Mysterion's eyes narrowed in concentration, staring down the paper in front of him with disdain. He gnawed on his lip, a pencil in his hand bouncing softly against the material, a soft 'bap bap bap' in the dead of the night. A subtle, soft light beamed above the page, visible only when staring directly at it and not while in the concealment of heavy thickets within the woods.
He re-read the line, taking it slowly to see if anything was missed: '32 down: Henri of the fauvism movement'.
"What the fuck is a fauvist?!" he hissed in frustration, head falling back and groaning quietly.
He appreciated Kyle's attempt to keep him occupied for his stake-out, he truly did. But handing him the Sunday Times crossword was a bit too much of a brain exercise for someone who spent their off-duty time chugging Pabst and insulting the poorly designed outfits on 'Dancing with the Stars'.
Mysterion grumbled under his breath, adjusting the borrowed book light and staring down at his newsprint adversary. Not like he could've taken an iPad or something of the sort, minimalist was just going to have to do for now. Another bout of complaining to Kyle about the long wait earlier that night had ended in him asking where Kyle thought he should patrol to pass some time.
The redhead had shot the notion down. After all, if he got into a confrontation, there was no guarantee that he'd have the energy to go after Larson, too. He had limitations, after all. And a body could only take so many hits and so much adrenal energy before it finally came crashing down. Mysterion had pouted and leaned on him, whining childishly and suggesting that Kyle himself pass some time for him. Kyle had just snorted and reminded him that that took more energy than going after violent criminals. Energy well worth exerting for sure, but still not what he needed before going after his target.
He'd dug through his pile of mail on the coffee table and tossed him the paper before searching around for his book light in his desk drawer. "Something to keep you preoccupied," he'd told him. "Nothing keeps you up more than using your brain."
"No wonder you never sleep," Mysterion had teased, getting a blush and eye roll from the man before the light and a pencil were catapulted at him. The hero had kissed him, telling him that he didn't know if he'd be able to stop by again if Larson took for-fucking-ever. Kyle, needless to say, was not happy with such a decree. After all, if he didn't come back, he wouldn't know if it was because Larson just didn't show or if Mysterion was shot through the goddamn face. The hero had just sighed, conceding to his pleas. He wasn't exactly going to complain that Kyle had such concerns over his own safety. He swore to drop by for a quick update regardless of the outcome, just knowing that Kyle would never get to bed and probably go to Larson's house himself if morning was starting to creep up and he hadn't heard a word from the vigilante.
A goodbye kiss had turned into a good ten minutes of Mysterion refreshing fading marks on Kyle's throat before the redhead finally half-heartedly pushed him off and told him he needed to go, that his damn neck would still be there later that night. Reluctantly he'd torn away, sliding out the window and watching Kyle lean out with a concerned face, begging for him to be careful. He'd just nodded and kissed him again, tucking his distraction objects into his beltline and sliding into the woods, disappearing from the redhead's sight in an instant. He'd lingered, waiting for Kyle to slowly close the window again before heading towards his target.
He took another look at his puzzle and smacked his lips. '2 Across: Dairy sound'.
"Fuckin' moo," he grumbled, writing in his answer and rolling his eyes. Fucking going from fauvism to cows. He didn't know who the hell this Henri guy was, but he was no doubt safer than one of those bovine murder machines. Being trampled to death by a heifer back in his youth was certainly not a happy goddamn memory.
His head perked up with a sound from the front of Larson's house, quickly shutting off his light and tossing his materials next to the tree behind him, perching up into a crouch and peeling back layers of branches of the bush in front of him. He took a deep breath, carefully observing through the leaves of the thicket, peering into the back window. Mysterion bit his lip, hearing a car shutting off and ducking down lower.
He watched for a few moments, nearly jerking as light suddenly flooded the house. He could see a shadow moving around towards where he remembered the kitchen to be and rolled his shoulders to loosen himself up.
"One, two… three," he whispered to himself, smoothly diving over the brush and rolling into his yard up into a crouch. Briskly moving forward in his lowered position he crept up to the pale lemon chiffon siding and leaned up against it, trying to calm his beating heart. His first mission getting to Larson's empty house was to pick the lock of the back door, he could only hope the asshole wouldn't notice and rectify the situation. He leaned his head back, flinching in the slightest as a window down the way was opened, Todd's voice coming through in a murmur. He narrowed his eyes, glancing towards the open pane to his right and rolling his eyes. Of course it'd be on the other side.
He glanced towards the sliding door through the plastic sliding curtain, watching Larson' shadow and gnawing on his lip. The man inside was pacing around, still muttering. Mysterion waited until he was clearly turned around, taking his moment and leaping to the other side of the door, scurrying towards the opened glass and nose scrunching at the smell of stale cigar smoke wafting through into the night.
Mysterion tilted his head up towards the crack, trying to silence his breathing. "Well I don't fuckin' know!" Larson finally groaned out. He closed his eyes and took a relieved breath. Phone call. Good. He didn't know if he could handle more than just Larson.
Another pause came through, sounds of scoffs and sighs ringing out of the home. "Fine," the man replied sharply. "It'll be there tomorrow. 21. Don't fucking be late," he snapped, Mysterion hearing something smacking into a hardened surface. "Un-fuckin'-believable," Larson grumbled, exhaustion tinging his voice. Mysterion smirked. Also good. He himself was nice and awake, he'd have the staminal advantage.
Slowly, he creeped back towards the door, dropping onto his knees and watching Larson's shadow moving about in his living room. He bit his lip, fingers clenching in apprehension. He wasn't sure if getting him would even do anything, if the fuck would even talk. But it didn't really matter. Getting him off the street was what was important. One less obstacle for them to deal with in the grand scheme of it all.
He gulped, seeing him disappear towards the hall leading towards his room and Mysterion nodded to himself. Now or never. Slowly he reached over and up and snagged the door handle, tediously tearing it open, his teeth gritting anxiously at the minute sound coming from the door's track. He could hear water running down the hall and sighed, thankful for something being there to cover his noises in the slightest. There was no way to go about this completely silently as he would've liked.
Mysterion rolled his eyes at himself as he got the glass pane opened wide enough for him to slip inside, wondering why the hell he didn't just elect to hide himself in the damn house. Though, he knew well enough: Far too much risk. If Larson had walked in with a group, he would've been either trapped or exposed. And even if they killed him, it wouldn't take long for them to figure out just who else knew about his place in the operation. And like hell was he going to voluntarily put Kyle's safety on the line just to make his job a little damn easier.
Cautiously, he slipped his gloved hand between two blinds of the curtain, closing his eyes in a short prayer before grabbing the adjacent plastic and carefully separating them. He slipped inside, his arms very slowly coming together behind him, genially letting them fall back into place. Every rustle from panels along either side made him tense, finally letting out an exhale as he brought his hands away from the blinds and back in front of him. Sharp eyes scanned about, looking at the alcove leading into the hallway and slipping towards the wall, remaining low and plastering himself against the drywall. He rolled his eyes at himself. He had to look goddamn ridiculous, his purple suit a stark contrast to the beige wall behind him. But it didn't matter for now. What mattered was the wait, the right moves. What mattered now was getting what he came for.
He tensed, hearing the water shut off and a door creaking open, one hand planting itself on the ground and the other held up in front of his chest. One move. One swift, smooth move and he could have this over in a matter of a couple of seconds.
Footsteps hit the padded carpeting of the hall, Mysterion crouching down further in preparation to lunge. Closer and closer they moved, nonchalant and unsuspecting. Just as Mysterion liked it.
A flash of a leg came in front of him and he reached out, snaring his pant leg and met with a surprised yell as he tugged and pressed himself up to grab his shirt and bring the man crashing onto the ground.
"What the- get off!" Larson shouted, hand automatically curling into a fist and aiming for his head. Mysterion grunted, pivoting and putting his shoulder in the path, taking the hit with a hiss as his hands quickly went to work, right arm shooting up to grab his wrist and slam it onto the ground. He yelped as his cowl was snatched, fabric pulled and constricting against his throat as he was tossed off to the side, landing in an awkward heap and loosening his grip enough for Larson to swing upwards with a snarl and send another well-placed fist towards his face. Mysterion could only blink before it crashed straight against the bottom of his nose, slipping down with the impact and slamming into his mouth.
He yelped, batting away his arm and rolling his front half away from the other fallen man, a heavy boot rearing back and kicking into Larson's stomach with gusto.
The older man growled, recovering from the blow and lunging forward on top of him. Mysterion hissed, working with the momentum and continuing their somersault, landing straddled atop the side of Larson's hip. He quickly reached down, grabbing his wrists and pulling them over his head. He twisted off, bringing his knee into the middle of his back and shoving him down onto his stomach, panting and spitting out blood leaking from his busted lip. "Stop fuckin' squirmin'!" he bit, shoving down against him.
"Get the fuck out of my fuckin' house, you tighty-whitey faggot!" he shot back, wriggling incessantly.
"They're black, thanks," he drawled, hands contorting around his wrists and thumbs digging down firmly directly under the middle of his palm's heel. Larson hissed, cringing at the pain shooting through his arms. He let out a long groan, fists uncurling and upper body shaking. Mysterion took the moment of instability and ripped back his arms, folding them behind him and planting them firmly on his back. "We need to talk," he said sternly.
Larson growled, going back to wriggling about. Mysterion rolled his eyes, moving his knee to press down hard on one of his wrists, digging through a cape pocket for one of his zipties. "More you struggle, the harder this is for both of us," he warned, ripping out one of the bands and slipping it around the wrist in his hand.
"I ain't tellin' you shit," he spat.
"Yeah, that's what most of 'em like t' tell me," the hero drawled, firmly digging his fingers into his remaining forearm and dragging it over to the hold, fighting to get his other wrist trapped in the snare. He hissed as Larson kicked up, hitting his back. He frowned, punching the back of his head pointedly. "You fuckin' hold still, Larson, we got some business to discuss." Mysterion finally managed to slip in his other wrist, pulling the rigid band tight. He smirked, moving and rolling Larson onto his back, kneeling down atop his thighs and raising an amused brow. "Ain't this comfy?" he asked innocently.
Brown eyes, dark as a doll's glared furiously at him. "You're in for a world of trouble, you freak!" he spat.
"Hm, well, you say that, but it looks t' me like you're the one who's havin' some trouble," he countered. "I wantcha to tell me just what it is you do."
"Knock off little goody-goody cunts like you," he sneered.
Mysterion snorted. "Oh really? You aren't say… a supplier?" he questioned, Larson stiffening and looking him up and down.
"How the fuck-"
"I have my sources," he interjected thickly. "Tell me, Larson, just why is it Cartman makes you do this job, hm? You just good at what you do? Lucked out? Drew the short straw?"
He narrowed his eyes, expression spitting fire towards the masked man. "I don't have to tell you shit," he bit.
Mysterion nodded slowly. "You're right. You're under no obligation buuuttttt… might be in your best interest," he said quietly. "You see, if you don't start talkin', we just gotta assume that you're the one behind it all," he shrugged dismissively. "And, well, I'd hate to see you in prison for life when you could get a lesser sentence if I get some fessin' up."
Larson scoffed, shifting and trying to break his binds before a firm, sturdy palm slammed down against his chest to hold him in place. "I ain't sayin' shit," he repeated.
"Really? Are you really willing to take the fall?"
He smirked, "You think I'll stay in jail?" he questioned. "Not a chance. Not with my connections."
"Cartman can only bail so many of you out before they get suspicious," he countered. "And I know a good chunk of money went towards gettin' some platinum blonde whore outta the joint."
"Got bail for her, me, and a lot more," he drawled. "Throw in as many as you want, we'll just buy the fuckin' jail."
He glowered, "It doesn't work like that, Larson."
"You'd be amazed at how many cops stop goin' after ya when ya wave a wad of cash in their face," he said snarkily.
His scowl deepened, images of Stan flashing through his mind at a rapid pace. "There's a lot a' good cops in this town. Don't underestimate 'em."
"You're overestimating 'em," he shot back. "How do ya think I got back to town so easy? Why do ya think you're the only one goin' after us?" He paused, lips crawling into a cruel smile. "Well. You and that ginger faggot." Mysterion's eyes widened, defenses shot straight through at the mention and he snapped, palm redirecting to over his throat, pushing down just enough for his breathing to become rasped. That malicious curl still playing over his mouth. "What's wrong?" he wheezed. "Strike a little nerve?"
Mysterion's teeth gritted, fingers redirecting up to clench around his mandible and squeeze. "Tell me what he's planning!" he hissed.
"Or what?"
He reached into the back of his belt and pulled out his gun, placing it between his eyes. "Or I blow your fuckin' head off, that's what."
"Please," he chuckled. "You can't shoot me or they'll be after you."
"I don't care about your little prissy-"
"No no, I meant the cops," he elaborated thickly. "Though, my buddies? They'll be goin' for you, too. But, they'll also be goin' forBroflovski," he grinned, feeling Mysterion's hand tremoring with the name.
"How much does Cartman know?" he demanded shakily.
He shrugged innocently, "Regardin' what?"
"How much does he know about what Kyle knows?!" he snapped, digging the muzzle in deeper in his skin.
Larson smirked, "Way more than you'd be comfortable with. Maybe ya woulda caught on if ya weren't so busy makin' out with 'im."
Mysterion's spine locked, blinking at the man in disbelief. "How… When did he-"
"Does it really matter?" he clicked his tongue. "You think he ain't been watchin' the two of you? Especially the ginger," he drawled. "Gotta keep an eye on the enemy, right?" He winced as Mysterion's fingers dug deeper in his jaw, feeling the gun shaking in his hand.
"You know I know the names," he spat. "So tell me what he's fucking doing."
Larson let out a huff through his nose and shrugged again. "International shipping," he answered.
He narrowed his eyes, "Of what?"
"Not anythin' you'd approve of. Let's just say that," he smirked.
Mysterion let out a low-seated growl. He figured he'd be vague when he'd set off to get here, but the way he was talking was just too ominous for him to deal with. "I want to know more," he said slowly, steadying out his anxious tone.
"You ain't gettin' more," he replied. "Call the cops. Go ahead. Make the biggest mistake of your fuckin' life."
The hero took a long breath and shook his head. "You're full of shit," he finally said, shoving his gun back into his beltline. He grabbed another zip-tie from his pocket and twisted, snaring his ankles and binding them together. Mysterion looked back at his amused grin, anger and apprehension rumbling through his core. "People like you don't win," he stated.
"People like me have been winnin' this town for a long time," he corrected. "We get you outta the way and we're right back on track."
"Uh huh," he rolled his eyes, getting to his feet and snagging his sleeve, dragging him behind him through the living room and into the kitchen. He slid him up violently against the table leg, pulling his phone from his belt and bending down to secure the dazed crook against the heavy oak. He dialed his number, placing the phone between his ear and shoulder and listening to it ring.
"Park County Police," came the answer on the other end of the line.
"Yates. This is M," he grumbled, gritting his teeth as he ripped the binding between his wrist tie and the leg as tightly as he could, reaching forward and snagging his legs. He forced Larson's body to contort uncomfortably, working to get his ankles tied down as well.
"M?" Yates' voice popped on the phone.
"I have a criminal secured at his home," he said gravelly. "He's tied to his kitchen table. Come fucking get him."
A pause passed as Mysterion got back onto his feet looking at his handiwork and Larson's sadistic stare. "Are you hurt?" Yates finally responded. "You sound awful."
"Just come get this piece of shit!" he spat, spewing off Larson's address and glancing around the room suspiciously, walking to the front of the house and unlocking the front door.
Yates cleared his throat, "I have a unit on the way."
"Good, door is unlocked. Haul him in. He isn't talking much, but he's a supplier for the ring. Works closely with the boss… as far as I can tell," he added, realizing he was pushing it a little too close to home. "Yates, let me ask you something," he said lowly.
"Yes?"
Mysterion stared at the door before glancing back to the kitchen, hearing Larson trying to break out of his binding. "If a civilian gets hurt… and it's my fault… what would happen?"
He paused again, Mysterion closing his eyes at murmurs heard from the department. "How hurt are we talking?"
"I don't know. Any fucking degree!" he bit.
"Well… if they're still able to express themselves, it's up to their discretion," he said carefully. "But if they're knocked off, well… You would probably be convicted of involuntary manslaughter by the state." He nodded slowly, taking a long breath. "Is someone there hurt or dead?" Yates demanded. "We need to know."
Mysterion rubbed his eyes, "No. No one is hurt… It was just a clarification. Thank you, Sir, please hurry getting here." He hung up the phone and clipped it back on his belt, walking back into the kitchen and glaring down at the struggling man. "I'm going to be right outside until the cops get here," he told him, opening the kitchen window wider. "You get out and I'll take you down again."
Larson shook his head slowly. "You're gonna regret this," he promised. "Regret every goddamn minute of your fuckin' life."
"I'd regret it more if pieces of shit like you were still free in the streets," he said thickly.
He smirked, leaning his head back against the table leg and shrugging. "You keep telling yourself that. We'll see."
Mysterion stared at him for a moment longer before turning on his heel and heading back out the back door, sliding the glass pane shut and making way back to his hidden area within the thicket. He sighed, reaching down and grabbing his abandoned materials from beside the tree, fingers clenching tightly in the newspaper. Cartman knew. He knew all about how close he and Kyle had gotten. Knew that Kyle was important to him.
He bit his lip, putting the objects within his cape pockets and leaning against the tree, staring up into the clouded night sky with a long, labored breath. There was only one solution, he supposed. He just had to hope that Kyle would agree.
Kyle glanced between his paper and an image pulled up on Google Earth, flickering back and forth between the written address and the building in front of him. "How the hell did he get Rancher Bill to sell his farm?" he murmured before shaking out of his wanderings. Didn't really matter at this point, all that needed to be known was it was now under Cartman's wing. Well. 'Alania Richmond's' wing at least in name.
Mysterion's knock rang frantically and he turned, seeing him staring inside towards him. He stood, letting out a long sigh of relief at his presence. The last few hours hadn't exactly been kind on his ever-expanding nerves. He tore the window open and raised his brow at the hero clambering in quickly, pivoting and slamming the pane down, hurriedly locking it. Kyle flinched back at the masked man turning towards him rapidly. "Keep. It. Locked," he demanded firmly.
"Whoa, whoa, what happened?" he raised his hands defensively.
Mysterion's tensed stance dropped and he grabbed his hands, squeezing them desperately. "Cartman. He knows," he insisted.
"Knows… what?" he cocked his head.
"About us. About us being together," he elaborated.
Kyle blushed, "I… I thought I already told you that."
He froze, "You knew?"
"H-he brought it up when he confronted me at work!" he stammered, watching in bewilderment as Mysterion groaned, dropping his hands and pacing in front of him, face hidden in his palms. "How the fuck did that come up?"
Mysterion stopped, looking up at the confusion swimming in endless green eyes and he bit his lip. "Larson… he threatened you. Said that… that they were gonna come after you."
"That's literally been a conversation of ours our entire time working together," he reminded him, walking up and grasping his arm with light fingers. "Dude, you're shaking… come on," he led him into his kitchen, flipping on the light and moving him to the table to sit him down. "Want some coffee? Tea?" he offered kindly.
"I want you to be safe!" he snapped desperately, Kyle recoiling at the sudden volume before settling back down, concern etched into his features.
"What's changed?" he asked, blinking rapidly. "What did Larson say?"
He hid his eyes in his hand, feeling Kyle grabbing a chair and pulling it up beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder and rubbing gently. "They're buying off cops," he whispered, feeling him tense and knowing just what was running through Kyle's mind. "Not all of them. I'm sure Stan isn't one," he said wearily. "But… I-I threatened to shoot Larson."
"With your water gun," he said flatly.
"Well he didn't know that," he spat before settling again. "But he said, if I did that, his little posse would be after me… and you."
Kyle narrowed his eyes in confusion, "Mysterion… we know that's a risk. It's always been one. Why-"
"Because he's too close to the top!" he exclaimed. "Taking down the runners is one thing. But the supplier? One of Fatboy's right hand fuckers?! No. No no no no no," he waved his hands in front of his face. "It's just… way too dangerous. We should've gone another route."
"What other route?! We agreed that it was best to take from the top! Myster- Mysterion, look at me," he demanded, cupping his chin and forcing his head up. "Is Larson off with police right now?" The hero nodded. "Then you did the right thing. You did the absolute right thing. You know what can happen now? I can tell Stan just what it is he does, he can worm a confession out of him, and all of this can unravel. Stan's the goddamn best at what he does, he's gonna get my name cleared and get you and I off the hit list, all right?" he shook him lightly. "You're getting way too freaked out."
Mysterion stared at him and gulped, "I have every reason to," he whispered.
"I know, but-" he paused, squinting at his shadowed face. "Did he hit you?"
"What? Oh, yeah," he blinked, touching the dried blood on his upper lip and shrugging. Kyle sighed, standing up out of his chair and ripping off a paper towel, holding it under the sink and shaking his head.
"You did the right thing," he repeated, shutting off the faucet and wringing out the excess. "He's off the street. Running will cut down at least for a few days, I'm sure."
"He's not the only one probably," he replied quietly.
Kyle nodded, sitting back down in front of him and cupping his chin, bringing him closer and carefully wiping off the hemoglobin still stained onto his skin. "No, he's not," he agreed. "But he's someone. One less of them is better than the same number. Did you get any information out of him?"
The vigilante sighed, "He only said something about... international shipping?" he cocked his brow. "I have no idea what the fuck he meant."
"Probably drugs," he said simply, folding the paper towel again to continue cleaning. "Cocaine flies all over the world, wouldn't be surprised if they've found a way to send if off. That it?"
"Most of what he said was about you," he replied quietly.
Kyle took a deep breath and shook his head. "He was just trying to rile you, Mysterion. That's it. That's all."
Mysterion fell silent, watching the concentration on his face as he cleaned him off, feeling a light, stressed tremor breaking through his hand. "You're scared," he whispered.
Kyle paused, shoulders sinking as he wiped off the rest of his wound. "Yeah," he admitted. "I am. I'd have to be crazy to not be. But… there's not much to be done about it," he winced. "I can't exactly just leave, I'm sure he has my fucking car bugged or he'd track me down some other way," he rolled his eyes. "All I can do is play dumb in some areas," he shrugged. "Hope that he doesn't think I'm too close. And you just need to stay hidden. We'll figure it out." He threw the sullied paper towel into the sink and turned back, feeling the desperation leaking off of the hero. "What?"
"I'm staying the night," he said. "If you'll let me. Otherwise I'm sleeping outside your goddamn window, but I'm staying close."
Kyle blinked slowly, brow gradually raising. "Uh, how exactly do you propose for that to work? Don't you have a job to get to in the morning?"
"I'll sleep, but I don't want you here alone!" he bit. "Kyle, please," he grasped his hands. "Please don't play stupid independent guy right now," he begged, voice losing its sharp edge.
"How are you gonna leave my house in daylight with a goddamn cape?" he demanded.
"I'll steal your hoodie and some goddamn pajama pants and pack up my suit or something," he insisted. "Just… please."
The redhead let out a long breath and huffed out a small laugh. "You know, this is what some couples might call clingy," he drawled. "But… yeah. That's fine, you're welcome to stay."
"Good, I'll set up on the couch-" he stopped with Kyle's hand over his mouth and a dramatic eye roll.
"I'll wear the fucking blindfold. You're staying in my room."
He finally broke into a small smile, backing off from his palm. "Believe it or not, I'm not asking to stay just to fuck you."
"I know," he said quietly. "But… I think we'd both feel better if we were in the same room if this is the situation we're in." Mysterion paused. Well. Couldn't exactly argue with that… Kyle sighed, glancing at the kitchen clock. "It's midnight… let's just go to bed," he suggested tiredly. Mysterion nodded, leaning forward and pecking his cheek before they both stood and headed back to the living room. Kyle walked to his desk and shut the laptop. "Found out most of the other places on the list," he commented as Mysterion opened his closet, searching the door hook and he smirked. "It's still in my room, you moron."
"…Oh," he chuckled, closing it and moving to shut off the living room light. They both blinked in the sudden darkness, Mysterion fumbling around furniture towards the blob of black that made up Kyle and smiled softly at the redhead easily finding his hand and leading him towards the room. "Figure out anything about 'em?"
"Just that most of them are isolated or have been abandoned for years before he bought them," he replied, switching on the bedroom light and watching him walk in and close the door behind him. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and twisted his lips. "I'm usually up by five… what time do you usually get up?"
"...Eight," he winced.
Kyle snorted, "Well… maybe I'll sleep in a little tomorrow," he shrugged innocently. Compromise and say six thirty? Set two alarms and you get up on the first one and get all hidden or whatever and when you leave I can finally allow myself to see again?"
Mysterion smiled warmly. "How about… first alarm we both get up, second alarm about twenty minutes later is when I finally pry myself off of you? Then third alarm you can see again."
Kyle smirked and nodded, "Sounds like a plan. Let me just text my assistant that I'll be late and we can go to bed." He turned to begin texting, sitting on his bed and kicking off his shoes, glancing up at him briefly. "Go ahead and find some pajama pants or something, Dude," he waved him off. "First drawer."
Mysterion rolled his eyes amusedly, hopping a bit to take off his boots and toss them down. "Maybe I wanna sleep naked with you."
"Not a fan of sleepin' naked if someone else is naked, too." he said plainly, sending off his text to Butters and glancing back up. "Friday night was an exception. Actually not a fan of a dick shoved pretty much inside my ass all night while I'm trying to sleep. So if you wanna bare all, fine, just know that I'm not joining the party."
He pouted. "So one or none?"
"One or none," he confirmed with a playful smile, setting a new alarm and plugging his phone into its charger atop his nightstand.
He looked up, "But you'll have a blindfold-"
"That's not clothing," he interrupted dryly. "Points for effort, though."
Mysterion snorted. "Fine, fine. Then I vote you sleep naked. Since, you know, I can see."
"Rub it in some more, why dontcha?" he pouted. Mysterion just grinned and he rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah, fine. I expect payment for my agreeability."
"You take cash?"
"I take blowjobs," he smirked.
He laughed and shrugged. "I can definitely match that fee." Kyle chuckled, taking off his shirt and throwing it carelessly towards his hamper, grabbing the discarded scarf from between his nightstand and bed.
"If you're staying another night, you need to buy a lighter scarf," he said, folding it over and wrapping it around his own head. "I feel like this thing ain't gonna like how much I move in my sleep."
"Well I'll hold you still then," he purred, walking up as he finished and flicking his fingers around his face. "Can you see?"
Kyle jerked back a bit at the sudden closeness of his voice, not catching his footsteps over their talking. "Nope. Blind as shit."
Mysterion leaned down and kissed his neck. "Well, I'm glad you're not mute, too," he purred, nipping him softly before starting to shed his jumpsuit and cape. "You sure you're okay with me spending the night?"
Kyle snorted. "Yes. I'm sure. I was surprised yesterday morning when you weren't still there."
"Really?" he cocked his brow.
Kyle shrugged, starting to shimmy off his pants and boxers. "You sounded as beat as I was when we were talking."
"Did you want me there in the morning?" he asked, ripping off his mask and scratching through his hair to get some of it bouncing back from its flattened positioning. Kenny looked at the pajamas in his hand and tossed them over on the nightstand. He wasn't going to need 'em just yet if Kyle's talk was any indication.
The redhead blushed, shrugging again. "I wasn't opposed to the notion… I'm used to people I sleep with lingering until I can awkwardly shoo them away in the morning because 'it's my mom's birthday and I have to go' or something."
"Gonna pull one of those on me?" he backed up and flicked off the light, moving carefully in the darkness back to the bed and lightly sliding a hand up the redhead's bared thigh.
Kyle shuddered, allowing himself to be moved up the bed and gently laid down. "I don't think you're at risk for that," he answered softly, meeting a warm kiss with a soft, content sound. "Remember when you said you weren't just here to fuck me?"
"You started it," he chuckled. "Besides, I can do both. I'm great at multi-tasking."
The redhead smiled, sliding his hand up into disheveled hair. "So you've shown me. Lucky you, my brain can only stay on one track half the time."
Ken laughed softly, kissing his chin. He stroked his thumb over his lips and hummed. "Hey, what's a fauvist?"
Kyle paused, brow cocking. "A what?"
He leaned his head against his forehead, slowly straddling him and grinding down against him. "Helping you learn some multitasking," he replied coolly. "That fucking crossword said something about some dude named Henri and fauvism and it pissed me off."
"Ohh," he said before breaking into laughter. He hummed at another soft kiss, bringing his hand up and placing it on his head, pushing down hintingly. "Well… why don't you start writing your check for my nakedness and I'll tell you all about Mr. Matisse?"
Kenny grinned widely and nodded, lips starting to brush down Kyle's bared chest and stomach. He nuzzled against his skin for a moment, relishing in Kyle's slim fingers still lightly stroking through his hair mindlessly. A deep breath of relief flew through his lips before they found themselves happily preoccupied. If he was here, if he was with Kyle, then the redhead was completely safe. No one was going to get in here, no one was going to exact revenge with him around.
He would fucking guarantee it.