Krauser's finger breaches him, a quiet inhale hissing between Leon's teeth, but the moment it curls, when it grinds that deliberate circle against the shape of his prostate, the half-lidded, dark look he's been angling down at Krauser changes. His lashes flutter over the whites of eyes rolling back at the heat lightning ripple of pleasure, mouth slackening soundlessly. Leon's knees nearly buckle, his blunted nails bite into Krauser's broad shoulders and back when he doubles over, a deep, rumbling groan in his throat.
Jesus fuck. Krauser always knew just where and how to touch him, a body intimately tuned by those same blood-stained hands. Knows just how much he can take and when, that the pleasure he offers is always sweetest when it's battered and stained a little by a sizzle of pain, the burn of humiliation, or that most devastating and rarest of weapons in Krauser's fucking arsenal. He didn't hesitate to lay Leon out with that one-two punch of two thick fingers deliciously stretching him open and that thoughtless praise.
He has no defense against it, no way to stuff down the helpless whine haunting the tail end of his rumbled groan, no way to stop the telling nod of his soaked cock as it weeps a hot drop of pre against Krauser's cheek or the tremble in his thighs.
"Said get me ready," he pants shakily, following a huff that might have been the stunned puff of a laugh, "Not make me come."
That's when he decides to slide his foot up against the jut of Krauser's flushed erection, nudging it, putting all of his own weight against one leg and Krauser's broad shoulders when he aims to sandwich the man's fat cock between his own meaty thigh and the arch of his bare foot. The air is so humid, it's still slick with Leon's spit — unless, Leon thinks with a flash of hot, horny revelation, the man's so turned on he's been drooling pre while drooling spit all over his cock. There's no friction, only pressure, the threat of more, and Leon's hips rocking back to fuck himself on those two thick digits, the burn wearing thin his voice.
no subject
Jesus fuck. Krauser always knew just where and how to touch him, a body intimately tuned by those same blood-stained hands. Knows just how much he can take and when, that the pleasure he offers is always sweetest when it's battered and stained a little by a sizzle of pain, the burn of humiliation, or that most devastating and rarest of weapons in Krauser's fucking arsenal. He didn't hesitate to lay Leon out with that one-two punch of two thick fingers deliciously stretching him open and that thoughtless praise.
He has no defense against it, no way to stuff down the helpless whine haunting the tail end of his rumbled groan, no way to stop the telling nod of his soaked cock as it weeps a hot drop of pre against Krauser's cheek or the tremble in his thighs.
"Said get me ready," he pants shakily, following a huff that might have been the stunned puff of a laugh, "Not make me come."
That's when he decides to slide his foot up against the jut of Krauser's flushed erection, nudging it, putting all of his own weight against one leg and Krauser's broad shoulders when he aims to sandwich the man's fat cock between his own meaty thigh and the arch of his bare foot. The air is so humid, it's still slick with Leon's spit — unless, Leon thinks with a flash of hot, horny revelation, the man's so turned on he's been drooling pre while drooling spit all over his cock. There's no friction, only pressure, the threat of more, and Leon's hips rocking back to fuck himself on those two thick digits, the burn wearing thin his voice.
"Hurry it up, big guy."