[ Really, if you should divide Marcel's life into categories, they'd be talking 55 percent violence and 45 percent sex. As JL starts undressing, the good half of him that isn't completely, utterly focused on the fight he's just been in, adrenaline pumping, body sore and victory hollow as all fuck, is thinking about JL, naked, kneeling between his legs. Yeah, now, see, that's a thought worth fucking pursuing, all right. Managing a wry smile as the man crouches down in just his trousers and touches Marcel's ankle like it was made of glass, he ignores the urge to hurry him along, only because he knows it's gonna hurt like a bitch to pull off that boot. It's leather, it doesn't fucking give.

Neither does JL, though, so he gives the shoe a good yank and grunting only a little bit, Marcel shifts on the lid of the loo in response. The shoe goes flying, off into the hallway once off... Looking down, past JL and all that fucking chest, he studies his foot for a moment. It looks bigger once JL gets his sock off, definitely swollen, though there are none of the bloody bruises that should indicate bone fractures anywhere. Probably just a serious sprain. He'll be walking funny a few days and it'll be fine. Smile growing wider, he looks JL over again. Leans back a little, hands coming down to push his jeans down his thighs, baring underwear and skin as the fabric slips downwards. ]

Looking good. [ JL, not his foot. Fuck his foot. He tilts his left foot a bit to the side, still largely unharmed. Might be jeopardizing that now, though. Fucking shoot him. ] Let's see you do the other one.