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Every time Shinobu caresses her neck, Kira feels like inside him is a long, thin thread, aching to snap. His teeth itch. His nails grow too long. He looks at Shinobu, and he needs to hold her down, drain her of all she has. She’d let him, so easily, with that eager gaze of hers she loves to fix on him.
But he can resist.
He has to.
For his quiet life, for remaining undercover, it is worth it. This is what he reminds himself as he stares at himself in the mirror, fangs sitting uncomfortably in his mouth, nails gripping the sink.
He manages to stand strong until the day Shinobu starts menstruating. He gets home from work, takes off his ridiculous hat he wears so that the sun may not touch him, and realizes with a start there’s the smell of blood in the air.
Well, shit.
He bites down on his lip, clearing his throat and trying to act like his hunger isn’t attempting to eat its way out of his stomach.
“Hi honey!” Shinobu cries, throwing herself at him. Her hands rest on his neck, and he exhales. Images he can’t enact flash through his head. Violent. Obvious. Bloody. “How was your day?”
“Fine.” Is all he responds with, letting a hand rest on her side, resisting everything that feels like common sense.
Drain her drain her drain her drain her–
“I need a shower.” He states, and she backs off.
“I could join y-”
He walks away before she can finish. Or, god forbid, he let slip something like an agreement. She wouldn't step out of the shower again.
The scent of soap, intense and floral, is enough to mask the other lingering smells that are driving him mad. He doesn’t dare risk a glance down at his nails, feeling his teeth in his mouth is enough.
They rub against his lips, his flesh, and if he so much as grits his teeth too hard blood will gather and, oh, he may be a man with miles of restraint but he is also something starving.
He spends longer than he reasonably should in there, letting soap run down him, as if trying to wash away his urges, attempting to let them flow down the drain too. When he steps out, he only feels somewhat like a human.
The rest of his evening will proceed as usual.
Except, when he goes up to bed, Shinobu’s scent is overpowering. Intoxicating. He’s never really found her all that appealing before, but now, fuck. It’s like he’s a moth and she’s the brightest flame he’s ever seen.
He tosses and turns, an unfortunate thing, because when he rolls over for about the fifth time, Shinobu’s awake. And she’s looking right at him, with a soft, expectant smile. Goddamnit.
“Hi, honey.” She murmurs, reaching out to put a hand on his cheek.