pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou / Kozume Kenma
a/n: Happy Halloween! I hope you all have a spooktacular day! Low-key related to Beware The Wolf
Warning: it gets a little gore-y (at least possibly so I just want to put that warning there)
The night was dark and cold, wind howling as it moved between stores and trees. It was a classic autumn night.
Kenma buried further into the coat he’d successfully nicked from Kuroo – though it hadn’t been much of a challenge when Kuroo willingly gave his clothes over to Kenma. Something about the aesthetic of it. Kenma didn’t get it. Nothing new there.
A particular gust of wind had him shivering again, sniffling as he raised his phone higher. He had almost beat the level and didn’t plan on getting a Game Over just because of some wind. A notification appeared at the top of the screen. It went ignored.
Unsurprisingly Kenma beat the level and saved his progress. He opened the notification and read the message Kuroo had sent. They were still on his movie night.
When Kenma tuned back in to his surroundings, eyes rapidly cataloging the street and buildings, he was anxious to find himself alone. While he wasn’t partial to crowds – staying at home much more preferable – being the only one on a street at night screamed trouble. It didn’t help that something had been terrorizing the city as of late.
A clatter had Kenma jumping. His ears picked up the sound of heavy foot falls. Inhaling sharply, Kenma typed off a quick message to Kuroo knowing that he wouldn’t get there in time.
“Leach,” one of the men spat.
Kenma didn’t respond, there would be no use and he didn’t like sullying himself with such trash. He frowned at the thought. Five men boxing Kenma in forced him to a stop, scrutinizing each man. They were laden with hunting gear but Kenma heavily suspected these men didn’t follow the hunters’ law, at least not if they were antagonizing him.
“What wrong blood whore?” another man teased, gun in hand.
The insult rolled right off Kenma. Instead, his eyes tracked the second man’s movement, smelling the aged would in the barrel. It was a rare and deeply protected secret that only the wood from a hundred year or older Rowan tree could kill a vampire. That and decapitation or blood loss – but that last one was a bit iffy since a vampire could easily fall into a blood coma.
Blood coma; it was a state of being a vampire might inflict on themselves if they were low on blood or close to dying. It either killed the vampire or kept them in existence long enough to find some unwilling victim. The down side to blood coma, besides the low possibility of inexistence, was the bloodlust that followed an awakening. Some vampires, those who barley had any blood in their system when they entered coma or unbelievably strong ones (such as Kuroo) could level an entire town, sucking it dry within one night.
Kenma, unfortunately, had had his own experiences with blood coma. Usually it was due to forgetting to feed but his old age certainly helped raise that number.
As it were, Kenma kept calm. He’d been faced with hunters before and always got out of them still existing. Though, Kuroo or some other member of their clan was with him. But there had been a time before the Nekoma clan.
“I bet his sire’s just as much of a blood whore as this leech,” Another man taunted.
Kenma felt the rare emotion of rage setting in, fangs dropping but hidden at the insult.
“Maybe,” the first man said, smirk cruel and a malicious glint in his eyes, “We should have this leech beg and call for his vile sire and then hang him up to watch as we bleed his blood fucker for all he’s worth.”
The next couple minutes were filled with flying blood, snarls, yells, and gunshots. Kenma ignored the bullet wounds in his shoulder and thigh. Miraculously both shots were through-and-throughs so the aged rowan wood didn’t have much of an effect on him. The stab to his gut and multiple slashes to his back were easy to ignore as well.
The last hunter, the first one to have spoken and the one to insult Kenma’s sire, to insult Kuroo, was killed last and very painfully. Kenma relished in pulling his claws down the man’s chest, removing his manhood and carving blood whore onto his forehead for the world to see. He was in a trance by the time he slit the man’s throat, dazed from the blood loss and drunk on the sweet metallic scent that filled the street.
A cough brought Kenma out of his stupor, the spurt of blood that landed on the pavement shocking him even more. Absentmindedly his hand touched his throat, eyes widening at the open cut and fresh blood he felt there. Kenma stumbled away from the gruesome scene, blood and guts everywhere, uncaring as he stepped on someone’s intestines. He walked and walked until his body could go no further, collapsing into a heap on the ground.
With the last of his strength, Kenma turned over. He knew already that there would be no salvation. Blood coma couldn’t help him with a cut to his throat, the blood would continue to flow until hunger clouded his mind and when his body couldn’t follow the desire to feed, he would go crazy with lust and eventually turn to a husk left to burn in the day like all blood-deprived vampires do.
What a terrible way to die. Without Kuroo, his first friend, sire, and lover beside him to send him off.
“Kenma!” Kuroo crashes into the ground next to Kenma, dried leaves crunching underneath. He pulled Kenma’s limp body up, cradling it tenderly to his chest. Blood quickly seeped into his trousers. A small pool lay around them, having grown as Kenma’s wounds remained unattended. Anxiously, Kuroo pushed Kenma’s hair aside, smearing blood on his cheek and forehead. Rage lay just under the concern, furry to rip someone – whoever had dared hurt his dear boy – to pieces.
Kuroo moved his hand to Kenma’s neck, to the gaping wound there. Blood spurted from the ugly cut occasionally, stopping a blood coma from saving him.
Panic began to finally set in, pounding against’ Kuroo’s breastbone in a pale imitation of a heart. His teeth tore at his wrist, unmindful of the brutality of the act, and held it over Kenma’s mouth.
Far too many seconds passed before the drops falling into Kenma’s mouth turned into a steady stream. Kenma’s mouth quickly filled until it began to spill over, drops gliding down Kenma’s cheek and neck.
And then, against all odds, the spurts on his neck began to weaken before completely tapering off. Kenma’s whole throat moved as he swallowed. Again and again the movement continued, mouth emptying quicker than it could be filled.
When there was nothing left, Kenma surged upward, eyes glazed as he wrapped a mangled hand around Kuroo’s arm, claws dug into his flesh and mouth latched itself to the Kuroo’s wrist. He began to drink, large, loud gulps. At some point his eyes slipped closed, his other hand going to clutch Kuroo’s shirt, tearing the fabric with his razor fingers.
Kuroo only had so much blood in him and eventually had to roughly grabbed Kenma’s hair to get his attention. “Kenma, enough! I haven’t fed recently.”
Kenma gave a soft whine that Kuroo only caught because he was so focused on his childe. With one final suck, Kenma released his bounty, tongue lazily cleaning off the wound that has practically healed already. By the time he pulled away for good, Kuroo’s wrist was pristine.
“Kuroo,” Kenma said monotonously as if he hadn’t almost died, died. His voice was rough from nearly being severed and Kuroo felt his dead heart sigh in relief. Kenma still existed. At least for now.
“Let’s go get something to eat,” Kuroo said by way of response. He was reluctant to let Kenma go but did so anyway, giving the smaller vampire a hand up in exchange of releasing him.
“Shouyou should be home,” Kenma suggested, allowing Kuroo to hold his hand as they walked away.
It seemed like their movie plans for the night were ruined.
