A/N: Aaaaaaah! Okay, so where do I even start? I missed you guys a ton, and I really didn't intend on taking such a long break from the world of fanfiction. Yes, I'm still alive. Unfortunately, life got in the way, as life tends to do sometimes. I've been very busy with school (I'm taking way too large a course load for my own good this semester so I can graduate early, which I kinda regret at this point...) and I couldn't find much time to write. I have been sporadically working on the fic I promised you all ages ago; the "Argentina"/"Do You See What I See?" rewrite, in case you forgot (and honestly, who could blame you if you did? lol). But of course, that has sort of gotten out of control and it's turning into a huge multi chapter thing. I have about six chapters of it already written, but I wanted to wait to post it until I'm close(r) to finished, just to avoid taking a ridiculously long time between updates like I did in the past.
But because I missed you guys and my two favorite train wrecks so much, I decided to throw this one shot together real quick. I didn't really plan any of this out, it sort of just happened, so I apologize if there are any glaring mistakes. Just like my previous fic, "Cornered", I set out to make this a one shot, but it kind of got away from me and I could see myself churning out a few more chapters of this if anyone seems interested. No promises, though ;)
Oh, and before I forget, I hated that Dexter brought Harrison to the motel with him and left him in the car. Dexter's an idiot, but I didn't buy that. So for the sake of this story, he left Harrison at home with a babysitter, safe and sound in his own bed. Also, for this story, Deb is at the motel alone. Briggs went out to meet his fence, which leaves the Morgans alone to settle their issues...
The title of this fic comes from the Lykke Li song of the same name. She has some great songs that totally relate to Debster, imo. If I were to make a playlist for them, it would probably include a ton of her music, just sayin'.
I love reading reviews, they keep me motivated, so please feel free to let me know if you enjoyed (or not!) xo
"Wouldn't we be quite the pair?—you with your bad heart, me with my bad head. Together, though, we might have something worthwhile."
— Zelda Fitzgerald
The cheap neon lighting throws shadows over the concrete. It's oppressively bright in the parking lot, but somehow all Dexter can see is the darkness. A chill runs through him as he tries to balance on two unsteady feet, recalling the catastrophic event that brought him here in the first place. He can still hear the bullet ricochet off of the wall, can still picture the way the light left Deb's eyes when LaGuerta sank to the floor. It's unnerving.
That kill was meant to be a distant memory now, no different than any of the others, but it feels more like a recurring nightmare. Each time Dexter puts his head to his pillow it's like New Year's all over again. He's hopeless to silence the screams that pierce his eardrums, the sound of his sister wailing once she realizes what she's done.
She killed an innocent woman to protect the serial killer she loves, and she couldn't hate him more for it. How ironic; she's swallowing her feelings down while he's finally ready to come to terms with his.
It's been months since Debra walked out of Dexter's life and vowed never to return; and though he didn't believe her when she claimed it, lately, his mind can't help but wonder if she really does intend to make good on that promise.
He won't let her.
From his vantage point near the window, thankfully curtain-free, he can see her clearly, hunched over the nightstand with a straw lifted to her nostril. It's a sad sight to see, his baby sister traveling down this path of self-destruction. The only thing more upsetting than watching her deteriorate right before his very eyes is the fact that he played a part in it. More than a part – he played the starring role.
Dexter finally builds up enough nerve to act on his desire, rapping a closed fist against the door with the hope that the sudden noise will jolt Deb out of her dream-like state and make her start paying attention to him again.
It doesn't work. Not right away. She barely acknowledges the sound at first, instead choosing to snort another line of coke. Dexter wonders if she knows that he is indeed her late night visitor, that he has been keeping tabs on her all of this time. Stalking is a pretty strong word, but if she knew the full extent of what he's been up to these past few months, Dexter suspects that the word would be Deb's descriptor of choice.
When the drugs hit her system she practically springs up and off of the bed, vaulting straight for the door. She's a picture of determination, his Deb, always ready to take action, even now. But as the space between the Morgans grows smaller, Dexter finds himself desperately searching for an out.
He thought that this was what he wanted, but now he isn't so sure. Just the sight of her through the window, wavy haired and wild eyed, produces a strange tightness in his chest, and he finds himself struggling to properly catch his breath.
With each step Deb takes forward, Dexter feels the urge to take three back, to run for his car and drive until he's returned to the safety of his own home, back with Harrison where he can be free from any potential judgment and condemnation. In Harrison's eyes, he's still an innocent, a protector. But in Deb's eyes? What is he now?
The motel room door swings open and Dexter ducks behind the wall, but it's no use. He's already been spotted.
"Dexter, what the fuck?" Deb growls. "I told you to stay the hell away from me."
She crosses her arms over her chest, teeth bared, looking as if she's ready for a fight. And well, if that's what she wants, he's fully prepared to give it to her.
Here's to round one.
"Come on, Deb." Dexter starts, grabbing her by the wrist. Her skin feels unusually warm against his, and he would be seriously concerned about it if he wasn't currently so angry at her. "There isn't much time. You're in danger. You have to come with me."
She wrests her arm out of his grasp and takes a few steps back. "The fuck I do." She snorts. "I don't want anything to do with you, Dexter. I thought I made that perfectly fucking clear."
"No. I won't accept that." Dexter admits, advancing on her.
She stands her ground, obviously not afraid of him in the slightest. Dexter doesn't think he can remember a time that Debra had ever truly been scared of him. Surprised? Sure. Disgusted? Absolutely. But scared? No, never that.
"You won't accept that? Well accept this." She says, her tone full of derision. "I don't ever want to see you again, Dexter. You're nothing to me. No one. I know you don't understand it now, but that should make you happy. With me gone, that's one less formality for you to worry about. You won't have to take me out once I really start to become a problem, like LaGuerta did. So really, I'm just saving you the trouble. One less drop of blood on your hands. Consider it my parting gift."
Dexter recoils at the mere suggestion that he could ever hurt her. He knows he's done it so many times before, metaphorically killing Deb over and over again, taking pieces of her until there was nothing left but this, but he could never physically hurt her. Surely she must know that.
"You know I would never…" He says, struggling to articulate what he really feels.
Deb cuts him off before he can finish his thought, spinning around and heading straight for the door. She tries to slide back into her motel room before he can catch up with her, but Dexter has always been quick on his feet. He immediately intercepts her move, shoving his arm in between the door and its frame to keep it from shutting him out.
She pushes on the door as hard as she can in an attempt to keep him out, but he overpowers her and soon enough the entire door swings open. Deb is almost knocked on her feet in the process, catching her balance before she can fall straight to the carpet.
"Stop fucking around, Debra." Dexter says, snarling. "I know you don't want to talk to me, but you have to at least listen. El Sapo, the guy Briggs just went to meet, he isn't a fence. He's a hitman. He's going to kill Briggs and he's going to take the jewels, and when that's all done, he's going to come after you."
"Bullshit." She says, though despite her best attempt at assertiveness, she still sounds a bit incredulous, like maybe she thinks there could actually be some truth to what Dexter said.
"I wouldn't lie about something like this." Dexter replies. "Trust me, Deb. I have dealt with plenty of El Sapos in my life, and they don't believe in witnesses. Anyone who can even be considered a threat is immediately eliminated, it's less risky that way. I don't know how much he knows about you, but I do know that whatever it is, it's too much. I'm sure he has some idea of who you are at the very least, and –"
"I don't fucking care!" Deb screams, her voice so loud that it takes Dexter aback. "Let him come here and kill me, then. I'd like to see the fucker try."
"Well, I wouldn't. I can't lose you, Deb. You know that. Just…please, just come and crash at my place for a while. At least until this whole thing blows over. No strings, I promise." Dexter begs. "You can hate me for the rest of our lives, but Harrison misses you. Do you realize what this has been doing to him? He can tell that something has happened between us, and he doesn't like it."
"I'm sure the kid is doing just fine without me, so spare the fucking guilt trip." She says. "I mean, how couldn't he be? Look at the saint he's got for a father!"
"Watch it." Dexter warns, pointing an accusatory finger in Deb's face. "I'm a good father. Don't you dare criticize the way I raise my son."
"Never did." She lies, smiling devilishly at him. She's always known just how to get to him. "I gave you a compliment, Dexter, so don't start projecting your insecurities on me. That isn't very healthy behavior."
"Okay, that's enough." Dexter declares.
He walks back over to the door and slams it shut, trapping the two of them inside of the cramped room with nothing save all of the words that have been left unsaid.
"Fucking Christ! You don't understand anything, do you?" Deb asks with a chuckle.
She sounds half out of her mind, and Dexter can't help but wonder if his failed attempts at reconciliation have been all for nothing. But he can't bear to give up on her. She didn't give up on him when he needed her the most. What kind of brother would he be if he didn't at least try to do the same?
He catches Deb staring at the nightstand, or more specifically, at the knife resting on top of it. For a second he wonders if she's so far gone that she's actually considering swiping the knife and using it to hurt him, or even worse, to hurt herself. He inches closer to her, creating a barricade between his sister and sudden death.
"Aren't you the one who said bad people deserve to die?" She asks, interrupting his frightening thought with one of her own. "Why the fuck do you care what happens to me?"
"You aren't a bad person, Debra!" Dexter shouts, grabbing onto her shoulders as if his touch will somehow force her to understand the true extent of what he feels for her. "What happened with LaGuerta…it happened. It was either her or us, and you did what you had to do. You had to make an impossible choice, and you did what felt right. You can't blame yourself. I don't. I never did."
"Of course you would fucking say that." She says. "You're a fucking serial killer, Dexter. I know this type of shit doesn't faze you, but I am not fucking like you! I can't just murder an innocent woman and walk around like nothing ever happened. I used to believe in justice, and morals, and fucking right and wrong! I thought you were a good person, but you're not. I thought I was a good person, but I'm not. How am I supposed to live with myself if everything I believed in for my entire fucking life was just one big fucking lie?"
"But it wasn't all a lie, Deb." Dexter insists, gingerly tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I love you. I always have."
"Yeah. And look at all the good that's done me so far."
Her words hurt. They bring Dexter's guard down and Deb knows it, taking advantage of his newfound weakness and shoving him away. He stumbles backward and falls down to the floor with a thud. Deb stands over him, looking more powerful than he's ever seen her as she glares down at him. Her eyes are hollow but her stare is no less penetrating than it's ever been.
Dexter has never felt more powerless than in this moment, and though he doesn't want to let her see that, doesn't want to relinquish all control to the woman who stands towering over him, he realizes now that resistance is futile. The truth is, Deb has always held a certain amount of power over him. She'd never realized it until now, could never see just how important she was to him, but now that she realizes, he hopes that maybe she'll try to understand.
"I'm sorry." He admits. "I'm so sorry. I'll do anything if it means you'll finally stop avoiding me. Being without you…it's driving me insane, Deb. Please."
It's pathetic, his admission. So pathetic that she wavers just a bit, as if she almost feels sorry for him. Almost.
Dexter waits for her to respond, and he's not at all surprised when she doesn't. He takes a deep breath, wracking his brain for something, anything. He isn't used to this, being the emotional one. That was always Deb's job.
"I need you." He murmurs low. "I can't live without you, Deb."
She laughs heartily for the first time in a long time, and although he knows that she's mocking him, Dexter can't help but feel like maybe he's finally getting somewhere. He doesn't like her scorn but it sure beats being ignored.
Dexter sits up on his knees – which makes him pretty much at level with her waist – and wraps his arms staunchly around her, just slightly below her ass. He presses his head against the soft skin of her stomach, his eyes fluttering closed as he focuses on her breathing, comforted by the steady rhythm as it lulls him into an illusionary sense of peace.
Deb tries to move but he only wraps his arms around her even tighter, preventing her from making her escape. He hasn't touched her in so long, he almost forgot what it felt like to hold. To be held.
"Get your fucking hands off of me." She says.
There's no mistaking the anger in her voice, but her shaky words convince Dexter that she means the exact opposite of what she says.
It may be wishful thinking, but once upon a time, she told him that she was in love with him. Although her confession seems like a lifetime ago, more and more, Dexter has found himself wondering if she still thinks of him in that way; if she still yearns to feel his body pressed flush against hers, if she still craves the pressure of him burying himself deep between her thighs. These thoughts come to him almost every night now, and he isn't proud of it.
"No." Dexter adamantly replies. "No, Deb. I'm not leaving you."
"Yeah? Well what if I make you leave?" She asks, craning her neck downward so she can better glare at him.
Dexter looks into those hazel eyes of hers and all at once he knows that she truly hates him. But there's something else there…a glimmer of hope in the darkness. An unmistakable sign of life amongst the ruins. It isn't just hate that she feels – no, things would be so much simpler for her if it were – it's something else, too. He knows exactly what she wants.
Still kneeling, Dexter makes his final appeal. "You can't make me leave, Deb. This is the first time I've gotten you alone in months. Don't play this game. Not with me."
There's a hint of something in his voice, and it indicates that he wants her to make the next move. That he's daring her to try.
"This isn't a fucking game, Dexter." She says. "I'll scream. Someone will hear me eventually, and they'll call the police. And then I'm really going to do it this time. I'm going to tell them the truth. The whole fucking truth!"
"Bullshit." Dexter growls, an unmistakable taste of challenge in his voice. "You quit your job because you couldn't bear to look your friends in the eye after killing their captain. Am I really meant to believe that now you're ready to face those same people and tell them everything that I've done? Everything that you've done? You're walking a fine line here, Deb. You better be careful."
"Maybe I will." She states, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "And maybe I won't. I don't have to call the police on you. There are other ways to make problems disappear, Dexter. You of all people should be familiar with that."
Taking Dexter by surprise she knees him in the torso, repeating the assault again and again until he's finally let go of her. But her wrath doesn't stop there. She pushes him down to the floor, moving to straddle him and pin him to the ground before he can lift himself back up.
She knows that he's stronger than her, that he could very well toss her halfway across the room while barely moving a muscle, but she also knows that he won't hurt her. Not physically, at least. Emotionally? Well, that's a completely different story.
He stiffens beneath her weight as she brings both hands down to rest on his chest. The move is surprisingly intimate when contrasted with the violence of mere moments ago. Is she ready to let him back in?
"What the fuck do you want from me, Dexter?" She asks, her voice raised barely above a whisper.
"I want you to let me save you." He pleads. "I want you to come back to me."
"Come back to you? You want me to come back to you?" She snickers, shaking her head in disbelief. "That was always the way, wasn't it? I was yours, I was always yours, but you were never mine. I'm tired, Dexter. I can't do this with you anymore."
Deb stares at him and he stares right back. He's done being the first one to back down. He won't give in to her this time.
The moment lingers, their staring match lasting much too long than one would consider normal. For a second, Deb softens, but of course, that moment is a fleeting one. The fire returns to her eyes and her hands begin to climb upward towards his neck, her nails digging into the sensitive flesh there as if she intends to suffocate the life out of him. He would've never thought her capable of such a thing; but that was then, and this is now.
"Fuck you, Dexter. Fuck you."
She curls one of her hands into a fist but Dexter anticipates her plan before she's able to execute it, grabbing onto her wrist and twisting, exerting only enough force necessary to restrict her. Her breath hitches in the back of her throat, a small whimper escaping her parted lips despite the fact that she's still trying her damnedest to convince him that he wields no power over her.
Dexter capitalizes on this rare moment of weakness, grabbing onto Deb's waist and flipping them so that he's now the one on top.
He doesn't want to hurt her. Well, that's what he tells himself anyway. But truthfully, he knows that he does. He wants to hurt her just as she's hurt him.
She disappeared on him for months, forcing him to embark on a relentless search of every piece of shit motel and sketchy hangout spot in Miami. Some days he even resorted to checking the obituaries, fearful that his stubborn little sister would eventually turn up at the bottom of a river somewhere, tossed away like garbage by some lowlife criminal who'd simply taken what he wanted from her and ran.
It felt like a miracle when he finally found her. She'd tried her best to evade him, and despite his rage, he had to admire her effort; but she knew as well as he did that her attempts were all in vain. He was always going to find her. He was destined to. Without Debra, there is no Dexter. They'll always find their way back to each other.
"I fucking hate you, Dexter!" Deb declares, leaning in so close to Dexter that he feels her breath hot on his face.
He recovers quickly enough from this blow. He's already heard those words pass her lips once today, and the novelty has worn off.
"No you don't." He simply replies.
"Please…" Deb asks weakly, turning away from him so he won't see her sweat. "Please, just...just let me go."
He doesn't want to let her go, doesn't want to risk losing everything he's been working so hard to get back, but the pain in her voice cuts deep, and with a sigh he lifts himself off of her. She rises to her feet and he does the same, staring at her with his mouth slightly agape. He hopes he doesn't look at pitiful as he feels.
Silence hangs in the air as they stand opposite one another, the battle lines drawn. Dexter watches as Deb's eyes dart around the room, no doubt searching for an out. But there's only one exit, and it's currently being guarded by a hyper-vigilant Dexter, and he isn't going to let her leave without a fight.
She lunges for the door anyway in her misguided attempt at fleeing from Dex, but it's all to no avail. He advances on her like a predator hunting its prey, grabbing her from behind and yanking her toward him, holding her so her back is pressed flush against his chest.
With his chin rested on her shoulder he hugs her from behind, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other just below her heaving chest, ensuring that his hold properly secured.
"Get the fuck off of me." She grinds out.
Her resistance would certainly be getting to him if he weren't so fed up with her already. She practically invited him into the room, encouraging him to detonate the bomb that has been left ticking for months. Now all of a sudden she wants to back down? Not a chance.
"No." Dexter replies, tightening his hold on her and starting to walk the both of them deeper into the room.
He doesn't know what exactly he was planning to do once he finally got the chance to confront her for the first time since her blatant rejection in the bodega, and now that the opportunity has finally arisen, he realizes that he probably should've rehearsed his lines before showing up at this dingy motel and demanding that Deb take him back. Judging by the way she claws at his forearms as he maneuvers the two of them across the room, he isn't off to an exceptionally good start.
"Listen to me, Deb." He pleads, leaning back against the nearest wall with his sister still in tow. "I didn't want this to be your life. I never meant for any of this to happen to you. T-to us. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, well, you never do, do you?" She fires back. "That doesn't stop you from fucking me over every time, though. Hey, at least you're consistent. I'll give you that."
"You're right." Dexter sighs, finally releasing her. "I made you this way. I made you a killer. I wish I hadn't. I wish I could at least find the words to make it all okay again, but I can't. I ruined your life and here I am, still asking for your forgiveness. I'm selfish, I know. I don't deserve you, Deb, I never did…but I don't care about any of that right now, because I need you. Growing up, you always kept me close and instead of embracing that, instead of using that love, I pushed you away, kept you at arm's length. I would tell myself that it was to protect you, and I guess I still believe that in a way, that was true. But mostly, Deb, I was scared. You thought that you needed me. You thought that you couldn't survive without me. Me! It's ridiculous, and you couldn't have been more wrong. It's the other way around, Deb. It has always been the other way around."
Once he's said he piece, he chances a loaded glance in Deb's direction. It surprises him when she doesn't make a move. The door is only a few feet away but instead of trying to escape again, her eyes remain fixed on him.
"You're wrong, you know." She breathes, extending a trembling hand. She gently traces the contours of his face with her fingers, her romantic touch burning the tips of his ears and stirring up an inappropriate reaction in places he'd best ignore. "I do need you, Dexter. It makes me sick, but it's the truth. There are times when I hate you so much that I can't believe I still want you. And God, do I want you…You have no idea what that feels like. What it's done to me. What it still does to me."
"I think I do." Dexter says. He gradually leans in closer, letting his lips brush ever so slightly against Deb's earlobe with each new syllable that passes his lips. "I can't stop thinking about you. You aren't just in my head, you're in my veins. I can't remember what it was like to think about anything but you. When I'm not flashing back to that night, I'm creating impossible scenarios in my head, ways that I can save you, ways that I can get you back. When I'm at work, I'm hacking into your email, I'm leaving crime scenes early on the off chance that I'll drive around the city long enough to run into you on the street and convince you to come home with me. Fuck, even when I'm with my son, I can't focus. I can't think past missing you. So don't tell me that I don't get it, Deb. I've gotten it for a while now."
"W-what are you saying?" Deb asks, stumbling a few paces back as if he'd struck her.
She's misty-eyed, seemingly overcome by too much emotion than she's able to process all at once. But this emotions thing is a concept that is relatively new to Dexter, and he doesn't know what to say to make her stop crying. So he doesn't say anything. He acts.
The air seems to grow thicker as Dexter leans in to her, his head reflexively tilting to the left as he prepares to press his lips against hers. He fears that she'll reject him, that she'll turn him away, but instead she comes to meet him halfway, her nervous eyes wide open and focused on him until their lips finally touch and she gives herself to him completely.
And so marks round two.
At first the kiss is tentative as the both of them test the waters, afraid that in any second, the moment could be stolen from them. But Dexter surprises himself by taking things further and deepening the kiss. He kisses her with the motivation of a lifetime worth of questions, tasting decades of heated stares and loaded words on her lips, promises both broken and kept.
Deb's lips are soft and wet and she kisses him desperately, daring not to come up for air. Her mouth fits against his as if it were made to be there, as if it were made for him. In this moment, Dexter curses himself for not giving in sooner. The signs were always there, staring him right in the face; but instead of reading them, he turned away. He plugged his ears and filled his head with delusions, wasted time dreaming of Argentina and another life instead of realizing that the only life worth living is the one he's always had right here in her arms.
He wants more but Deb seems to have the opposite in mind, pulling suddenly away from him and stumbling a few paces back.
"No. No. No." She says, her face flushing red with conflicted desire. "I can't."
"Deb…"
"I have to hear the actual words, Dexter. I need to hear you say them."
"If that's all you need, then I'll give it to you." He replies, taking a few measured steps in her direction. "I am in love with you, Deb. I always have been. I always will be."
She gasps, her face caving in at his much belated declaration.
"I thought that was what I always wanted to hear." She says, wiping away a few tears that have managed to escape. An anxious giggle runs through her, narrating the inner battle she's waging with herself. "Fuck! That was exactly what I've always wanted to hear. But I can't…I can't let you hurt me again, Dexter. I'm…I'm scared."
"And I'm terrified." He admits. "But I'm done wasting time. You told me before that you were in love with me. So if that's true, if you still love me, Deb, then love me."
Deb bites down on her bottom lip, taking only a moment to consider his words. She runs to him, grabbing onto the back of his head so she can bring him closer. He crashes into her, the two of them a disastrous collision, a wreck that has always been impossible to turn away from.
Dexter decides to try something new this time, pulling away so he can move his kiss from her lips to her jaw and finally down the length of her neck. Deb shivers in response, sweet moans falling from her mouth as he kisses and licks in places that he's never had the liberty of touching before. He soon discovers that he's particularly drawn to her collarbone. He finds pleasure in the sounds she makes when his lips touch her there, like she's floating in midair and nothing can bring her back down to earth. She looks happier than she has in years, and the fact that he is the one to give that to her is its own reward.
His tongue slowly journeys back up the length of her neck until he reaches her jaw and pulls away, his lips hovering by her ear so he can again whisper those four words that he'd spent a lifetime avoiding.
He can smell the other man on her skin, a hint of musky off-brand cologne that would certainly be rendered meaningless to anyone else, someone who didn't care enough to notice. But Dexter isn't just anyone else. He notices, and he doesn't like it. More than that, the scent offends him.
He can't fight the primal urge to replace the abhorrent scent with his own, to mark his territory and send a message to any and everyone who will listen that Debra is his and no one else's. He presses his lips against hers once more, hard and eager, sliding his tongue into her mouth so he can taste her again. Deb reciprocates fiercely, clearly much more experienced in the realm of seduction than he. But Dexter holds his own, not coming up to breathe until Deb roughly takes one of his hands in hers and uses it to flick open the button of her jeans. With that barrier out of the way she guides Dexter's hand past her opened jeans and panties and down in between her legs, letting him feel her pulsating wetness, only for him.
"Deb…Deb a-are you sure?" Dexter stutters, wriggling uncomfortably in place as he tries to ignore the twitch to his groin that arises with the feeling of her slickness on the tips of his fingers.
He wants her. God, does he want her; but he can't shake the nagging voice at the back of his head, telling him that sex with Deb would be a huge mistake. It sounds suspiciously like Harry, looking down in disgust at the boy he accepted into his home out of the goodness of his heart, failing to realize that that boy would grow up to be the man who would ruin his daughter one day.
"No…" Deb answers, though her face tells a different story.
Dexter eases one finger inside of her, watching with pure fascination as her face contorts in pleasure. She's so wet that she's practically begging for him, her lips curling into a perfect O as he starts to quicken his pace.
"Oh yes, Dexter, yes!" She cries out, reflexively rolling her hips with the motions of his hand.
That's all it takes to initiate round three.
Dexter regretfully moves his hand away so he can push Deb down to the bed. She lands on her stomach but quickly flips herself over, spreading her legs so he can settle in between them. He leans down and pins both of her arms over her head, ensuring that she won't be going anywhere any time soon.
Not even an hour ago, he thought that he'd lost her for good, that she would never let him back in to her life. He can't risk that happening again. He won't.
But Deb doesn't seem content to be controlled by him. She never has. Showing a surprising amount of strength, she fights her way out of his restrictive hold and flips the both of them over. Now on top, Deb is the one to take control, biting down on Dexter's ear with just enough force to tease. His cock is hard, unbearably hard, and he knows that she can feel it pressing urgently against her thigh the longer she lingers by his lap.
He is completely at her mercy, and he's loving every second of it. But if she doesn't let him inside soon, he fears he may very well burst from just a few touches alone.
"You wanna fuck me, Dexter?" She moans, sitting down completely in his lap so she can better grind against his erection, the contact like a surge of electricity through his system.
Though they are both still unnecessarily clothed, the friction is so good on its own that Dexter whimpers in spite of himself. It's a sweet torture, yes, but torture all the same.
"Yes…" Dexter hisses, bringing both of his hands up to rest on her ass with a loud slap.
There's a crooked smile painted across her face as he paws at her like a horny teenager. Dexter is pleased to find that it's the smile, perhaps one of the things he found himself yearning for the most over these past few months spent in isolation. It is just so fundamentally Deb, it comes as no surprise that he'd cherish it.
Clearly ready to take things further, Deb lifts her shirt over her head and tosses it down to the floor. She hadn't been wearing a bra, that much had been evident from the very moment Dexter pushed his way into her motel room and noticed her nipples poking through the impossibly thin material; but he'd forced himself to keep his eyes fixed anywhere but there, mostly out of respect for their fragile relationship. Now, though? He can't bear to look away from the gentle swell of her breasts, and Deb doesn't seem to mind one bit. In fact, if her smirk is anything to go by, he'd be willing to bet that she's loving all of this fresh attention.
He brings his lips to one breast and then the other, licking and sucking each one in kind. Deb scratches greedily at his scalp, encouraging him to keep at it. After doing just that for a few minutes more, Dexter suddenly pulls away and Deb sighs, disappointed.
Once she realizes that he hadn't meant to stop things but rather to escalate them further, she follows his example, making quick work of her jeans and helping Dexter do the same with his.
Dexter stands to remove his shirt, shivering in anticipation as Deb rises and stands directly across from him, looking even more nervous than he feels. He carefully begins to pull his underwear down, his heart thumping in his chest when she releases a low, guttural moan at the sight of his sizeable erection.
"Oh, fuck me…" She mumbles low, licking her lips before sinking down to her knees before him.
"Debra…" Dexter starts, trailing off once he realizes what it is she intends to do.
He looks on as she takes the base of him in one hand, staring up at him with those eyes, warm like honey. She presses her lips to his tip and leaves a few ardent kisses there before gradually easing the length of him into her mouth, her head bobbing up and down as she sets a pace.
Dexter can't help the desire to cry out, his moans bouncing off the walls as Deb increases her furious rhythm. His legs begin to quiver, threatening to end him right here and now once Deb starts to gag as she takes all of him down to the back of her throat.
He doesn't know what he did to deserve this. He broke her. He used her in so many ways, and in return, she gave and gave and gave, until he thought there was nothing left for him to take. And though he seems to have dragged her back from the darkness, he can't shake the fact that he was the one responsible for bringing her there in the first place. He doesn't deserve her love, but as always, here he is, taking it. Some things never change.
He tangles his fingers in her hair, ruining her ponytail in the process, and yanks. She pulls away before she can bring him screaming over the edge, teetering backward until she plops down to the floor.
Immediately he misses the warmth of her mouth enveloping him, but the thought of finally crawling between her thighs and giving her what she's been aching for is all the incentive he needs to stop being so selfish for once.
"I fucking love sucking you off…" She smirks, a naughty hand reaching up to fondle his balls.
Dexter feels his cheeks growing hotter at her crudeness, though he can't say that he hates it. Not one bit.
With a chuckle he extends a hand and pulls her off of her feet, drawing her into a searing kiss once she's finally back at eye level with him. He can taste himself on her tongue, can smell his sweat on her skin. It's a much welcome change from where they started. Briggs is nothing but a distant memory now. He hopes to completely erase the man from her psyche before the night is through.
Dexter lifts Deb completely off of the ground, easily carrying her slight weight in his arms. She wraps her legs around his waist, her feet digging eagerly into his ass as she bounces up and down, pressing fervent kisses to his face and both corners of his mouth.
Walking them both back to the bed, Dexter gently lays Deb down on top of the blanket, gazing into her eyes while he reaches for the waistband of her panties and gingerly pulls the flimsy fabric down her long runner's legs.
They're both completely exposed now, no masks left to hide behind.
Dexter thinks that it should probably feel weird, seeing Deb like this. On some level it does, but mostly, it just feels inevitable. They fought many a battle to get here, and now, as he stares down at the woman he would kill again and again for, Dexter knows that this moment is worth every terrible thing that came before it.
He climbs onto the bed, leaning down to kiss along the inside of her thigh until he reaches her heated center. He places a kiss there, smiling to himself when she jerks forward in response to the sudden contact to her most sensitive area.
"Dex, please…" she whimpers, no doubt desperate for release.
He can't keep her waiting any longer. With renewed urgency he settles himself in between her thighs, rubbing the head of his cock along her opening to make sure she's really ready. She hooks her leg around his waist and helps guide him inside of her, inch by inch. He tries to take things slow, fearing that he could hurt her if he isn't careful, but Deb has never been one to play things safe. She doesn't look before she leaps. She never has. She closes her eyes and takes the plunge, hoping that things will turn out okay in the end.
They've always been two sides of the same coin, the Morgan siblings; Dexter made a habit out of being meticulous while Debra was always drawn to impulsivity. It's a volatile combination, and by all accounts, it should never work. And though there are definitely times when they clash, there are other times, times like this one, where they fit together in perfect harmony. In this moment and every one destined to follow, Dexter can't imagine spending his life with anyone but her.
Deb digs into his back, commanding him to go faster, harder, her nails splitting skin and definitely drawing blood in the process as his thrusts turn wilder, more desperate.
"I fucking love you, Deb." Dexter declares, each word punctuated with a long stroke.
It's exhilarating, to love and be loved, mind, body, and soul.
This is the consummation of so much more than sex. Inside of her he finally feels real somehow, like she's awakened something in him that spent the last four decades in hiding.
And she wants it all, just like he does. Deb lets him fill her completely, screaming in delight when he pulls out and immediately comes slamming back home, setting a feverish rhythm that causes the headboard to bang steadily against the wall. Dexter silently hopes that the room next to theirs is vacant, lest some poor family be forced to listen to the soundtrack of their late night rendezvous.
Deb commands him to go deeper and all sympathetic concerns are quickly forgotten, replaced with sheer determination to send her careening over the edge.
"F-fuck." He chokes out, gripping her by the hip as he plunges deeper into her warm heat.
He feels like he's drowning, suffocated by her very essence. There's no better way to go.
She starts to press hard on his chest, willing him to let her climb on top. He grants her wish with no hesitation, lying flat down on his back so Deb can lower herself onto his cock.
With her palms splayed flat on his chest she begins to ride him, expertly rolling her hips as she grinds against him. He surrenders to her completely, smiling up at her as she throws her head back and calls out his name in one high-pitched moan.
Though she isn't looking directly at him it's almost as if she can see what he does, can sense the smile that has taken up permanent residence on his face. She answers his smile with a beautiful one of her own, lighting up the dark in him.
He isn't sure that something like that is even possible, but when she smiles, he swears that she's reaching inside of his very soul and tugging at the heartstrings he's done his best to keep hidden from the world.
Words cannot explain how good it feels to submit fully to her, to let her use him in the only way he knows how. Dexter loves the idea of being the instrument of her pleasure, of letting her take the reins and steer them both towards the promise of that eternal white bliss.
Deb's barreling towards it now, and Dexter himself isn't very far behind. He watches as her breaths become shallower, prying one hand off of her hip so he can rub her clit in time with his upward thrusts.
"Deb, Deb, Deb." He pants, willing her to meet his stare.
She does; and what he finds in her eyes is what has always been there. Love. Acceptance. Home.
She isn't the same person she was before she learned the truth about him, and though he sometimes finds himself yearning to reverse the irreversible, to go back to the way things were before she walked into that church with a certain declaration of love on her lips, a selfish part of him thinks he might like her better this way. She's still the same Deb he's always known, and he's still the same Dex, but they understand each other now, really and truly, and no one can take that away from them.
Dexter Morgan has never claimed to know the first thing about love. He has always understood the lure of it, the desire to find that one person who would be there for him no matter what. He can't believe it took him so long to realize that that person had been there all along, loving him even when he didn't deserve it.
He swears to a God that he doesn't believe in, vowing never again to be apart from the woman who sacrificed herself in order to keep him afloat. She tore away pieces of herself bit by bit and gave them to him, trying to make him whole again. But that's where she went wrong, isn't it? He was never whole to begin with.
With a shudder Deb comes undone beneath his nimble fingers, the angelic sigh that passes from her lips inspiring Dexter to achieve his own orgasm soon after. He comes inside of her with a throaty moan, too captivated by everything that is Deb to bother thinking about how stupid that was. If he had the ability to think straight he would consider the complications and rush Deb to the nearest 24 hour pharmacy, but he doesn't do any of that. Instead he leans up to press a kiss to her lips, the remnants of his lust still resting between her legs.
If Deb has a problem with any of this, she doesn't say a word. She collapses on top of him, burying her face where his neck and shoulder meet. They lay like that for a while, coming down from their high together. The silence is easy. Comfortable.
Dexter pulls her closer, cradling her in his arms. She leans into him, wrapping one arm tight around his middle as she snuggles into his side. He thinks he could live on this.
"Fuck…." Deb breathes, breaking the silence in typical Deb fashion. "Are you gonna say something, or is that my job?"
"I…uh…are you okay?" He wonders, gradually returning to his senses.
"I don't know." She answers. "You?"
"I don't know." He echoes, turning his head to the side so he can press a chaste kiss to her forehead. He lets it linger for a while, too wrapped up in her gravity to even think of pulling away. "I want to be. I want us to be."
Deb sighs, shifting uncomfortably beside him as she begins to return to her senses as well. She doesn't make any effort to move, which is definitely a good sign, but he can sense that she's about to say something that he doesn't want to hear. He closes his eyes, bracing for impact.
He knows in his heart that whatever this is simply can't last. But that doesn't mean he has to acknowledge it. He's been the logical, meticulous man for so long. He wants to think with his heart for a change.
"Dexter, I…"
"No, Deb, don't say it." He interrupts, deciding that he'd rather spend a few more precious moments living in ignorant bliss than face the alternative. It's a dumb idea, but he thinks that maybe if he just lays here, Deb will bite her tongue, do what he never did for her and actually go out of her way to spare his delicate feelings.
"I can't let you turn me away again. I won't." He says, sitting up on the bed. "After everything that just happened between us, are you really prepared to throw it all away? I know you're scared, and confused, and high on dopamine, but please, just…at least take some time to think this through. If you need time then I'll give that to you, but –"
"Dexter! I wasn't going to –"
"I can't survive without you, Deb. Without you, I'll be…lost. Please, promise me that you aren't going to leave me."
"Dex –"
"Promise me."
Deb opens her mouth to speak, but before she can say the words Dexter wishes to hear more than anything in the world, the motel room door swings open, their late night intruder's eagerness causing the door to slam against the wall.
"Hey, Debbie!"
In walks Andrew Briggs. His eyes are wide and his pupils are dilated, two of the tell-tale signs of someone riding high on a recent cocaine hit. Talk about terrible timing.
The man's smile falls as he turns his attention towards the bed, freezing in place at the picture he just walked into. Deb tries to slink down under the blanket, but Dexter refuses to remove his hand from her nude form. What does it matter? The damage has already been done.
"You fucking bitch!" Briggs spits, his hands balled into fists at his side. "Is this that stalker piece of shit from the store? You been stepping out on me this whole time?"
"It doesn't matter who I am." Dexter says through gritted teeth. "This doesn't concern you. Just turn around, get back into your car, and drive far away from here. Nothing has to happen here tonight unless you make it happen."
Briggs laughs, really laughs, and it eats at Dexter more than it should. The man is nothing, no one, but the fact does nothing to quell his desire to put a knife in his chest.
"Andrew, listen to him, alright? I'll explain later." Deb says, trying uselessly to appeal to the man's humanity. The scowl on his face shows that he is in no mood to listen.
"Shut up, bitch!" He screams. "You fuck around on me and then expect me to disappear and give you some more time alone with your little boyfriend?"
Dexter pulls away from Deb, sliding off of the bed and retrieving his underwear from the floor. He throws them on in a flash, coming to stand face to face with Andrew Briggs.
"I'm going to give you one last chance to leave us the fuck alone." Dexter says, his demeanor calm as his Dark Passenger scratches at his throat, begging to be released.
Briggs' hand twitches, hovering over his pants pocket. Dexter catches the outline of a knife inside, not a large one, but definitely big enough to kill as long as the man knows how to use it. Given his line of work, Dexter suspects that he does.
Always swift on his feet, Dexter remembers the knife that sits on the nightstand just a few feet away. He pivots and grabs the weapon in one fell swoop, burying the blade in the man's abdomen and twisting before he even knows what hit him. He removes the knife and does it all again, stabbing him well and deep until blood, a shiny crimson, pours from his mouth and starts to dribble down his chin.
Briggs sinks down to his knees, making Dexter's face the last thing he sees before the last bit of light fades from his eyes. Good.
Dexter tosses the knife to the floor, Briggs' blood slathered up the length of his arm like a shirtsleeve. He turns to Debra, expecting to find her sobbing hysterically, cursing his name. But he sees none of that. Instead, a strange sort of blankness has settled over her face. The Deb he knows and loves is still there, not beneath the surface, but above it. She looks…okay, for lack of a better word. But he just murdered a man right in front of her, should she look okay?
"Deb…I'm sorry. I wish you hadn't seen that... Are you –"
"I'm fine." She says, offering him a small smile. "Really."
Dexter doesn't know what to say to that, so he simply smiles back. A warm feeling washes over him, and he doesn't know quite how to label it.
"What are you going to do?" She asks.
"What do you –"
"The body, Dexter. What are you going to do with the body?"
"I, I, uh…The usual, I guess. I'll take him out on my boat and toss him into the bottom of the ocean, where he belongs. Shouldn't take long."
"Do you need help?" She mumbles. Her voice is so low that he almost doesn't hear her. When he's sure that he does, it still doesn't make her words make any sense.
"What are you saying?" He asks.
"I'm saying that you can't possibly want to do this alone. I'm saying that I want to help."
A chill runs through him, her words rendering him speechless. Deb is supposed to hate killing, she's supposed to hate him. What a difference an hour makes.
He knows he should refuse her, that nothing good can come from allowing Deb into this part of his world. But the temptation is hard to fight. Bringing Deb on his boat, taking her out to the sea, finally allowing her to watch him work…it's an attractive thought.
"Let me come with you, Dexter." Deb whispers, rising from the bed and walking the short distance over to where he stands. She wraps her arms around him, not at all bothered by the blood of her former lover as it leaves splotchy stains on her pale skin. "I want to see you."
The night calls to him, dark and full of promise.
He captures Deb's lips, pulling her into a searing kiss. Screw thinking. He wants to leap.
"Get your clothes," Dexter mumbles. "and follow me."
