Krauser says nothing in response, only watching with the same contented look on his face as Leon chokes on air and tears alike. It's a few seconds too long to feel natural or comfortable, and his stillness bodes an oppressive sense of unpredictability. He could tighten his grip and strangle him, or snap his neck with minimal effort. Just as easily, he could force his dick back down his throat and keep on using him. Half a dozen different reactions all seem equally likely, and Krauser has proven himself capable of just about anything in the heat of a moment.

He's not particularly gentle when he pushes Leon down onto his back, when his broad body looms over him. One hand grips Leon's wrist and tugs, pulling his forearm away from his eyes, twisting to pin his arm up over his head. Without hesitation, a stare, or a single word of mockery, he presses his scarred lips to Leon's cheekbone just beneath his eye, to the tear track visible on his face. His tongue darts out to taste it, to subtly lick down the trail and drag a lazy not-quite-a-kiss along its path.

When he reaches the corner of his mouth, his other hand grasps Leon's chin and coaxes him into another hard, lustful kiss. Salt and sweat and Krauser linger between their tongues, and the way he eagerly tastes Leon's mouth it seems he can't get enough.