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Painplay, Cigarettes, Cigarette Burns, Dom/Sub, Dominant Leon S. Kennedy, Submissive Jack Krauser, Praise Kink, Cunilingus, Trans Leon S. Kennedy, Trans Jack Krauser
Summary:
! (very late) for Metaltango Week @kreonweek Day 6- Cigarette Burns !
Leon doesn't like that Krauser smokes, in an attempt to get him to quit he turns the pleasure of nicotine into the pain of burning flesh. It seems to only have the opposite effect.Â
Word Count: 2.8k
WARNINGS: Canon Divergence, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Dubious Consent, Anal Sex, Urination, Makeup Sex, Top Jack Krauser, Bottom Leon S. Kennedy, Game: Resident Evil 4 Remake (2023)
In a world without gods, they anointed each other with pain and desireâuntil nothing was left but faith.
âYou shouldâve stayed in the goddamn car.â
Krauserâs voice was low, deadly quiet. The kind of silence that feels like a trigger being held down, breathless, waiting to break. His knuckles were still locked tight around the rifle grip. He hadnât said a word since the mission endedânot oneâuntil now. Until they stepped out of the extraction vehicle and into the temporary safety of the safehouse.Â
Leon was peeling off his gear. His breathing was uneven, like his body hadnât caught up to the fact that heâd survived. Those oceanic gem-like eyes, haloed by bloodstreaks, smeared and not his own, made Krauser see something else. A vision, fleeting yet searing: the Stars and Stripes, folded into thirds atop a coffinâwhite, blue, and red.
âI got the target out, didnât I?â Leon muttered.
âYou almost got your fucking head blown off.â Krauser tossed the rifle into a crate, voice rising. âYou ran straight into an open hallway with one goddamn handgun and no coverââ
âIâm fine.â Leon snapped, whipping around, jaw tight. He threw his arms halfway out, more frustration than proof. âNot a scratch on me.â
Krauser stepped closer. âYou think that makes it okay?â
Leonâs jaw tightened. damp strands of hair clinging to his cheeks. His facial muscles held steady, but between his brows, there it was: a fuse, burning down to its last breath.
âIâm not your goddamn rookie anymore, Krauser,â he said. âYou donât get to bark orders at me like I need a drill sergeant.âÂ
Krauser froze. Then he laughed. But the crack that opened on that hardened face wasnât amusement, it was just another bitter wound.Â
âNo. Youâre not my rookie. Youâre just a goddamn suicide mission waiting to happen.âÂ
Leon flinched, just for a split second. His lips pressed into a hard, unforgiving line, and he gave nothing back.Â
âYou donât get to talk to me like you care.â Leonâs tone was too flat, deliberately so, but his eyes held onto something cautious, like an anchor. He looked caught between flood and retreat, a tension that didnât quite settle. âIâve been doing it myself just fine.âÂ
âYeah, genius. You did your job. Great. But donât mistake that for being untouchable.â Krauserâs voice was loud and steady, âYou put yourself in the open and you got lucky. Thatâs it.â
Leon glared at him, like if he said one more word, heâd swing a punch at him.
âI donât need another corpse on my hands, Leon. Especially not yoursââÂ
âIf you came back just to put on a show with that damn need to controlââ Leon cut him off. He stepped back, turning slightly, shoulders locked tight, as if something brushed past him, something remembered, something he refused to feel.Â
He let out a cold scoff, but the sound faltered as it hit the air.Â
ââThen do us both a favor and get the hell out.âÂ
That did it.
Krauser looked at him like he wanted to say something, a thousand things, maybe. But he didnât.
He just shook his head once. And walked away.
The door closed with a sound barely there, but to Leon, it was like a feather dropping into his ear, detonating the echo of an entire trench.
-
The door wasnât locked.
Leon hadnât seen him in six days, but when the handle turned, quiet, deliberate, he didnât move.
Jack stepped inside like a shadowâbigger than memory, soaked in rain and silence. He looked at Leon on the bed, shirt half undone, gun beside the pillow.
Neither of them said a word.
Jack paced slowly across the room, rainwater dripping from his coat with every step. When he reached the bed, he didnât ask for permission. He simply reached out, his fingertips brushing along Leonâs jaw down to his throat before tightening, as if afraid that letting go would mean losing everything. His rough thumb pressed against Leonâs chin, tilting that stubborn face upward, not with tenderness, but as if to make sure he was still real.
Their eyes met.
âYou left me,â Leon said, his voice hoarse and catching in his throat, like too many emotions had built up in his gut and were now breaking loose from somewhere deep inside. But it wasnât anger. It was something sharper.
âYou told me to.âÂ
Leonâs breath faltered. His eyes shut tight, jaw locking, like he needed to grind the words to pulp before they could escape his throat.
âYou know I never meant it.â
Jack exhaled, like the weight of every stupid thing theyâd ever done was pressing on his chest.Â
And then he kissed him. Jack pushed him down hard, like he was trying to make up for the distance between them with the sheer thickness of his flesh. Leonâs breath hitched, not from pain, but from the way it split him open in places even he didnât know were still bleeding. He blinked, but nothing came into focus. Jackâs kiss had weight, too real, too present. It dragged him out of whatever dream-state heâd been clinging to, and dropped him somewhere raw.
Somewhere he could shed his armor.
He didnât move, didnât think. Just felt everything open.Â
Then, without warning, no tenderness, only the overflow of need. Their lips crashed together again, hot, wet, and inexplicably furious. Teeth scraped, tongues sought. Leon shoved his loverâs neatly slicked-back hair into disarray, cupping his head and kissing him, mouth, nose, brow ridge, and finally the scar beneath his left eye, fingers threaded deep through the loosened strands, tangling in the heat of it.
Jack pushed him down on the bed from behind, tearing off the few remaining pieces of clothing still clinging to his body. Leon bit down on the fingers that slipped into his mouth, and once they were barely wet, they went straight for his cock, stroking him roughly, briefly, before pressing against his closed entrance. Leon lost patience. He cursed, then spread his knees with finality, reaching back with one hand to pull open a cheek. Jack clearly had no interest in foreplay either, he drove into him hard, like he meant to pin him into the mattress.
Leon gasped, back arching, arms gripping the sheets. He was face-down, one cheek pressed into the pillow, mouth half-open, breath caught mid-inhale. Jackâs hand was on his lower back, holding him thereâsteady, brutal, unrelenting. The familiar stretch was merciless. His legs trembled under the weight of it, but he didnât close them.
Jack didnât ask. Didnât slow. He fucked him like a heretic punishing himself for betraying his faith, like he was exorcising ghosts from Leonâs body. The dry, unprepped tightness gripped him hard enough to hurt, forcing him to bend down, pull out slightly, then spit on it and slam back in with reckless force, as if pain could overwrite the nauseating emptiness. Or maybe, he just needed to feel Leon breaking beneath him, as if pain could prove he was still allowed to want him.
And Leon took it all.
Tears streamed down his face silently. His lips trembled, eyes glossy with something too full to name. But he never said stop. Not once.
When it was overâor maybe just pausedâJack didnât pull out.
He stayed buried deep, forehead resting against Leonâs spine, both of them shivering in the quiet like theyâd just survived something unspeakable.
Leon was in a stupor. He stared ahead, gaze unfocused like he was looking straight through reality and seeing nothing at all. He no longer knew if it was day or night, or when time had stopped moving.
Only that he was still full of Jack. And that it hurt less than being empty.
ââ
-
Theyâd already fucked. Hard. Deep. Jack had made him come once, twiceâmore than Leon could count. His cock was soft now, drained, but his body was still twitching , still shaking, still open , still wanting.
He was sprawled across the bed, breath fractured, eyes misted like fog. His legs, spread open for far too long, wouldnât stop trembling. His hole was wet, loosened, still fluttering, seemed to pulse along the shape of the man whoâd filled him. The tender skin, swollen and flushed with lust, had been so thoroughly used that even the faintest breath across it might sting. Slick leaked out slowly, seeping through every fold like consecrated oil spilled on cathedral steps. It marked him where no one else could see, part blessing, part possession.
Jack was kneeling between his legs, still hard, panting, sweat dripping from his jaw.
Heâd come twice. Once deep inside Leonâgrinding in like he was trying to carve devotion into him, cock pulsing as he filled him full. And once across his belly, smearing warm slick over flushed skin, watching it drip down Leonâs thighs as if reading scripture from a trembling body. It wasnât just release. It was reverence, spilled.
And now there was cum everywhere.
It clung to Leonâs stomach in pearlescent streaks. It leaked from his hole, thick, warm, slow. Jack could see it. Watched it like a believer desperate to see his prayers answered in flesh.
He looked at Leon like a relicâone whose pilgrimage had not yet been granted an end.
âCanât even think straight, can you?â Jack murmured, brushing his fingers over the slick mess between Leonâs legs. âYouâre so fucked out, you canât even close your legs.â
Leon whimpered.
âYou want more, donât you? Even now?â
Leon didnât answer. He couldnât. He just moaned and frowned, and opened his legs wider.
Jack leaned down, kissed the inside of his thigh reverently, savoring the scent, salt and sweat and something faintly sweet, the smell of his own cum, raw and unmistakably his. He breathed it in like it was something he needed to remember. Then he looked up, voice low, rough with restraint.
âYouâve taken everything Iâve given you so far.â he rasped against his ear, âBut you keep asking for more, sweetheart.â
Leon glared at him through half-lidded eyes, cheeks flushed, lips trembling. His hand shot forward, reaching for Jackâs cock, still hard, still slick, still hot.
Jack smacked his hand away with a sharp snap of fingers against skin. Leon growled, frustrated, breath catching on a sob of want.
Jack laughed. A low, delighted, smug sound. Not mockingâfond. Like watching a starving thing crawl into his arms.
âSo greedy,â he murmured, eyes dark with affection and something far more dangerous. âYou want it that bad?â
He didnât wait for an answer. Just grabbed Leonâs hips and pushed in, slow, steady, like pressing his claim into wet clay.
Leon gasped, his back arching, head thrown back as Jackâs thick length drove into him once more, merciless and perfect. His already-ruined body took it all, like it had been waiting for this moment all along, slick, yielding, and utterly unguarded.
âAhhâJackângh, itâs tooââ
âShhâŚYouâll take it.â
Jack leaned over him again, hips rolling slow, deep, like he was fucking Leon through the mattress. Their breath mixed, sweat falling between them in humid drops.
âYou donât even know what youâre asking for, do you?â
Leonâs voice came out small, breathless, âI want⌠all of you.â
Jack paused for a beat, then moved like a predator, slow and deliberate, until he was once again looming over him. Sweat, breath, and burning heat pressed between them as their eyes locked.
âAll of me?â He muttered, âThen tell me what you mean.â
Leon licked his lips. His voice brokeâ
âI want everything, Jack. I want you to piss on me.â
Jack froze.
Not because he didnât hear it. But because he felt it. Not in disgust. Not in confusion. But in the way a man goes still when he realizes the thing heâs always feared wanting⌠is being offered to him without shame.
âI want it, Jack.â
Leonâs voice was quiet, wrecked, but there was no hesitation. Only surrender. Only fire. Only the pure, trembling bravery of someone who had finally stopped hiding, even from himself.
Jack looked down at him, breath unsteady, his whole body already aching with everything Leon had let him take. Still flushed, still pulsing. Still so goddamn his.
âSay it again,â Jack whispered, voice low, gravel-rough with disbelief, with awe, âSay it like you know what you're asking me for.â
Leonâs cheeks were burning, lips parted, pupils blown wide. His hands were gripping Jackâs arms like heâd drown without him. He looked up, vulnerable and bold all at once.
âI want you to piss on me.â
âI want it. From you. Only you.â
Jack exhaled a curse under his breath, forehead falling to Leonâs as if the gravity of that permission shattered something in him.
âYou want my filth, Leon?â he growled, âYou want all of meââ
âso much that even this⌠this part of me, youâll take?
âYes.â Leon nodded, barely able to breathe. âI want it because it's you.â
Jack slowly pulled out gently, reverently. He knelt up, looming over Leon, hand trembling as he slid back, positioning himself above himânot in dominance, but in offering.
His cock was still half-hard, flushed, leaking. He held it in one hand, other braced beside Leonâs body, his chest heaving.
âLook at me,â Jack said, âYou want it?â
Leon whispered, âYes, please.â
Jack shut his eyes, drew a breath deep into his lungsâand let go.
The stream hit Leonâs stomach first. Warm. Sudden. Humiliating. Perfect. It struck just beneath his ribs, a scalding ribbon of heat that made his breath stutter, his spine twitch. He didnât flinch, didnât look away.
Then it rose. Jack shifted, adjusting his aim like it mattered, like this, too, was part of the ritual. The next arc caught Leonâs chin, then his mouth. He gasped. Some of it slipped between his lips, onto his tongue, sharp and bitter and his. He didnât spit it out. Just swallowed, trembling, throat working like he was taking a vow.
It spilled over his cheekbones, his lashes, the bridge of his nose. It soaked into his hair at the hairline, dripping down the side of his neck. Golden trails trickled slowly along the slope of his throat, pooling briefly in the dip of his collarbone, then following the line down, to his chest.
It traced the curve of each pectoral, circling his nipples, droplets catching and clinging to the hardened peak before sliding off again, a flicker of sensation so intimate he whimpered.
From there, it traveled down his abs, across the light dusting of hair, returning to the point of originâhis stomachâbefore cascading off his sides onto the sheets beneath.
Jackâs face twistedânot in shame, but in something closer to ecstasy.
âFuckâŚâ he breathed, watching it mark Leon, stain his skin, claim him more thoroughly than any thrust ever had.
âYou're mine now.â
âYou were always mine.â
Leon was trembling beneath him, flushed, soaked, wrecked. He reached up, fingertips dragging through the heat on his skin, smearing it over his heart like a mark of devotion.
All yours. I'm all yours. The words didnât make it to his lips, but they echoed in every breath, in every pore, every inch of skin slick with surrender. Not just now. Not just here. Heâd been Jackâs since the first order barked in training, since the first mission that nearly killed them both. He just hadnât known that surrender could feel like salvation.
âDonât stop,â Leon whispered, âPlease donât stop.â
The words barely left Leonâs mouth, soft, wrecked, breathless, but they landed in Jackâs body like a goddamn detonation.
Stop what?
Fucking you? Breathing you in? Wanting you like a man whoâs never been wanted back?
Or was itâ
Donât stop coming back. Donât stop touching me like Iâm still real. Donât stop proving Iâm not just something to be used and thrown away.
Jackâs rhythm faltered for a breathâjust oneâbut his whole spine lit up with it. That plea wasnât just about friction. It was about faith. It was about Leon handing him the last thing he had left: permission. And Jack⌠he almost said something back.
Not those three words. He wasnât built for that. Not yet.
But something close. Something like: âI wonât.â
So he didnât stop. Not until everything inside him was emptiedânot just piss, but love, hunger, need.
And when it was over, he collapsed into Leonâs open, solid arms, panting, undone, and soft.
The bed was soaked. The smell thick in the air. The sound of it, dripping, spreading, was obscene.Â
Leon was lying in a pool of it now. In Jack.
The mattress held them both. The world smelled like want.
They kissed each other as if theyâd never kissed before.Â
As if Leon had become the altar, and everything Jack could be had just been absolved.
ââKrauser and Kennedyâ
The names hung in the air like a raised guillotine, ready for the release. Not a gasp, not a cough could be heard; the gathering was silent as the grave, although some participants fought a mighty battle with their facial muscles as they waited for a reaction from either party. It wasnât a long time coming.â
-.-.-
Itâs time for the annual charity gala on the base. Leon doesnât know whether to be happy about the chance to dance with Jack Krauser or dread it; the man himself is less than thrilled
METALTANGO WEEK 2025 @kreonweek
DAY 6: GUN PLAY
Leon S. Kennedy x Jack Krauser đđŚ
â ď¸WARNING: Resident Evil 4 Remake (2023), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Anal Sex, The world bows to the Queen
Something was off about that sound.Â
Leon narrowed his eyes slightly. Heâd heard shotguns being cocked more times than he could countâbut this time, the familiar âclackâ lacked something. The heavy thud of a shell sliding into the chamber was missing.
âYou didnât even load it,â he muttered, pressing a hand against Krauserâs solid chest. His other hand darted down, gripping the bulge between the older mercenaryâs legs.
Krauser let out a short, muffled gruntâand he felt himself grow even harder.
Leon lifted his waist, the shotgunâs muzzle still buried in his arse. He hooked a leg upward, grinding against Krauserâs too-close hips. Tilting his head back into the manâs searing breath, he closed his eyes and kissed that scarred, rough mouth.
âBet that big thing of yours feels even better inside,â Leon whispered lowly, âCome on, big boy.â
âYou think youâre in charge now?â Krauser growled against his ear.
Leon let out a strained breath but didnât answer. His lips still curled into a faint smile as he dipped his head to lap at Krauserâs earlobe. Inside him, the Plaga queen stirred, thrumming with anticipation at the proximity of the male. It drove Leonâs mind and body toward one primal directive:
Dance.
Celebration.
Reproduction.
He kissed Krauser again, slow and deep, heat blooming outward from his core.
Tilting his hips slightly, he shifted the shotgun muzzle deeper into his arse, moaning as the cold steel grazed something tender inside. Then he grabbed Krauserâs wrist, guided it, and began to move, shallow thrusts, letting the hard metal stretch his flesh, stroke his nerves, light him up.
He trembled against Krauserâs mouth, whimpering, voice hoarse and low.
âI want you,â he breathed. âI want you inside. Use me. Fuck me. I know you want to.â
The shotgun slipped free with a wet sound, and Leon hissed at the emptiness, impatient, aching. But the absence didnât last. Something hotter, thicker, and far more alive replaced it: the veined length of the mercenaryâs cock, heavy with want.
It pushed in slowly, thickly, and Leon gasped, threw his head back, eyes shut tight, arms winding around that scarred neck, legs locking tight to draw him deeper.
His bare thighs brushed Krauserâs waist, knees squeezing. Krauser glanced down, and despite the blackened streaks now spiderwebbing his skin, Leonâs eyes remained crystalline blue.
For a fleeting moment, he saw the rookieâthe stubborn, bashful recruit who used to glare at him during drillsâstill there, still his.
Leonâs hands roamed his ruined body, fingers reverent. At last, he took Krauserâs left hand and pressed it to his chest, just over his heart.
âIâm here,â he whispered. âIâm here, Jack.â
Krauser gave a guttural roar and began to ride him in earnest.
He thrust into him like he meant to carve himself into memory. Again and again, his grip bruising, his breath ragged. Their bodies slammed together with a rhythm that felt less like sex and more like a surrender to the ancient rites written into blood and bone.
But Leon⌠didnât break.
Even as the Plaga queen surged in him, rippling heat down his spine, stoking hunger and drive, his will remained sharp as a blade. He kissed Krauser, deep and anchoring, and something shifted.
Not submission.Â
Dominance.
Leon arched his back and tightened, not to cling, but to command. The parasite responded to Leonâs command by syncing its rhythms to his, amplifying resolve instead of replacing it. Heat coiled around Krauser, not just from inside Leonâs body but from something moreâan invisible net of pheromone, scent, aura, desireâdrawing the infected male into a state of deep, primal obedience.
Krauser moaned. Not in pain, not in hungerâIn relief.
He buried his face in Leonâs neck, hips snapping into a wilder rhythm, chasing warmth, chasing him . Every nerve in his corrupted body was pulled toward the calm at the center of Leonâs flame.
They fucked until they shook, until they couldnât tell where the parasite ended and their own breath began. The darkness faded into fevered light. And when Krauser finally collapsed against him, soaked and spent, Leon was still there, still holding him, stroking his hair, whispering nothing but his name.
Something changed.
The black veins on Leonâs skin began to recede, like tide pulling away from the shore. The Plaga was still inside him, but no longer in control. His mind was clear, sharp, and bright.Â
He was Leon S. Kennedy again.Â
He rose on shaking legs, took a breath, and looked down at the man curled against him.
âI should go,â he said softly, voice steadier than it should have been. âAshleyâs still waiting for meâŚâ
His thighs were slick, his entrance still stretched and glistening with their aftermath. But his eyesâhis eyes were calm. And maybe just a little shy.
He turned, half-dressed, pausing at the shattered doorway. Then glanced back, like he needed the answer.
âYou coming?â
Krauser pushed up from the floor, face shadowed but gaze open. He crossed the distance in two strides and pulled Leon into his arms again, holding him like the world hadnât just fallen apart and rebuilt itself inside them.
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