Work Text:
And now, Shigure Rangetsu is dead.
Rokurou tells the others to leave them. He only needs a few minutes alone. He isn’t about to die here. He isn’t about to let them finish this without him. He’ll catch up. He promises.
Eizen tells him not to be an idiot, but he seems to get it. Laphicet surprises him with nothing more than a short nod. Magilou is Magilou. Eleanor frets the longest, but follows the others out of sight. She’s the last one to lock eyes with him before they go.
Velvet doesn’t ask questions. Velvet might understand better than anyone. “I still need him,” She says, meaning that Shigure is hers to devour.
Rokurou won’t deny her that. “He’s mine first,” He replies, and Velvet takes Morgrim with her when she leaves. The cat doesn’t want to go. Rokurou promises her that she doesn’t want to stay for this. He pretends it is for her own sake, but it isn’t. The truth is much more simple.
This isn’t something he’s willing to share with anyone.
Once they’re finally alone together, Rokurou kneels before the thing that was his brother and bows his head. They should share another drink in a moment like this. He wishes they had more time. But time isn’t a luxury, and Rokurou’s blood is still running hot. Shigure’s death is on his hands in the realest possible sense; Rokurou touches his own lips, and then his brother’s. They don’t look the same any more, but perhaps they still have the same taste. The wound across Shigure’s chest weeps in a way that neither he nor his brother ever would otherwise; Rokurou traces his fingers along the wet inner of that lethal gash and touches himself with his other hand.
This is the only thing he’s ever wanted. Shigure knows.
Shigure should have done the same when he still had the chance.
There is nothing of Shigure left to ride, but Rokurou mounts him all the same. Braces his hands into the cavern that was Shigure’s chest and rocks himself into the emptiness of connection. Slicks his fingers in deeper, digging until he finds places he could never have reached while Shigure was alive. No one else has been here, not even Shigure himself. This is territory that only a Daemon would seek to claim. The day Shigure defeated him and claimed his humanity was the day this was decided.
Death is the greatest gift his brother ever gave him.
Time isn’t a luxury, and Shigure’s blood is cooling upon his fingers. Rokurou ducks them low together and presses his mouth to the wound, dragging the wetness of his tongue through the wetness of Shigure’s finality. His brother tastes of red. He tastes of freedom. He tastes like a Rangetsu.
His brother does not move when Rokurou’s touch dips below his navel. His brother’s cock does not stir within his grip, does not twitch when Rokurou pulls it into his mouth. It, too, tastes as it should. Rokurou works at it despite the stillness. Stormhowl alone stands as their final witness, and it is Stormhowl’s blade that bears the imprint of Rokurou’s stained fingers when the moment finally comes upon him.
Shigure Rangetsu will always be his older brother. And now, Shigure Rangetsu is dead.