He feels the swipe of the knife's near-miss, a jolt of electric thrill that cuts straight through him. Good move. He didn't fall for it. Krauser's really toying with him now, feinting kicks and grapples that never actually connect. He honestly hasn't landed or even really attempted a single attack, but watching Leon tense and alert and struggling to stay on his toes has got him, quite honestly, incoherently aroused.

When he lands the sweep he laughs, shifts his balance to throw himself on top of Leon to... he doesn't know, actually. Hold him down, feel him writhe and struggle? Put his hands around his neck? Stick his tongue down his throat? He can't decide, his brain's barely in control of a body moving on instinct and reflex and raw desire.

He doesn't end up deciding when Leon smoothly uses his momentum against him and flips him over. (For Christ's sake, how many times did they practice that? How many times did he demonstrate for him, again and again and again, until Leon was soaked with sweat and mud, abrasions all down his back from being dragged-- watching those pretty blues light up with victory when he finally, finally managed to throw the major off of him and pinned him, perched up on his hips, just like this-)

Knocked onto his back with Leon pinning him, Krauser's still fighting back. Pushing, thrashing his hips up, pressing his feet into the floor, gripping Leon's wrist on the hand with the knife. But the expression on his face is something close to blissful, excited, his eyes locked on Leon's like he'll die all over again the second he looks away.

"That's right... it's over." He hisses through a genuine smile, made twisted as ever by the scars. "Isn't it?"

His other hand suddenly grips the collar of Leon's shirt, twisting hard around the fabric, and he pulls to bring him closer.