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“I’m so sorry,” Leon starts from the very doorstep.
He’s dressed in civilian clothes, light blue jeans, white T-shirt and sneakers making a bright contrast with Krauser’s usual camo pants.
Krauser only frowns in return, it was just a matter of time until his partner - ex-partner - found out. He only hoped to avoid the talk itself. Leon was the last person Krauser would want to see now, looking at him with surprised eyes, as if asking why someone who’s been fucking discharged still wears the usual army clothes.
“You didn’t mention you’re leaving.”
Of course, packed up bag in the middle of the sunlit hotel room is a dead giveaway. After the country he spent a lifetime serving got him dumped, Krauser managed to find someone much more decent to work for. Someone with a key to the unlimited power this stupid idealistic boy chose to fight instead of embracing it.
“Didn’t want a long goodbye.”
Leon brought booze and snacks - nothing too cheap, implying that his paycheck was consistent with his governmental agent position, and the white-hot hate Krauser was sure he managed to fight off starts to burn anew.
He just drinks in silence, looking at the young man chatting about how it still can be fine, he has some connections and maybe there will be some top tier surgeons able to help, and it all will be just fine, and Krauser can only grit his teeth because it won’t. The doctor was pretty blunt about that, there are some wounds that can’t be fixed, not by the legal methods, and Leon, trying to use whatever connections he has to help, is just disgustingly nice. Normal people don’t do this for a one time partner. Normal people go on with their lives, being happy they got out in one piece this time.
“Stop acting like a fucking saint for once.”
Leon blinks in surprise, then grins and raises glass:
“Need to put that position to some use at last, comrade. Did you think I’ll just leave you like that?”
Krauser answers with a thin smile. That’s exactly what he thought, not able to afford the luxury of trusting people and caring about them, unlike the president’s pet in front of him.
He’s supposed to tell Leon to get the fuck out and never show up again, there’s no use in poking at the fresh wound and pretending they’re friends or something, but the hate bubbling inside is choking. He’s not supposed to punch his pretty face , but the moment his fist meets Leon’s cheekbone, for the shortest time bringing that surprised and hurt expression to his face before he starts falling, crumbling down on a cheap carpet, Krauser feels weirdly satisfied at last. Not even trying to catch the body, just watching him fall , gaining a few bruises, hitting his head with a dull thud. Leaving right here and now and in some time be reported dead sounds like a perfect plan, but Leon it still out, and Krauser catches a sudden unexplainable pang of dread understanding he could have broken his neck accidentally. Not his intention.
The body is all limp and pliant as he turns Leon over, and the pulse is still there, beating under his fingers, the fair skin of his neck so thin and soft to touch, awakening the urges he fought for so long.
“Fucking pretty boy.”
It had been much easier to believe Leon was a petty whore, sleeping his way through the ranks, because how the hell else was one supposed to become president’s agent at the age of 24? How else would he have gotten a personal fucking Cessna to fly his precious ass to the rendezvous point in the middle of a goddamn rainforest?
In moments of bitterness he imagined asking Leon directly, trying to guess what kind of face he would make. “How many cocks did you have to swallow, comrade? Or was it licking boots? Offering other services?” Of course, Leon was an extremely skilled operative, especially for his age, but that brilliant career looked absolutely impossible.
Did Krauser want to fuck him himself? Yes, he did. Just some routine stress relief, no strings attached, casual thing, never mentioned aloud but inevitable in those military structures with a crowd of men drunk on adrenaline. That lean body should have looked stunning, spread under him on the ground, taking it fast and rough, showing who’s superior in their team of two.
And then there was that Leon, a fucking crazy saint, trying to save lives already lost, to maintain his own outdated and unsustainable code of knightly honour, heartbroken over each and every dead body, so capable, well trained, unbelievably young, naive and pure , and that purity was enough to make Krauser keep hands to himself. Everyone has to believe in something, and believing in Leon Kennedy was not so bad. This boy would have died covering his back if needed, and what else a soldier even needs for comfort. He had always been sure Leon would be there to prevent the worst, because that was what the boy dedicated his life to.
Well, in Krauser’s case Leon couldn't didn’t.
No one is perfect, there’s no such thing as purity in this corrupt world, and Krauser only feels the desperate need to prove he made the right guess from the very beginning, the boy is just a smart little slut, sleeping his way into DSO, using his body like a good resource it is, offering himself for favours and benefits. Continuing it all as soon as their mission was over. Fake saint, used by the higher ups to deceive people and drag them into suicide B.O.W. fighting missions.
He needs proof, desperately, right now.
Krauser ends up undressing Leon’s unconscious body on a wrinkled hotel bed, hands trembling slightly, not even knowing what he’s trying to find. Hickeys, hand prints, teeth marks, swollen nipples, anything to prove Leon S Kennedy is just someone’s fucktoy. A pretty body to use - no other reason for him not participating in any missions for four years. Someone in charge just loved that ass and mouth too much. Must have given him a warm welcome as soon as he returned. Leon’s civilian clothes are easy to work on, light and loose, and at some point Krauser catches himself wanting the boy to wake up and stop him , yelling and fighting, as he can’t stop on his own anymore.
The clothes are gone, and there’s nothing , except the old whitened scars marring his light skin. Old gunshot wound on his chest, the one by Annette Birkin. Bite marks, on his shoulders - probably the reason he never leaves much skin open, on his legs - so many they’re looking like some exotic pattern above his ankles. Krauser could have joked about the kinky bitches, but now he knows what Raccoon City Incident was in fact, and all those are zombie bites Leon got in order to get those girls out. A fucking saint. Never in doubt, never afraid, no matter what kind of monstrosities they encountered. Never wanting their strength, just choosing the safest way. Minimising casualties. Young, stupid. Pure .
Running through the dark tunnels, wounded and begging Leon to save him in his mind will forever be Krauser’s most humiliating memory. He still wants to think it could have been different. If he was instructed properly, if the boy didn’t keep silent about his experiences and the president’s order until pressed directly, he might have not been robbed of his whole life.
Jack Krauser has nothing left to lose, bags packed, respects paid, and now it’s time to bid a nice farewell to his damn “partner”.
It’s easy to manhandle Leon’s limp body, spreading his legs open, bodily hair so fair it’s almost unnoticeable.
A porcelain doll. A marble statue. Right here in his hands, to do as he pleases with. To leave a pile of stained shards behind.
Krauser spits on his fingers and pushes one thick digit into him slowly, that ass he believed was fucked nice and open by all and any possible commanding officers or even the president himself being deliciously tight. If he tried to fuck Leon like that, probably would have ripped him in two. The thought is suddenly arousing as hell, the president’s golden boy writhing on his cock, crying and begging for mercy.
Leon shifts slightly, head lolling, winces in pain, moaning softly as he comes back to senses, not yet registering he’s on the bed, naked and being fucked .
There’s no way back anymore, and Krauser waits for him to start fighting immediately, ready to get the knife out any moment and make him stay down, needing that struggle desperately, needing the fight to snuff out that tiny sparkle of pity he still feels for the boy somewhere deep inside. Instead, Leon looks like he can’t focus, as if attacked by a strong, deafening headache, light blue eyes half-lidded, locking with Krauser’s, and the man can’t let this go on, that’s not Leon he’s used to, suddenly so utterly helpless and vulnerable. Must have hit his head too hard.
Not allowing himself think, Krauser shoves second finger into him roughly, scissoring the tight insides, wanting, needing it to hurt, that dark satiation filling him up again as Leon’s eyes shot open, wide and scared, as he cries out and jerks, trying to close his legs.
“Krauser… Jack , please, don’t. You don’t need to… Not like this…”
Leon is reaching down, trying to cover his crotch, or to catch his ex-partner’s wrist, to stop the pain instinctively, all movements weak and uncoordinated. Krauser just slaps his hands away - he’s too late, insides clenching around the thick digits deep inside, and Krauser is already rock hard and past the point of no return. Not like this is the last straw breaking the camel’s back.
“Fucking slut,” - he hisses, all aggression, desperation and futility breaking the damb of calm composure, and only crushing that damn lucky pretty boy will let him breathe and live on.
“Wanted me to fuck you, as well ? That’s what all the smiles and promises were about? Consider your wish granted.”
He wrenches fingers out and shoves back again, earning a pained breathless whine.
“It’s not…” Leon blinks, shutting his eyes and shaking his head, trying to crawl away on his elbows, any movement visibly making him feel worse. He swallows hard, as if fighting nausea. “You can’t just!.. Get off me!”
Drunk on that feeling of having nothing to lose, Krauser reaches for his neck and presses him down, injured left hand still strong enough for that, feeling the panicked heartbeat on the tips on his fingers, tightening the grip slowly, almost laughing at Leon’s weak attempts to push at his chest, to grab his wrist and get the hand off his throat.
“Not how you imagined it? Want me to stop, comrade? Try to ask nicely.”
Leon is choking already, mouth opening soundlessly in attempt to get in some air, and Krauser keeps fucking him with his fingers, waiting for that moment he starts suffocating , body shaking and eyes rolling back, lets him get a small amount of air, just to keep him conscious - and presses again. The kid’s going to bruise, all around his throat, and the idea of leaving a mark on him turns the man on even more.
“Aren’t you tired of being so good all the time? Helping people? Trusting people? Consider that my parting gift: you can’t trust anyone. I bet half the folk being nice to you just want that tight little ass.”
Leon seizes under him, shaking his head, hips jerking up instinctively, nails digging into his wrist, and Krauser almost laughs as his pale face twists in shame and fear of his body reacting to the stimulation so obviously.
“‘Not like that’, eh? Come on, tell me, like what .”
Krauser curls his fingers inside him, hitting the prostate again, making Leon writhe, feeling his legs tremble, pressing at his sides in a weak attempt to get away, and lets go of his throat.
“You think someone can love you? Until you get rid of that halo, they will only want you to fall , to defile you and have you dirty as they are. The world will break you, kid. And I will help it.”
Leon coughs violently, trained body reacting before the mind does, raising himself on the elbows, legs kicking, not starting the fight but trying to get away, get the safe distance back, get those fingers out. He’s still too close, too slow, head all messed up, and Krauser catches his ankles, mess of scars rough and calloused under his fingers, pulls him back roughly, with enough force to almost dislocate the joints.
“Get the fuck off me!”
Backhand blow throws him back on the bed, and unsheathing the knife is something Krauser does as fast and naturally after all these years as one breathes or blinks. Leon could have gotten away, but he is still not fast enough, dazed, blood trickling from his nose, loses precious moments fighting the dizziness - and goes frozen when the knife is pressed to his throat.
“You dare fucking move a finger, and I’m cutting your throat.”
Leon goes completely still and rigid under him, taking the threat seriously - he knows the man well enough.
“Krauser, don’t. You’re drunk. Stop this. I don’t want.”
“Too bad I do.”
Leon bites his lip, hard, when the fingers are pressed into him, whole body jerking when his ex-partner finds that spot again, eyes going wide in shock when a thin trickle of blood starts flowing under the knife and down his throat. He tries to relax and just breathe, every movement of fingers stroking and stretching his insides, curling up, thrusting deep and hard, making him shiver and choke down the sounds his body makes. His neck turns into a mess of shallow cuts in no time, but Krauser keeps the knife in place, unable to avert gaze from his face. Leon is so obviously enjoying this, hard curve of his cock almost touching his stomach as he buckles hips helplessly, either trying to get away or push his ass down on the fingers, taking them deeper, hands digging into the bedsheets desperately, eyes rolled back and tears trickling down his temples. Low, needy moans are leaving his parted lips as he loses control completely, probably hating himself so much, unless Krauser is right and that’s exactly what he’s used for to. The man tries to imagine how it could have been if Leon wanted this. Would he get off to the knife at his throat? To the total loss of control? With his background, he seems like someone who can easily be dragged into a game like this. Too bad it’s too late to even try.
“Go on, slut, come for me, don’t even need to be touched, do you?”
Leon comes with a short wounded scream, breathing hard as his body keeps spasming, cock still painfully hard, come dripping onto his stomach, insides clenching, trying to get the fingers out as the thrusts are starting to hurt, and Krauser can’t help thinking how perfectly this body will be taking his cock, overstretched muscles seizing, tight heat sucking him in.
Leon is too shocked to fight, body still twitching slightly with the strength of orgasm forced out of him, and Krauser lets go of him for now as his own pants are painfully tight already. If Leon thinks it’s over this fast, he’s oh so very wrong.
“Like what, you ask? Like anything except you fucking raping me in some hotel room.”
His voice is raspy and quiet, ringing with bitterness, and the thought of it all possibly being different hurts unexpectedly. Leon looks at him, eyes dilated, tears running down his face slowly. Betrayed. How dares he.
Krauser can’t afford believing him, needs to burn that last bridge, has already chosen his way. He breaks the eye contact, and without those blue eyes drilling into his very soul it’s much easier to remember the hate.
Golden boy. President’s lucky pet. Glorified special agent.
“Jack, stop this madness. You still can…”
That whispering pushes him over the edge. He can’t, and the kid will never understand. A punch in the face shuts Leon up for good, throwing his head to the side. Krauser raises his fist and hits him again, and again, wanting him to shut up, to stop pretending, stop tempting him with salvation he already fell too low for.
Leon fights back desperately, sense of self-preservation forgotten, pushing him away, trying to get out of the deadlock, his thin wiry body turning into a mess of sharp knees and elbows, and it would have been easier to just stab him, but Krauser still wants that body, all the fighting and quiet pained grunts only turning him on. Leon can’t win this, in a losing position from the very beginning, nothing to protect his naked body with, and Krauser just keeps beating him up, seeing red, can’t get enough of that sickly dull sound of knuckles meeting flesh in silence - why is he silent - hearing something crunch, and then there’s that sound he wanted and was afraid to hear, a low pained wail, tempting him to break some more bones, make him scream for real. He can’t. Won’t let someone interrupt.
It would have happened earlier or later, all these stupid saviours in white robes are doomed to get dragged down and desecrated, that’s just how this world works. That’s what people enjoy doing.
Leon gives up at some point, only trying to cover his head with his hand, eventually letting the limb drop down, no strength left in his damaged body.
He looks painfully human now, body covered with blood and blackening bruises, left hand broken, all the sacred glow gone. He’s taking shallow breaths, ribs probably cracked, pain twisting his bloodied face every time - still so fucking pretty, still somehow pure, eyes so full of light it hurts to look into them, making Krauser want to fuck him, break him, drown him in the dirt and make him feel the hate at last, show him how it feels to be used, leave an empty shell behind. Making Krauser want to get up and leave him alone before it’s too late.
This is the last bridge he needs to burn. Will be too tempted to return to this and ask for forgiveness one day. And then try to break him again.
Leon starts drifting off slowly, probably too injured to stay conscious, and Krauser slaps him lightly, with no effect.
“Stay with me, bitch. I’m not fucking your dead body.”
Leon presses his teeth together, shaking his head weakly, but Krauser manages to push some healing herb into his mouth - just enough to keep him stable - despite how hard he tries to bite on the fingers and spit it out. Keeps hand pressed over his nose and mouth until Leon’s throat jerks in a reflective gulp.
“Don’t need… anything… from you. Let go of me...”
He sobs quietly when Krauser forces his legs open, probably regretting he wasn’t allowed to faint, being so completely and utterly trapped must be hurting him as much as the physical pain, a fighter, a survivor, not able to fight and save himself just because he was too good and trusting.
“Stupid.”
Krauser doesn’t undress, only opens his fly, rough fabric and iron zipper scratching Leon’s inner thighs, the only place on his body left unstained with blood and bruises - so far.
“I’m going to be sick,” Leon breathes out emotionlessly, looking somewhere past the man on top of him. “Stop.”
Krauser stops only to grab the knife again.
“Do I look like I care, comrade?” he mocks, caressing Leon’s neck with the blade, sharp steel scratching the skin with quiet shuffling noise. “Sick or not, don’t move, or I’ll cut your fucking throat. Try to breathe or something.”
He could have tortured Leon some more, every touch making his face twist, tears welling up in his eyes again as Krauser aligns himself, but he’d already waited for too long. Leon loses his breath, still struggling not to scream in pain as he pushes in slowly, letting the kid feel the sheer size, - too hot, too tight, should have used three fingers to stretch him properly, he will tear up and bleed for sure… and that’s exactly what Krauser wants him to do.
“Come on, make some nice sounds for me, at last.”
There’s raw fear in Leon’s eyes, instinctive, inhuman, that primal fear of a creature getting mutilated beyond repair, and Krauser pounds into him to the hilt, wanting more of this, breathing in all the fear and pain, losing head from the too familiar metallic smell of blood - and barely has time to get the knife away as Leon arches under him. Аll that broken body tight as a string, mouth falling open and eyes rolling back, hand shooting up to push at Krauser’s chest, claw and grip his shirt helplessly, and then there’s the sound, a quiet, broken scream, so full of pain and despair and betrayal it makes the man shiver. There was time he would have been disgusted by the mere thought of doing something like that. Long before he met Leon Kennedy, that fucking creature of light, begging to be desecrated back into the world of living. What a perfect first step to the dark side.
“Please… you’re hurting me…”
“Yes,” Krauser agrees, “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Guided by a sudden urge, he bends down, gripping Leon’s neck, already slick with blood, tangling fingers into his hair, holding him down, holding him still, and crushes their lips together, as Leon screams into his mouth. Barely a kiss, bruising, biting, turning Leon’s lips into a shredded bloody mess, taste of blood driving him insane, Leon’s whole body seizing and trembling under his crushing weight, being fucked so deep and hard, hurt in so many ways and struggling for breath, and the feeling of owning this pretty thing so completely and utterly is intoxicating, better than a battle won, better than a clean kill, and Krauser needs all his willpower to let go of Leon before he starts dying for real. The thought of fucking him through his last breaths is terrifyingly tempting.
The boy is pale, as if already dead, if not for the sharp breaths and short exhausted cries, broken hand shifted with each thrust, tears leaking even through tightly shut eyes, and Krauser slaps him, tightening the grip on his hair:
“Look at me when I’m doing this to you!”
Because he needs those eyes, needs to see all the illusions broken and light going out. Wants to ask him how it feels, to be taken like that, fucked like some human prize, but he’s breathless, hips moving erratically, pace fast, almost bruising.
Leon opens his eyes slowly, as if hoping it will cease the pain, long lashes fluttering helplessly, and Krauser looks into his beaten, bloody, fucking beautiful face, trying to see if the kid even understands - and oh yes, he does. Leon stares up at him, unblinking, parted lips trembling slightly, all the unbearable pain and humiliation reflected on his face, eyes scared, haunted, betrayed, yet still impossibly alive.
He looks so perfect in his suffering, and Krauser reaches down, wanting to add more, surprised to find his cock already half-hard.
“Oh god, are you fucking enjoying this? Kid, you’re sick.”
He touches Leon’s chest with the tip of the blade, drawing the knife down, barely touching the skin, still fucking into his helpless body, fingers tightening around his length, and Leon cries out, arching to meet the blade, making it cut the skin, hoping the pain will numb out the touches.
“Like it when it hurts?”
Krauser reaches for his neck again, holding the writhing body down, keeps pumping his cock, motions slow and rough, laughing at how Leon tries to push into his hand, body too fucked up to enjoy anything for real, probably just wanting it to be over, hoping that giving his ex-partner what he wants will get that dick out of his torn ass and knife away from his beaten body.
At some point Krauser just leaves his hand in place, watching Leon’s hips buckle pathetically to end it at last, tired and hurt beyond humiliation, insides clenching as he comes for the second time with a broken moan, pushing Krauser over the edge as well. He rocks into Leon softly, fucking through his own orgasm, and, following some inexplicable impulse, reaches with a slightly trembling hand to touch his face gently - dark bruises painfully distinct under light skin - despite how any caress at this point is more like cruel mockery.
Leon looks like he wouldn’t regret dying at this point, temples wet with tears, eyes glazed over, face blank and tired and dead. Krauser pulls out, with some kind of dull satisfaction noticing blood on the white sheets under him. Nothing lethal, but should have hurt like hell. Just what he deserves.
Leon doesn’t make a single sound, as if learning to breathe anew, as Krauser gets last of his things packed. It’s all surreal, the heavy smell of blood and sweat and sex hanging in the air, an abused body laid out on the bloody bedsheets in the middle of a cheap hotel room, and he stops to take one last look before leaving.
Bright sunshine turns Leon’s messy blonde hair into a golden halo, washes over his whole body gently, making the fresh blood and thick drops of come on his stomach glisten. So beautiful and somehow still unstained, eyes closed, as if he’s just sleeping peacefully, waiting for all the dirt to fade from that marble skin.
Krauser stands in the doorway, mesmerised by the sight. For a shortest second considers taking this with him, even though he knows that’s insane and impossible. He'd appreciate having a photo, even though the image is burned into his retina forever.
Before Krauser can draw a final line, invent something degrading to throw at him before shutting the door close, Leon’s swollen lips move slightly. He’s not trying to move anymore, doesn’t even open his eyes, but the quiet raspy voice is frighteningly distinct.
“I’m sorry I failed you, Jack.”
Krauser grits his teeth, fighting the sudden urge to fucking kill him, snap that thin bruised throat, stab a knife into his chest, again and again, to fuck him and hurt him and break him until he stops breathing, until that light in him finally dies out.
Instead of defiling Leon he created a fucking martyr.
Instead of breaking Leon he broke something inside himself.
For a brief moment he believes it all can be undone. The kid is still alive and maybe…
Pain shooting through his overused arm reminds Krauser about his place in this world from now on. He takes a deep breath and shuffles through his backpack. Throws a first aid spray on the bed.
“Get yourself patched up and deal with that fucking mess. I’m not paying for the bedsheets you got stained.”
He shuts the door, never looking back, as the last bridge burns to the ground soundlessly.