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Empty rooms, shuttered and dank

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Riley is useless between them, aching and restless, his skin stretched too tight and too hot except for where they're touching him. He measures the passing of time by the press of a thigh, the drag of a forearm, the sharp scratch of nails. He's tried reaching out for them, but they don't seem interested in his reciprocation, his participation here required only on the most basic level.

It stings a little, though he can't quite catch hold of the reason he cares. He's being used, but at least he knows it.

He didn't start this.

All it took was the three of them standing shoulder to shoulder to take out a nest of vampires. They worked well together, though he hates to admit it, mutual animosity adding a little something to their fight. Slap of skin, grunt of impact, dust on the air; all sharp edges and bared teeth. The buzz under his skin of a mission carried out without a hitch.

All it took was Spike and Angel leading him back to an old, sprawling hotel, badly in need of renovation, all faded velvet, dark corners, and the ugliest wallpaper Riley's ever laid eyes on. It's from another time; exactly the kind of place he would imagine Spike and Angel calling home. He's there to pick up the amulet he needs. Get in, get out, and be on the first bus heading out of the city. That's all he came here for. Taking out that nest was just an added bonus. A way to work off a little steam.

All it took was a couple of silent little glances between the vampires that he should have been better able to interpret. Should have known not to follow when they led him up into the belly of the hotel. Should have known to stay near the lobby, near the exits. The reception, or Angel's office, that's where they do business. Start going up stairs in a hotel, and there's nothing but doors upon doors leading to anonymous bedrooms, the very last place Riley needs to be.

All it took was a dark room, a door being kicked shut, sudden inky blackness blinding him, catching him off guard, and a cool hand pushing him up against the wall, fingertips on his rabbiting pulse. His instincts told him to fight, a dozen different moves he could have used to break away, but the hand on his chest was steady, thumb slipping thoughtfully over his Adam's apple, waiting for an answer.

Riley let the weapons bag drop from his shoulder, and waited it out, counting the beats of his heart and feeling it lurch at the first tentative brush of cool, dry lips along his jaw, a tongue darting out to taste. He imagined amber eyes watching him, unblinking. He imagined shapes looming from the darkness, his eyes playing tricks on him, black dancing on black, giving nothing away.

He's naked now, his clothes peeled from his body in the dark, slowly, no hurry, each inch of exposed skin licked over with rough cat tongues. There's little sound from them, everything quiet compared to the harsh push-pull of his own breathing, the needy little gasps and whines that keep escaping. He hears the familiar paper tearing sound over and over as they shift back and forth, human to vampire to human, so he won't know if the teeth that graze over his skin will be blunt enough to tease him with little nips and tugs at his flesh, or the whisper edge of razor-sharp fangs, never landing where he expects, never giving him the thing he refuses to ask for, the thing he swore he'd given up forever.

They're teasing him with it, and he knows it. This is a game for them; sport maybe, or worse, revenge.

He's not tied to this bed, no one is keeping him here, but he knows he won't leave. If they stopped now he'd probably beg them to stay.

There's the long, clean swipe of a tongue tracing a bead of sweat from the curve of his ribs, a cool hand steady on his belly, resting on the pulse of his artery, by accident or design, Riley can't be sure.

It's easy to tell them apart at first. Spike's the one who kisses him, little licks over his mouth, behind his teeth, while Angel holds him still, his wrists pinned to the mattress above his head, strength hidden in the careful way he touches Riley. Angel smoothes over Riley's chest, his skin paper-dry, the skin of his palm just a little rough. He's the one to circle Riley's knee, opening him up to suck soft little bites high up on his thigh. All this while Spike is kissing him, strong fingers in his hair, tongue sliding past his lips again and again, tobacco-sweet in Riley's mouth, wet and raw, urging against him. Spike is the one to wrap a hand around his cock and fist him, tight and sure, slow enough to be cruel.

The graze of a fang over his nipple makes him moan and turn his face into the pillow. Sharp kisses over the low muscle of his stomach make him swear and lift his hips.

He's blind in the dark, but he knows they can see him as clear as day. They're probably sharing sly smiles, proprietary little glances at one another over his heaving chest as they play their games, silent, hidden in the darkness.

When his leg is hooked over a strong shoulder and he's dragged to the edge of the mattress, he doesn't know who it is between his thighs, doesn't know who's leaning over him, bracing their weight on a hand beside his head. He can't get the leverage he needs to press in close, or to reach out, trying to get a feel for heavy muscle and dolphin curves, or sharp hips and a narrow waist. He can't tell who it is when slick fingers press into him, opening him up and shocking his lungs to a stutter-stop.

He can't tell until he hears a sigh, a feathery little growl when Angel sinks into him, a slow, slippery press, inch by inch, not stopping until he bottoms out. Riley stares blindly at the ceiling, licking his lips over and over, just trying to hold it together, his fists clenched on the musty sheets, back arched up off the mattress.

It doesn't surprise him, Angel getting to go first. If this is a first.

Angel moves a little between his legs, huge and unstoppable and so fucking good it's all Riley can do to hold on, his body clenching and fluttering, complaining and singing the hallelujah chorus when Angel pushes back in, deep as he can go. He leans over Riley, his weight braced on both his elbows. There's no breath, no sound to tell Riley how close Angel's face is. Angel settles there and doesn't move. There's stillness, and it's not fair, not fair to stretch him thin like this, make him tremble and sweat like this, then not give him what he needs.

Riley bites down hard on his own lip to stop from saying Angel's name, to stop from begging for something, anything from this vampire who's as close to him right now as it's possible for another person to get. This vampire who he's hated since the moment he first heard his name.

Riley wraps his legs around Angel's hips, digs his heels in, and twists his hips forward and up. He's rewarded with a sharp hiss and Angel's teeth against his jaw. There's a low chuckle from somewhere behind Angel, and Angel gasps, nudging forward, making Riley cry out.

Angel's tongue is licking under his jaw, cool against his clammy skin. It feels like a lion is nuzzling at his face, drinking down his sweat, toying with him, deciding if he's a worthy meal or just a plaything.

Angel grunts, and shifts without warning, one hand clamping down on Riley's hip, hard enough to bruise. Spike breaks the silence to curse and groan.

Then there is the weight of two pressing down on Riley's chest, and that surprises him more than anything else that's happened this evening.

When Angel whimpers, his cheekbone against Riley's jaw, Riley doesn't even think, just turns his face and touches their mouths together. He's a little off target, but Angel startles at the touch, his mouth slack and surprised when Riley makes it more of a kiss, licking into Angel's mouth, over his human teeth. Angel presses into it, hooking his hand around the back of Riley's neck and kisses back, only breaking away when Spike moves, kissing too much effort, more coordination than they can muster, the three of them finding their rhythm. Slap of skin, grunt of impact, sex in the air; all sharp edges and bared teeth.

Angel growls into Riley's throat when he comes, sharkskin brushing Riley's jaw. Riley's heart stalls, thumps hard in his chest with the terror of it, and he comes, his whole body tense and shuddering, the black turning to brilliant starbursts behind his eyelids.

Angel lingers, and there is the briefest touch of a rough tongue against Riley's pulse before he pulls away. It's all Riley can do to lie there and breathe, his thighs trembling, his body aching, and listen to the thumps and scuffle of Spike and Angel doing whatever it is Spike and Angel do together in the dark.

He wants out of here, out and away before the light comes. Before he has to look either of them in the eye and face up to what he did here tonight. Before he gives in to the terrible, insane urge in his chest to thank them, because he knows he'd choke on it.

He's only just got to his feet, his legs shaky and unreliable, when Spike grabs his wrist. He knows it's Spike because Angel doesn't grab, not like that, not fast and light and eager. Riley hesitates, looking at where he thinks the door is, but it's hard to tell, the sound doesn't carry well in here, and he got so turned around...

Spike's thumb rubs over the inside of his wrist, while another, larger hand settles light and cool on the small of his back, a silent question waiting for an answer.

Riley lets them draw him back towards the bed.