He doesn't stop to relish in his victory, in this power, that he can bark a command and expect compliance, doesn't afford himself the opportunity to ground himself. Leon rolls upright with a greater steadiness and self-control than he feels, when everything behind his skin feels unmoored, buffeted about by the tempestuous combination of betrayed anger and a kind of... nostalgic yearning for the things he doesn't deserve.
Standing between the sprawl of Krauser's legs, Leon breathes through the part between his teeth and lips, watching him as he unlaces the drop flap of his breeches with abrupt twitches of his fingers, tugging knots loose. He's not putting on a show for him, not with such utilitarian gestures, but the rest of his actions are something, when he takes a step forward, puts the arch of his foot against the inside of Krauser's thigh and shoves his sprawled legs further apart, when he steps up close enough that his knees kiss his chest, one foot beside his hip, the other tucked up under the inside of one thigh.
"Good boy," he breathes, threading his fingers roughly into his platinum hair, cradling the curve at the back of his skull. Leon chases the damp on his own face with a shove of the back of his hand and wrist, sniffing back the humidity the jungle seems determined to get into every fucking crease, tries to balm one stinging ache with the promise of another. This act has practically forced Krauser to face with the way gravity is dragging the loosened drop flap of the front of his pants down and with it, droops the rest from his hips, dark treasure trail and thick root of his plumping cock inches from his nose.
To reckon with the sight of his hand delving inside, the thick shape of his cock distending the fabric as he takes it into hand, extracting his uncut girth and gives it an indulgent squeeze. Leon drags the warm, velvety texture of his foreskin back by sliding his engorged length along Krauser's scarred mouth, glaring down at him with parted lips, blown pupils.
"Go ahead," he says at last, "Take it. Get me ready."
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Standing between the sprawl of Krauser's legs, Leon breathes through the part between his teeth and lips, watching him as he unlaces the drop flap of his breeches with abrupt twitches of his fingers, tugging knots loose. He's not putting on a show for him, not with such utilitarian gestures, but the rest of his actions are something, when he takes a step forward, puts the arch of his foot against the inside of Krauser's thigh and shoves his sprawled legs further apart, when he steps up close enough that his knees kiss his chest, one foot beside his hip, the other tucked up under the inside of one thigh.
"Good boy," he breathes, threading his fingers roughly into his platinum hair, cradling the curve at the back of his skull. Leon chases the damp on his own face with a shove of the back of his hand and wrist, sniffing back the humidity the jungle seems determined to get into every fucking crease, tries to balm one stinging ache with the promise of another. This act has practically forced Krauser to face with the way gravity is dragging the loosened drop flap of the front of his pants down and with it, droops the rest from his hips, dark treasure trail and thick root of his plumping cock inches from his nose.
To reckon with the sight of his hand delving inside, the thick shape of his cock distending the fabric as he takes it into hand, extracting his uncut girth and gives it an indulgent squeeze. Leon drags the warm, velvety texture of his foreskin back by sliding his engorged length along Krauser's scarred mouth, glaring down at him with parted lips, blown pupils.
"Go ahead," he says at last, "Take it. Get me ready."