and kissed him back every bit as fiercely, lifting up just long enough to shove them both farther up on the mattress so they couldn’t slip over the edge. He didn’t take his hands off Riley once; touched him everywhere he could reach, anxiously, possessively, and the rasp of gun calluses and barely scabbed-over scrapes and cuts against Riley’s bare skin made him break out in goose bumps and instinctively arch up for more.

They’d never done it like this, one of them naked and the other fully dressed, and it drove Riley crazy, the feel of Misha’s belt buckle brushing cool and hard against his belly, the expensive cloth of his pants whispering against the sensitive insides of Riley’s thighs when he spread his legs to cradle Misha closer. McClane whimpered incoherently somewhere deep in Riley’s mind, overwhelmed by the stereo effect of the two men rutting against each other. He reached out for Misha, pressed up against Riley’s skin from the inside, everywhere at once, and Riley tore his mouth away from Misha’s to cry out brokenly. He was damn near seeing stars.

“Riley,” Misha moaned, staring at him as though he was trying to tattoo the image of Riley like this into his memory. His hips pushed down mercilessly, ground his cloth-covered crotch against Riley’s stiff cock, and ratcheted up the friction until Riley was fast approaching sensory overload.

Riley would’ve told him to stop, but it felt so good he couldn’t muster the brainpower to get the word out.

Riley, McClane mewled. He was expanding and pulling back rhythmically, a feverish pulsing deep in Riley’s core, echoed almost perfectly by the steady undulations of Misha’s hips.

Riley’s legs opened wider, wrapped around Misha’s waist to bring them into full contact even though the stimulation was almost driving him insane. He couldn’t have said whether it was his decision or McClane’s, and he honestly didn’t care. He was clinging to Misha and Misha was clinging to him and McClane enhanced every single sensation until Riley was keening and shaking, unable to do anything but ride it out, gaze fixed on Misha’s hazy, wild eyes. He dug his fingers into Misha’s shoulders and back in a hopeless attempt to anchor himself, panting at the dual assault, half out of his mind already.

He felt Misha’s hand between them, fumbling at his fly, and it almost set him off, but McClane stopped it, squeezed down hard to keep Riley from coming. Riley sobbed out a frustrated breath and buried his face

against Misha’s shoulder while Misha fought with his zipper. Riley couldn’t help him, couldn’t do anything but hold on and keep breathing, because sex with McClane had been mind-blowing and sex with Misha had always been intense, but sex with McClane and Misha was damn near more than he could handle. He was so decidedly not in control anymore it would’ve scared him had it not felt better than anything. He was too turned on to think, trembling with it, whining softly with every shift of Misha’s long, hard body against his and with every pulse of pleasure McClane sent through him… through them, because McClane was with him every step of the way, only marginally more coherent.