Chapter Text
It’s not that hard to find him, despite his supposedly private nature. Captain Falcon isn’t exactly someone you’d call subtle. And neither is Blood Falcon, which is why he’s confronting him right outside this bar. No trickery, no subterfuge—those are things for his “master” to take part in. All Blood Falcon is interested in is the thrill of the hunt. It’s what he was born for, what he was made for, launching himself at Captain Falcon with a wild snarl.
Falcon leaps away, throwing in a backflip for good measure. Blood Falcon responds by doing a backflip of his own. Falcon’s not the only one who can show off! He lands with his fists raised, springing right back towards his nemesis. What follows is a flurry of lunges and fists swinging with wild abandon. He can’t land a hit on Falcon, but Falcon hasn’t landed a hit on him either. There’s a part of him that knows, instinctively, what Falcon might think to try next. He knows that reach, that force, the arc his body makes as it adds in another unnecessary handspring. It’s all intimately familiar to him, the same way his moves must be to Falcon.
The thought makes his lip curl. Blood Falcon won’t stand for being predictable.
Electricity crackles at his fingertips, shooting right towards Falcon. There’s shouting now rising up around them, but no one dares interfere. Falcon sends a blast of fire out to counter him, sparks shooting everywhere. Screams ring out, causing Falcon to grimace as much as it makes Blood Falcon cackle. That’s one way they differ—collateral damage is no concern for him. Bolts of lightning spring from his hands, carving jagged paths through the air between them. They force Falcon on the defensive, leaving him scrambling to counter each one.
As fun as it is watching Falcon struggle from a distance, there’s something even more fun about getting up close and personal. He darts in after launching a barrage of bolts, driving his foot right into Falcon’s stomach. Falcon wheezes, then grits his teeth and slams his fist right into the side of Blood Falcon’s jaw. Blood Falcon’s head snaps back, coughing as Falcon follows up with a knee to his sternum. Pain blooms throughout his chest, copper filling his mouth. Does Falcon’s blood taste the same, flavoured with the sharp tang of metal? If he spilled their blood all over the pavement, would it be indistinguishable?
The world around him blurs as they keep fighting, trading blows that are almost instantly returned in kind. A hit here, a burn there, a shock that sends Falcon reeling with a delicious stumble. There’s something about this that feels even more addicting than racing, a wild abandon that drives every laugh or lashing out of his limbs. There’s no barriers of metal between them, obscuring Falcon’s expression and reactions. Was he designed to feel this? Was he designed to take vindictive pleasure in dominating his predecessor? Was he designed to feel such a rush at each twist of Falcon’s mouth or each grunt that escapes him, at the sweat pouring down his shadowed brow?
Falcon snaps his foot into Blood Falcon’s side with a brilliant burst of lightning, leaving him cursing as electricity ricochets through his entire body. He crashes into the ground with his limbs jittering and shaking, beyond all hope of control. Falcon comes closer, staring down at him impassively, and something in him burns.
“K...Kill me then,” he spits, mouth the only part of him still responsive.
Falcon sighs, crouching beside him. “Is that what you want?”
Blood Falcon would laugh if he had the breath to. All that leaves him is indignant gasps of air. He wants...many things. Things he doesn’t have the words to express. Things that don’t matter now, because the price of failure has always been death. What use is a clone who can’t do what he was made for? What use is a clone who can only lie motionless on the ground as the original looks down at him with something almost like pity?
Seething rage surges within him, erupting out from the core of his body. With an almighty heave he rolls his entire body into Falcon, slamming him into the pavement. What follows is a tangle of flailing limbs, each trying to get the upper hand on the other. Grappling, struggling, both brought down to the same level. He bites at any exposed flesh he can reach, nearly purring when Falcon lets out a choked gasp in response. Blood smears across Falcon’s jaw, across Blood Falcon’s lips, all the same tangy copper. His muscles strain, air searing at his lungs. There’s nothing else in the world but his enemy before him, focus centred on Blood Falcon alone.
It ends, once more, with Blood Falcon flat on his back. Only this time Captain Falcon is on top of him clamping down his limbs. Holding him down so he can do nothing but spit and swear at his better.
“Kill me!” he demands.
Falcon does not. Falcon only stares down at him with his mouth twisted in an inscrutable expression. The bite mark still stands out starkly on his jaw. It burns, this lack of regard—so he’s not even enough of a threat to off permanently? He’s not enough for Falcon to come at with intent to kill, like even the lowliest of bounties? What will it take to make Falcon look at him?
He breathes in as deeply as he can manage, then exhales in a gout of roiling fire. It won’t hurt Falcon—he’s fireproof, the bastard, just as Blood Falcon is. But the sudden blast of heat still makes him recoil, letting Blood Falcon buck up and topple him over. He slams his weight down on top of Falcon, smirking as Falcon lets out a pained sound. He does it again, and again, cackling as Falcon’s face goes red with the strain of it. There’s a heat boiling up like a savage beast inside him, craving more of those vulnerable reactions. The way Falcon’s lips part as Blood Falcon grinds him down into the pavement, the muffled sounds that suggest Falcon is biting his tongue. Blood Falcon wants to make him bite it until he bleeds, wants Falcon to keep staring up at him all dazed and helpless. Wants to keep every shred of his attention, basking in that sweet submission.
Is this what it means to feel alive?
Blood Falcon leans down and bites hard at Falcon’s cheek, teeth sinking into exposed skin. The strangled noise that escapes could almost be called a whimper. It sends a jolt through him that almost makes him think he’s been shocked, but there’d been no telltale crackle of electricity. There’s only Falcon’s body hotter than an inferno beneath him, perhaps unsuccessfully trying to burn him. There’s only the road beginning to bubble and boil, surging up to envelop his wrists and ankles. Blood Falcon shrieks as the molten pavement solidifies abruptly, shackling him to the ground.
Captain Falcon wriggles out from under him, leaving an empty, aching void. Once more he stares down at Blood Falcon, though this time he looks decidedly more dishevelled. His face is still flushed with blood and soaked with sweat, lips bitten red above his heaving chest. He sways a little where he stands, and Blood Falcon would crow with triumph if he weren’t literally on his hands and knees right now.
“Are you going to ask me to kill you again?” Falcon rasps.
Blood Falcon doesn’t ask anything. He demands things, pursues them, chases them to the ends of the earth because that’s what he was made for. He was made to wrest the top spot from Captain Falcon, to make him beg for mercy and to get rid of the maddening itch crawling up inside him. The urge to have Falcon back underneath him, so utterly responsive to Blood Falcon’s every move.
Blood Falcon spits fire at him, which does absolutely nothing. Falcon kneels in front of him like it’s not even there. He places a gloved hand over Blood Falcon’s eyes in a gesture that’s almost gentle.
“Think about it. What you really want,” Falcon says.
And then Blood Falcon is out like a light, crashing to the pavement before the stunned crowd.