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"Kenma."
The game buzzes on, the battle music intensifying. The thing his character is facing has changed, taking on its second form as Kenma's character rolls and swings its sword. The man himself is curled into his knees, chest tucked forward in anticipation, like he's about to hop out of his chair.
"Ke-"
"In a second," he cuts you off. His unblinking eyes never leave the screen, peering through his blonde bangs. "I just have to beat this boss."
With a huff, you sink back into your chair.
"Last time you said 'just a second' it took you two days to beat the damn thing," you remind him. "I'm not immortal-- I don't have time to sit around for you."
Frankly, you often forget Kenma is immortal until moments like that. You had always thought that vampires would be menacing or carry some sort of grandeur, but everyone you've met has been so spectacularly normal. Kenma, for instance, seems like every other guy your age: aloof and obsessed with video games.
"Get bitten then," he shrugs. "Kuroo would be happy to."
Your spine trills at the thought of it. When you first met Kuroo, you thought her was odd in the most normal way possible. He was practically nocturnal because he claimed to work remotely overseas, but he still went to bars and played indoor volleyball: average activities for an average man-
Or, that's what you thought, until you learned about the whole vampire thing.
Honestly, it's only made you more attracted to him. The mystery, the danger-- what's not to love? You'd be lying if you said you had never thought of his teeth on you, his hands on your body-
"That's what I wanted to talk about."
Kenma's head whips around. This game doesn't pause; the monster smacks his avatar across the screen.
"You're turning?" His voice is either bright with surprise or shock. You've known Kenma for a while now and you still can't seem to read his motivations. You're not sure why Kuroo incorporated you into the fold of his undead friend group, but here you are, sitting in their living room.
"No, uh-" What you're about to ask suddenly feels silly. "I wanted to... Can I see your teeth?"
Kenma's expression settles and he picks up the controller that you hadn't realized he dropped.
"I died for that?" He flicks the game off. "You could have waited for that. I'll still have teeth in a week."
You have to bit your tongue to stop yourself from losing your mind. Kenma just goes back to gaming, eyes narrowing with effort.
"I could be dead in a week."
"You won't be."
"I could be," you say. "I could have a stroke at any moment."
"You won't." He mashes the buttons extra hard, so hard the plastic creaks. "And if you did, we'd know before you did."
The character dies much earlier than it usually does.
"How would you know if I had a stroke before I did?"
"It smells sour when..." His eyes finally turn your way again. "Whatever. It's fine."
"Fine to touch?" you say.
He beckons you over with a nod of his chin. "Yeah."
Pushing off from your seat, you walk over to where he's sitting. Kenma doesn't bother to stand. He tilts his head back, looking up at you with a slight smile.
Already, you can see them. The sharp, vivid white teeth behind his pale lips. They have the usual shape, but anything uncanny edge makes your skin crawl. It's something you can't quite place, maybe something not there at all.
To get closer, you slide a leg onto his chair, angling yourself over him the best that you can. You're surprised when his hand rests on your thigh for support.
"Don't look so scared," Kenma says, a bit too coy for your liking.
You hadn't realized you'd been making a face at all.
"Just don't bite me."
Kenma opens his mouth and his teeth catch the dim light, strange for how dry his mouth seems to be. His canines are slightly elongated, just a hair more than a usual human. Gingerly, you run your fingers across the front of his teeth, then down to their edges. There's almost a razors edge to them, enough that you can feel the ridges of your fingerprint catching.
"Sharp," you quip. You leave a pause for Kenma to respond, but then you realize he can't, not with his mouth open for you. He just watches you, eyes flickering from one of your eyes to the other.
This isn't intimate, you remind yourself. It's scientific curiosity.
It can't be intimate, because you like Kuroo. Not Kenma. No, you don't like it at all that his hands are around your waist and you're cupping his cheek with your free hand, that his breath somehow smells soothing-
His canines seem longer now. More jagged, sharp. You press the pad of your thumb against it and watch how your skin easily skins in, no resistenxe whatsoever. Then, you pull away. A drop of blood wells up at the spot; there's no pain whatsoever, but the thumb tingles, like menthol and cocaine, riveting and calming all at once.
Kenma leans into the palm of your hand, then cranes his neck ever so slightly to envelop your finger in his lips. It's the most delicate of touches, a ghost of a memory of a kiss, but when he pulls away, crimson has settled into the cracks of his lips.
"Your heart's beating-" his tongue runs over his lower lip. "Really fast."
Kenma pulls you closer, arms now tight around your waist. You don't know when you got so close, when your bodies suddenly were pushed together, but now they are--
and now your finger is in his mouth. The gentle, crushing pressure of suction surprises you, but not more than the desperate whine he makes when blood hits his tongue.
That buzzing had spread up your arm and you can suddenly feel it, feel how your heart runs heavy and fast for him. Kenma's eyes are so lidded, barely open, heavy with want, that you can barely make out how his pupils have narrowed into cat scratch slits.
"Oh," you babble. "Oh, it's--"
"Feels good?" Kenma isn't speaking, but you can hear his voice.
"Y-yeah."
"I can make you feel good." There can't be that much blood from that tiny spot, but Kenma swallows deep as if there is. "Anytime you want."
The plush of his tongue swipes up your digit. Oh, maybe you are bleeding out. Maybe he's killing you. You're hot and cold and weak and strong and, and, and--
"You never have to ask Kuroo for-"
The front door of the apartment slams closed. A familiar set of boisterous laughter echoes through the halls-- Bokuto and Kuroo are hone. When you pull away, Kenma gives no resistance, his eyes still fixated on you.
An unjust guilt rises in your throat. You examine your hand, expecting a torrent of blood, only to be greeted with the smallest blossom on your finger tip.
"Were we supposed to do that?" you whisper.
"It's fine." Kenma adjusts himself in his chair, pulling at his pant legs. "They'll scold me, not you."
That doesn't make you feel better.
"Thanks," you say, awkwardly heading for the door. "For the-- thanks."
"Hey," he's using his real voice this time. You pause, turning back to him to catch his wide, Cheshire grin. "Thanks for the snack."