Genre: A Gen double-drabble (exactly 200 words, including the title), written by a slasher.
Summary: Darkly dreaming Dexter. Really.
Author's note: I hope it makes sense. I think it's exactly what I wanted to write, and there aren't any mistranslating.

Disclaimer: Dexter Morgan and his deeds don't belong to me, but Jeff Lindsay (author of the books: "Darkly Dreaming Dexter", "Dearly Devoted Dexter", "Dexter in the Dark"), and thank you, I'm absolutely fine with this situation, just playin' around.

Never before

Nowadays, I dream about blood: hot, heavy, boozing blood, dark drops against the whiteness of the clean, cold flesh, so pale, so light, so… innocent as I've never dreamed, never felt before. (Innocent - What a surprising word for the dying hooker I've dreamed about, and what a surprising word would it be for my earlier playmates, whom I'm familiar with.) Not like I used to dream or feel, but this entirely new sensation is way beyond my usual lack of anything inside me. The nice, old, comfortable emptiness has been replaced to… something, and it just scares me.

I dream about flying too. I understand blood, I know it, I've built my little liar life around it, it's not a surprise it follows me into my unconsciousness, but flying… never before.

All those things in this world to dream about, and I dream about flying… what means sex. Again, a meaningless, even almost boring ritual, now with a brand new meaning, like never before… becomes more and more interesting, even intriguing… stimulating, just the thought of it is enough.

Thanks to my newest friend my nights are filled with confusion.

And dreaming about flying still means sex.

End