Prompt: Manipulating the other into makeup sex

"All my life I thought I needed you, that I couldn't survive without you. Fuck. Fuck! It was the other fucking way around. It was the other way around."

"Deb..."

"Fucking go."

...

She's asking him to leave, but how can he do that? He's just shown her how much he loves her, what he'll do to protect her, and she's telling him to get out?

He frowns at her, looks down at the knife in his hand, the blood smeared on his right palm.

"Just go." Deb cries again, buries her head between her hands as she teeters on her toes near the closed door.

"No." Dexter drops the knife near the body and moves closer to her. He squats down in front of her. "No, I came here to save you. I came here to bring you home."

Deb sobs, her body shaking as she pulls back, stands up. "I don't want your fucking help!" Her voice breaks and she bends over tries to catch her breath.

"Deb, please." He stands up too, moves closer until she is cornered at the patch of wall by the door. She squeezes herself away from him, pressing against the cold concrete as her gaze hovers on Briggs' body.

Dexter comes even closer, until his body leans into her, his forehead touching her temple. "I need you, Deb." He whispers. "You were right. I need you." His bloody hand moves to her hip, the crimson smearing against her denim.

"No…" She wants to scream at him, shove and kick him, punch his fucking lights out. But all she does is whisper and press her body further away.

He takes advantage, presses into her more, so that she is completely trapped. He nips at her jaw as his other hand slides up the back of her thigh. He grabs a handful of her ass, just like he saw Briggs' do the other day.

"Just go away, Dexter. Just get the fuck away from me." But her voice holds no conviction. She can't tear her eyes away from the dead body, Dexter's offering.

"Please, Deb." He presses further, pushes his hard length against her thigh and scrapes his teeth against her neck.

The tears haven't stopped. They fall onto his shoulder, speckling his shirt as his lips move across her skin. He moves his right hand up from her hip, underneath her shirt. She can feel the sticky wetness on her skin and another sob escapes her lips.

His hands continue to move across her and she can hear him next to her ear, pleading with her not to leave him, begging her to come back. She hates him for everything. For LaGuerta, for Briggs, for being the fucker that he is.

She hates him so much she can't believe she still loves him. And to hear him say these words to her, to implore her with such desperation only reminds her of everything she always desired from him. She's just watched him kill a man, someone she mildly cared for, someone who didn't really deserve it. Yet in some ways it feels like a twisted, bizarre gift. Like something the fucking cat drags in to prove his love for you.

She almost wants to laugh, but cries harder instead. Because how can she ever really escape him? Hasn't he proven now that she never will?

She can feel him reach for the waistband of her jeans and she lets him. She turns her head, shoves her lips against his and he returns the kiss with fervor. He yanks her pants and panties down her legs swiftly. Her eyes settle back on Briggs' lifeless body and that's what she's still staring at when Dexter pulls her leg around him and slams into her.

She can feel her breath leave her body at the hard movement and she finds her arms coming around him, holding on tightly, nails digging into his flesh. His breath is loud in her ear, her name falling from his lips on repeat. She can only stare at the dead body, mere feet away, as he fucks her.