In the moment he was thinking, perhaps, that he wanted Leon closer. That this time it would be nice to feel the solid, warm press of his body as the knife slips into his heart. This time he still has his hands, still human enough, so why not indulge in a human desire before he dies again? If this is it, or if it starts all over again, it'll be one kind moment in the misery. One scrap of agency in this puppet show that nobody can take away, even if it is a dream.
When Leon crushes their mouths together again, even better. He's instantly reciprocating, lips parting for him, a low groan of approval, and he releases Leon's wrist to let him get on with it. Kiss him, kill him, it's all the same. Give him everything he wants before oblivion this time. The nick of the knife floods his senses with sweet pain and he expects to feel more when the blade sinks home. But it doesn't. It's resting between them, inert, as Leon clutches his hair and lifts his face and kisses him like the world has replaced who they are with who they were once.
The sound that escapes him then is half sob, half growl, all broken-- a horribly revealing crack in his armor. One massive arm curls over Leon's shoulder and the other hand finds the side of his face, palm at his jaw and fingers splayed. He arches up into the contact, hips grinding under Leon's solid weight, and his tongue slides desperately into his mouth to beg for more.
If this is a dream, an illusion, or some other trick, then it's fully snagged its hooks into him. If this is a ruse to make himself vulnerable to Leon, it'll work. Krauser no longer cares. Not when memories and regrets and that heavy, feverish haze in the air have combined to tempt him with exactly what he suddenly knows he wants. Needs.
no subject
When Leon crushes their mouths together again, even better. He's instantly reciprocating, lips parting for him, a low groan of approval, and he releases Leon's wrist to let him get on with it. Kiss him, kill him, it's all the same. Give him everything he wants before oblivion this time. The nick of the knife floods his senses with sweet pain and he expects to feel more when the blade sinks home. But it doesn't. It's resting between them, inert, as Leon clutches his hair and lifts his face and kisses him like the world has replaced who they are with who they were once.
The sound that escapes him then is half sob, half growl, all broken-- a horribly revealing crack in his armor. One massive arm curls over Leon's shoulder and the other hand finds the side of his face, palm at his jaw and fingers splayed. He arches up into the contact, hips grinding under Leon's solid weight, and his tongue slides desperately into his mouth to beg for more.
If this is a dream, an illusion, or some other trick, then it's fully snagged its hooks into him. If this is a ruse to make himself vulnerable to Leon, it'll work. Krauser no longer cares. Not when memories and regrets and that heavy, feverish haze in the air have combined to tempt him with exactly what he suddenly knows he wants. Needs.