Lumen leans over me, her soft hair traces across my chest, leaving sparks across my body. The hot skin of her thighs rests over my lower stomach, I can feel her, wet, against me. My body responds because I have no choice. She draws me, pulls me towards her inexorably, like a magnet. I groan her name, I arch up towards her and I wake.
I don't open my eyes because I know this is another cruel dream. I lie still and feel the dream unfolding, I cling desperately to her presence, knowing that, if I open my eyes, she will be gone.
Her fingers trace across my scars, the one across my ribs, my left upper arm, my right. Their gentle caress does nothing to halt the mounting pressure in my body. Her soft hands travel down my stomach, bypassing my aching erection and moving down to my knees, feeling, exploring me like I am a new land. I can't hold the dream much longer. I know I have to move, open my eyes, and she will be gone. I sigh, the sound already gathering her up into the darkness to vanish her again and leave me lonely.
"Are you all awake now?" Her voice sounds amused. I open my eyes and she is there, over me, her eyes bright in the moonlight from the slatted blinds which cuts across her body. She is naked and she is real. I half sit up, struggling to lean on one elbow, trying to make sense of this dream made reality. The events of last night, the last few days, begin to filter into my sleep mazed brain. I smile and flop back on the pillow. She chuckles.
"You know, I didn't know how you'd react to my... exploring," she says, smiling gently, "but I woke up and here you were, all naked and..." she shudders and makes a predatory noise which makes me think she might eat me alive, "...nice." I blink and stretch, what do I say now?
"And then I realised that part of you was awake." She grins and brushes her hand over my erection, I feel that rush of heat, the pressure threatening to break free. "So we just waited for the rest of you to catch us up." I laugh and it becomes a moan as she strokes me with her hands. I move to sit up and she puts one hand on my chest, pinning me in place.
"No, stay there, I want to watch you." Her voice is dark and it makes me tremble, but it's not fear which makes my blood rush, my world shrinks to the part of me she holds in her hands.
Long strokes, gentle at first and then with more determination when she sees the effect she is having on me. Her expression one of focus, concentration. She bites her lip and catches her breath as I arch under her touch, unable to control what my body, my hips are doing. I belong to her.
I groan her name and she smiles, a slow, lopsided smile. I can see she's enjoying this. She leans over me as I start to come, I can't help myself, I put my arms out to her and she leans into my crushing embrace.
"You're mine, Mr Monster," she whispers as I spill over her hands and fall back on the bed. "All mine."
I want to return the favour, roll her over and taste her but the heaviness of sleep is already stealing over me.
"Lumen," I whisper, "I want to..."
"Shh," she strokes my forehead, down my chest, her hands soothing, drawing the sleep over me. "There's time for that later."
Brightening sunlight bars the room with bands of shade as the sun rises. I wake and feel her weight against my shoulder, her hair on my skin. I look down and she is turned away from me, resting her head against my outstretched arm, her right hand falling back over my hip. Her body, her scars exposed. I look at her in wonder.
She is breathing slowly, her stomach and chest rise and fall softly with each breath. I bring my other hand around and stroke the smooth curve of her belly. She shifts and sighs. I fit my hand to the bone of her hip, marvelling at how my fingers mould themselves to her skeleton, like we were made to fit together. I dip my head and breathe in the scent of her hair. I watch how the light picks out the shiny puckered flesh of her scars. I bring my hand back up across her body, feeling those scars like ridges under my fingers. She is a paradox. These scars tell of violence; fear and danger written in their jagged lines but here she lies in my arms, peaceful and safe. She's so strong.
I stroke my hand up, over the curve of her breast, feeling the nipple harden as I press my palm over the soft skin. She shifts in her sleep, leans further back against me, her leg falls to one side. The gesture chases out any innocence in my actions.
I curl the arm she is lying on so that I can use both hands. I pull each nipple gently, in turn. She falls back, over my chest, onto her back, her arms out and body open as she stretches. Lying half beneath her, still holding one breast, I sweep my broad hand down over her navel and rest it on the curve of bone just above the juncture of her legs. Her body jerks as it anticipates my next move. I know she is awake.
She lays very still, her breathing short and her eyes flicking under her eyelids. Her expression is sharp, alert.
"Hey, Mrs Monster," I whisper, as I move my hand and stroke her hair from her cheek, then back down her flank to rest in its former place. Her arm crooks up behind me and she moves her face to kiss me. She is smiling now.
"Hello." Her voice is hoarse with sleep.
"Just relax, I was just doing some exploring of my own." She smiles sleepily and I feel her muscles letting go, she lies back against me.
My hand strokes the soft skin inside her thigh, I brush the damp tangle of hair with my fingertips and she gasps, moves up to meet my hand. I remember my other hand is on her breast and I begin to press her nipples between my forefinger and thumb, first the left and then reaching across her to do the same with the right. All the time my other hand dips lower and lower until I open her with my fingers and she moans.
I catch my breath, I can't help it. She is so warm and so wet that I can barely manage to hold to my slow movement. I run my fingers up along her soft flesh, from where her body opens to where slippery and soft becomes hard desire. She moves and groans, a growl from deep in her chest.
With my arm over her, teasing and caressing her breasts, I hold her against me while I move my fingertips over her clitoris. My middle finger and my forefinger, flat against her, stroke circles which start off lazy but increase in pressure and speed as she grips my arm with her hands and pushes up to meet me. Her body arches and jumps in time to my fingers.
I bend my head to her ear and kiss her neck gently. I use her own words from earlier in the night.
"You're mine, all mine." She nods, wordlessly agreeing, and then she whispers my name fiercely into the half light and I feel her body tense and let go. She lies over me for a moment, catching her breath, before she rolls back against me, tucked into the curve of my side, and puts her arm over me, settling into the crook of my elbow. I bend my head and kiss her and she smiles and strokes my cheek. Sleep claims us again.
She's gone when I wake up and I stretch and wonder if she's just gone to the bathroom. The front door clicks and I sit up sharply. Why can't I just trust the moment? Why does the sound of the door have me reaching for my pyjama pants and my heart racing? I stand for a moment with my hand on the door of the bedroom, afraid to open it in case I find the apartment empty.
She is putting things in the fridge, a brown paper bag of groceries on the counter. She turns when she hears me come in. Her face lights up as she smiles, eyes crinkling at the sides.
"Good morning." She comes around the counter to kiss me, putting her arms about me and holding me tightly. I pull her against me, her feet lifting slightly from the ground. "Mmm," she mumbles as I press my face into her hair. I let her go.
"Where have you been?" She gestures to the bag. It has a British flag on the side.
"I remembered you are a breakfast connoisseur." Her words remind me of the awful morning of Harrison's birthday. She sees this flicker across my face and she steps closer, narrows the distance between us physically and emotionally. "I wanted to make that memory right this time, Dexter." I nod, incapable of saying anything. How can she read my thoughts so easily? I've never met anyone who could even guess what was going on in my brain before.
"Thanks." I know it's an understatement but it's the best I can do. She grins at my inadequate communication and I look into the bag she has brought. "Eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes? What's this?"
"A full English breakfast." She says, grinning. "Ever had one of those?" I shake my head and she grins even wider.
"Nope. What does it involve? Anything disgusting? Animal body parts that shouldn't be eaten?" she laughs.
"No, you're thinking of something else. This is just lots of fried food. My dad used to make us 'breakfasts of the world' when we were little. This was my favourite. Next time we can have cold meats and cheeses like the Germans." I raise my eyebrows as she pours a glass of OJ and hands it to me. I sit down at the counter and watch her cook.
"What are you dong with the bread?" I ask in alarm as she smears it with butter and puts it in the frying pan, next to the sausages and bacon. The bacon looks too thin and the sausages too fat. Where did she buy these things? I like things to be orderly, controlled, but she's taken breakfast into her own hands. It scares me a little. She turns, still grinning as she prods the bread with the spatula.
"Frying it, I told you, it's all fried. It's really bad for you so we'll just have it once." She opens a can of beans and puts them in a pan.
"Lumen, beans? With breakfast?"
"Relax, Dexter, it's a new experience." She chuckles and turns back to the pan. "I've been thinking, about the killing." I raise my eyebrows. We're discussing killing while she cooks me international breakfast?
"Oh. What about it?" I watch her as she switches on the coffee machine and gets out two large cups.
"Our motivations. They're different but nearly the same. We overlap."
"We do? How?" I smile and she looks over her shoulder as she hears it in my voice.
"Well, for you it's about control, I think. You had no control over what happened to your mother, those men had all the control and so that's how you perceive taking control."
"With a chainsaw?" I ask as I finish my OJ and reach for the carton. She nods, then looks at me as she gets two plates down from the cupboard.
"Does that sound right? Or is it too much pop psychology?" I shrug.
"I don't know, seems as good a theory as any. And...?"
"And it's not just that, I think. You do it because you have to, there's the control but then you get something else from it, the release. All that aggression, that violence, has to go somewhere." Her eyes meet mine as she slides the fried bread, tomatoes and mushrooms onto the plate. She stabs the bacon and the sausages and puts them on the plate too.
"You think I'm aggressive? Violent?" I frown, not sure if I want to know the answer. She looks at me and nods once.
"Yes, I think you have all that in you, Dexter. But I've seen you with Harrison, with me," she puts out her hand and touches my cheek. "I think you get it all out, in one sharp explosion, when you kill." She pauses in passing me the plate.
"Do you always use a knife?" I look at the knife in my hand, a regular piece of eating cutlery. She shakes her head. "The knife," she corrects.
"No, not always, sometimes it doesn't feel right." She nods, dismissing the question but I know she will ask it again sometime soon, she's tenacious.
"So, is that your theory on Dexter the serial killer?" I ask her cutting some bacon and putting it with some tomato and the fried egg she is placing on my plate. She watches me and I scoop some beans onto my fork. I eye the combination warily.
"Not all of it. I think you get satisfaction from knowing you have rid society of someone bad. That might be the salve over your darkness but it's become part of the darkness too. The Code has become part of the darkness." I chew, thinking about what she just said and that breakfast doesn't taste too bad.
"What do you mean?" I drink some coffee and watch her mind working.
"You enjoy the ritual, right? The planning? The research? Not just the actual kill, it's all become part of the same thing. The Code sets you free and it's all become the same thing." I nod, she's right, my initial instinct to kill wasn't about planning, research, it was about the sharp implement slashing down and the blood.
"So, what about you, how do we overlap?" She drinks all of her coffee before she answers, skewering a piece of bacon on her fork and studying it.
"I get the same satisfaction from knowing I just got rid of another monster, present company excepted of course." I smile and she smiles back. "I get a rush from the moment. I just rub someone like that out of history, it's like a cataclysmic removal of their influence on the world. But I don't get the urge, the itch. I'll have to rely on you for that. What I have is an 'it's about time I did that again' feeling. Does that make sense?" She frowns at me and I nod, still eating.
It does. It makes perfect sense. We're here from different places but we get the same things from what we do.
"Harry told me that when you kill a man you don't just take his life, you snuff out all his future possibilities." She nods fiercely.
"That's it, that's just it. I can almost feel all their future deeds, the lives they were going to take and maim, being put back together. But I don't get the itch. So, you have to tell me when you get the itch again," she says, pouring more coffee and smiling as I realise I have nearly emptied the plate, "and we can plan together."
"Ok, that's good." I steal a sausage from her plate and she pretends to attack me with her fork. I mock cower and she laughs.
"So, when can we do it again?" I hear the excitement in her voice. I look up to see her tongue dart over her lower lip, her eyes wide. I recognise that expression, from my mirror when I get ready for a kill, in bed when she looks at me that way. My stomach clenches.
"When we come across a deserving person." I answer her, smiling.
"How do you usually find someone deserving?" She waves the coffee pot and I nod as she fills my cup again.
"Well, I used to have a friend in records down at the station. A friend of Harry's actually, and she used to let me have some old case files. I told her it was for a hobby, cold casing for fun. But, she died a while back so I've just been keeping my eyes open."
"At work?" She asks, cocking her head. I nod.
"Yeah, at work, at court. Actually, I have a court hearing coming up on Monday. Sometimes you hear things that might lead to a... deserving person." She smiles and then her face turns suddenly serious.
"Dexter?" I don't look up from my plate as I swirl the last of the fried bread in the sauce from the beans and the tomato, I can feel it clogging up my arteries,.
"Hmm?"
"This is it now, isn't it? It's just us." I look up, her face is more serious that I've seen it before. Without thinking, I nod. It is. It's just us. I put down my knife and put out my hand. She takes it and we smile.
"I killed a couple once," I see her eyebrows rise. "They were killing illegal immigrants, treating them worse than animals. But they did it together. I'd never seen anything like it, they loved each other. I asked them how, do you know what they said?" She looks at me and nods, how does she know?
"They said they wanted the same things, Dexter. Just like we do."
After breakfast, I wash the dishes and get a text from Deb to say that everything's fine and that we shouldn't rush over if we're 'tied up'. She even types the quotation marks. I sigh, shake my head and sit down on the sofa. Lumen looks over from where she is drying up the plates and cups.
"What? Is everything ok?" I nod, she comes over and reads the text, she frowns. "Tied up? What's that about?" She looks at me levelly, one eyebrow raised. "Dexter Morgan, is there something dark about you that you're not telling me?" She laughs as her own joke, I smile ruefully. She sits on my lap, our faces inches from each other.
"When I tried to talk to Deb, before I left you the note, I said something about us wanting the same things. Deb must have picked up on something, and you know how Deb's mind works, because she decided I was referring to... ah... bondage." I look at Lumen, a tentative smile on my face.
"Are you? Into bondage?" She asks, her tone matter of fact, unconcerned. She surprises me, after what she's been through I can't imagine her being too comfortable with this subject. I look at her in alarm.
"I don't know, I've never... it's not been something I've..." Lumen laughs and pats me on the shoulder.
"It's ok Dexter, I'm not suggesting we do anything like that. Let's just stick to plastic wrapping people to tables and playing with sharp objects, huh?" She kisses me lightly and goes back to the kitchen. She calls over her shoulder.
"You do get weird about the strangest things, Dexter Morgan. Breakfast with beans and bondage!" She laughs to herself and I sit on the sofa and smile.
I think some people thought I'd finished! Oh no! There is much more killing, Debspeak, crime scene, killer sex, Masuka baiting, baby sitting in this 'season' to go! Thanks to Vb for being a light at the end of the tunnel, to Lostie17 for the Spanish and to YOU for reviewing! cx