Misha was in his space so fast not even McClane saw him coming, wounded hands cradling Riley’s face, mouth slanted against Riley’s before McClane thought to hide it, shutting him up mid-word. He crowded in close

enough that the armor should’ve cut him to shreds, but the razor-sharp edges didn’t touch him, wouldn’t even scratch him, and it took a change of angle and a slip of tongue wetting his painfully dry mouth to make Riley realize it wasn’t McClane holding back but Riley. He wanted to twist away, shake Misha off, strike him again, but the taste of Misha’s blood made him flinch and reach out against better judgment to pull Misha in where he was safe.

Misha came instantly, willingly, wrapped his arms around Riley and held on like the world was ending. Kept kissing Riley until he stopped fighting it and opened up, pushed McClane down under his skin again so he was pressed bare and vulnerable against Misha, because apparently he hadn’t learned a goddamn thing.

THIRTY-SIX

MCCLANE was everywhere, monitored Riley’s wildly beating heart, kept his fingers from shaking, and took meticulous note of exactly where Misha’s hands were at any given time. When Riley’s eyes slid shut and he returned the kiss almost against his will, helpless in the face of Misha’s hunger and his own, McClane cradled him every bit as gently as Misha, shielded him inside and out. He was almost vibrating with protectiveness.

If he’s lying again, I’ll kill him, McClane promised fiercely, even as he crept out through Riley’s pores in the wake of Misha’s fingers like an animal sniffing after the tender touches, suspicious but fascinated all the same.

If Misha was lying, Riley thought dazedly, he was doing a bang-up job this time. Being with Misha had always been intense, but he’d never been this overwhelmed before. Misha was holding on to him almost desperately, kissing him deeply, passion tinged with blood and promises.

When Riley’s hands came to rest hesitantly on Misha’s hips, Misha groaned into his mouth and nudged closer until he was plastered against Riley as tightly as he could with the soft material of his clothes between them. It seemed that if he could have, he would’ve melted into Riley’s skin and wrapped around his bones much like McClane.

Want, his tongue said. Want want need need please.

Yes, Riley’s body replied. Yes okay yes now.

Misha pushed, and Riley, like an idiot, let him do it, let Misha guide him back until they reached the bed, and then he let himself fall and took Misha down with him. They landed off-center in a tangle of limbs, still kissing, both of them hard and panting, completely drunk on each other.

The adrenaline that had fueled Riley’s anger now fed his passion and he groaned deeply and fucked his tongue into Misha’s mouth, grabbed Misha by the shoulders and held him tight. Misha was all for it; he straddled Riley