurt this badly or hell of a lot worse. In the scheme of things, a couple gashes from a razor-sharp edge are nothing.
A sudden, ugly thought that Kabal might think he's weak springs to the forefront of his slightly foggy mind. He sits taller, squaring his shoulders. Wipes any trace of a dumb, vulnerable look off his face.]
Fine. It ain't half as bad as it looks.
[Len squeezes the edges of the cut together, testing the depth, blood welling up out of the wound to streak down his already sticky/crusty/smeared stomach. Too deep for glue.
It isn't fine, but the only thing worse than getting your ass beat is letting them see you flinch.]
Nothing a few staples can't fix. Grab me that gun from the kit. I can do it myself.
[Can doesn't mean should, but Len hasn't lived this long relying on others. He called Kabal because it was faster than dragging his own ass down the hall, not because he needed him.
Len can take care of himself.
Whether he's trying to prove that to himself, or Kabal, in the moment is up for debate.]
no subject
[Setting the medical kit down on the bed he pulls the mask off so that Len can get the full force of his glare as he smacks Len's hands away from where he's poking and prodding at his own wounds. It also gives him a better view without the darkened tinge of looking out through those lighted lenses.]
That's exactly what everyone bleeding out says right before they end up needing a transfusion or something. And I speak from experience.
So knock it off and lemme fix this before you turn my sheets red and ruin the whole color scheme of the room.
[He is more than willing to hold Len down with one hand and apply antiseptic with the other while keeping him scruffed like a cat.]
no subject
[It's clear Len didn't expect the smack, head whipping up to glare at Kabal with sharp eyes, a split second away from smacking him back. The instinct is so strong his fingers twitch against the bed.]
The colour scheme of this room was 'garbage' before I shacked up here.
[Len almost said moved in. He must be in worse shape than he feels. That's a slip-up he doesn't want to make. There's nothing permanent about this. Kabal never invited him to stay, and Len won't be here forever.
At some point he'll have to find his own place. When Chronos is finally bored of trying to play make believe Guantanamo, or they finally come to terms.
Which could be a long, long time. Mick is the only man more stubborn than Len is.
The glare lingers a moment longer before Len sighs, long-suffering, like he's the one doing Kabal a favour letting him stitch his gut back together. Which is totally what Kabal wanted to do with his evening.]
Fine. You do mine, and I'll do yours.
So you better make it pretty.
[Who wants a thank you when you can have a thinly veiled threat?]
no subject
[He's dealt with enough of that crap from the rest of the Black Dragon thugs he works with and he genuinely didn't care if they lived or died. With Len he definitely doesn't want him to die. Not that he'd say that, at least not in the way he means. Because this is just one crook helping out another. Honor among thieves or something. Yup.]
Sure I've got some of that teal stitching thread from Tiffany's. I'll do some embroidery while I'm at it.
[He'd likely be a little less antagonistic if he didn't also feel like crap, he just wants to get this over with and have a minimal amount of either of them passing out. Mostly because he doesn't want a redo of last time.
Not the fucking part. He wants that again. The ... caring part. Where they were emotionally invested in each other. Less of that please.
For being a big meaty brute, he's stitched up plenty of other people and himself so while he isn't exactly gentle, he knows what he's doing and isn't fumbling around tentatively. The few smaller gashes get stitches, and the big deep one gets staples. Mostly because staples are a pain in the ass to remove later, and usually bleed when they come out. Stitches are more time consuming to put in, but easier to take out.
That's some forethought he usually doesn't put into anything else.]
You want a drink?
[That's Kabal for: you doing okay?]