He chases him, Krauser tips back Leon's head and stops him, Leon's ragged breathing doesn't sound pretty, a rusty sound torn by the bruising force he demanded from him. His eyes feel gritty, lashes sticky and damp, the salt-sweat scent of him is strong in his nostrils, his throat stings and his mouth feels kiss-bruised, wet. There's a high-pitched ringing in his ears, leading him to wonder how long he smothered himself with Krauser's cock, if it's why he feels so muzzy and outside of himself, eyes darker for the way his pupils try to swallow the blue.

Krauser's looking at him, his cock hot, dripping down his cheek when it gives a tangible throb against Leon's cheek. Part of him thinks he could be content with this, the man's engorged cock chasing his pleasure against Leon's face, against his treacherous mouth. Leon's vision swims, he squeezes shut his eyes against the burn in them, feels it painting a hot path on his face and shoves his forearm in the way, fingers curled into a fist so tight his knuckles are pale.

"The hell do you want," he rumbles with a torn voice, "Take a fucking picture. Lasts longer, asshole."

Actually try to take one and he might take a bite out of him.