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Despite the screaming that had called him here, the room is strangely empty when he enters. A quick scan of the room reveals no other people and he opens his mouth to call out when the lights suddenly flicker off, bathing the room in darkness.
“I’ve finally got you where I want you, Red Hawk,” says a voice from the darkness. Red whirls around just as the lights turn back on to see Black Falcon, wielding his trusty sabre. “Your precious little friends won’t be coming for you.”
It’s true. Static greets his ears when he turns on the comm device embedded in his helmet; and the panic button— the one Green and White had insisted he always carry with him— remains unresponsive despite his frantic button-mashing. Red really doesn’t want to fight, especially not with him, so his only option is to play dumb and wait for an opportunity to escape. “Black? Is this where you’ve been? What’s going on?”
“You don’t even realize you’ve fallen into my trap, do you? Ever the trusting leader.” Black laughs, cruelty and amusement warping his usual pleasant tone into something more sinister; Red can already feel goosebumps spreading over his arms. But Black isn’t done; his voice drops almost an entire octave when he growls, “How did someone as foolish as you ever become this city’s hero? You didn’t even realize I was using you all along.”
“We trusted you, Black. You were one of us. You’re still one of us. Please, we don’t have to do this.”
“Don’t lie to me! I’ve seen how you and your friends look at me! You never wanted me around!” Black points his sabre at Red, and shifts into his battle stance. “This charade ends here, Red Hawk. I can take down Samael by myself... so rest easy and die.”
Red shakes his head, but he knows Black isn’t listening anymore. He unsheathes the twin daggers dangling from his belt. “I don’t plan on dying here.”
As if on cue, they both charge at the same time. Red leaps out of the way of a heavy swing from Black’s sabre and attempts to counter with a quick slash from one of his daggers, but Black anticipates this and manages to bring his weapon up in time to parry. They continue to trade blows with neither fighter giving any ground; each strike blocked and every counter dodged like a perfectly-choreographed dance, locking the two in a stalemate—
“Ow!”
— that is, until a solid blow catches Red on the side of his head, making him stagger a few steps back. He rubs at his head to try and steady his vision and glares at his opponent, “Getting a little too into it, aren’t you?”
“Oh?” Black grins playfully. “Too much for you handle, dear leader ?”
Red smirks back and tosses both of his daggers at Black’s head. He doesn’t expect them to do any damage, seeing how they bounce off of his renegade teammate’s head; but if the indignant squawk his opponent lets out is anything to go by, then his chance had come.
He runs forward, weaves past a panicked swing, and circles behind Black. Before the other man could react, he loops his arms around Black’s chest to trap the other man’s arms against his sides. Red tightens his grip, and pulls the other man flush against him when Black begins to struggle. “You’re wrong,” he whispers right against Black’s ear, causing the other man to still. “We haven’t been honest with each other, and this is how things ended up. So, let’s talk. No more masks. No more lies. Just let me see your true face.”
And with that, Red hooks his fingers right under the edges of Black’s helmet and tugs , letting soft brown hair free to cascade down the the other man’s shoulders .
“I don’t remember seeing anything this cheesy from the show.” Goro huffs, peering over his shoulder to train annoyed red eyes at his snickering boyfriend. He shakes himself loose from Akira’s grip and gives him another light whack on the side with the pillow he had been swinging around earlier, coaxing another round of giggles. Akira’s laughter must be infectious because Goro can’t help the smile spreading across his own face.
Akira pulls the hood off of his own Featherman onesie, his soft curls bouncing back into place as the fabric runs over them, to grin sunnily back at his boyfriend. He grabs Goro’s pillow along with own abandoned ones from the floor and replaces them on their usual place on the couch. “I thought I’d change it up. We both know the original script sucked anyway.”
“And yet, you’ve watched that scene so many times you can recite the lines by heart.”
“So can you, you massive dork. You’re even the one who started RP-ing it. Your acting has gotten so much better by the way,” Akira teases back. “But my point still stands. There were so many ways that scene could have gone and Black didn’t need to die there.”
“And we’ve discussed this before. Black’s death was thematic and served to motivate the rest of the Phoenix Rangers to defeat Samael.” Goro’s voice is steady, but his gaze is distant; his eyes seemingly locking on to a fixed point over Akira’s shoulder. “He’s made it quite clear that he didn’t see himself as part of the team.”
“Goro…”
“But… I agree with you,” Goro continues; his shoulders finally relax, and he looks Akira square in the eyes. “There was still hope for redemption for Black, but the writers didn’t allow him that chance. Very well, I’d like to hear how you think it should have gone.”
“I had a different idea earlier, but now I’m thinking that scene should have gone with something like this.” He leans forward and captures Goro’s lips with his own. The kiss is soft and chaste, but Goro sighs and melts into it anyway.
“This is certainly a much more compelling take.” He breathes against Akira’s lips when they pull apart. “What happens next?”
“Hmm…” Akira’s brows furrow, as if deep in thought, but the glint of mischief in his eyes betrays him. Despite the advance warning, Goro still squawks for the second time that night when Akira grabs him by the shoulders and pulls Goro on top of him on the couch.
“I hardly think this is appropriate considering the target audience.” Goro manages to deadpan, right before Akira grabs him the collar to mash their lips together.
“Well, you’re my target audience so I can be as inappropriate as I want.” Akira replies, when they break apart for air. His hands trace up and down the lines of Goro’s sides and over his back. “What do you say? I’m up for some audience participation tonight.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, letting one of his hands stop to rest on the curve of his boyfriend’s ass.
Goro snorts as he swats away Akira’s wandering hands, and leans down to peck away the pout off of his boyfriend’s lips. He sits them both up, and cuddles Akira against his chest like he would a misbehaving cat— or Morgana when he was feeling particularly bratty, “No way. Not in this ridiculous get-up. Where on earth did Futaba even get these Featherman onesies?”
“Dunno. Probably commissioned it off of someone on the internet. I kinda remember her saying she’d get everyone a set at some point. Haru looked all too eager to fund that. I guess we shouldn’t ruin these then.” Akira shrugs. “It would also be a little awkward to explain why watching Featherman makes you pop a boner.” He snickers, until Goro jabs him in the ribs. He jolts, flips himself over to glare at Goro, and jabs his own fingers into Goro’s sides.
Laughter rings out throughout the apartment as their cuddle session turns into an all-out tickle fight. Luckily, the walls of their building are thick enough that their neighbours shouldn’t complain about the noise.
“You never did tell me how the rest of that ending of yours goes.” Goro manages to say in between pants as they both try to catch their breath.
Akira grins sheepishly. “I guess I haven’t thought about it yet. I just wanted them to take down Samael and Mr. Long-Nose together, and then they share a passionate kiss while the entire city cheers them on.”
“Do you mind if I make my own additions to your story?” Goro asks, and smiles gratefully when Akira nods at him to continue. “Perhaps years later, Red and Black move in together in a modest apartment in Shibuya. Their powers are gone and they live a normal life like everybody else.” Akira hums at this, smiling gently at Goro, who grins back cheekily. “But every night, they like to lounge around in silly pyjamas, and cuddle on the couch while drinking hot chocolate.”
“Hot chocolate?” Akira asks, incredulous. “You’re living with a professional barista, trained in the arcane arts of coffee-making by Sojiro Sakura himself, and you’re saying you want hot chocolate ?”
“Well, since you’re offering then yes, go be a dear and make us some hot chocolate.” Goro replies, grin still in place. “Don’t forget the extra marshmallows on mine.”
Akira shakes his head, and laughs all the way to the kitchen.