Prompt: A "good" day
A/N: If you've been reading this series, then you know this isn't going to be fluff. But it's probably the closest I'll come to it!
Deb wakes with the sun on her face, peeking through the partially closed blinds. She doesn't open her eyes right away, but adjusts to where she is; the sound of the ocean in the distance, the feel of her naked body tangled between cool sheets, the weight of Dexter's hand on the small of her back.
There's a warm feeling stirring inside of her. She thinks it must be what contentment feels like.
"Hey." She hears Dexter's sleepy voice behind her as he slides his hand around to her hip and pulls her closer. He rubs his stubbly chin against her shoulder blade and presses his stiff cock against her thigh. Effortlessly he flips her over, bringing her onto her back and underneath him. He gives her a wicked if still drowsy grin before he starts a trail of kisses from her neck to her navel. His fingers find their way between her legs, stirring her desire and making her ready.
Without further preamble he slides into her, starting an unhurried and sensuous pace that has her wrapping her legs around him and moaning his name. When he brings her to climax she cries out and he follows shortly behind, her name on his lips. He rolls them over, bringing her to lie on his chest before kissing the top of her head.
"Pancakes?" Dexter asks as he wraps a piece of her hair between his fingers. Deb can just barely manage an agreeing sigh "Hmmm."
He rolls her back into bed and kisses her forehead before jumping out. She watches him find his pajama pants from the strewn clothing on the floor and pull them on before he leaves the bedroom.
Deb takes her time, languidly sitting up in bed to stare out the window of Dexter's bedroom to find the blue waves and the bright sunlight. A lazy Sunday morning is just what she needs. She takes a stretch and finds her discarded clothes before exiting the bedroom.
Deb cuts through the door to Harrison's side of the apartment, spotting the little boy's tousled hair in front of the tv, his eyes glued to Sponge Bob. "Your dad's making pancakes" She interrupts and he swivels and gives her a brilliant smile before bouncing up and towards her.
Harrison stops dead in front of her and looks up at her happily. "I like when you sleepover Aunt Deb!"
She squats down in front of him, "I like it too cause then I get to see you!" The pang of guilt hits her unbidden and she pushes it aside as she wraps the kid in her arms and hauls him into the kitchen. He giggles in return as she places him down and Dexter hands him a plate stacked high and drowned in syrup.
Her phone rings as they are devouring their breakfast, Angel's voice at the other end telling her they are needed. She hangs up and frowns, so much for their lazy day. "We have to stop by a crime scene." She says quietly to Dexter, her eyes slide over to Harrison and return. "Apparently it's bad."
He nods with a full mouth and swallows. "Hey Harrison. Jaimie's going to come by for a little while but when Aunt Deb and I get back we're going to take you to the beach."
The kid beams in response, the mouth full of pancake nearly falling out and Deb laughs as he tries to stop it.
An hour later, as they stand in the stifling heat, Deb wishes the fucking criminals would take a fucking day off so she could too. She shades her eyes with her hand as she and Angel watch Dexter photograph the scene and start taking samples. Three bodies, gruesomely murdered, in the middle of the fucking Piggly Wiggly parking lot. God damn fucking serial killer. She wonders what's in the Miami water that they all manage to show up here.
As the ME covers the bodies and prepares them for transport to the morgue, Dexter hovers near her. "Well?" She prompts.
"Same guy as before, I'm sure."
Deb scowls and looks back to him. "You're telling me everything, aren't you?" She doesn't mean to ask because she's not sure she'd like the answer, if he was even truthful with her.
But all he does is nod and smile assured. He's a fucking liar crosses her mind before she can stop it. But she forces it away and tells herself to stop.
They're back to the apartment in three hours, which seems like a feat and she's happy to be able to salvage at least part of her day. Jamie's already packed up Harrison and they're down at the shore in record time. Deb lays under the pounding sun, glad for some color, as she watches Harrison down at the water with Dexter. She can't even recall the last time she was able to just sit and do jack shit for five minutes, let alone an entire afternoon.
It feels unbelievable good to have a normal day. To relax on a beach with her nephew and…Dexter…whatever the fuck he was to her. Most likely a question best left for a different time. Or never.
She watches as Dexter stares down the beach, his eyes locked somewhere, but she can't quite follow. For a moment she tries to search out where his gaze lands, then decides better of it. She doesn't want to think about the reasons that they are here on Sunday afternoon at the beach.
Deb sighs and closes her eyes instead, choosing to force her mind off and allow her body to bake in the mid afternoon sun. Her nap is all too brief and she wakes to Dexter's fingers on her wrist. "You'll burn." He tells her, his eyes roving her bikini clad figure. "You're not wearing much." The tone is somewhere between possessive and protective, somewhere between brother and lover. No matter, it sends a shiver of desire through her and she smiles at him softly. "Let's head out before traffic picks up." He tells her and she watches Harrison picking up his beach toys. "We can hit up Ranaldi's for dinner." Her favorite, a nice ending to a relaxing day.
At home, after a shower as they get ready for dinner, she's in the bathroom looking at her reflection. She's trying to suppress a memory, a feeling, a sound that rings in her ears at inopportune moments.
She's distracted from it when Dexter walks in. "You're taking too long." He scolds. But he gives her an adoring look and the reprimand is softened. "You did burn." He says softly, his eyes on her collarbone. He reaches around her and produces the aloe from the cabinet, squeezing a dollop onto his hand and gently easing it over the redness. The action is tender and loving and she leans into him until her lips reach his chin, brushing a kiss against it. He smiles at her and the moment is filled with a peace that she finds herself constantly searching for.
"Daddy!" Harrison's voice filters through the partially closed bathroom door, stalling the moment and bringing her back.
"Hurry up" Dexter tells her with a smile. "We're getting hungry."
The restaurant is busy, but the wait isn't long and the food is fucking good. She looks around at the other tables, filled with families and couples. To everyone else they look just the same and it's astounding to her. She wonders if this is what Dexter feels like; blending in with the crowd while you know you're nothing like them. She wonders if this is the way she'll feel for the rest of her life; separate, distant, wrong. The sadness and isolation wash over her suddenly. The feeling shatters the veneer of her sameness and it's abruptly impossible to pretend that she blends in.
The thought stirs up a feeling of panic and she takes a trembling, fearful breath. That's when she feels Dexter's hand over her own. She looks over to him, to his calm, steadying gaze and her breath leaves her in a slow stream, the panic settling and dissipating. He doesn't say a word, but she can read his expression, his reassurance. She doesn't care that it's a fucking illusion. That his assurances don't amount to a hill of beans. She chooses to latch on to him, to ride his calming presence back to the present moment, back to the safety of anonymity.
Back at home with a full stomach and Harrison in bed, she sits next to Dexter, leans against his shoulder. Her eyes follow the slapstick comedy on the tv, but her mind is on Dexter, on the feel of his arm around her shoulder, his fingers entwined with hers.
"Good day?" Dexter asks quietly. She nods against him, "Fucking relaxing."
There's a strange pause and she knows what he'll say before he says it. "I'm going to run over to the department. Get a few things started from that crime scene while it's quiet." The tension coils like a snake around her stomach. It may not be a lie, although everything in her screams otherwise.
"Sounds like a good idea." She whispers. He kisses her temple and she leans away as he gets up. When he calls out goodbye she can't find it in her to face him, and gives a small wave instead, listens to the door shut behind him. She has to swallow down the feeling of sickness. She shuts off the tv and gets ready for bed on auto pilot. Best not to think, best not to consider.
Later in the night, she rolls over and he's there. Half-awake she curls up next to him, places her hand over his heart and allows the steady beat to lull her back to sleep. It was a good day after all.