Warning: M/M (Don't like? Then don't read!)
Disclaimer: I own nothing *looks at lawyers who nod*. I am but a humble fan with a dark and twisted outlook on things.

Rating: M. For sexual scenes and mild language.

A/N: My first Dexter fanfic. I've just recently bought the first three seasons on DVD and have only finished Season One and came up with this as a result. Please review once you've finished reading, I want to know what people think.

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Can the monster Dexter come out and play?

My thoughts are tangled. He was taunting me. And oh how I want to play. But I wonder, would Harry have allowed it? I sincerely doubt he would have approved. I promised to be good. To follow The Code. But I need this. I need Harry to look the other way for just a little while so that I can try and fill the empty space inside me.

Lying in bed, alone, I wonder what my new friend, as I like to think of him, is doing at this exact moment. I like to think he's doing what I'm doing. I like to think that he's lying in a bed somewhere, staring at his ceiling, and thinking about me. I want to meet him. Face to face. To be able to play. Hmm, play. What sort of twisted game could we come up with? Who's the better killer perhaps? Or maybe we'd play an entirely different game. One without blood. One without killing. One that involved two bodies, sweaty, writhing and panting. A game with tangled arms and legs, bed sheets twisted and bunched.

My cock hardens, something it rarely does, and I reach down, taking myself in hand. A groan passes my lips as I stroke myself, thumb pressing against the underside of the crown, causing a large drop of pre-cum to ooze forth. I imagine it is my new friend's hand that's wrapping around my cock. I imagine him leaning over me, leaning down to whisper in my ear.

"Do you like that," he whispers, lips brushing in a delicate caress. "Do you like what I can do to you?"

I groan loudly. "Yes," I whisper, holding onto the fantasy.

"Do you want more?"

I imagine his teeth capture my earlobe and tug on it. It makes me whine with need. A dark desire brought forth by his monster. "Do you want more," he repeats and I gasp, back arching from the mattress.

"Yes!"

My strokes become faster, even as I suck two fingers into my mouth, pretending that it's something else. When I remove them I'm gasping for breath and mewling softly. I trail my fingers down my body until the tips are pressing against my hole. As I begin to push them pass the tight muscles I imagine that my fingers were his cock, filling me to the brim.

"Fuck," I hiss against the burn, my hips moving between my hands, all the while imagining his hand and his cock.

"Such a perfect little monster," he coos in my ear, moving in and out of my body. My hands move faster, I keep pace with my fantasy. It's all coaxing me toward my release. "My soul mate. Come for me. Give it all up for me."

A scream tears free of my throat as my release rips through me. Warm, sticky semen coats my hand and abdomen. My breathing is harsh as I come down from the euphoric high. It's almost as good as killing. Almost. In the quiet after my fantasy I imagine my new friend holding me, praising me and kissing me.

Soul mate. My new friend is that and so much more. He's a piece of me that's been missing. A piece I have to find. Have to have in order to be whole. And I will. I'll have him. Of that I am certain.