A/N: Wow, I can't believe I've been gone so long! Sorry for the massive delay! And thanks for all the comments on that last crazy chapter :) Anyways, there will likely be a short delay on the next chapter until after the new year. So hope you all have a wonderful holiday and Happy 2015!

15. Nightly Rituals

Dexter has a new routine. When the moon is hanging low in the sky, full and glowing, it beckons him. He can feel the urge blossoming, like an evening primrose, drawing him into the night. He is grateful Jaime never objects, that Harrison is asleep by nine. The nighttime is his to prowl and lurk.

He chooses his black shirt, pulls his gloves on while he's in the car. He drives to the same spot, night after night and waits. And every evening he follows the same car from the bungalow on the beach to one dive bar or another.

He doesn't bother to go inside, but takes note of the clothing as Deb saunters in. Short shorts, a see through shirt, a come hither flip of her hip with a scowl on her face. She isn't gone long; an hour at most, before she stumbles out, draped over some loser.

He follows at a distance, wondering if she is drunk enough that the car might crash or a cop might pull her over. He hates the idea, but wonders if it is what she needs in this moment; a desperate wake up call.

He can't imagine sometimes that this has gone on for so long and he is the only one to know. The department is none the wiser. Only he knows the things she does, the creature she has become, the one he has made.

Dexter parks his car at the end of the block and watches her stumble out of hers and into her house, her latest buddy lighting up a joint as he strolls in after her. He waits only until the door is shut behind them before he gets out of his car. He makes his way towards the house, around to the back patio where he lurks unseen behind the tall bushes.

He watches through the leaves as Deb pulls the joint out of the man's hand and takes a long drag while he paws her ass. Dexter frowns as Deb throws her head back and presses herself against her friend. He watches while she pulls off her shirt, unhooks her bra. She wraps her fingers around the man's wrist and pulls him into her bedroom, the muscles in her back rolling seductively as she walks away.

Dexter pauses, considers once more bursting through her door, his fingers grasping the man's head and twisting until he can hear the satisfying snap. Instead he rolls his shoulders, slips around the patio to the side of the house.

She never bothers to shut her curtains; there are no neighbors near enough to see anything anyways. Cheek pressed against the cool brick, Dexter glides closer to the full length window and carefully looks inside. Deb pushes the man down onto the bed and shimmies her jean shorts and thong off her long legs. From this perspective he can see her hand slide up her leg, across her taut stomach, up to her breast where she pulls at her nipple.

He responds as he always does, hardening as his gaze moves to her face, her eyes dilated and dark. The urge to touch himself is stronger than usual tonight. Most of the time he can shake it off; force himself to turn his back until the deed is done. But tonight he wants to see her.

His shirt snags slightly on the bricks as he leans closer, careful to stay next to the house where the security lights won't trigger. His eyes stay focused on Deb, her hand wandering lower, her fingers slipping out of view.

He can hear the drunken mumblings of the man she's with as he undresses, coaxes her closer. But his entire focus is on her, the way she saunters closer to the bed and slowly slides onto it.

Now on the bed, she swings a leg across and over the man, straddling him as she brings her body slowly onto his. Dexter watches as she slides onto his length, her hands pressing against his chest as her head lolls forward.

He doesn't realize he is touching himself until he feels the cool ocean breeze against his cock, hardening further as the air strikes his skin. He strokes his hand over his length, takes note of how her hair swings around her.

Her hands leave the man, travel up her stomach, to her breasts. Dexter groans lowly in his throat as he watches her fingers twist her nipples. Her hands continue to her shoulders, up through her hair and her head rolls back. Her back arches, and he stares as her breasts bounce with her movements.

He can see the man's fingers wrapped around her hips and imagines his hands there, the feel of her flesh and bones beneath his fingertips. Her voice is reaching his ears, her moans crescendoing in rhythm to the bed's creaking.

He strokes harder, matches his movements against hers. And when she climaxes, her shout of satisfaction sends him over, his knees buckling as his cum falls onto the grass at his feet. In the heat of the moment he stumbles, his feet scrambling to keep him upright. He steps just a bit too far and suddenly he is standing in a pool of light.

Dexter pulls himself back against the house. But Deb's head has come up sharply, her eyes trained on the window, the bright lights shining.

He can hear her date questioning where she is going and her curt Fuck off. He considers leaving before it is too late, but something keeps him there. Even tucked against the wall, he knows she will see him and he waits until she is standing, naked at the window.

She doesn't look surprised. Not even embarrassed at her state of undress. Instead her eyes move over him, linger on his limp dick, still hanging out of his pants. He stares at her while she looks him over, waits until her gaze locks back on his. He doesn't know what he expects from her, but all he gets is a cruel smirk before she closes the curtain with a yank.