Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tonight’s the night

Tonight, he’s going to kill again. He’s going to feed the darkness inside, going to give up to the urge that’s always creeping around. He’s going to feed it with another life, another slab to his collection. 

That is, of course, if he can get the FBI off his ass for tonight. Lundy’s been too interested in his professional opinion, at times bordering the personal too, to be careless now. He’s got to think, to be three steps ahead, like he has been until now. Now… Everything is turning sideways. He is beginning… to doubt himself. To make mistakes. To drop the mask at times he absolutely should be wearing it.

His personal life is in shambles too, if he could have one, that is. With Rita, everything was perfect until it wasn’t. The changes had to come, and Dexter isn’t one to change. Things have become… too demanding. Too intense. Rita was pure light, and having her around only made him want to leave all of the sooner. It wasn’t that he hated that life, the kids, the house, the wife; all of that was perfectly fine. But watching that life from the outside isn’t the same as living it. And it was exhausting. Paul trying to meddle had been the final nail to the coffin of his relationship with Rita. Maybe that has been for the best, the perfect excuse to him leaving.

To take his mind off all the things happening around, he’s focused his mind on a certain gentleman for weeks now. This ‘Andrew Domingo’, a retired marine reaching forty, apparently loves to take young boys to parks, only to strangle and violate them there, out in the open. He’s done this to five men, at least the ones connected. All prostitutes, of course, from a different district every time. The man knows how to cover.

Dexter sighs, reaching for his cell phone. It’s almost midnight. The screen of his laptop reflects the faces of the victims, a bit too brightly. 

I’ve been looking at this for hours. Might as well start the night.

It’s a Friday night, and from the intel he’s been putting together, he knows just where he can find Andrew. If all goes well, he’s going to have him on a platter in no time. Just thinking about it makes him feel even, at peace, like everything will eventually fall in place.

The night is still young, so he’ll have to be careful not to be seen. He doesn’t think it will be a problem, after all the club Andrew is a gay club, to put it bluntly. Most of the cops in the station are the prototype of masculinity, with the same old homophobic cliches to them. It’s thrilling knowing he’s actually going to do it, after the pressure of his waste surging from the ocean made him put a hold to it. 

It’s really been hell, like a really heavy stone laying over his shoulders all of the time. He’s been following the code like a religion. It’s the only thing keeping him sane. At work it is even worse. He feels cornered, and yet he has to act as if everything's the same. As if he hasn’t slept well in weeks, as if he isn’t paranoid about every interaction he has. 

With Doakes it’s been a total misery. He’s been tailing him after work, so sure of being right and just waiting for him to fumble. And the worst part is that he’s right. How, in a station full of detectives, he’s the only one to detect the inhumane nature in Dexter, he doesn’t know. It’s almost interesting how easily Doakes can see him, what he truly is. He is sure there’s something there, with the sergeant, his violent nature and intolerance for any kind of disorder just prove his theory. This obsession he has over him is just trouble, a headache he really doesn’t need at the moment. 

Tonight, he’s not going to worry about that. Debra, Batista, Vince and most importantly, Doakes, are out for drinks at Jimmy’s for the night. The whole gang is out drinking and he’s about to make another kill. It feels right. 

When he opens the door and the warm breeze hits his face, a surge of energy goes through him. It’s the right moment. He can’t get to his car fast enough. As he thought, there’s no trace of Doakes. He’s ready for the kill.

He enters the club like he’s always been around. Miami Foxes, of the epicentre of gay society in the city. He’s been there before, to study the grounds and plan the kill ahead. He pays at the entrance, making a quick convo with the doorman before grabbing a beer at the bar. 

Drink in hand, Dexter’s good at pretending, and he knows how he looks. Men are the easiest to convince, especially if they’re sexually interested. Dexter himself doesn’t get it, the appeal to make everything about sex. To him all is the same, men and women. He hasn’t really been attracted to either. He can appreciate beauty, he sees it in both sexes, always has had, but that has never felt the urge to fuck anybody. It feels good, it really does sometimes, but it’s like a routine, a performance he has to engage with all of his partners. With Rita it almost felt real. When it ended he almost felt glad. She deserves so much better. Not a half human half monster creature, a liar. It was good she thought him as an addict, in the end. It was an easier exit than the truth. It was almost an euphemism.

Walking through the crowd, it feels freeing. Even if this isn’t his usual target audience, it was nice feeling the eyes on him, and watching back. Now he is single, in a bar full of available people. Men have always been too easy to manipulate. Money or sex, that's all it takes. He’s never been too interested in the latter, socially, it's easier to stick to the norm and pursue the opposite sex. So that’s that. That’s what Harry believed, after all. To Dexter, it doesn’t really matter. A body is a body. Fascinating, in all ways, really. Homosexuality hasn’t been repulsive at all to him. Of course, there’s only one person he’s interested in tonight. 

The music is loud and the club is packed. He stays in the corner of the higher level, alone, watching the crowd beneath him like prey. Andrew’s been sitting in the VIP section for a while now, talking to his victim and softening them to the blow that will come later. He’s not an ugly guy, tall, perfect hair and with perfect teeth. Hiding in plain sight. He hums silently to the 80’s tune they’re playing. Pet Shop Boys go hard with his mood, and there’s that thrill going through his body again. The lights flicker around, there’s smoke and he can’t see much, but his attention is fixed on the man.

“I can’t believe this shit”

The thrill is gone in a matter of seconds. He feels sweat suddenly on his neck, his back, everywhere. The hand holding his drink feels weak. He turns his head, slowly, not wanting to face the reality of the familiar voice. Anger runs through him like a flash when Doakes face comes to view. 

He shouldn’t be here. Why is he here?

This has come too far. A million thoughts go through his head, and he sees blood in the near future. The scene is crystal clear all of the sudden. He’s fucked up, big time now. His eyes surely give him away, he can feel them stretching in disbelief. A brief thought of the torture kit in his car make him go cold. Doakes looks at him as if he’s won the fucking lottery. Dexter wonders if he would be able to get away if he smashed the glass into Doakes' throat right there and then. It’d only take a second to smash the glass into the balcony and stab Doakes in the neck. He won't see it coming, he’d-

“What the hell are you doing here Morgan?” the Sergeant stares at him like he’s from outer space. Dexter keeps his silent, many exit strategies going through his head. There’s a tension between them, a general confusion that hides the fucking weird reality. If Doakes hasn’t followed him here, that means he’s here out of his own volition. That means…

“What are you doing here?” is the only reply he can mutter, voice almost lost to the vibrant noise of the club. Out of the corner of his eyes he tries to see if Andrew is still there, failing miserably. He tries to calm himself, following the code is the most important thing at the moment, he just has to stick to it and all will go well. Doakes is grinning like a mad man. His jaw feels raw and he knows he’s staring at the man with daggers in his eyes.

“What, now you’re shy? Don’t think I didn’t see you enjoying yourself-”

“Shut the fuck up Doakes” the mask is slipping, way too quickly. He has to leave, right now. Before Doakes can answer, he leaves the half empty beer and makes a bee line for the exit. He bumps his shoulders with the other man, trying to throw him off, but of course the sergeant is quick to follow as well. 

“Morgan!” he hears behind him, but he ignores it and keeps walking. On his way down he almost trips twice with some of the local fauna. He can’t look behind, feeling his heartbeat out of his chest. Maybe this is the night he has to leave town forever, disappear to the darkness. Anxiety is creeping up like a fucking nightmare. The whole thing is a nightmare. When the cold air hits his face it feels like a bucket of iced water. His car is not that far, parked in the outer corner of the parking lot. Dexter speeds up, not long before Doakes comes out, yelling for him. He’s almost in his car when Doakes grabs him by the arm, reaching him. The cologne he’s wearing strikes him all at once, and his knees feel weak. Real fear runs through his body at once. 

How much does Doakes know? This really could be the end. Debra will be heartbroken, it’s just the damned end, isn’t it?

“I said, wait a fucking moment you freak-”

“For what? So that you can humiliate him even more? So that you can call me a fucking faggot? Tell me how disgusting I am?” Maybe, if he can turn this around, maybe if Doakes believes he really is gay he will actually leave him alone. How fucking much does he actually know? 

He’s seconds away from actually breaking free and killing Doakes with his bare hands. He’s spiraling, his absolute control plummeting under the nerves of actually being found. The stress and the paranoia make his mind race. He really didn’t see this one coming. The mask is long gone.

“What the fuck Morgan, can you stop for a second?” an ugly sob almost rips out of him as he struggles to break free from the other man. 

“No! You don’t get to tell me what to do, and let go of my fucking arm!” he’s screaming now, hands shaking. Doakes finally lets go and they stare at each other for a while. Dexter feels his head hot and full of murderous thoughts. A crowd is forming at the entrance, gathered by the screaming match they’re having. This is the single, worse, fucking place this could be happening in.  

“Morgan-” Doakes is visibly confused, his eyebrows furrowing like he can’t make out the situation. 

“No!” he says firmly, sticking a hand out, as if it could stop the other man. He’s angry enough to start breaking bones “You leave me the fuck alone!” he whispers, conveying as much poison as he can in every word. Doakes stares at him defiantly, as if he’s seeing something he can’t. It’s too tempting, to just jab him in the face and start beating him up. The last neuron left in his brain catches the other stare, and the people that are now coming over from the club.

He gets in the car as gracefully as he can and drives away. Doakes is surely pissed off. This time he’s fucked up for sure. The pieces are falling away from him like water running through his fingers.

He gets to his apartment by 2am. His hands are shaking and his head hurts like hell. He can’t think about anything, so he just hops into the shower and stays there for a while, feeling the water turn cold. Maybe, when the cops come they’ll find him like this. It would be funny, absolutely, just the cherry on top. Doakes would love it. His hands don’t stop shaking until they’re wrinkled. He gets out and stares at the mirror for a while. He’s lost it. The sanity the code provided vanished into thin air. 

He gets in bed at four, leaves the blinds slightly open, to notice if someone is around. He doesn’t sleep at all. He’s tense until the sun comes up. Staring at the wall. Thinking. His mind is becoming dangerous. 

Coffee is a godsend, but it doesn't fix the headache, the stress or the paranoia. His hands are normal now, thank fucking God for that, but the danger is still there. He forces himself to eat some eggs before heading for work. He wants to throw up the whole way there.

Coming in, passing all of the cops of the building, getting up to the Homicide’s department and passing the FBI agents that are actually haunting his ass, is nerve racking. He can’t keep his eyes off the floor. He’s sure he’s going to get arrested as soon as he steps inside.

Nothing happens, of course, other than his sister noticing his miserable state. 

“Dex-”

“Not right now Deb, please” as he steps away and bolts to his lab. He doesn’t know if Doakes is there, he doesn’t want to know if he even is there. Locking the door behind him, he waits for the arrest. When minutes pass and no one comes, he finally lets out a breath, and laughs. 

It’s beautiful in a way he doesn’t understand yet. Doakes definitively has nothing against him, otherwise he’d be already in handcuffs. He couldn’t have known about Andrew Domingo, and now he’s starting to think that Doakes doesn’t even know what he was really doing in that club. And this, he thinks as he puts his hands together and lets his head rest over them, this, he could use. He just has to put his mind into it and it all be back to normal.

Even though he’s not in handcuffs, the whole day he’s still on his toes. Paranoia drips from him, and he tries to put on his mask as perfectly as he can. Uses every excuse in the book to justify his state. Deb brings him soup after lunch.

“You’re too fucking pale Dex, are you sure you’re not sick?”

Dexter is just tired, wants the day to be over as soon as possible, so he can go home and think. He digs into the soup anyway, his stomach is roaring after all. 

“I don’t know Deb. I’m just tired”

Deb looks at him with narrowed eyes. They’re in the break room, alone. It’s too late for lunch, yet here they are. He hopes his eye bags aren’t too noticeable.

“Dex, I'm not buying it. You were out late partying, weren’t you?” a smirk is growing on her face and she moves her shoulders, amused.

He doesn’t answer, just keeps eating, eyes fixed in the take away bowl. That's enough for Debra anyway.

“What the fuck Dexter? Really? Where were you? Was Rita-”

“I don’t want to talk about Rita” he says calmly “And I didn’t go anywhere. I couldn’t sleep”

“Yeah Dex, like I’m not-”

“I broke up with Rita” he decides to deviate from the conversation. He doesn’t need his sister to know that last night he was out in a gay club screaming at Doakes. 

“What?” Deb looks at him like he’s delivered the worst news of the year. 

Yeah, maybe that wasn't the best topic.

He looks away and tries to emote any emotion.He sticks to a very washed out truth.  

“I couldn’t give her what she deserves. I can’t live the life she wants me to, Deb”

“Wow. I’m sorry Dexter. But I think you’re being an asshole. She’ll understand if-”

“Debra, it’s not like that. I am trying to tell you something, and I’d appreciate it if you weren’t so judgemental." He conveys his saddest pout and turns away.

“It’s just… Really? I’m sorry. Fuck.”

“Thanks Deb” “I just hope… some day you can understand”

She taps the table three times, awkwardly “So, I’m going to go. I should keep searching with Lundy. Find our Bucher”

Oh. 

That’s still going on too. The headache returns immediately. 

The rest of the day is uneventful. He keeps himself in the lab, analyzing blood samples, checking and closing files, just doing the bare minimum to go unnoticed. He desperately wants to go to the computer and check any court orders against him, but it’s too soon. Still, there’s a calm that settles as the time goes by. Doakes hasn’t looked for him, which is strange, but it could be good news. Dexter watches through the metal slits how he sits at his desk. A rush of anger goes through him. The man is never giving up. He’s obsessed with Dexter in a way it’s too dangerous. He wouldn’t have confronted him yesterday, putting his own character at risk if he wasn’t obsessed. Still, the other man keeps to himself. It’s not like Doakes to stay away. Not after the stalking, the tailing, the verbal threats. If after the events from yesterday he’s decided to not speak a word of this to the other, that means he doesn’t want anyone to notice. That means, he wasn’t looking for Dexter last night. And that would mean… 

Dexter can’t help a little laugh. He buries his hands in his arms and leans on the desk. If he’s right, this could be very easy. When he looks up and finds Doakes looking at his direction, a rush of confidence goes through him. There’s an immense satisfaction to knowing Doakes can’t actually see him, but he can. For now, he just has to keep quiet and make sure that everything is normal.

He’s walking to his car at the end of the day when Doakes finally jumps him. He grabs his arm, same as yesterday, and stops him in his tracks.

“Don’t touch me” it’s the first thing that leaves his mouth. Doakes doesn’t look too concerned, just annoyed. 

“Let’s talk about last night,” he says, burrowing his eyebrows. As always, an order not a suggestion. He squeezes his hand and Dexter huffs, annoyed.

“There's nothing to say” He means it. 

“What, are your little bitch ass feelings hurt or what? If you don’t explain yourself-”

Dexter laughs and shakes his head. It comes almost too easy for him. But the situation is suddenly so mundane and unimportant, it’s hilarious. Doakes reaction confirms his theory. Doakes has nothing on him and a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Doakes hand in his forearm now seems like the least of his problems.

“I could ask you things too. What were you doing there? Huh? Any idea?” he spits venom. Doakes deserves it. Such a headache, a fucking pain in the ass. The thrill of knowing just makes him more intense. 

“Morgan” he quiets himself and Dexter knows he has him, then and there. As always, shame is good blackmail. 

“Cause you sure looked surprised to find me there” he continues, actually coming closer. Doakes lets go of his grip a little, but Dexter maintains his hand up. 

“Damn it Morgan I swear to God” the Sergeant says, but still he doesn’t let go.

“Why haven’t you looked at me once today? Do I disgust you now?” he murmurs “What’s this then?” he shakes the arm Doakes is still holding.

“For fuck’s sake Morgan I’m not a goddamned homophobe!”

“Then what’s there to talk about?”

Doakes suddenly lets go of his arm and grabs his face with one hand, pining Dexter to the wall with the other.

“I know you’re up to something.” he’s almost whispering “I know you’re a little freak who doesn’t feel anything, and I know you have to take it out somewhere. Don’t think for a second last night changes anything” he squeezes his cheeks forcefully before letting go. Dexter is fuming. 

He straightens up and looks at Doakes. Anyone else would be startled by the violent tone of the man, but Dexter knows better. And if this works, one problem goes away. He wishes he could strangle him right now, but, for the sake of not ending up in prison, he just takes one step ahead, crowding Doakes. 

“Do you want to know what I think,” he whispers back. Doakes doesn’t step away, the fury clear in his eyes. Dexter looks at him as sweetly as he can, blinking slowly “I think you like me”

The reaction is instant. He’s pinned to the wall by the other’s arm at light speed, this time actually choking him. 

“I am going to kill you motherfucker” Doakes growls into his ears. A thrill goes through his body. He laughs. 

“Does this amuse you Morgan? That’s why you’re so goddamned annoying all of the time?”

“That’s- kind of the point, yeah” he pants, waiting. He lets go as expected and they look at each other angrily for a second. Dexter is still panting, gasping for air as he cans. Doakes breathes heavily, mad as hell. He lets another second pass, then another. Then he looks at the other man slowly, scanning his body from top to bottom. He lets the other man know he’s looking. 

He lifts up from the wall and reaches for his car. Before getting in he looks over his shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. The bastard is so lucky this is the last option before breaking the code.

They say to keep friends close but enemies closer. 

Well, talk about that. He’s in the car, driving to his apartment. Doakes following, no attempt to hide himself. He can’t believe it. The sun is already down, he watches the lights of the cars ahead flicker and his mind is numb. Dexter tries not to think too much about what he’s about to do. What is about to happen. 

A light buzz echoes inside him, hyper focused and relaxed at the same time. The pieces are back together, and it didn’t even cost him that much. Still, he doesn’t know how much weight this particular solution will stand. He looks at Doakes from the rearview mirror. Still, Doakes is still a man. And men are weak of body. Dexter just has to keep him entertained until the Bay Harbor Butcher is settled.

When they reach his apartment, Dexter waits for the other man. They look at eachother and make their way to his home without a word. Doakes seem calmer, and that annoys Dexter. It’s for the best if Doakes can be tamed this way, but deep down it’s a fucking bother. Almost humiliating, if he could feel that way. And it’s so, so annoying how he’s following, almost leading the way, as if he knows every goddamned step of the way. And I’m the creep.

Inside, they stand awkwardly. Doakes stares at him, challenging. Dexter knows exactly what’s going inside of his head. He doesn’t think twice and his mouth collides with Doakes in an instant. He lets go of his bag and reaches for the other carelessly, conveying all of the hate he can. Doakes kisses him without forgiveness. From this close, Dexter can feel him, everything. He feels his tongue licking his lips and he lets a grunt, separating.

“Fuck, Morgan”

He drops to his knees.

Chapter Text

Dexter looks up from the floor. 

Doakes is looking at him like he’s gone mad. He feels his breath grow quicker as he fumbles with the belt. His hands are shaky and he doesn’t know why. And for some reason, just as he’s about to take it off him-

“Dexter, stop” 

It's an immediate bother. He looks up to find Doakes’ face staring at him, as if he’s equally annoyed at the situation. It’s immediately going sideways, for apparently no fucking reason.

“ What ?” he sighs, still grabbing at Doakes’ waistband. When the other steps away he lets his hands go.

“What?” he repeats, now focused. It’s getting tired being on his knees, having to do the stare down contest from the floor.

“Get off your knees Morgan” 

Convenient . 

He gets up. Doakes sighs and turns around walking to the sofa. He’s left dumbfounded. He doesn’t understand what just happened. Dexter realizes he’s just turned this situation into a much more awkward encounter than he thought it’d be. While there are still human interactions he doesn’t understand, Doakes looks like he wants to talk. He knows that kind of look, and he’s not in the fucking mood for talking. And he doesn’t know what he’s done to have to have a chat about it. So he sits at the chair, looking at the other with all the hate he can muster in one look. Fuck him for putting in awkward situations he doesn’t really get. His social manual doesn't really cover this situation. 

“So you want me to blow you on the sofa?” he mutters, reclining his head in the chair. He looks at Doakes carefully. He rolls his eyes, and that was definitely the wrong thing to say.

“What are we doing here Morgan?” 

He almost laughs. That was just such a cliche, it's almost as if Doakes knows he’s clueless and chooses to confuse him even further. 

 “Not what I thought we were, apparently…”

“Be fucking serious”

This was getting very tiring. If Doakes didn’t want to fuck him and if he wasn’t trying to get him to confess to a crime, what the hell was happening right now? It was like stepping into the unknown again, back to square one.

“What, you want us to wine and dine before? I don’t fucking get you and it’s getting so fucking tiring” the words leave his mouth and he can’t really stop himself.

“If you don’t-”

“Can you stop with the orders? We’re not at the station anymore” he gets a hand over eyes, rubbing his face.

“I’m always onto you, freak”

“Stop that, for fuck’s-” he takes his hands off his face in an instant, getting up. His blood is starting to boil. This has stopped being either useful or entertaining. 

“Your mask’s been slipping lately.”

He starts to pace. It’s absolutely astonishing, the ability the Sergeant has to capture the way he is with words. He tries not to let it show through, he really tries, but hearing those words from another’s mouth is just a fucking nightmare. He feels seen and it’s irritating. 

“You don’t know a thing about me” he utters, slowly.

“Oh, don’t fucking worry, I’m going to find all about you”

Pause. A cold feeling runs through his back. It’s almost as if the dark passenger just took the wheel and decided to show Doakes all about himself. And the other man looks so triumphant, it’s too tempting.

“ O-k .” he takes a slow breath, separating the syllables. “This has gone too fucking far. You shouldn’t have come here”

“You’re going to throw me out now?”

“Seriously, what do I have to do for you to stop harassing me?” he starts, “No, really, do you want to search my home? My car?” I fucking hope he doesn’t. “Is that enough for you? Do you want me to say no when you try to fuck me?” he’s kind of shaking by the end.

“What the fuck are you trying to imply there?”

“Well what the fuck am I supposed to think? You’ve been following me for weeks now, and we are here because of that. Any sane person would have denounced you a long time ago”

“And why haven’t you, freak?” 

Doakes grabs him by his shirt’s collar violently. And weirdly, Dexter's head just flips. It’s like someone unplugged a cable in his brain. And suddenly, there’s a warm feeling spreading through him. Arousal. Huh. 

“Fuck you” he says, almost laughing. He hates the fact that he’s enjoying this, but even that-

He leans into Doakes as the other pulls him closer by his shirt. There is a shared breath and their lips clash. It’s like his legs are jelly all of the sudden. 

Kissing a man should make him sick, in theory, at least in Harry’s world. But it's too good to get hung up on the morals of it. It just feels safe just to let all of his hate and anger into it without worrying too much about hurting the other. Doakes tongue forces his mouth open and it’s fucking fantastic . He’s got his jaw already tired from the force Doakes is kissing him with, so deeply and messy it’s almost raw, as if he’s wanted this forever. He puts his free hand into his neck and pulls him down onto the sofa, still grabbing at his shirt. It’s hard to breathe and Dexter is almost shaking. When he stops to breathe for a second he just has to lick his mouth while he breathes through his nose. There’s nothing on his mind, only a desperate feeling to take all of his fury onto the other. 

They make out violently at the sofa, ending on the floor at some point. Doakes stops kissing him for a moment too long, and Dexter almost protests before he feels Doakes breath against his neck. There’s saliva coating his lips and he can't breathe properly. Feels his chest moving against his well. A hand moves down his chest as the tongue in his neck changes to a full on bite. The sound he lets go is honestly and objectively embarrassing. The hand now beneath his shirt, grabbing him, pressing him down onto the floor. It’s like an elastic band snapping, just about right pressure. The change makes Dexter dizzy, just loses himself in the moment. Doakes doesn’t fucking stop pressing his teeth down his collarbone, making him feel all kinds of ways when their hips connect. Feeling a hard cock against his thigh makes his head spin. He didn’t know he’d like this so much. Doakes sits up before Dexter starts grinding up his leg.

“I’m not doing this on the floor” he’s equally affected, and doesn’t care much to hide it. 

He’s too confused to process the words. He suddenly feels too much. And he never feels like this. It’s never been this intense, and it kind of frightens him all of the sudden. He looks at the other man for a second. He’s got his hand on his collar again, keeping him propped up on his elbows. He feels his eyes opening widely. He doesn’t dare to blink.

“Do I have a choice?” 

He knows he’s fucked up when Doakes lets go. He falls to the floor loudly. “Fuck you man”

Dexter didn’t really expect the Sergeant to get up and leave. Not uttering another word. What the fuck just happened? He meant that as a fucking joke. 

That’s an F on the social checkbox. Fuck. 

He’s still lying on the floor a few minutes after the door slams, evening his breath. 

He knows he’s not the best at reading the room. His social skills have been carefully chiseled, years of training and practising behind them. So what just happened now, how he’s managed to offend Doakes to the point of leaving is just comical. 

The only explanation he can put into mind is the talking. Maybe the moment was over once Dexter opened his mouth to talk. Maybe it’s for the best. He comes down from the hazy feeling that’s formed in his head pretty quickly, once Doakes is gone. The numbness settles right in just as he puts himself together. It’s good it didn’t go away. He feels nothing and everything is clear again. With careful movements he gets up and goes to his bag, lying on the floor of the kitchen. And even though his heart is quiet once again, he still ignores the memories of Doakes’ touch on his skin.

Deep down, he’s disappointed he didn’t get to do anything with the other man. He’s on his bed when he lets him visualise again the moment, just savouring the memory, gets a bit lost in it. It’s annoying how persistent of a thought Doakes has been lately. And the most dangerous of all, he’s been thinking more of how Doakes’ tongue down his throat felt than in a plan to follow this incident. Because, in all truth, this did go sideways. And he should be scared of how close Doakes has come to his actual person. He really should. 

The next morning at the police station he searches for Doakes. He should be already at his desk, first in and first out, after all. The dedication to the force is admirable, Dexter suppouses. Doakes is indeed at his desk. He doesn’t look up though, and it’s clear he’s ignoring him on purpose. It’s an interesting reaction. He gets nothing after showing so much. Of course the man is so self righteous to be the offended one in this particular circumstance they’ve created. And Doakes can’t be mad that Dexter just got that side of him to show. It’s infuriating to not receive a single look from the other. Why can’t they go back to the stalking and questioning, back to normal, he doesn’t know. It’s a fucking crazy thought.

At lunchtime, Dexter drops by his desk to leave the blood work from that day's field work. 

“The blood work from this morning” he says, leaving the folder in front of Doakes. It isn’t urgent, and Dexter knows very well that dropping it so soon it’s giving it all away. But the restlessness it’s too much. He can’t figure out the silence. Screaming, shouting and violence, he gets. The sudden coldness it’s a mystery. He knows he said something wrong last night, something that made the other so disgusted that he left. But this quietness is unsettling. 

Even with Dexter standing over him he doesn’t even look at him once, his eyes fixed on the monitor. He’s tempted to clear his throat, give him some of that passive aggressive attitude right back. Men were supposed to be easier . He sighs and when the other still doesn’t turn back, he leaves. No need to make a scene right then and there. He’s too tempted though, so a hasty retreat into his lab it is. It’s become more and more of his fort on the homicide floor.

“Did you bite his dick or what?” Vince’s voice comes from behind him as he’s about to hide. He certainly didn’t expect that.

“What the hell?” he turns around to face him. Masuka starts grinning, which Dexter doesn’t like one bit. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see you two at the parking lot getting into it” he gives him a pointed look. Masuka may be blind in some areas, incapable of looking beyond what's real and what isn't, unlike Doakes for one, but he sub-estimated his affinity for understanding social behaviour. And Dexter has no doubt of how that moment at the parking lot could be seen as. It’s not good, not good at all, that someone at the station is catching up on the recent development of their relationship.

“We were fighting” 

Masuka rolls his eyes.

“Yeah right, with sexual tension”

“Fucking-”

“That’s what I was thinking, I mean-”

“Vince,” he raises his voice. “Can you be fucking serious for once?” The words echo Doakes’ last night, making him cringe a bit inside. “I’m not gay.” he retorts, going for the classic defense.

Masuka just raises his eyebrows. Amused. He’s lucky he’s just clueless.

“It’s okay if you are, you know that?” he says patronizingly.

“I fucking hate you”

“And you’re sure you’re not?” he makes an apologetic face when Dexter stares at him “I’m sorry I’m sorry. I will keep your secret safe” he says, making a gesture with his hands as if he’s locking his lips. He wants to smash an actual beaker into his skull. He breathed through his nose heavily and turned around again.

“Just leave it alone Vince”

Dexter is mad. Very mad. Fuck Doakes for putting him into this situations.

The next week is the same. The FBI has nothing on the killer. There’s a copycat, they think it’s the real deal, which is good, even if he doesn't know how long it'll take until they realize it's a fake. And nothing from Doakes. Nothing at all. It’s all going well. He’s careful about the window that gives him, making sure it’s safe to kill again. He makes sure Doakes doesn’t follow him, and after the third day, he lets himself breathe. It feels nice to be able to complete his kill now. Even so, Dexter wants to explode. 

Now that he’s tasted the man he wants more. And it is strange, because he never thought he would want this. It’s thrilling knowing this is uncharted territory for him. This kind of relationship was never in Harry’s rules. He’s in a moral limbo that has become a very interesting thing to him. He’s mad Doakes decided to respect human boundaries just when there were none anymore. Over all, he so fucking dying to know what will the other try now. If sex is off the table, he’s sure not giving up on the suspicion he has on him.

So he takes the chance and he kills again. This time he waits for Andrew outside his house and does the job there. He prepares the room carefully, totally focused. He rolls the plastic out and starts embalming the garage. He prepares his tools by ease, savoring the moment. They reflect light beautifully, he thinks as he lays each one in an array. 

Taking advantage of the alone time before Andrew arrives home, he reflects on his predicament. The distance has him thinking more like himself. Clearly the attempt to seduce Doakes has failed, at least it didn’t work out quite as Dexter planned. It has stopped Doakes from following him around, so it is something, but he can’t be sure of the other’s intentions. He’s driven him away; it feels like a total defeat. 

Later, as he hammers Andrew’s face for the third time, he feels calmer. He watches him struggle under the plastic, barely conscious. He leaves the hammer in his spot to grab the knife. He hovers above Andrew and the other is just making agonic sounds, muffled by the fabric in his mouth. It’s all red. Red and shiny and just perfect. He raises the knife over his body and counts to three, enjoying the fear in the trembling body under him.

This is just what I needed.

That night throwing the bags into the ocean he thinks about Doakes, still isn’t pushing him. It’s so strange that the other hasn’t initiated conflict since that night, it’s unsettling. He has to take the change, though. If Doakes is looking away, if he’s really giving him a truce after all of the previous stalking, he has to take it. 

He gets to his apartment, locking the door after him. He feels right, putting the sample into his box, feeling all of them under his finger, sliding through. Still, Doakes nugs at him in the back of his mind. He imagines how it would feel putting Doakes’ sample into the box. It feels… Conflicting. Doakes doesn’t fit the code, but it’s not just about that anymore. He’s curious about the man in a way he hasn’t in a long time, maybe ever. 

It doesn’t feel as if he’s three steps ahead anymore. He needs to keep the man closer, and honestly, he would prefer to just fuck him and get it over with. He knows the other man wants him, then what’s the fucking problem?

He makes up his mind the next day. With the high of a fresh kill running through him he’s seeing all the more clearer now. He approaches Doakes at night. They are alone in the office, almost everyone else long gone.

“So you’re just going to stop talking to me?”

“What do you want, Morgan?” 

“I have a name”

“Let me do my work at peace, Morgan ” he repeats, not glancing up from the paper in front of him once. 

“ Dexter ” he says, grabbing the paper from him. Doakes takes him from him immediately, furious. He points a finger at him, looking finally.  

“I don’t, fucking, care. You understand that?”

“Are you stalking someone else, is that it?”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Are y-”

“Not telling you to repeat it you idiot” he lowers his voice and sits up in his chair “I still know you are hiding something. I know you’re dead inside” Doakes spit the words as if they could hurt him.

“So? You’re just hoping I slip up sometime in the future?” 

“Didn’t you want me to leave you alone? Why the fuck are you here?” Dexter is delighted when he hears the confident tone on the other’s voice, now gone. He’s starting to doubt. And a seed of doubt is the most powerful way to break the spirit.

“The cameras count as stalking too, you know?” He smiles sarcastically. He knows he’s riling the man up, and it feels fucking great to poke at him like this. There are no fucking cameras, he knows that. The exasperated look on the other’s face is worth it.

“Morgan, can you stop assuming I’m watching you 24/7?”

Yeah that’s exactly what I want you to think I assume. He looks at Doakes letting himself grin smugly. Now the cherry on top.

“Don’t you want to watch me 24/7?” he leans more on the desk and looks over the other unapologetically.

There’s a heavy pause. He’s starting to feel aroused again. It’s mind blowing how easy it is to feel. Doakes looks starstruck. He looks around, making sure no one is hearing them. The station is dead at this hour of the night, and that makes the whole thing more dangerous.

“Fuck Morgan, does this turn you on?” he whispers, now staring at him with the same intensity as ever. It feels right, as if Doakes has understood where Dexter is, or where he wants him to believe he is anyways. It’s annoying to take him this long to notice. 

“You’re so fucking slow” he sighs. Someone passes through the hallway, far enough to not hear a thing. It’s really lte, but still risky to do anything here. Dexter looks in the general direction of his lab, and he knows Doakes is following his eyes.

The moment the lab door closes, Doakes is on him, kissing him again as if he owns him. He leans on the desk when Doakes backs him up against it. It takes a second for his legs to turn into jelly. It’s violent, and angry, and everything Dexter remembered it to be. He feels Doakes hand grabbing him by the hair, making him whine when he pulls him back. “You’re a fucking brat”

He breathes and pulls him into him again. Doakes goes easily, and he can’t help making a noise. Everything is silent suddenly, he just feels. They make out in the lab like teenagers for a while and by the end he feels his lips bruised and his head is just not thinking at all. The dark passenger is suddenly silent. He just lets Doakes use his mouth as he wants, returning the intensity right back. Doakes moves a bit on top of him and suddenly he’s leaning back, touching the wall with the other on top of him. He can feel everything. When his hips start humping down on Dexter, he throws his head back and moans, unable to control himself. Doakes grunts and grabs his head, kissing him again. Dexter can’t help but bite down on him, drawing blood. 

“Motherfucker!” Doakes says separating a bit. Dexter raises a hand and puts his index finger on Doakes’ mouth. He looks at him indecipherably. He slides the finger over the wound where blood is brooding out and it's maddening that he lets him do it. A thrill goes through his body and Doakes notices. For a moment self awareness flashes through him making him want to, illogically, explain himself to him. He couldn't obviously, not now, not ever. 

The sound of the main office door opening makes them separate completely from each other. Dexter stays seated on the desk, breathing heavily. His hand is red from the other’s blood. He isn’t wearing the mask and it’s fucking liberating for once. Doakes looks at him carefully. Dexter knows this is not over as he watches Doakes leaves the lab silently. 

That night, sitting at his desk, he thinks. He needs to make sure Doakes isn’t following the right track. He’s got to find out what he knows and destroy it. Make him only see one thing in him. Making him want him in his bed, instead of a jail cell. Even if he’s not following him anymore, Dexter knows he’s still looking. He’s got to get closer. And he’s curious too. Doakes sees right through him and it’s fascinating how that makes him so weak as to take off his mask and just let go. It’s almost shameful, and for a moment he curses himself. Harry wouldn’t have approved of this. Still, it’s the better alternative to breaking the code. He tells himself that, even if he doesn’t know if that’s the truth. 

He waits for Doakes at the parking lot the next day. His mind is numb when he spots him. Leaning on the Sergeant car he fidgets with the strip of his bag, arms closed. 

“Stalking much, Morgan?” 

“I was just waiting here for you. Out in the open”

“Yeah, sure”

He really could just leave it there. Just walk away and look for alternative plans that don’t involve him messing with the man. Dexter sighs and mentally kicks himself for getting into these situations by his own will. 

“I kinda miss it” and there, he said it. And now it’s Doakes who doesn’t seem to understand. He’s raising his left brow, waiting for him to go on. “The stalking, I mean” he explains, giving such an emotionless answer it’s easy to just say it. It is true. Doesn’t mean a thing. And everytime he thinks about it it’s clearer. He’s already fucked up inside, of course this toxic dinamic is the only thing that’ll make him feel anything ‘good’ at all.

“You’re fucking crazy Morgan” he says, but Dexter knows he misses it too. He sees it in his eyes, the same anger is still there, surely it never went away. He is as fucked up as Dexter is, and it makes him so curious to watch Doakes’ dark side. There’s something that makes him feel at level with the man.

“Come by later. If you want” he offers. This time they’re not grabbing each other like mad men, so the pause after his offer is awkward. To some it may only seem a friendly invitation to have a beer or two. Dexter knows Doakes knows better.

Chapter Text

Dexter waits for Doakes in silence. He’s sitting at the computer, carefully revisiting some work documents, gory reports from a killing down in South Beach from earlier today. It’s late and he looks at the pictures almost in the dark, he’s just got the shallow light of his desk on. He can’t really focus. Bones protruding from flesh, a broken jaw, the veiny eye popped out of its socket and hanging over the cheekbones; It’s boring and it’s not at all what he would be doing if he didn’t expect someone over. After Andrew Domingo’s killing, the Dark Passenger is settled down, but he knows it’s not going to last long. It never does. There’s always the need, the urge, hanging over him, closer and closer until he can no longer ignore it. And with all the clutter the FBI and Doakes have caused in his life, his true personal life, he’s going to become real creative if he wants to kill again and get away with it. He knows he shouldn’t even be thinking about a kill, but it’s inevitable. Harry would tell him to follow the code. It’s just too much to think about, so he just doesn’t and stares through the files while he waits.

The idea of Doakes being a guest is just a bit mindblowing. He still hates the man for being able to see beyond the act, the pretense of being an actual person. He also wants him, and it enrages him like anything. There’s a knock on the door an hour or so before midnight. He looks up from the desk and finally gets up. He turns off the computer, just in case Doakes gets a chance to sniff around. One can never be too careful. 

The Miami hot weather has his white tee clinging into him already, sweating a bit. There’s anticipation hanging over him like a shadow. He waits for a second, feeling weird for feeling awkward all of the sudden. He opens the door to find Doakes waiting at the other side. What a surprise. And what a sight it is, indeed. The man is fit, which is also enraging. He’s always had an appropriate sensibility towards men, so he isn’t capable of feeling any shame about it to deny it. It’s so strange Doakes checks almost all standards in his very short Men I’d fuck list.

“Wow. This time you knocked. Thanks” he says casually. After all they’ve done to each other it’s not as if he’s going to go after a few annoying comments. His existence in itself is an inconvenience, so he can take it. Doakes just gives him a heavy eye roll.

“You’re insufferable” he lets himself in and Dexter closes the door behind him. He locks it with the chain and turns to look at the man. “Why is it so dark in here? Nevermind, it’s fitting for a freak” Dexter returns the eye roll and makes his way to the fridge.

“Do you want a drink, Sergeant?” Doakes snorts and leans on the counter, seeing right through, as always. He’s looking spotless too, which is also insufferable in itself from his part. Quid pro quo, isn’t that right?.

He still can’t figure out just what Doakes wants from this. Last time his move failed miserably, so he just shakes his head and goes to the fridge grabbing two beers. He hands one to Doakes who just stares at him, not accepting Dexter’s offer. He keeps the fridge open, and the neon light hangs over them. Doakes looks at him carefully, still. Yeah, right. As if Dexter couldn’t take him down without the aid of sedatives. He sighs and carefully takes a sip from each bottle, swallowing demonstrating . Doakes dares to roll his eyes at him. He hands the beer again and he actually takes it, only to set it on the counter, demonstrating . Dexter shrugs and takes another sip. It’s a lost battle, if the man doesn’t want to enjoy a beer, well, it’s his loss.

“ Dexter . Put the beer down. You’re not getting drunk for this” 

He pauses for a minute. It’s one of the rare occasions Doakes uses his first name. It immediately causes a reaction in him, which is annoying by itself. He’s enjoying this part much more than he thought he would. There’s something about Doakes that pulls him in.

He looks at him as he does, in fact, put the drink down. He knows he likes it, that he obeys. He closes the fridge too, getting closer to Doakes.

“You like that, huh?” He’s noticed too, how it’s pleasant to just do what he's told. It’s careful, the way Doakes says the words, as if he’s looking for something. He’s always looking for something, and maybe that was Dexter’s mistake, trying to be normal around him. Putting on the mask. 

No, he doesn’t like it at all, but he does enjoy it. The uncertainty of the situation. He is going to either kill or fuck him. Harry is surely rolling in his tomb. Doakes puts a hand on his jaw, pushing his head back, suddenly stepping into his personal space, very close, very fast. He puts a hand on the other’s wrist, just in case he has to rip it out. Doakes smirks, sensing him riling up “What else do you like?” The question is acute and naked. There’s no mistake about the subject now.

“I don’t do this often. I don’t know what you want me to say” he says, making Doakes’ hand let go of him. He goes easy but there’s no movement to separate. They’re standing right there, not quite touching but not stepping back either. It’s strange, because he does want this, but there’s that thought at the back of his mind, pure pride that makes him want to fight the other. He won’t go down easily. Which is crazy because it’s the heady feeling Doakes gives him everytime he touches him, just giving up control and making him feel that-

“That’s right, you have your girlfriend. I wonder what she thinks of all this” he says mockingly. It’s an instant turn down, having to think about Rita right fucking now.

“You don’t know anything” he murmurs. He visibly tenses, which earns him a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t fucking care if Doakes thinks he’s still with Rita. Fucking is one thing, talking about life is another.

“Oh, so she knows? That you’re twisted in the head?” he continues “Does she know you like to fuck men?” it’s such a childish jab, Dexter almost smiles. By now he knows Doakes only wants to rile him up. To see if he’ll snap. He knows better than that. Still, the mood is slowly changing to a more dark irritance. He steps back, starting to pace a bit. Doakes just watches him from the kitchen counter, his expression carefully still.  

“You’re so fucking annoying. Ruining it every time. I don’t know why I keep inviting you over for fucks sake.” at the end he’s almost shouting. Fuck the neighboors right? . He’s truly annoyed by now. Doakes looks fed up. Maybe, just maybe, he’s got no clue at all about this either.

“I was keeping my fucking distance. You fucking asked for this” he straightens up, as if he’s the sane one here. 

He stops pacing and looks at him, exasperated. Doakes smirks, but doesn’t move a finger. Dexter just breaks, leans into him again, clashing his mouth so hard it almost hurts. Doakes instantly puts a hand on his neck, positioning his head as he likes. It makes his legs feel weak. They make out like that, just biting at each other with anger. Doakes really touches him now, as if he isn't holding back any more. He feels his tongue inside his mouth, turns his head sideways just so the other one can go deeper. It’s crazy, and heady, and it’s just right. He knows Doakes can taste the beer which makes him feel some type of way. He’s holding to his shirt now, feeling the hard muscle underneath. He can’t help but cling to him when the other starts to walk him backwards to the desk. Doakes doesn’t stop kissing him for a second. He can feel his blood start to rush into his face. It’s messy, and explosive, just lovely.

Doakes pulls back suddenly and looks at him hotly. Dexter just pants as if he’s just ran a marathon. All of the anger he had; it’s gone. It’s fucking crazy, that he’s able to feel this way, he’s never felt like this. Doakes reaches for his shirt and starts lifting it up. He just raises his arms and lets him take it off. His hands start roaming his chest, stroking the skin carefully. Dexter feels too hot all of the sudden. 

“Well Morgan, didn’t know you had all that” his voice is deep and low.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he just reaches for Doakes’ shirt and starts undressing him. The buttons of his expensive shirt are easy to undo. He feels the breathing under the fabric, as uneven as himself. When Doakes grabs his hands he almost protests. He just takes a step forward, making Dexter fall into the chair. Doakes fucking kneels, and he can’t breathe for a second. 

“What-”

“Just shut up, Morgan” he looks impatient, so Dexter just falls back and watches him undo his belt. He didn’t think Doakes would have the initiative. How much experience the other man has in this terrain could be important if he wants to continue to take this approach. Especially since my experience is close to zero. There’s much he doesn’t know about the other man, and he makes a mental note to fix that. His brain stops working right when Doakes puts his mouth on him he’s between his legs, licking right over his boxers. It’s maddening, not being able to do anything about it. He puts his hands on Doakes’ shoulders and grounds himself there. When he lowers his underwear and puts his mouth directly onto his cock, he can’t help the moan that escapes him. He actually feels embarrassed for once in his life. Doakes lifts his head up and smirks. He feels his breath over him and makes him even harder.

“Don’t hide that” he murmurs, and he’s right back onto him. Of course he’s able to swallow him whole, and Dexter wants to die the moment he starts moving. It’s blissfully silent in his head, only pleasure burning through. He moves his head up and down, making a mess out of him, and it’s so fucking obvious he’s done this before. He doesn’t want to think about it too much right now, every thought is blurry and thrown out of his mind every time Doakes swallows around him.

“Fuc-fu-” he lets out. He’s out of breath and they’ve barely done anything. 

He feels his hand blush against his will. Doakes leans backwards and replaces his mouth with his hand stroking him slowly, barely touching. A whine comes out of him as if he’s dying. “I fucking hate you” he pants, moving his hips, chasing his hand. Doakes keeps touching him for a second, looks at him with hunger as if he’s trying to memorize his body. It’s nice, having someone appreciate his form. He groans when Doakes’ hand presses a bit too hard. 

“Do you, uh-” He lets out a moan when Doakes twists his hand, grabbing him properly now. “I have a fucking bedroom”

Doakes narrows his eyes and gives him one final stroke before getting up from the floor. He towers over Dexter, who’s just incapable of moving all of the sudden. “Get up. You lead the way” 

Dexter waits for his breath to catch up, tucks himself in before attempting to get up. His legs feel like jelly as he walks to the bedroom. Doakes follows right behind him, and he can feel his eyes carved into his back. He doesn’t bother to look when the door to the bedroom closes. Doakes opens the ceiling light and there’s nowhere to hide anymore. He stays on his feet staring at the bed, feeling the steps coming closer. Doakes' breath is hot on his neck. 

He reaches over his hips and takes off his pants before laying him down on the bed. He feels his hands over his chest again. He’s touching him so confidently, as if all Dexter has to do is lay back and enjoy it. If it didn’t feel so good, it would be annoying. He’s too preoccupied with how his hand feels on his chest, stroking him forcefully. He could do anything to him, and that excites him. To be absolutely in control, and yet to decide to give it up. So fucking contradicting. 

“I want to see you too” he mutters, when Doakes moves over him to take off his boxers. Doakes grins and finally undoes his shirt all the way. He’s sculpted, no space left for flaws. Dexter sets his gaze on his arms and just takes it all in. It’s truly a beautiful body. His eyes snap upwards when Doakes grabs his cock through the fabric. It’s just right.

“Do you like what you see, Morgan?”

Fuck yes.

“Fuck no” it’s madness. Another moan comes out of him the moment Doakes grabs his boxers and tugs them down. He’s absolutely naked in front of the man that has stalked him for the last month and a half. He should be scared to death, if he was a normal human being at least. But then again, things aren’t always as they look. I am a serial killer afterall. 

“You can touch, Morgan”

Dexter puts his hands on him, following directions. The hard muscle underneath is alive and breathing. He almost can’t get enough. He reaches for the belt. This time, nothing stops him so he just undoes it and pulls everything down. Doakes gets it all off and there’s suddenly no space left between them. Dexter stares carefully, eyes traveling down to his cock, his thighs, he can’t take his eyes off him. It’s all too fucking new. He puts his hands on his shoulders and starts moving them lower, feeling his arms. Doakes lowers himself again, caging him between his arms, nudges Dexter’s head to the left with his head and starts licking down his neck. It’s almost as if Doakes turned off a switch in his head again. He’s lost in it, making sounds he’s never made. If he could feel something he’d be embarrassed. Doakes lowers his hips and when he feels him against him, he melts against him.

“What do you want me to do?” Doakes asks him, a little out of breath but otherwise unaffected. It suddenly bothers him, a little bit more than it should. This shouldn’t feel this easy. Doakes can’t be looking at him like that, like if it’s up to him.

“I don’t care,” he says, looking away at the ceiling. Doakes moves his face, making him look into his eyes. 

“I think you do,” he says, grinding against him, making their cocks touch again. Dexter moans as if he’s dying. 

“Touch me?” he whines. He really doesn’t know what to ask for, only knows he doesn’t want this to stop. His head is just blank. 

He touches him, does just that, a hand going lower grabbing them in one grip and another at his ass. A finger slips a bit too low just as Doakes twists his hand, and it’s heaven. He lets go a moan and reaches for him, kissing with urge. Doakes receives him as if he knows, he puts it into the kiss, and it’s also hell. He’s being seen which is too open. Way too open. 

Suddenly Doakes puts both hands on his knees and lifts his hips up, locking him between his legs. He grinds down on him and Dexter only feels his cock rubbing him, touching his own and pinning him down. He moves his hips desperately, hugging Doakes against him.

“Do you want me to fuck you Dexter? Is that what you need?” He whispers the words as if he’s telling a secret.

His hips can’t stop moving against him and Doakes pins him down as if it’s nothing. “Y-yes” 

“Say it” the other grunts, moving his hand faster.

“I fucking need it Doakes” he lets out, furiously “You’re so- uhh- fucking slow” it’s difficult to let out an entire sentence when the other man is sliding his hand so-

“It’s James” 

Dexter looks up. He’s staring intently, almost daring him to say something about it. His hand doesn’t stop moving, reducing him to a bunch of nerves. Dexter grabs him by the neck and kisses him, open mouthed a fucking mess of a kiss. Moves to the jaw at one point, biting, while his legs shake at the weight of the man on top. 

“James” breathes his name right into his ear, with a broken moan “Just fucking end me”

Doakes breaks off him for a moment before leaning in and kissing him again, tongue forcing in as if he owns him. He’s coming before he knows it. His legs are shaking and he feels fucking spent. Doakes, James , grunts and comes as well, making a mess in his abdomen. He feels used, and it’s fucking good. He feels their breaths mixed, and even after a while he can’t calm down. James' arms are suddenly around him and he can’t let go. He feels his hands balled up in fists, grabbing into him as if he can't physically get off of Doakes. He puts his face in the nook of his neck, resting it on his shoulder. For a moment he thinks he’s going to pass out right there. A hand goes through his hair, making him shiver. His eyes are closed, and he feels warm all over.

“Are you- You good?” It's a strange question to hear, but it’s only when he pulls back reluctantly and sees concern staring right back that he realizes his hands are shaking. He tries to lift himself up but fails miserably. Just like that Thai massage I had last summer. Bone crushing.

Doakes catches him and lays him down again, this time just leaves him there. Dexter closes his eyes as the thoughts start coming in. And all too quickly he’s feeling Harry’s stare over him, watching him trail off the path he so carefully built for him. 

“You can go now” His voice is weak. He’s feeling way too much. It’s unbearable. His fingers feel shaky, as if the rest of his hands are liquid. Doakes looks at him from the other side of the bed, and for once, he agrees. It’s ridiculous to be comforted by the idea that Doakes is as affected by this as him. A kiss, short and shallow, surprises him. Still is nice, so he leans into it gladly. With a final look, he gets up from the bed silently and heads towards the bathroom. Dexter just lays there, breathing a bit too hard.

He’s watching the ceiling when the main door closes. He hears the echo from his room, even with his own door closed. It’s amazing how quiet his head is. He thinks clearly for once. It’s good, it’s too good. James’ made him feel even. He wasn’t wearing his fucking mask for once. That was his naked self. Literally. And he saw him. 

In the bathroom, he observed his tired face. His eyes are bloodshot red, as if he’s smoked a pair of joints, and the corner of his top lip is light purple. He wonders what Doakes saw before leaving. He hadn’t been wearing the mask. Spun a bit out of control, he had to admit. That’s the point isn’t it? To lose control. 

When he gets to the station the next day, the meeting has started already. He sneaks in quietly. James is at the front of the room, watching Lundy carefully. He didn’t sleep much last night, so the bags in his eyes are noticeable. He feels barely put together, but the show must go on. He is still the number one person of interest in this FBI investigation, even if he’s the only one who knows it he should remember it. His sister finds him before he can spot her.

“What’s up with the face Dex?” she whispers, looking at him in the dark. He shrugs and looks ahead. He hears a little huff of annoyance. Deserved. “Did you hear about the butcher? Killing again, apparently. Who knows how many more we’ll discover at this rate. I’m fucking dying to catch that motherfucker” 

He loves his sister, but there are times he’d like to strangle her. If in the next slide Andrew Domingo’s body appears, or what’s left of him, it’s over for him. He just keeps his eyes on the powerpoint. His copycat has made a fucking mess out of some ex-convict that killed and raped a nine year old ten years ago. It’s good to have a moment of peace. At least until they find he’s not the right guy. And he’s fucking on his knees, praying to a non existent God that they don’t. He finds it pathetic, the attempt to claim all of the ‘glory’ of the kills of another fellow Dark Passenger carrier. It’s infuriating, really, but useful nonetheless. In other circumstances maybe this copy cat would’ve found a seat at his table. 

Now, he just has to find this copycat before they find him. Another thing on the task list, great. The meeting continues and there isn’t much useful information after that. There’s still nothing solid, no lead they can use to find the presumptive killer. Dexter watches as the people leave the room. LaGuerta, Batista, Masuka… Even Lundy. They’ve got no clue. For now. So Dexter has to take this chance to miraculously, make the entire police force of Miami plus the FBI look in this copycat direction, make them buy it. It’s fucking stressful. Debra waits by his side as everyone leaves, is just telling him about how inteligent and smart Lundy is when Doakes steps in front of them, arms crossed. He's got a red shirt, clings to his arms, and Dexter can't help but fixate on them for a second. Only a second. 

“They just found a body. You’re just going to stand there?” Doakes sounds angry, but he can see beyond the tone. There’s a smile there, very small, he can fucking hear it. He’s fucking laughing. It makes him very angry all of the sudden.

“Go fuck yourself, James” any kind of amenity that could’ve transpired is replace by hostility. Debra punches him in the arm. 

“For fuck’s sake, fucking Dexter shut you mouth” It’s amazing how she’s able to shout while whispering. Dexter furrows his eyebrows, lines becoming deeper when Doakes smirks. 

“Go do your job Morgan” he says instead, looking at Debra with a hard look. She looks at him defeated and then turns to him.

“You kinda asked for it Dex, sorry” she shrugs, even when Dexter throws her his best ‘ please don’t go’ look.

“Just go Morgan” Doakes lets out impatient.

“O-Kay”

Debra leaves and Dexter feels the hairs on his neck stand up. He’s not sure he wants to be here right now. When Doakes closes the door and runs eyes through his body, he knows what he’s thinking about. There’s a significant distance between them, but Dexter swears he can feel him breathing.

“So what, you’re not going to say anything?” he’s not shouting at him which is strange. The mood is awkward, but he just lets it happen. He reclines his body on the nearest desk and returns the look. 

“What do you want me to say?” he retorts. 

“Do you want me to tell you what to say, Dexter?” Doakes retorts back, smiling as he steps up closer. He moves so close he’s standing between his legs. A hand rests on his left thigh. They hold their gaze firmly, neither one daring to look away. Doakes reaches for his hair, grabbing it in his fist. It’s not even hard. Again, his stomach flips. It’s weird still, to hear his name so casually from the man. 

The door rustles open, and Doakes drops his hand, stepping away swiftly before Batista can see them. It’s relieving that I'm not hard right now. 

“What the fuck are you doing? We have a body.”

Doakes storms out of the room silently. Batista looks at him expectantly.

“I’ll follow after you Angel” 

“Better not be long” he nods, leaving the door open after him when he leaves. It isn’t long, he just has to compose himself for a second. The bastard has the tendency of taking off his mask, slipping it off with no warning. If this doesn’t work, he is definitely going to kill James.

The scene of the crime is gruesome. The victim’s house is untouched, only the main bedroom disturbed. It slightly resembles his, he has the plastic wraps, he’ll give him that. The corpse is laying in the bed, a leg missing, as if the killer was caught in the act. Sloppy.

He gets the camera out and starts snapping. The victim, laying on the makeshift table of his own bedroom is visibly dead. A knife wound to the chest. No murder weapon but a sloppy arrangement. He almost got it right, whoever did this.

“I think we’re getting closer” 

Right enough for Lundy is right enough. His ego will have to take a hit if he wants to keep killing. Lundy stands next to him. It’s almost noon now, the sun’s out high. 

“You may be right”

James eyes are on him, he fucking feels him from the other side of the room. 

“You know, he’s actually killing bad guys. At least he’s taking other monsters down with him” Debra is just saying things. She doesn’t actually believe that. Dexter is sure of that. They’re back at the station and it’s hard to fit on the mask. He’s just tired. Fidgeting with his mug, he takes a seat at her desk. If Doakes is able to overhear them, that’s just luck. Yeah, luck.

“I think they deserve to rot in jail for years. That’s a fair punishment” Debra nods, in agreement.

“So you believe in justice, Morgan” Doakes voice comes from nowhere. He’s not surprised. It’s actually been longer than he thought it’d take the other to contact him. He looks at him as always, with a hint of disgust in his voice. It’s twisted knowing better. He stares at him for a moment before responding, diplomatically.   

“I guess I have to say yes. That’s what you want me to say?”

Doakes snorts and shakes his head. Dexter knows he’s amused, and for once he feels in control. His plan is working, one step at a time. “I’m fucking onto you, freak” he tells him firmly before leaving, but the weight to the words isn’t the same as always. Dexter can feel it in his veins. He just watches him leave the station from his seat, turning his head around to watch him get into the elevator. 

“What the fuck”

And he’s forgotten Debra again. She’s looking at him with both eyebrows raised, expectant.

“I annoy him.”

Debra rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Honestly Dexter what did you do to him?”

What did he do to me, actually. “Be nice, I guess?” 

His phone rings, a message coming in. He’s lucky Debra isn’t looking over him, trying to see who’s texting, and instead is focused on her screen. She sure as hell wouldn’t let it go. He hasn’t got the number saved, but knows exactly who it is.

20:21pm

Meet you later?

Chapter Text

08.21pm (unknown)

 

Meet you later?

08.43 pm (Me)

 

If you want.

08:44 pm (James)

 

11pm. Your place.

08.44 pm (Me)

 

K .

Things are definitely progressing now. He closes his phone and gets to his car. It’s the end of the day and he’s definitely feeling it. Inside the car he takes a moment before taking off. He rubs his neck, leaning his head backwards into the seat. There’s so much shit out of control, this feels like something important. He looks at himself in the mirror, he just looks tired and empty. It’s useless trying to change that. There’s so much doubt passing through his mind lately that sometimes just being awake is too much. And then he feels nothing but he can’t fucking sleep. 

So he starts looking for details for a recent ex-con, Anderson Burt, who killed his wife back in spring of 2000’. He opens the folder, gets it from his bag and just scans the pages. It’s the same old story. He pleaded to mental insanity, which lessened his conviction from 22 years to only 7. And now, he just got out of prison and is murdering again. They found a dead prostitute in his motel room just last week. He tried to make it look like a suicide, sloppy and rushed. The photos are graphic, the girl hanging from a wire in the ceiling, bloody and naked, covered almost entirely with bruises and cuts. It’s undeniably a murder. So it’s mind blowing watching how he walked free, with only a slap on the wrist. He could be on Dexter’s table that same night. He won’t be, since he’s already made plans, but he feels the thrill kill getting nearer. He doesn’t have to search very long to find him in some trashy bar, less than half an hour away from his own neighborhood. It’s so close it’s actually on the way to pick up a package for Debra. How ironic.

He watches Anderson stumble out of the bar to his car. The road is silent, and there’s only a few more cars in the parking lot. He’ll catch him. He just has to wait for the right moment. The car is silent as he watches the man leave. He could follow him, but by now it’s already almost ten at night. He sighs and adjusts the collar of his shirt, looking at himself in the rear mirror. 

When he gets back it’s half past ten, and Doakes is leaning against the door, frowning. He sighs. Of course he’s early. He’s frowning and shakes his head, as if he’s disappointed. He just stands in front of him, gets his keys out and waits for him to get out of the way.

“The first night I don’t tail you and you sneak out again?” of course he stands still, looking at Dexter with his eyes narrowed, head tilted backwards.

Dexter can’t help himself “Aren't you here to tail me? I think that counts”

Doakes ignores his jab coldly and leans off the door “Where the fuck where you Morgan?” he says getting closer.

He stares at the other for a moment, then just presses the package hard and smudged against his chest. Doakes turns it around immediately looking at the remittent address. He takes a moment before stepping away, letting Dexter open the door. 

They’re inside, and Doakes sets the package on his desk and stays beside it, staring down at Dexter. He stays by the door, leaning against it, mirroring what the other just did on the other side. Doakes looks at him with his lips pressed tight, carefully. Dexter just holds his gaze, really looking now. He’s got a different shirt on now, than from work. He also notices he probably just showered. For once Dexter isn’t worried this encounter is going to go awry. 

“I have a life, you know?” it feels as if he’s repeating himself for the tenth time.

“What the fuck are you hiding?” He still doesn't buy it. Not all of it. It’s just frustrating how quickly he can see through his bullshit. When Doakes eyes drop slowly, gawking at his body, he reminds himself he can see him too. He knows now that he can make him forget the doubt, he can distract him. Talking is useless, it’s clear where the conversation is going if he opens his mouth. If he starts with the ‘I don’t know what you are talking about’ , it’s gonna be ‘you are telling me the truth right now, lying freak’ . He stares at the other. It is a cycle. And I know exactly how to use it.

When he approaches him, leaning off the door, the other is expecting it. He makes his way swiftly, without making a sound, to stand in front of him. He stares at him for a second, but closes his eyes a moment later, leaning in barely touching. His lips just grace over James’, He moves his mouth a bit and grabs his shirt, sighing. It’s over in a second, James takes him by the hips and joins their mouths closer. The kiss is absolute bliss. He feels the anger and question on his lips against his, moving frenzy. It’s the way James searches for him every time he pulls back to breathe that makes him give in, just like that at the first touch. His hands clench desperately to the shirt, as if he’s going to disappear if he lets go. James only kisses him deeper, until his mouth feels used and his knees are useless. When the other pulls back he almost complains.

“Dexter” he says, dropping his hands lower from his hips to his tailbone grazing his ass. He doesn’t mind at all. And he kicks himself in the head when he can’t stop his mouth from opening.

“I want you” Normally he messes up, says the wrong thing every time if he doesn’t stop to think about it. It feels like that. He’s not able to feel shame, so he isn’t ashamed of the truth, still he’s mad James can make him stutter like that. It’s even worse that Dexter is so into it. He’s still clinging into his shirt, now just resting his hands and touching the muscle underneath. It’s as fascinating as the first time. Doakes smiles and it’s over for him. He’s fucking handsome, and Dexter can’t ignore how attracted he is to the man now. He likes the shape of his jaw, his hands, and how his shoulders are strong and ample. 

James' reaction is perfect. He kisses him again, very demanding. And the man who just questioned him has vanished. Huh. I should follow my instincts more.

They make out messily, James grabs his ass and feels him up while he sticks his tongue in his mouth. Nothing can’t stop him from whining every time their hips meet. He’s hard just from that, and he feels the other is in the same state. He tries to follow the movements, presses closer against him.

“Jesus Dexter” he grunts, deep and breathless. It’s easy to put his arms over his shoulders and lean into his jaw, starting to leave open mouthed kisses all over. James raises both of his hands to his head and pulls him off, holding his face between his hands. Dexter can’t help himself and looks at his lips, red and inviting and- “Let’s go, hm” his voice rumbles, coming deep from his chest. Dexter can feel it.

It’s an order, of course it is, makes his eyes snap up in a second. James is already pulling back, and starts walking towards the bedroom. This time he enters the room first, leaving Dexter behind. He can’t move for a second, but it isn’t long before he’s following. James stands in front of the bed, arms crossed. He keeps himself in the doorway, it feels as if he should wait for something. His mind is beginning to race. If he’s not kissing James it’s madness.

“Close the door and sit down” James smirks when he complies, crossing the room swiftly. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he just holds himself up, grabbing the sheets. James towers over him now, looking down at him as if he’s his prey. “Take off your shirt” It’s short, straight to the point, so fucking easy. He’s got it off in no time, getting a bit caught up in the middle. James helps him with it, pulling up. He feels his hair all over, must look crazy. James looks at him as if he’s something worth looking at and his stomach does a flip. He frowns immediately. “What is it?” of course James notices right away.

“Just- you too.” he says, reaching for his shirt, pulling him down. James lets him take it off, kneels between his legs grabbing at them with the palm of his hands, and any problem he had before goes straight to the back of his mind. He’s too distracted to think. His chest is pure perfection, and he reaches, feels his shoulders, the smooth skin under his fingers. James hums, and he feels it. He can’t help himself and leans into him, kissing him urgently. James lets him kiss him for a minute, before pulling him away, fisting his hair.

“Dexter”

“Yeah?” he manages to let out, softly. He’s got no voice in him, afraid to break the moment.

“Lay back” James' voice is firm. He just scoots backwards as gracefully as he can. James follows, kneeling between his legs. He reaches for his belt and Dexter helps him, lifting his hips up. He’s naked again and James is seeing all of him again. He puts his hands on his hips and just strokes his hip bones softly, almost like and after thought.

“I’m going to touch you. Ok?”

He just nods, not daring to speak. Still, the other doesn’t move.

“Say it Dexter”

“Yeah, okay” he breathes out. 

James hands are on him like lighting, stroking his cock with one hand while the other ventures up his chest. He grips him with a strong fist, moving up and down slowly, looking right at him as he moves his wrist up and down. He’s incapable of staring away. When the other hand thumbs his nipple he can’t help but let out a moan.

“You like that, huh” he whispers softly. His voice is like silk, making his bones melt like honey. He just moans and throws his head into the pillow when James starts jerking him faster. It’s like magic how he can disassemble him so quickly. He puts a hand over his mouth, feeling exposed and hot. Sweat breaks and starts to run down his back as James touches his ribs, his thighs, rubs his hand over and over again his body while he gets him off with the other. When he picks up the pace and starts twisting a bit his hand, Dexter can’t help arching his back desperately. He bites into his hand, looking down, observing how the other moves his fist, whining when he rubs the head of his cock softly. 

“Come on Dexter” James breathes the words into his ear, lowering himself closer. Dexter moves his hand away and hugs him, scratching his nails into his back. It’s so fucking good, Dexter isn’t sure why he hasn’t done this before. James’ hand is big, and rough, unforgiving. He’s moaning right into his mouth, feels his face heat up as he feels James between his legs.

“J-james, I’m gonna-” he moans desperately, reaching for his face. His forehead is a mess, wet hair sticking up, clinging to the faint sweat he’s formed. His hand disappears the moment the words leave his lips and Dexter cries at the sudden coldness. James leans back in his ankles and just stares at him. He’s pleased with himself, but Dexter is too far gone to care. He feels his cock hard, pressing in his abdomen. Every hair in his body is standing up and he just can think of how much he wants James hands on him again.

“Why should I get you off?” he asks as he feels his thighs up, separating them a bit. He isn’t even looking at Dexter, which feels indecent, just the way he’s staring between his legs. “You’ve been so fucking annoying all day”

“Sorry about that” he says, not sorry at all. He flinches when James slaps his right thigh slightly.

“I could leave you like this. You look pretty all worked up.” Dexter reaches for his cock and James stops him, grabbing his wrist firmly. “You aren’t going to do that” he just moans when the other squeezes his wrist.

“Touch me?” is the only thing left in him. James smirks again.

“Ask nicely” He’s still the same bastard. Dexter is too lost in pleasure for pride, but still is so typical of Doakes it’s annoying.

“You can do anything. Just touch me. Please” He can’t help himself anymore, lifts his hips a bit, trying to get some contact. James kisses him quickly, and he melts into him.

“Turn around”

He feels the words dripping down his spine. Surely this is when he fucks him. It’s weird to be the passive part for once. He never thought he desired this. Being underneath and just letting it happen. It’s easy. He doesn’t feel as if he has to perform. So he turns around and lays in the bed, arms tucked beneath the pillow ass up. James eyes scan over him. It feels as if he's actually touching him. He hears Doakes undoing his belt (he still is wearing his pants) and can’t help but look up from the pillow, turning his head around and lifting himself up a bit. He’s clearly hard under his boxers, and when he takes that off too, Dexter is mesmerized. He opens up his mouth a bit watching his cock, big and hard and suddenly he’s wondering if this will actually work out. Still his own cock feels too good, rubbing against the sheets with every movement, to worry him too much. James spits in his hands and starts jerking himself slowly. Dexter moans and lifts his hips again. James grabs at them and presses completely against him, chest to back, dragging his cock between his asscheeks. He doesn’t recognize the moan that comes out of him. Biting down on his lips he grabs James arm and hides in the crook of his neck, as the other continues humping his cock over his ass. It’s madness. James grunts in his ear, moaning faintly every time he snaps his hips up. He could just stick his cock in, Dexter realizes, and he wouldn’t complain, he’d just let it happen. He’s going to let it happen.

“James” he whines through his teeth, turning his head trying to kiss him. He puts his mouth over his and just rests his lips there, as his hips moves, following the pace.

“Do you have lube?” James whispers, as if he’s afraid too, of breaking the spell. Dexter just whines when he grinds his cock harder into his ass, pressing his own cock into the mattress. 

“First drawer” he lets out, out of breath. James separates to get it and he feels the loss immediately. He hears him search for it, and turns a bit to the side when he returns to the bed. James opens the little package and slicks him up. Dexter watches, feeling the lust going through his veins. It’s like a picture, the perfect way James’ body is built. He feels hot as he watches him pleasure himself, kneeling in the bed, watching Dexter as if he’s just what he needs to get off. After a few strokes he lets go of himself and touches his legs again moving him by the hips to be on his side. He positions carefully behind him, hugging him, touching his chest. His cock rests against his back, and it’s crazy he can feel it pulsing against him. It’s even crazier that he’s proud he can make him want him like this. He leans his head backwards and tenses his back, waiting for the pain to come. Instead, James starts grinding against his ass softly, now gliding between with ease. The lube feels cold, and makes him shiver. Sweat is running down his back.

“Ah-h” pleasure fills his senses when James grabs his cock and slides it between his thighs. He closes them tighter, feeling it slide against his balls, pressing against him and grounding him. The noise that comes out of him is too much. James just turns his face and kisses him, as he starts to move his hips, and it’s all over from there. He snaps them hard, almost pinning him to the bed, and Dexter can only close his legs tighter. It’s heavenly, the way his cock presses into the mattress while Doakes fucks his thighs. He’s a fucking mess, trying to rub against James as tries to get off into the sheets. 

“I fucking hate you” James says, breathing heavily into his neck “You’re so annoying. Always creeping around. You should do just this, be on your stomach taking it, you’re so well behaved this way aren’t you?” James scurries his words, picking up the pace. The words make his head spin and for a second the thought of him just doing this all day is over his head, making him moan uncontrollably. James grabs his hips and starts really giving it to him. If this is going to be how it feel when he fucks him, Dexter can’t wait. He just moans and reaches for him.

“Are you going to listen now?” James asks, stopping for a moment. Dexter moves his ass, trying to chase the friction, but he stills his hips, waiting for an answer. Dexter nods desperately, his cock is heavy and hot between his legs and he can’t stop his chest from moving up and down.

“I’m going to touch you now, and you won’t come until I say so, okay?”

“Yeah, alright” he sighs. He’d agree to anything, he realizes, if only the other would touch him. His eyelids feel heavy and if James doesn’t touch him he feels like exploding.

“Good boy,” James says approvingly. Dexter falls apart when his hand touches his cock again, and the change is so sudden he almost thinks he’s going to faint from the pleasure. Biting his own arm he just lets James get him off. 

“James-hn please” he whines, when he’s had enough. The thought of James leaving him there, like that, desperate and wriggling against the sheets excites him, but he needs to come, he needs it.

“Okay, okay- you can come Dexter. That’s good” he groans in his neck, speeding up the thrusts. When he comes he swears his mind goes white. His legs are spasming as James continues snapping his hips, getting closer to his own climax. Dexter is just spent, feels the high of the orgasm and just savours the way the other uses him. With a final grunt, James comes between his legs. It’s weird, feeling semen dripping down his thighs, but it’s not bad. He can’t seem to unclench his thighs, and James doesn’t move to separate either. They stay like that for a second, just breathing in and out heavily. He feels his lips on his back, mapping the curve of his shoulders. For a moment everything is perfect.

Doakes cleans him up and stays with him for a while. Dexter is a bit more composed this time, but it’s not long before he puts his mask on again. It’s like he needs it. And it’s strange because normally he wishes he didn’t have to be this fake. It’d be easier. To not be a fucking freak, as James would put it. But if Doakes isn’t touching him, being all bare is too fucking much. He tenses his body when he passes a wet towel between his legs, cleaning the mess. 

“You don’t have to do that” he’s too exposed to think of the careful way Doakes wipes between his legs, how his fingers linger there a second longer than he would normally.

“I know,” he says, rubbing his hand over his stomach. Dexter just lays there.

When he finishes cleaning him he leans in and kisses him softly. It’s so open and intimate Dexter almost forgets who he’s kissing. He just feels, and he never feels. It seems Doakes really messed him up in that department. He looks into his eyes and just can’t stop himself from kissing him again. James welcomes the kiss, turns his head and all so it's easier. He breathes away for a moment, and suddenly he can’t shut up.

“Do you really think I’m the Bay Harbor Butcher?” he says in a whisper. It’s a bold move, and it probably will backfire, but he can’t think clearly. It’s just dumb, but he continues anyway. “I’m not stupid. You fucking told me you think I’m connected to the Ice Truck Killer. I can put two and two together.” It feels like suicide. His voice is rough, and wasted, and he doesn’t understand why exactly he’s bringing this up now. It feels like too fucking early. But there’s something in his gut that tells him James isn’t going to believe any lie coming from him. Still the moment is ruined. James pulls back and his eyes widens, looking at him as unbelieving. “Do you think I really would do this to my sister?”

It’s okay to lie like this, because it’s not really a lie. He’s got a code and he would never hurt her. He hopes the other sees it. Because it’s true. Doakes looks coldly, searching in his eyes, but gets up anyway without saying a word. He dresses up quickly, gathering his clothes around the room. Dexter just curls up tiredly and closes his eyes.

His hips ache when he wakes up. Last night seemed almost like a fever, but it burns alive in his skin. He showers and he remembers Doakes hands running through his body.

At work Dexter just keeps his distance. He starts to think asking James directly if he’s the Bay Harbor Butcher was a mistake when Doakes acknowledges him, but doesn’t talk to him. It feels as before, when he didn’t really notice him, but there’s a look in his eyes when he stares that gives him chills. It’s good that he’s looking though. Maybe he’s waiting for Dexter to talk first. Great. Highschool again.  

By noon he can’t help himself but open his phone and text him. He needs to know if he fucked up again. It’s like a pattern now. Dexter takes off his mask and James gets a glimpse of the darkness in him. And somehow he goes back to him. 

He looks out through the blinds at Doakes sitting at his desk, and makes up his mind.

11.20am (me)

 

Are you angry?

He sees the moment Doakes reads the text, how his neck snaps into his lab. He can’t actually see him, not clearly with the blinds folded to a half. It’s instant. He gets up from his desk and storms into Dexter’s lab, closing the door behind him. The station is packed, anyone could walk in, but it’s all the more thrilling.

“Don’t start shit while we’re working,” it’s the first thing that leaves his mouth, lowering his voice but it feels like a command.

He turns his chair with a swift movement to face him fully. “Now you want some distance?” 

Doakes sighs and shakes his head. 

“You better be listening to me Morgan, this, whatever it is-,” the patronizing tone is infuriating. Makes Dexter roll his eyes. 

“That’s so hypocritical”

“It isn’t-”

“I’m just doing exactly what you’ve done to me.” his mind is racing now. It’s ridiculous that James is so self righteous to tell him what to do “You’ve got no right to tell me when or where this happens, are we clear? If you want to ignore me that's fine but don’t tell me what do”

He feels out of air for a moment. Doakes just stares at him, thinking for a moment. When he smiles Dexter can swear he’s fuming smoke out of his head.

“Okay. I won’t. Let's just keep the mask at work, right?”

Dexter is shocked. There’s a turmoil of emotion forming in his chest and he feels his face changing against his will. He’s frowning, looking dead at Doakes. He gets up and puts his hands on his face, breathing heavily into them.

“Nevermind”

“What, you love faking yourself, do it all of the time, right?”

Dexter just stares at him for a moment through his hands, eyebrows raising almost to his forehead. When he drops his arms his face is expressionless. His eyes are just a void, he’s sure of it. He’s so tired of being seen he truly wants to kill the man. He’s fucking with his head and it’s getting tiring. James doesn't look back and he can see the wheels turning on his head. He drops in the chair and leans back, crossing his arms. 

“You know I don’t understand people well. You know that. I won’t hide it anymore, I thought we were over that. So can you drop this confusing shit you’re laying on me lately? I just want some clarity.” he says, truthfully. James wanted honesty, he has it now. But as always, it doesn’t matter what he does and he manages to piss him off even further.

“I don’t owe you clarity ”

Dexter steps up to him. They’re so close he can smell him, and it’s almost so heady he has to step away. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Sergeant” he lets out, smiling now. It’s a fake plastic rehearsed smile, the one Doakes is freaked up by. Dexter knows it also pisses him off, when he does that. He also just asked him to wear the fucking mask so he can’t be mad about it. It makes him mad anyways, which contradicts his previous reaction in so many ways it’s almost funny. 

Doakes storms off and ignores him for the rest of the day. 

He’s moody the rest of his shift, snaps at Masuka one too many times. He can’t fake it as usual, and it’s annoying that James can’t get so deep into his head, so easily. Maybe he’d kill him already if he didn’t want him so fucking much.

There’s no text that evening, at least not from James. Rita, however, calls him. It’s strange that he almost feels sad about the conversation. It’s short and awkward. When she tells him to come pick up some of his stuff, he thinks of the kids he decides it’d be nice. Rita is easy to be around, she usually gets him and she actually sees something good in him, even if it’s because of the lie Dexter’s life if. It’s easy to be with her now, even if he can see the sadness and distance behind her eyes. She makes coffee, and they have it in the kitchen, talking about the kids almost as if nothing at all had happened. It’s almost as before, but of course, it doesn’t last long before reality sets in. Before he knows it he’s walking down to the main door with his bag of stuff on his shoulder. Rita opens the door and walks him to the car. He puts the bag inside and turns to stare at her. She’s still as beautiful as he remembers. Like an angel, if they existed. Still, he is not sad about it. James would point out it is just how a psychopath would feel. Nothing.

“I’ve thought about what you said last time you were here” Rita says, looking at him fondly. 

Last time they talked, he broke up with her, so he doesn’t know what to think.

“I do think it’s the best. At least for now.”

He kisses her forehead and she leans in, giving in a final kiss. It’s shallow, almost nothing, but it feels like goodbye.

When he leaves, he misses the car, parked around the corner.

Chapter Text

James looks at the couple from his car. He’s decided to follow Dexter after work. There’s something he can’t put his finger on that raises a big red flag. Moreover, that fucking question remains. Do you really think I’m the Bay Harbor Butcher? It echoes in his mind like a fucking drill. The honesty dripping from the other has him stumbling. It’s surely another of his games, but each time it feels realer. When they are alone Dexter almost is like a human being. He sees how needy he is inside, makes sense after observing his obsessive behaviour after all of this time..

It’s almost disappointing, watching him kiss Rita, but he stops himself before he can think too much about it. No one is perfect, and if Dexter wants to cheat he’s not going to stop him. It’s not the worst thing he suspects him of, afterall. He really doesn’t give a shit about his feelings, so if he wants to fuck Rita over he’ll find out later how much he’s screwed himself up. Still it makes him crawl inside. After getting personally involved with the man he can’t think clearly. It’s too contradicting, watching him fall apart and then realizing there’s something really dark inside Dexter. He can’t figure it out but his intuition is always right. He’s hiding something, that’s for sure. It’s in the way his eyes lit up at any crime scene, how he’s able to envision to perfection the killers’ actions every time, the way he looks mesmerizingly at the blood. That always throws him off, makes his detective instincts light up like no one else. The fact that he makes him doubt is just another sign. 

Fucking him is another mistake, that’s for sure. He can’t think objectively now. He can’t help but want the man. It’s fucking mad, and everything that’s wrong with him. He grips the wheel of his car even tighter, as he remembers how easy it is with him. The way Dexter kisses him as if they’ve done this forever makes his head spin. He suspects he really has been with only a few men, maybe hasn’t even fucked a man properly before. Why did he go and pick him, he doesn’t know. He feels it in his hesitancy to touch, how he just follows his lead blindly. It’s irrational, but he wants to be the only one who sees him like this. Has to be. It awakens something inside him, a need to possess the other and make him alive under him, to make him unable to deny what he really is. He has so much pain inside James could fucking pick it apart. It’s like the dumbass represses it until it comes out bleeding, which is the best example for the fucker. He’s got to have a vault, some kind of mechanism to release the pain, because up until lately his cover has been spotless; the perfect picture of a normal man. A heterosexual, handsome, white man with an adorable girlfriend, mom to two, which his sister saved from a domestic abuse incident. From the outside it sure looks like a love story. It’s the perfect front. And he can hide as anything. Is a fucking pro at it. The donuts, the empty smiles and dialog could be considered a form of art. He really is dead inside and puts on a show everyday just so no one knows he’s broken. If Doakes could feel something other than hate or lust, he’d feel pity.

The first time they sleep together he finally understands the real Dexter. There’s something very wrong with him. Something that moves beneath, and something he wants to escape from. He wouldn’t cling to him like he does every time James leans into him if he wasn’t trying to run from something. The unsettling reality comes creeping in when he realizes the intensity of the situation. If he turns out to be right, he could be sleeping with the Bay Harbor Butcher, or some creep like that. It could be a fucking mess. Even if they’re just fucking. And they aren't even doing that yet. 

Yet. He sighs and starts his car. It’s going to keep happening. As long as Dexter reaches out, James is going to give in. He tells himself he’s just investigating. It’s just sex afterall. It’s not as if he’s romancing him. As if he could fall in love with a man. Maria would tell him to open his mind. He can feel her voice like silk in his mind, judging his own struggles. He’s never thought too much about it. He likes men just fine, but it’s women who he’s fallen in love with. Men are just a side interest. He’s forty-four already, has experienced it all and knows himself to the bone. He learned to accept it a long time ago so he won’t have a fucking crisis now, but he’s got limits. Still Dexter makes him doubt and it’s infuriating how easily he does it. There’s no pretense anymore. It’s just a matter of time before he knows what he’s hiding, and there’s no going back from it. Because Dexter knows he’s caught him and is trying to deviate the focus. He isn’t that dumb, he realizes that. But the thing is, it works. He’s fucking distracted and it’s all for a ginger cheating freak.

He goes home, too worked up to continue to try and catch his lies. He’s reached a point where he doesn’t know what the fuck to do. Dexter is getting in his head, and it shouldn’t matter this much. It’s not late, just time for dinner, so he decided to forget about it for a moment, to pretend that it’s okay with him, letting work fade into a second plane. It doesn’t work, of course, the thoughts hang in the back of his head as always. The suspicion. He can’t fucking turn it off, but he can pretend. 

He does his night routine trying to make up his mind. The silence of his home feels empty for the first time once he lays in bed. He stares at the ceiling and tries to close his eyes. It’s useless. He’s always been content with being alone, but in moments like these he wishes he could confide in someone who’d actually believe him. After Kara he’s been tired of getting himself in impossible situations. It feels as if he can’t stay away from them. And he knows he isn’t wrong about this. No matter how he makes him feel, he’s sure he knows something. It’s too fucking dangerous, knowing that Dexter had something to do with the Ice Truck Killer case and that he still wanting to fuck him. Because he fucking wants him. 

He feels himself getting hard under the covers only thinking about yesterday, how Dexter looked up at him from the mattress, how he obeyed mindlessly to his directions, how he turned his back to him and let him do whatever he wanted. James knows he’d let him fuck him, right then and there. Maybe he should have. He takes himself in his hand and starts stroking himself. He imagines how it will feel, fucking him. He thinks of his perfect thighs and how he’d invited him to just dessacrate him. A thousand images cross through his mind; Dexter on his knees, open mouth and flushed red all over, on his back with his legs spread, on all fours waiting for his cock- His hand picks up at the fantasy, putting his hips into the movement. Dexter just fills his fucking thoughts and he’s finished before he knows it. He stays in the same spot for a while, coming down from the orgasm. It feels wrong and small. As he breathes down the high, one thing is clear. He’s got to end this fucking liaison. He’s too close to hand waving everything just so he can taste Dexter again. And that’s exactly what the freak wants him to do. 

He’s called to a crime scene before he can talk to Morgan the next day. It’s fucking crazy that talking to the freak is high there in his task list. Work, however, always comes first. 

The Miami heat is scalding, almost too bright to handle when he steps out of the police car into the unfolding scene. He’s got his sunglasses on so it’s not that blinding. Still, he puts a hand over his head and looks around the street. It’s almost noon now, long before the sun sets and he can’t seem to get his thoughts clear. Morgan’s car is parked down the road, hid between some fucking trees. He sighs and steps into the house, trying to steer his head away from the creep. The whole block is surrendered by police, paramedics and journalists, so it’s hard to get by. 

He read the report while he had breakfast today, Jessica Wary, a college student living close to her school with a single roommate coming all the way from Philly. Now this is where it ended for her, hammered to death in a very brutal way cutting her life short way too early.

It’s a fucking mess, inside. The furniture is all battered up, a pool of blood just dripping down the tiles of the kitchen. He catches Morgan and his sister are already by the living room crowding the victim, ogling the aftermath. He looks at him for a moment, watches how he snaps the photos methodically. He can see his eyes glimmer, and it’s the kind of real emotion only a freak like him could get from this scene.

“Sergeant, I need to talk to you”

Maria is on him the moment he steps inside the house. “Did they find the murder weapon? I read it was missing, at least they didn’t find it in the first sweep.”

“I’m not talking about this case.” she says ominously. Nothing good can come out of that. She retreats a little deeper into the hallway, behind the staircase. He follows her discreetly, watching the scene from there for a second, waiting for the bad news. Maria just stays still, her eyes looking forward. 

“Something happened?” he asks very quietly when it’s clear she’s not going to say the first word.

She glances at him for a moment, somehow nervously, only to keep looking ahead, “You remember a neighbor gave Morgan and Batista the plate of a car that was stationed in front of his house, the night Rodrigo disappeared?” He nodded, “The vehicle was seized as evidence in 2002.”

“By who?”

“By our department.”

A silence settles in, violent in its own way. A heavy stone sinks in his chest when he realizes what Maria means.

“We don’t keep records of the Evidence Lab”

“M-hm” Maria nods, still looking numbly ahead, her hand resting against her closed fist. She’s almost pale. “Batista told me. No one else knows” He knows she means to keep the information low. It’s like a warning, which feels annoying, but he can understand the feeling. He’d be protective too if she was in his shoes.

Whoever is behind the recent murders had to have inside information, evidence and some kind of clearance in the building. A chill goes down his body. His eyes search for him, and he seems so innocent, making sense of the blood. He remembers the other asking him about it, no filter. It had been so fucking weird, to get such an honest reaction from the other. Still, he knows something’s off.

“James, if this obsession about Morgan-” she starts, following his gaze. Maybe he’s giving too much away too soon, but this smells rotten and he can’t believe no one else can see it.

“I’m telling you he’s hiding something Maria” he’s trying to make her see it. The monster inside. Even if he’s not the Butcher, there’s something wrong with him. And it feels like a threat. 

Maria looks at him incredulously. “You need to drop this, okay? It’s Dexter we’re talking about. And right now, each and every one of us is under federal investigation. So you better think twice before throwing accusations around. I’m telling you this for your own sake, James.”

“I can’t believe you don’t see it,” he huffs, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Nothing.” It’s useless. Nothing will clear the fog Dexter has impregnated the others, he’s realizing that. It’s too much attachment, too many years. The guy is good, it’s almost seamless. Giving her a final look, he returns to the scene. 

They’re getting the victim in the body bag by now. They’re clearing the scene already, so there aren’t that many people left when he goes over to Dexter, who’s kneeling on the floor staring at a stain.

“What do we have then?”

Dexter doesn’t even turn to face him. “This was probably their first kill. Left a big mess behind.” he tells him, looking over his shoulder. “Began hitting the victim here,” he demonstrates, up and getting closer to the wall. “and here,” The flagged blood stains come alive under Dexter’s theatrics. It’s a fucking freak show “then a straight blow to the top of the head. The killer had to be taller than her to reach that height. That’s what I think, anyway”

Dexter pauses for a minute, looking him dead in the eyes now. James watches him carefully. He nods his head to the right and waits.

“You think?”

Dexter makes a face at him, pursing his lips in annoyance. “Just look at the blood. The spatter is a circle.” he says turning around himself, following the blood on the floor “The hit had to come from above”

“What was the name of the victim, Morgan?” he says, turning to his sister. Debra looks up from the binder she’s revising, a bit embarrassed to be caught. He knows already, but he needs a break from his brother.

“Jessica Warry, 23 white female. This is her house. There’s no sign of breaking in at any entrance point”

“So the victim had to know him. Does she have roommates? A boyfriend?”

The only person with direct access to the house was Julia Larsson, the roommate. It’s only a feeling, but the fact that this was a very personal beating, and that the subject was 6’1”… It’s a fucking wild hunch, but it is there. Morgan continues, reading from her portfolio with no hesitation. As messy as she is, she knows how to stand her ground. “She has one female roommate, and was out of the house that night. Dispatch already contacted her. Don’t think it’s going to be our suspect, though” And as confident as she is, she doesn’t pick up on the height of the roommate.

“Bring her in. Keep her in custody until we check out her cover.”

“Yes, Sarg.” she nods, closing the file heavily and and thumbing up Dexter as she scurries to leave the scene. He puts his gaze on Dexter the moment she’s gone. It’s just a moment that they’re alone, but it’s enough for him. 

“How tall would the killer be, exactly?”

“Mmh, I can’t say it for sure here, but about 6 '2”, maybe a bit smaller if they were wearing heels.”

It is too much of a coincidence. And when he turns his gaze away from the bloody aftermath and looks at Dexter, he knows he knows what he’s thinking about. The fucking creep always two fucking steps ahead. Of course he’d notice something like this. 

“They, huh?”

“Her.”

He’s being direct, which is strange for someone who is used to lurking in the shadows. Maybe what they’ve been doing lately, off schedule, has made him think he fucking trusts him. Of course, Morgan doesn’t know what trusting someone is. So the question remains; why is he sharing this now? It feels like a fucking trap.

He waits for Dexter outside near his car. He should be at the station already, but he can’t get last night out of his mind. It’s about thirty minutes before he comes out, carrying his bag as innocently as ever. When he gets nearer, Doakes deliberately bumps into him, making him stop in his tracks. He’s not letting the idiot get away so easily. The street is less crowded and the spot Dexter picked is so fucking shady, as always, so it’s perfect to talk. “Morgan. You had fun last night, huh?”

Dexter turns, looking murderous all of the sudden. He’s hit a nerve, that’s for sure. He’s got the fucking stare again, heavy and cold, that motherfucker is so cryptic, it’s enraging he looks that fucking good being the freak he is. The Miami sun filters through his hair, making it redder than ever. The fucking demon, he is. 

“What?” he asks, very weary. His voice drops an octave, and there he fucking is.

“I fucking saw you.” he insists, getting closer to him. Dexter steps back, almost leaning against his car. He looks goddamned caged, as if he’s about to jump out of his skin. It’s so weird, watching him show this much worry all of the sudden, and for cheating of all things. So much for taking the consequences of his actions. If he didn’t get on his nerves the way he does, he’d feel some empathy towards him. There’s something that’s eating him inside, it’s so clear to him it’s mind boggling no one else sees it. And his tendency to cheat isn’t the secret he’s so desperately trying to hide. He’s sure of that.

“Watch what you’re about to say, Sergeant” it’s a fucking threat, he knows it is when he shows his teeth in a mocking grime, straightening himself. 

“Rita doesn’t deserve this. And I’m not fucking giving you relationship advise, but I thought even a freak like you was above these kind of things. So you fucking tell her or I will.”

Dexter deflates a bit and looks carefully around. It’s very alarming to see his mood change all of the sudden, especially since he doesn’t really emote other than replicating the socially dictated interaction. This isn’t about Rita, and James should have fucking known. Still, he refuses to let Dexter catch onto that, so he keeps looking mad.

“You only see what’s in front of you. Have you fucking try asking me before you throw accusations around?” It’s cold, and calculating. Nothing as the nervous wreck he was before. He’s dropped his shoulders a bit, now, much more relaxed.

“Why should I trust whatever shit you say?” What the hell is he hiding from him? Something that would warrant such a response? He doesn’t know. 

Dexter sighs, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, hard. “Ask Deb then. I don’t fucking care. But just stop making assumptions about my personal life, Sergeant.”

James narrows his eyes. He’s definitely asking his sister. If Dexter thinks getting upset is going to stop him from watching him, he’s wrong. He puts a finger in the middle of Morgan’s chest and pushes slightly.

“Oh, and this is stopping. Don’t even fucking think about it” Dexter grins at that like a maniac, dropping his hands a bit to see him.

“Okay.” he mutters, fucking amused.

They stare at each other for a moment and Dexter leans forwards, pushing his chest against his finger, humming. He watches him intensely, as if he’s made a choice right fucking there. “Want a ride to the station?” It’s so fucking enigmatic a chills passes through his body. “Sergeant?” Morgan adds, lowering his voice.

A car pulls up behind them and Morgan looks at him as if daring him to say no. He’s got his hands in his pockets, still as a tree. He’s fucking mad if he thinks he’s going to get in. 

When he does get in, he tries very hard to justify himself as a chance to snoop around.

The ride is quiet. He watches Dexter drive silently and tries to check for evidence. Of course there’s nothing out of place at plain sight, it’s a normal car for a normal person. At a redlight, Dexter breaks the silence.

“I think you’re going to have a difficult case with this one, Sarg.”

The way he says that is off, so he knows immediately what he means. Still; “What the fuck does that mean?”

Dexter looks at him from the corner of his eyes, as he drives off again at the greenlight “I already pulled the file on the roommate. She was in the system for theft, stole some really expensive perfumes at a mall downtown.”

“That doesn’t make her a killer.” It’s still suspicious. Dexter got that part, now there’s no confusion about that.

“No. That’s just what led me to her description card. She’s over six feet.”

Got that part too. 

“Still, not a reason to make her a killer”

“I’ve already pulled from the string left behind. Blood doesn’t lie, I’m sure if you start talking to that girl’s inner circle, you’ll find pointing arrows at the roommate.”

Dexter's voice is just empty, as if he can see it so clearly. And it’s fucking impossible that he agrees with the man. He should go down the path, don’t settle to close the case unsolved. The mess behind was fucking telling, he didn’t fucking have to be a scientist to conclude that it was very personal. 

“I’ll talk to her later.” he decides. It’s his call, after all.

“Don’t mention the blood. Make her think it’s a home invasion” Dexter pushes, nailing him with his eyes.

“I know how to do my job, Morgan”

Dexter suddenly snaps out of a trance and focuses back to the road. They’re almost there. It’s strange how normal it feels. 

Julia Larsson, a Swedish-American student coming back to her motherland. The American dream really. James goes through the recordings of the friends and family of Jessica in his desk, waiting for Julia to come in. He’s already gone through her school records, both Swedish and American, and talked to two of Jessica's close friends on the phone. Asking about Julia only garnered the same reaction. It’s chilling that Dexter is fucking right. Julia and Jessica hated each other. He just had to scratch a bit to discover that. 

He puts his hands in his head and thinks for a moment how to go at this. She’s got a solid alibi, or at least it seems like it. Still, all is to be seen. And nothing looks the same up close.

He waits for Debra at the station. Morgan arrives from the crime scene, carrying a bunch of reports on her hands.

“Morgan,” he calls her, walking over to her desk.

“Yeah Sergeant”

“What’s with your brother? Did a cat piss on his cereal or something?”

Debra just sighs and leaves the reports on the desk with a big thump. “He’s just an idiot. Broke up with his girlfriend”

He frowns 

“What, when was this?”

“You interested, hm?” she smirks, amused. “Not too long ago, he went over yesterday to grab the last of his things. Don’t go too hard on him Sarg, he’s just a bit shaken lately”

Guess why, he wonders. Because lovesickness isn’t what is disturbing him, that’s for sure. He nods with his head and just leaves. 

 “Keep fucking working”

When he returns to his desk, the blood report is there. Dexter must’ve left it while they talked. The sneaky little shit he is.

When he gets back at the station at the end of the day, he heads to Maria's office straight away. She’s covered with documents and reports, only the table light on. It’s late by now. He spent all of the evening tracking Julia’s cover, and visited the friend she was supposed to be staying with. Of course, he covered for her. It smells rotten, the whole thing. And if they think he’s going to let this go unsolved, well, they’re just wrong.

“Maria”

“James”

“I have to arrest Julia for the murder of Jessica Wary. He covers for her, and that seems to be it.” 

“Where did that come from?”

“Look at the blood” he waves the report and throws it on her desk. She goes through the pages, surprised.

“And you’re okay this is signed by Dexter?” she asked, very surprised.

“Jesus Maria, that’s what you got from this?” he sighs, “The facts are, it matches perfectly with Julia’s profile. I’m telling you. I’ve talked with the family and they did not have a good relationship. She hated Jessica.”

Maria looks at him very still, reflectively. “What else did you find?”

“Nothing yet .”

“Then come in when you have something, because right now I can’t hold on to words. It has to be tangible, James” 

He just rolls his eyes. It’s her job, questioning him, but it doesn’t make her right.

“I fucking know that, Liutenant. You just wait.” he says, turning to leave. It’s empty outside so he sits at his desk for a moment, thinking. He’s got to find a way to lock Julia up, bring her to justice. James still doesn’t trust Dexter so knowing he’s the only one who agrees with his theory is just fucked up. The phone rings just as he’s thinking about him.

21:33pm (Dexter Morgan)

My sister isn’t staying over tonight.

So much for it being over. Dexter looks at him from the bed, with his big wide eyes opened fully. He’s got fucking doe-eye-ing him, and it’s disgusting he just finds him fucking cute. James can’t help but run his hands through his body, slow and nice. The idiot is fucking hot and doesn’t even seem to know. It is strange the way Dexter surrenders in moments like these. There seems to be an understanding between them now, that this whatever it is, is just theirs. James intends to savour it. Fuck what he said about it being over. There hadn’t been any other choice. When he knocked on his door the first time, he knew it was inevitable.

Chapter Text

He looks at James through the sheets, making his way with his index finger over his arm. It’s a nice arm. It’s also nice when he pretends he’s a real person and doesn’t call him a freak. He is pretending too. Was. His head is too cloudy to notice. He watches the other, as if he wasn’t there too. It’s like being underwater, and when the other puts his hands on him he snaps out of the trance. 

When he sent the text, he knew he’d come but, still, he had some doubts. James arrived serious as always. Dexter closed the door behind him and looked at the man, waiting for him to talk. Last night had been close, too fucking close. He doesn’t even know how close he was to the truth. If he only had followed him a bit later last night, if he only hadn’t stopped at Rita’s, he'd have seen him kill Anderson, the wife/prostitute killer. He’d finally found him; just as he left Rita’s, his contact in the real estate company he had been using had informed him Anderson would be back in the house that same night. And the offer was too good to pass. So he gathered his plan and headed over, set up his kill room, and waited for him to come home. He used an axe to kill him, just rammed it right into his throat, making a mess out of it, completing the ritual. It’d be the perfect night for him to catch him. And Dexter’s life would’ve been over. Utterly and irredeemably, over. 

Still, he feels calm. The ritual is complete and the worst did not happen and his life did not end. If only, the whole thing turned up to be a good cover. I think so, at least. James hasn’t dug into the Rita issue. And even if he doesn’t fully buy it, he's back, when he said he wouldn’t. So predictable. 

Doakes looks pensive “Morgan-” he starts the other after a moment staring at the wall. He’s wearing all black, a v-cut shirt paired with some dark slacks. He has a habit of changing when he comes over. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t really want to be noticed more than usual. Whatever it is, it looks good on him. It’s nice knowing this between them is a secret in the other’s life. He’ll care for sure about everyone knowing, he’d have a fucking panic attack honest to god. It makes him feel as if he’s got leverage, and that’s a relief.

“Now I’m Morgan?” he asks, going to sit next to him in the kitchen. 

Doakes doesn’t even hear him, not really, from the way he keeps his tone even or tries to anyway. “How the fuck did you know?” He knows exactly what he’s asking, about Jessica Warry’s case. And it’s a jackpot he’s taken the bait.

“I’m just doing my job, Sergeant.” Truthfully, it was so easy to see. Blood doesn’t lie, and if you add two and two, the answer is fucking clear.

He scoffs at his answer, finally turning to look at him. “Bullshit” he says, but there’s an underlying fondness that throws him off. Why people don’t just say what they mean is so confusing to him.

“Have you arrested her yet?” he asks, trying to change the subject.

“I can’t yet, I need more evidence” he says, shaking his head halfheartedly. He looks tired, stressed as if he hasn’t fucking slept in days. He knows the feeling by heart, but it’s strange to see it in Doakes. He’s usually so composed and put together it feels wrong watching him like this.

“I gave you the report” he helps him. He knows it won’t be enough with what he gave him, but that’s the plan. And it's unfolding beautifully.

“Well, it isn’t enough. Her friend backs up her cover. Claims she was over there the whole night”

“ Th a t’s bullshit” he retorts. James laughs as he rubs his eyes, which is strange. His smile is so fucking bright Dexter can’t really think about anything else for a second. 

“I know it is. I’m going to try and get an order for the phone records tomorrow” Dexter stares at him for a moment too long, making him notice he’s smiling. He stops immediately. “So we’ll get to the root of it” he adds, trying to hide his amusement.

“Okay. I don’t know if you’re going to find anything, though”

“And why is that?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. His gaze isn’t as scrutinizing as always, which is good. Maybe he really can make him trust him.

“Well, I stalked her socials online,- Oh please, as if you’re not the king of stalking” he says the other looks at him like he’s crazy “Well, I looked into them, she’s really private. Couldn’t find anything beyond the official records”

“Well, that doesn’t mean I can’t track her phone records to her house the night of the crime”

“Unless she left it at the cover’s home. Thinking ahead, trying not to get caught…”

“You think she would be that careful?” he asks, considering the scenario. Dexter can see the wheels turning in his head.

“I think she wanted to do this for a long time. Wouldn’t have been as brutal if she wasn’t. She hated Jessica and I'm sure she thinks that she’s on the clear now.”

“Well, I can use that. Won’t see us coming that way. There’s no fucking way I’m going to let her walk” 

“I know you won't” He knows for a fact he won’t, since he’s hiding crucial evidence about the case. It’s not time he knows so he wont tell him he found fresh prints belonging to Julia, not yet anyway. Doakes raises an eyebrow at that and really looks at him.

“You’d make a fine detective, you know Morgan? Too bad you chose to look at blood for a living” 

Dexter is speechless for a second. He feels his heart jump a bit and suddenly he can’t speak. This is the first time Doakes has actually complimented him, unwarranted and unasked. It’s so fucking weird. He must notice the change, and begins smirking like a devil.

“What, you can handle insults but a little praise makes you go shy?”

He snaps from his trance, annoyed. “Shut up.” Of course he’s right back to being annoying. It’s normal again, so he can breathe a little, exhaling through his nose.

“Hm. I’ll remember that?”

Dexter tries very hard to not punch him in the face. “What, to shut up?”

“Nah, the other thing” he says, smirking now. 

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I’m hungry Morgan, you got something to eat?” He ignores him, going to the fridge. He opens it like he owns it, which is infuriating. He makes a face when he scans over its contents “What the hell Dexter, why is there just beer in here?”

“I’m sorry if my fridge doesn’t please you Sarg,” he says, very sarcastically. Doakes closes the fridge and takes one of the pamphlets hanging in the door.

“This is what you eat?” he asks, as if it doesn't really surprise him, scanning over the options.

“Or stake. Don’t really like cooking for myself.”

“No? You don’t like butchering your own pigs?” it’s a jab, but the question is still there.

Dexter makes a face at him and just sighs “Fuck off.”

Doakes looks at him, almost grinning. He’s getting on his nerves again, the idiot enjoys making him crawl inside. He stays still anyway, not backing off. For a moment Doakes stares at the pamphlet, as if he’s deciding. Dexter knows what he’s going to say before it comes out of his lips. “Ok, let’s order in then”

“I’ll call,” he says, ripping the paper from his hand. It’s really annoying thinking he can say whatever and think Dexter will agree. Still, I’m hungry too, so it’s actually my own decision, thank you very much. 

They go sit by the TV while the food waits, and it’s so strange just being with the other. Doakes just invited himself to the sofa and Dexter followed, turning on the news channel. Now, he can feel Doakes breathing next to him, as they watch the news. It’s silent for the most part, Dexter is glad they can just coexist. He’d even enjoy talking to James if he wasn’t so obsessive about finding out his secret. Of course he wouldn’t admit that outloud, not over his dead body. He’s almost relaxed now, feeling the weight of the day dripping down his shoulders.

“I’m so fucking tired” he says, mostly to himself. He’s not really watching, just stares mindlessly at the screen.

“Yeah, me too” the reply makes him turn his head, finding James gawking at him. He’s resting his arm on the back of the sofa, which makes his arm look really nice. He knows James is following his eyes, knows he’s looking, but he doesn’t care. He’s too tired to care. Almost forgets this is more than actual interest, There’s stakes here, and they’re very high. It’s too risky to let my guard down.  Yet, he can’t help recalling how good it was last time. How the touch from his hands had felt. He wonders if the feeling will fade, as do all, to reveal the emotionless creature he truly is. He takes a good look before looking up at the other man. He almost dares him to do something about it. James narrows his eyes again and just leans forward. When he lets his arm around Dexter and pushes him forwards into him, his head is silent. 

He just crashes his lips against James’ as he falls into his body. He grabs him as if he owns him while he sticks his tongue in his mouth. He feels used, and it’s a fucking warm feeling that spreads over him like honey. He can’t help but let out a sigh, feeling James grunt into his mouth. It’s bliss, not having to think at all for a second, just letting him do whatever he likes. The fabric of the sofa feels rough when James presses him down against it. He bites back, trying to get inside him, pushing into his tongue hard. An arm closes around him and 

Dexter relaxes against the man instantly.

The bell rings just as Doakes puts a hand on his neck, pulling him closer. His hand doesn’t move right away, just separates a bit. He can feel his eyes on him, but he can’t get his own to open. Only when it rings again does he finally let go and stands up silently, going to the door. 

He pays for the food while Dexter is still on the sofa, unmoving. He can hear the rustling of the bags from there, the faint voice of the delivery boy by the door. He can’t seem to open his eyes, and doesn't really want to. He really is very fucking tired.

“What the hell is all this? How many people did you order for?” James asks when the door closes. It feels like one of those times where maybe he should be embarrassed, at least that would be the humane reaction, but he doesn’t really care too much to pretend to feel bad about his eating habits. James doesn’t seem to be too mad about it either, so it’s relieving there’s no underlying subtext from him. 

“What?” he lets out faintly, opening his eyes again. From the kitchen, Doakes is starting to unbox the food.

“You’re eating all this?”

“I am. And I’m eating yours too if you don’t shut up” he mutters, tiredly.

“Yeah right, I’m not going to bring the food over there, so move your ass, Morgan” he hears him say, sarcastically. Dexter just rolls his eyes, finally getting up. He rubs his hands on his shirt, a bit thrown off when he finds Doakes sitting on the counter, already digging in. It makes him feel a bit proud, he won’t deny it, that he’s managed to get the man who hated him to lower his shields this much. He’s got leverage on him now, and if all goes right, Doakes can be a right tool.

Doakes is watching him eat, which feels fucking strange. They’ve managed to have a meal without getting in a fight so far and that feels like a win, so he’ll just allow it. He’s still stuffing his mouth with noodles, the kimchi-tomato ones that make his mouth itchy afterwards. Doakes just finished his, he did have an appetite after all. Again, it’s weird just being in the kitchen and eating takeout. It’s been quiet for the most part, Dexter is close to being glad there’s someone that doesn’t expect small talk. Still, Doakes can’t keep his mocking remarks in check.

 “Damn Morgan, you can eat”, he says as he wipes his hands on a paper towel. He’s finished already, so he gets on to gather the empty food boxes. He makes a show of it, piles the boxes up and looks at Dexter raising an eyebrow. It’s not that much food anyways. I always have room for more.

“I like food,” he says, with a mouthful.

“Yeah, I can see that.” James says, raising an eyebrow. If he's judging, that's on him. He gatherers the empty boxes, throwing them in the bin and washes his hands. Dexter watches him sideways, as he finishes the last of the noodles.

“Leave it, I’ll clean up later” he says when Doakes starts wiping the counter. It gets on his nerves when people start moving his stuff around, especially without asking first. The other pays no attention and keeps doing it, until he looks up to find Dexter staring up at him, very annoyed. He lets out a laugh at that and only then stops.

“Okay” he says.

“What?”

“Nothing”

“ What? ”

James sits down again in front of him “You really like to be in control, huh?”

“I don’t” Dexter says, just to be contrary. He loves being in control, until he's not. And lately I've found it's nice not having to be in my head. I'll be dead before I tell him that.

“Sure. Sometimes you dont.”

“What the hell does that mean?” he asks, very irritated. He knows what he means by that, it's just not really nice being seen. It makes him crawl inside. James ignores him, once again, and starts ripping apart a napkin. He's not making eye contact, which tells him his mind is in a completely different matter now.

“I talked to your sister”

Not this again. Dexter sighs and wipes his mouth with a napkin, pausing for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He purses his lips and tilts his head sideways.“Why do I have to tell you anything?”

“Good point. Still, it’d be nice to know I’m not sleeping with a fucking cheater.”

“Well, I don’t owe you shit” He’s starting to lose his patience.

James looks at him as if he wants to poke further, but something changes for a second. It makes him uneasy, watching his gaze soften, as if he’s getting something he doesn’t know.

“Ok. I know”

“You know?” It’s really confusing that Doakes just accepts he won’t talk about it. He can’t be fine with it.

“Won’t bother you about it now” he says, in a very patronizing tone.

“Fuck you.” he answers dryly, blinking slowly.

James just crosses his arms and leans forward on the table, resting against it. He knows whatever is about to come out of his mouth is going to be really annoying.

“You know, you’re really pretty when you get angry.”

“What the fuck?” the line in his forehead deepens. Maybe a vein will pop up if this takes another turn. He doesn’t know if he should be worried. The comment was completely off script, and he feels lost. For a second he doesn’t even know what else to say. Doakes just rolls his eyes and leans back on the chair. 

“Yeah, right, don’t act as if you don’t know you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Dexter scoffs. Gorgeous isn't exactly how he'd describe himself. He doesn't really have the ability to evaluate himself on his own attractiveness, so he can only take Doakes' word for it. He knows he's attractive to him, just doesn't really know what the other sees. Not that he cares about beauty anyway.

“So now you like me?” is the only thing he can let out. He doesn’t really have an answer, his social dictionary doesn’t include an entry about this interaction. So he just sticks to what he knows, and he knows it will annoy James very much, so it's satisfying when he sighs and gets up off the chair, giving in. He watches him walk around the corner, only to turn Dexter's stool a bit, and fits himself between his legs. It's nice for a second, before Doakes opens his mouth again. It's an ongoing trend Dexter wishes would stop.

“What was today about?”

It catches him off guard. He doesn’t know what the fuck he means, and it’s alarming. “Today?”

“Before driving to the station. When I told you I saw you. You really fucking panicked. And I know you weren’t thinking about Rita.”

The air in the room changes all of the sudden. Now he is really serious, grabbing his leg with intent, as if he’s saying there’s nowhere to escape. He feels cornered. 

He did notice him acting weird, which is fucking great. His improv social skills are a bit rusty, so he takes a second, stares at the wall behind Doakes blankly. When the other still waits for him to talk he makes the choice. So, lies it is. He tries to look awkward, which is his usual face. Doakes looks at him expectantly,

“Honestly, last night-” he starts, “I don't know if I want to tell you this, after everything.”

“I don’t care. Just tell me.”

Dexter sighs and stares deep into his eyes. He hopes it’ll come out awkward.

“Last night I was… I was touching myself , alright?” he whispers “When you said I had fun I thought you had recorded me.”

Doakes face turns into a grime the moment the words leave his lips and his grip softens. “You still think I’d fucking do that?”

He looks betrayed, as if Dexter just stabbed him in the back with a butcher’s knife. Very fitting.

“You still think I’m some sort of serial killer?” he retorts. It’s going well, the reaction alone tells him what he needs to know.

“No…” he starts, grabbing his thighs harder “I don’t fucking know Morgan, I just know you’re hiding something. You could very much be for all I know”

Dexter sighs and looks away.

“Then I’m still choosing to believe you are spying on me”

“Yeah, right, as if that didn’t turn you the fuck on”

Dexter leans forwards and smiles. No, Doakes doesn’t believe him, but he’s on the same page as him. He’s calmer now that Doakes’ bought his excuse. And the look that’s replaced the suspicion is very promising. He’s swinging his way again. It’s nice, for once, not being alone. Because he’s always alone.

“Yeah” he says, standing up and putting his arms over his shoulders. Doakes kisses him immediately, turning him and pushing him into the counter. It’s good for a while, his mouth is soft and inviting and he's starting to feel warm all over. Suddenly he puts a hand on his jaw and forces him to open his mouth wider. His tongue licks his mouth, and Dexter knows he can taste the food. God, it’s like I can smell the fucking noodles again .

He feels nauseous all of the sudden. 

“Wait” he mutters, putting his hands on his chest and pushing him away. James lets go, furrowing his eyebrows. He lets go of him and turns around, letting Dexter off the counter. He steps back, walking to the bathroom. His mouth feels itchy, and he needs to brush his teeth right away.

He lets the bathroom door open and starts brushing very meticulously. It’s so much better. James hasn’t followed yet, which is weird. The whole evening has been weird and has left him bewildered, so this is just a very well received pause. When he hears footsteps, he waits for Doakes to come barging in. Instead, there’s a knock to the half opened door.

“Are you okay in there?” he says softly. 

“Hm. Come in” he says, as he continues brushing. This is very out of character for him, to not just walk around everywhere as if he owns the place. When the reflection shows him at the door, James looks disconcerted. Dexter just spits in the sink, looking away.

“I’m done,” he says, cleaning his mouth up with a towel. When James doesn’t move he raises an eyebrow and goes to him, to resume what they were doing. He stops him with a hand to his chest, baffled.

“What the hell Morgan? What was that?” he lets out, sounding confused. And now he is confused too.

“I needed to brush my teeth,” he says, and it’s obvious to him.

“ What ?”

“My mouth. We just ate.” He explains, as if he were talking to the kids. Sometimes Doakes can be very slow. He’s studying his face carefully, as if he’s deciding what to do next. His hand remains on his chest, right over his heart. After a moment, he nods slowly, lowering his hands.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Give me a spare toothbrush. I know a freak like you has to have at least a dozen.”

Dexter throws him a confused look and when the other just remains unmoving, he just steps away, reaching into the first drawer. He hands it to him and watches how he opens it. He honestly doesn’t know what to think. 

James brushes his teeth quickly, so Dexter just waits beside him with his hands in his pockets. When he’s done, he turns to look at him. He’s resting his hip on the sink like he’s waiting.

“That bothered you, right?”

Dexter suddenly feels attacked. It makes zero sense to him that James would bother to change anything about him just to please Dexter. He’s made peace with the constant annoyance the man puts him through, so this, this is just not right.

“So what?” he says, defensively.

“So, there’s no problem anymore, huh?” James says, uncrossing his arms and stepping into his personal space. When he grabs his face and kisses him, all logic goes out of the window. James kisses him like he’s the only one who knows what they’re doing. And maybe he is. Because Dexter just follows him like a drowning man. It’s good, this; even if he’s too fucking bad at this kind of thing, the situation seem to have been resolved, so he’s going with it. James' hands are cold and he feels his mouth, now not holding back. James is like a wall, pins him against the counter as he sneaks a hand under his shirt. His hand goes up his chest, thumbing his nipples. He moans at that, can’t help himself. It’s so good now, he can feel the tension leaving his body. He hums against his mouth and turns his head to the left. When James presses down his hips he can’t stop the blood rushing downwards. It’s like the room is suddenly very hot. James lets go of his face and stares at him for a moment. They’re both breathing heavily. His face is probably red, but he doesn’t care. He just wants James to touch him again, so he grabs his shirts and puts his mouth on his jaw, starting to kiss his way up to his ear.

“James” he whispers as he pushes a bit in the direction of the bedroom, leaving a wet stripe over his ear. He just grabs his hips and pins him against the counter again.

“Stay still”

James kneels down and reaches for his shoes, unlacing them. He removes the socks too, carefully. Dexter just stares down at him, breathing hard. When he reaches for his jeans he just helps him tilting his hips upwards. The pants are off now, and James starts stroking him through his boxers.

“Are you going to behave now?” he asks, looking up from the floor. It’s a beautiful feeling, watching him kneel. It reminds him that he could do anything to him. Still, he chooses to just do nothing and let the other take the wheel. He doesn’t really want to think. He grips the sink with his hands until he feels numb.

“Yeah” he says. He’ll say anything if he can get him to suck his cock. His body responds to his touch like it’s water. When James takes him out and starts stroking faster he can feel the blood leave his brains. It’s madness, so he closes his eyes and just goes with it. He’s fully hard before he knows it. James is smirking, which is annoying, but the pleasure is just too good for him to care. The moment he leans forward and takes him inside his mouth, his legs give up. He can feel James holding him up, but he’s just trembling feeling him lick his cock languorously, one hand at the base. He makes a mess of it and Dexter can’t take his fucking eyes off of the picture below him. It’s hard not to close his eyes when his tongue does a twirl over the head. His hips move by themselves, trembling and spasming under his touch. James moves his head faster and swallows him completely. His hand sneaks behind and grabs at his ass hard. He moans, trembling again. He can’t recognize his voice and his hair is starting to stick to his forehead.

The hand on his ass goes lower, he feels a curious finger start to push down the crack of his ass. He hisses, unsure in which direction to push. He keeps sucking him, bobbing his head up and down his cock. It should feel shameful being displayed like this, legs spread open an whining like a fucking whore, but it only does his head in. The finger feels cold, strange and like it shouldn’t be there. Still, he’s curious so he presses down a bit, feeling it out. James doesn't try to push, just rests on the entrance, rubbing slowly. He can’t fucking feel his legs anymore. When James pulls away he fucking whines. He removes his hands from his body and stands up again, pushing at his shirt immediately. Raising his arms, Dexter lets him take it off, leaving him completely naked. It’s intoxicating being bare while James remains clothed. Feels like giving himself up, which feels right.

“Go to the bed. Lay down.” he orders. He almost wants to say no just because. He remembers his mouth on his cock and changes his mind.

James follows behind him, is all over him once he lays on the bed. He fits himself between Dexter’s legs and grins down hard, making him howl. The fabric of his pants brushes perfectly against his cock, and the pressure makes him dizzy. It’s embarrassing. I like this so much and I have barely done anything yet.

Doakes strokes his chest up and down, twisting his nipples every so often. Dexter is starting to lose his mind. His body is too stimulated for him to digest the feelings James’ coaxing out of him. Reaching for his shirt, he tries to take it off. James helps him with it, pulling it over his head. Dexter pushes himself up with his elbows and stares at the other man. There’s a clear tent in his pants, the hard line straining against the fabric. It’s thrilling to know he can cause such a reaction on the other. James strokes his thighs and pushes his legs further apart. 

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks while his hands travel to his asscheeks, massaging them and thumbing his hip bones slowly. 

“Wh-aat the fuck do you think-hn” even if the words are stumbling out of control, he needs him to stop teasing him. 

He lowers down once again and starts blowing him once again, this time relentlessly. He falls back into the bed with a long winded moan. He can only feel the pleasure James’ mouth over his cock, how his tongue envelops him and wets him again. He’s leaking a lot now, and when James pulls back to focus on the head it’s almost embarrassing how desperate he is for it. 

“Fuuuck” he says when he takes one of his hands and puts it on his head, letting him control the pace. His mouth is so hot and soft he almost comes on the spot. Guiding his head he speeds up the pace, putting his hips into it. Doakes just takes it, lets him fuck his mouth however he likes. The saliva coats everything, makes his cock slide in and out like it’s nothing. Should feel indecent, but he’s too far gone. With a long whine he clenches his legs around James’ shoulders and feels the orgasm forming in his lower belly. When he comes, it’s fucking beautiful. He closes his eyes and lets it happen, coming in James’ mouth hard. His legs tremble like jelly, feeling useless all over. James swallows around him, even when he’s fucking spent. With a final lick over his cock, he pulls away. His lips are swollen and he’s red in the face. Dexter can’t move, too fucked out to do anything, but he’s lost watching James undo his belt. Breathing hard, he gulps down when he takes himself in hand and starts jerking off. It’s a very nice view, he watches the movements, how the hand strokes firmly his member. He’s big, thick too, which is a bit intimidating, he’s not going to lie. James grunts, looking at him intensely. Once he feels he can breathe again, he sits up and reaches for his cock.

“What, you want to contribute or something?”

“Shut up”

“Fuckk Morgan-hn- you could just lay there and look pretty.”

“ Shut up” he repeats. James hand is now over his, leading him, putting the right pressure over his fist, telling him how fast to go. If he could, he’d be hard again, just from feeling out his hot cock under his palm. Dexter pulls him over, so they fall into the bed. He doesn’t know why he wants this, but suddenly the only thing he can do is try and make James come his brains out.

“I was touching myself last night thinking of you” he says right into his ear. It works like clockwork, making James moan and buck up against his fist. Dexter kisses him with tongue and James comes all over his hand, panting into his mouth. “Fucking hell Dexter”

It’s wet, messy and just perfect. They stay like that for a second, before James rolls off him, lying in the space next to him. Dexter turns to look at him, how he’s breathing hard and looking at the ceiling. Like this he can appreciate his beauty, the body he has is almost unreal. When he starts stroking his arm, James looks back at him as if he’s been caught off guard. Doesn’t pull back, just looks at him for a moment.

“I better get going,” he says after a while.

“Yeah, of course” his throat feels rough and dry. He stares at the ceiling like always while Doakes dresses himself. He feels strange, not off the high just yet, so he closes his eyes and tries to let it pass. Fulfillment runs through his body, it’s so relaxing he could go to sleep like this. When Doakes turns to leave, he’s almost disappointed he didn’t clean him this time. It’s a weird thought to have, but it’s there. Something must’ve happened inside his head that last minute, something that made him want distance. His stomach feels wet and sticky, but he doesn’t really want to move. 

And so, Doakes is gone quickly, not even saying goodbye before leaving the room. That’s okay with him, he’s probably regretting the whole thing already. It’s another constant with Doakes, pulling on and off. This time, it feels different somehow. Maybe he felt it too. He’s enjoying the high of it until he hears him.

“Do you have to fuck him before you kill him?”

When he opens his eyes and turns his head towards the voice, Brian is staring at him, resting against his treadmill in the corner of the room, smiling as bright as the sun.

“Hello again, little brother”

He can feel his pulse increasing. Fuck .

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Dexter wonders why he is the way he is. It’s a strange thought since he’s empty inside and any emotion he can get to feel eventually withers up and dies, staggering into oblivion. It was okay to rely on the Code for most of his life, Harry always made him feel safe, as if his life could be meaningful. The instant the whole ‘Ice Truck Killer’ situation came, when he found out about Brian and how alike they were, his walls started to crumble. Brian was the only person to accept and love Dexter for who he really is, without judgment or fear, yet he couldn't bring himself to choose Brian over Deb when it came to it. He knew he was losing the only person who could ever understand him for what he really is, but he still chose Deb, as well as the Code and everything Harry taught him. It had been heartwrenching. After killing him, he swore he felt every emotion at once for a moment. He still feels his hands shake when he thinks of it.  

Stupidly, he’s mad at Harry for being dead. He wants to ask him, why hadn’t he taken Brian too, why he had to separate them. There are so many questions in his mind, and the answers are undecipherable. So now he’s stumbling through life, not sure what to make of himself anymore. Killing his brother still hurts him, it lays deep inside besides his Dark Passenger as does the memory of his dead mother laying in the container full of blood. Maybe he should mourn the family he could’ve had, but he only feels anger and violence inside. Brian had remembered that day clearly, he knew he did, could feel it in the way he looked at him, as if he truly knew him, which he did. Brian himself told him he'd been lucky to block it out. He can’t believe that anymore. His brother at least could feel something. The only innocence he didn’t lose in the container was because of Dexter. He took care of him when there was only blood and guts around them, and that stuck so deep he could only come back to him. He could love him, truly cared for him, and in the end and all he could do was repay that devotion with blood. 

In a way, he’s glad he didn’t remember it until now. The memories weren’t as clear as Brian, didn’t even start remembering as late as now, just had pieces and fragments floating there and then in a very confusing manner. Lately, they began to clear up a bit more. The color flashes started to create forms, forms became faces, faces became Biney, his mother and that goddamned day. The day both of them had been born. It had been clear enough to realize that his life with Harry had been the best outcome he could’ve had. A family, a career and a Code to guide his killer instincts and keep him out of the electric chair. 

For Brian, it was very different. Everyone had rejected him and when he finally found his brother, he rejected him too. Dexter was the only innocence Brian had left inside of his twisted soul, so maybe he had no hope at all. That was his curse; maybe Dexter’s was to feel nothing and crave for violence, to be a monster crawling inside a sack of flesh being teased mercilessly by the promise of being able to feel something. 

Because right now he feels the universe is pulling him through a very bad joke, as he watches the ghost of his brother lean against the treadmill of his room. He’s just as he left him, same shirt, same everything. He tries very hard not to scream. This is the last thing he needed. He’s still got come all over his stomach and James’ smell hasn’t left the pillow next to him. It feels very wrong to have his brother visit him at such times. Unmoving, the ghost of his late brother screws his lips into a sly grin. Dexter pulls the cover further up his body and stares at him intently, hoping he’ll just disappear into nothingness.

“I let you go,” he mutters between his teeth. His voice is rough and he can feel his patience thinning. 

“Yet here I am. You should just kill him, just so you know.” His voice is as stingy as always, and he faintly frowns when the other remains unmoving. It’s weird just having his brother watch him, as if he’s someone else. His skin itches when he turns back into the bed.

“I’ll just ignore you then” he says, covering himself in the sheets as he hugs his pillow.

A faint laugh resounds in the room, empty and dry.

“You can’t ignore your past forever, my dear little brother”

He forces his eyes closed and tries to go to sleep. His past had been blurred, erased from his conscious thoughts as if he had never lived it and that had made him a monster. Envisioning the moment and reliving the memory again, it awakened an anguish he couldn't really extinguish. It was like the weight of the world was just waiting to throw him off his boat. Every bad decision he could take, he’s taken it. It’s almost laughable, how he’s just two steps into capital punishment. Harry would be very mad. It’s understandable given how poorly of a task he’s done with the Code, and life generally.

He feels it in his bones, the next few days are going to be truly stressful. Somehow, the walls are closing in on him, the wrong move now could mean the end. When he gets to the station and finds it swamped by the feds it’s the last string. The FBI is trying to get the Bay Harbor Butcher case, taking it away from Miami Metro control and consequently, away from Dexter’s reach. It’s frustrating. It had been easier before, he should have kept more precautions, followed the Code like clockwork. It had been so easy and he didn’t even realize how good he had it until he lost it. 

“They know the butcher is one of their own, don’t they brother?”

Brian also hangs around, watching him during the day. He’s committed to tease him to the core about it, but he tries to ignore him. Everything went sideways since he killed him, not even to talk about when he thought he’d let him go and tossed the barbie head into the water. So he’s trying to just filter it. He doubts they know enough to find him yet, but they are close, too close. Lundy is getting closer, he knows his pattern now, who he kills and why. He just has to find him. Dexter isn’t going to let him. 

“And how exactly are you planning to stop him?”

He rolls his eyes very hard and sighs, leaning back in his chair. He’s in his lab, doing some hair testing for the Warry case. He had already tried to mess with the investigation, but it had been useless. No need for Brian to know, of course. “I’m sure they weren’t useless”

Dexter’s eyes snap to his right to look at his brother, leaning on the other chair besides him. “Why are you so interested?” he whispers, looking away immediately after, trying to seem normal.

“I’m just sad, little brother. I really missed you since you decided to let me go ”

“I let you go for a reason.”

“I just want to know, Dexter” he says, very flatly. It’s madness because he knows he isn’t real, he’s just a mirage created by his twisted and sick mind. Still, he wishes he was actually here, that things had been different and he could tell him about the hell he’s been through lately. Regret doesn’t pass through his mind once, just disappointment. He knows he can’t help talking to his brother, alive or as a fragment of his imagination.

“They’re getting closer” he says through his teeth.

“Oh. That sucks”

“I know”

He’s tried to think of a more laid out plan, something solid, but Lundy is a true snake, and has him walking in the dark. The way he looks at him so carefully makes him tense all the time. It makes him feel that the copycat will end up being another failure, like when he broke the tent or almost got caught cleaning his boat. He can just wait and hope for an opening to get rid of the mess, but he might get to him first. His back up plan is Doakes, he could try to frame him if the copycat situation doesn’t move further. It’s the perfect fit, really, part of the force, known for aggressive behaviour and the lead detective in four cases of the Butcher’s victim. 

“I think he should be your main plan. Use him while you can. Don’t be stupid when the answer you need is right there!”  

“It’s not that simple” he mutters, more to himself than anything. He really hopes it doesn’t come to that, since he’s proud of the work he’s done with him. Killing him now just would make his efforts waste, but if the situation gets worse, maybe he’ll have to throw it away anyway. He’s already tried everything to stop them; destroyed the bodies, erased the videos, the fucking manifesto… if something points into his harbor’s direction, it could be the end for him. So, the breakthrough better come soon. 

“Right” his brother says knowingly “I think you don’t even want to kill him anymore” 

Brian is laughing at him, because it makes no sense. “Killing him would complicate things” 

“Sure.” 

It’s mad trying to prove he wants to kill Doakes, when he’s already a serial killer wanted by the FBI. Killing itself is the problem that led him to this situation. He gets up from his chair and walks away from his lab, leaving his brother behind. He’s able to breathe a bit better when the shadow doesn’t follow.

He takes the day slowly, watching Lundy carefully. If he’s already one of the suspects, he may have to take some precautions. His chest of tools and his trophies will have to go for now. He can’t risk having them in the apartment. Maybe he’ll rent a storage room under an alias, he could do it outside of Miami too, would be safer. He’s got to prepare himself for what’s about to come. It’s a game of coldness, keeping his mask and his focus together. When Lundy looks at him like he knows what’s underneath, his skin crawls. He’s better than this, and it is borderline humiliating to be in this position, after everything. The fact that Lundy uses him to get closer to his sister makes him sick too.

James barely acknowledges him at work, as always. Just the next day after their night together the court date got adjourned, all because of the sergeant, of course. He can tell no one else at the station thinks Doakes is right. After the recent police shootings he’s been involved in, he isn’t the most reliable asset in the station. Dexter isn’t a social expert per se, but even he can see it. It’s very good for the plan that he doesn’t have the full trust of the rest of the force. Even LaGuerta questions him about it. 

From the office kitchen he observes Doakes, how he talks to her out on the main floor. They used to date, used to care for one another. He notices how close they are, the bond they share is very visible, even for him. Dexter wonders how the man behaves when he’s actually invested in someone. It’s gotta be something, LaGuerta wouldn’t be so worried about him if it wasn’t. She’s still attracted to him, he can tell from the way she leans her head sideways and bats her eyelashes, attentively. He himself has gotten that look from her, it leaves no other interpretation. He stays for a bit watching. Doakes is backwards so he can’t see his face, but LaGuerta’s face is open to him. When she reaches over to brush something off Doakes shoulders, he almost feels the need to go out and interrupt them. It’s just a sudden thought, throwing him off a little. He blinks hard for a second and looks away.

15:54 pm (Deb)

want to go grab a beer later?

The terrace is packed when they arrive. It’s just another March afternoon, the sun is still up and people are laughing, drinking, living. Like nothing ever happened. They make it look easy. Then again, it’s easy to be happy when your world isn’t about to be destroyed. 

His sister just delivered the worst news of the fucking year. Maybe of the decade. There’s a lead on the car that was checked out from the impound, years ago. Only people from their department could’ve taken it, so it narrows the search considerably. He truly wants to scream. Debra is looking quite miserably too, the way her hair is messed up and the bags under her eyes are deeper than ever.

“I feel so stupid. It was right in front of our eyes.” Right inside your house, he almost says, has to bite his tongue. It’s so unnerving knowing how close they’re really getting he can feel a headache coming. What’s even worse is having to sit here, beer in hand, and appear like a human being who wants a monster to be caught. The cold transferring from the bottle should burn his hand, but he doesn’t feel it at all.

“Deb, don’t blame yourself for this. You have a right to feel happy. You did find something key in the case. It’s going to be okay” It really isn’t okay. This is very fucking bad. Sirens are ringing in his mind like crazy, he can’t fucking believe a van from years ago is what is going to get him caught. It’s just ridiculous. He’s got to make it right immediately. Debra laughs a bit and takes a sip of her beer.

“Fuck Dexter. Thanks” He wonders if he sounds genuine. It’s hard to keep lying when the panic starts to set in, but still he has to get through this. For Debra's sake.

“I mean it.”

“I know.” she says, not really convinced. He knows she’ll blame herself, she always does. He’s going to destroy her if she ever finds out. “Anyways, are you okay? After Rita and everything, I don’t know if you want to talk about that”

“I… don’t really. But I really think it’s for the best. She deserved better than me.”

“Dexter, that’s bullshit and you know it. You are an amazing person.” She says that so easily he almost feels bad for a second. She’s not talking about him. It’s the mask he wears who she has in mind. He just looks away.

“I don’t love her. She deserves someone who does.” he insists. It’s true, Rita could’ve been the one, but she just reminded him of what he would never be. Even if he could love her, he’d just ruin her when she found out what he really is. Deb just puts his hands under her chin and leans forward on the table. “Fuck. I can’t discuss that.”

His sister stays some nights at his place, running a bit from the what will they say stuff with Lundy.  It’s stressful knowing his sister is sleeping with the lead investigator of his own case. There's a very dangerous feeling about him, in the way he questions him, searching for the truth behind every movement. The night at the tent, the first time they spoke, was a turning point. He had been careless, too relaxed. Now, he feels as if he is losing his mind. 

Luckily, there are no records on the impound, and the tip his sister got him made him able to delete his aliases from the system. The week is slow, and he doesn't have time to stop and think. The headache gets worse every second he can't feed the Dark Passenger.

At home he can’t breathe either. The mess she is, it’s just annoying, so it’s the fact he hasn’t been able to have James over for two whole days. He craves it now, if he can’t kill at least he’ll get him to make him feel something. And after a few days of his sister driving him insane, he feels too tired.

“You should get some sleep Dexter,” Batista tells him one night before leaving work. He catches him by the elevator, wanting to go home. After the last days of endless running, loud sounds, food everywhere and unclean dishes, he’s had enough. He should sleep, just doesn't want to admit it’s getting harder to deal with the situation. A situation Batista doesn't know about, so I better keep my mouth shut.

“Nah, I’m just a bit stressed lately” he says nonchalantly. Batista nods, as if he understood it. 

“Yeah, I heard about Rita. Sorry man” he shrugs, apologetically. He really feels bad for him, something he’s hardly felt a few times before. It’s for the best, given how sad he looks about the situation, and it's not even his own relationship that’s ended.

“It’s okay. It’s for the best anyway.” he brushes it off, trying to look uncomfortable. It usually makes people understand he wants to be left alone. I only want either my bed or someone to stab before the headache kills me . 

Batista nods and gives him a hard pat on the back before going. “You just hang tight. You know, they always come back”

“Sure” he says, rubbing his back and thinking of the other man’s ex wife. Maybe this is normal people’s way of deluding themselves. Batista turns around, and Dexter wonders what would it take for him to suspect him like Doakes does. He’s grateful he can blend in as much as he does, but some days it is mindblowing that in a building full of cops, only Doakes sniffed him out of the line. 

He’s about to press the button of the elevator when Masuka sneaks beside him. He’s got a big grin as he hands him a folder. “You owe me big time. I stayed until nine only for these results. And you know today is Titty Thursday.” 

Titty Thursday. He won't even ask. He flips through the pages very pleased. This analysis just secured his place with Doakes. He knows that. Once Dexter helps him gain back some of the trust he lost in the force, he will dance to his song like everybody else. Tomorrow he’ll give it to Doakes, and maybe he’ll get his trust a bit more, step by step he’ll climb that ladder. Even if his life feels like it’s being torn apart, at least he’s still got tricks up his sleeve.

“I do owe you, thanks Vince” he says, pushing the buttons to go down. Masuka giggles by his side and gives him the thumbs up. 

“So, say it”

He sighs very hard.

“You’re my daddy”

Doakes hasn’t followed him after work at all this week. Maybe it’s because he knows his sister is staying over. They ride together after work and he can tell Doakes watches him leave work everyday, so it seems enough for him to let him breathe a little. It is still a win anyways. 

The result from the cup he’d asked Masuka to analyze is just the key to lock Jessic Warry's murderer. Maybe in other times he’d take the time to bring her into his table and have her as her victim, but now it’s the perfect moment to make her a piece in the Doakes situation. Dexter kept the evidence from him until now, so it is a nice surprise he’ll get. He leaves the folder in his table the very next day. It’s really early, so there’s not many people around. James is wearing the gun strap again, it makes his back look huge.  

“You don’t have to thank me” he says, grabbing his attention. James turns and looks him up and down. Dexter hasn’t been able to talk to him, he hopes the distance the last few days hasn’t set him back.

“What is this Morgan?” he asks, very carefully. When he reaches for the file and sees what it is, his eyes widen considerably.

“It’s the solid proof” he says, watching the other turn the pages. Doakes looks him over the file, with something akin to approval.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had this?” 

Dexter shrugs and tries to look apologetic. “Wanted to surprise you. I knew it would take a bit to be processed”

Doakes whistles lowly and closes the file, nodding “Well I’m surprised”

A warm feeling comes over his chest, very alarmingly. He crosses his arms and tries to think coldly. “Good. Now, go catch her, Sarg” When his face screws up in a grimace, everything returns to normal.

“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do” he says, getting up angrily. He takes the file with him anyway, so that’s that. He notices LaGuerta watching. With a wave of his hand he’s off to his lab again.

Jessica Warry’s case is closed within the week.

James stays over on Saturday. It’s been a little over a week since they really saw each other like this, so he’s actually kind of looking forward to it. There are times he feels like his head is killing him so the respite will be good. He’s also aware Doakes should be kept close, at least until he’s sure he won’t be a problem anymore. A week has passed, the longest since they started these midnight encounters, he’s got to make sure he’s still got him. The interest is there, he sees it in the way his eyes cover his body anytime there’s no one else watching, in the way he grabs him like he owns him. At first it bothered him; he knew whatever Doakes could think they were was just an illusion and if it fit his goals he could let it pass, but it was infuriating the air of superiority emanating from the man every time he touched him. It had been good, is good, but the next day he had left with almost nothing

They haven’t done anything heavier, he hasn’t even asked is he could fuck him, but he’s still coming over. It’s like a countdown ticking, only he doesn’t know when it will reach its end. Personally, he isn’t that interested, never has been. The whole concept of having a cock inside him is a concept kind of alien, he doesn’t really see how it would work. He’d texted him earlier in the day, which seemed like a good idea since his sister is out of the house finally. Doakes obviously agreed, and they decided to meet at night, like always.

“You really like him, huh?” Brian is still hanging around. When he sends the text, he can feel the judgment from his brother. He tries really hard to ignore him.

“I don’t like him. He’s going to be useful. Later on”

“Yeah, you don’t have to be embarrassed, little brother. It’s okay to admit it” His head starts hurting once more. This week has been really bad. The headache is getting stronger the longer Brian spits his words. Makes him feel small, and he hates it.

It’s almost five in the afternoon, and the sun is getting lower. There’s still a few more hours before Doakes comes so, to get away from the inquisitive stare of his brother, he starts cleaning the house. He spent the morning getting rid of all the incriminatory evidence he’s got around in the apartment, drove to a locker storage facility in the outside of the city and rented under a fake name. Now, as he deep cleans his home, he feels Brian looking at him. It’s madness.

He gets to do the whole bathroom, his bedroom and the kitchen before his brother starts pestering him again.

“You will have to face your feelings someday. Can’t hide forever.”

“I don’t feel any emotion.” he says, as he vacuums the floor of his office. He turns up the machine just to drown his own mind, but Brian’s voice is like a speaker inside his mind. He’s losing it now.

“Why am I here then? You’re telling me you didn’t break down the minute you put me down? Or are we going to pretend you’re a robot, like before”

“You don’t exist. This is all in my head.”

“I don’t. So why are you shaking, brother?”

He looks down at his hands and effectively, he’s shaking like a leaf. Suddenly he can’t breathe. The memories of the day he killed his brother start coming in. He remembers how it felt, and it’s like he’s there again. His chest is getting tighter, so he lets go of the vacuum and just sits on the floor, putting his head between his knees. 

Everything goes black.

Before he knows it, the bell rings. He lifts his head and for a moment he doesn’t know where he is. It’s all dark, and the only light coming through is filtering through the blinds. His head is pounding like crazy, and his mouth feels like it’s full of sand. His shirt is sticking to him as if he just ran a marathon. His head still feels like a blender, the sharp pain drills into him. He stays on the floor for a while, hearing the bell ring again and again. Breathing hard he tries to get himself together. For a terrifying second he thinks it’s the fucking FBI coming to get him. They found the rental. They followed me there and now I’m sitting in the chair. When the bell stops he believes they are going to tear out the door, for sure. The only thing going through his mind is how he’s going to ruin Debra’s life, after Brian, this will kill her. His chest starts to sink. He’s not even going to answer until he remembers Doakes was supposed to come over today. Fuck. I choose the worse fucking moment to black out.

He waits a bit to try and be a bit more put together when he gets up, his legs feel shaky. There's relief setting in, but he’s still a bit disoriented. He doesn't dare to look around to see if Brian’s ghost is still there. He doesn’t want to think, he just wants this day to be over. When he opens the door, Doakes is leaning in the railing. The moment it opens he turns, very surprised, as if he didn’t expect to see him there. 

“You’re home? Why didn't you answer? And what the hell happened to you?” he must look like a right mess, because Doakes is looking at him with worry . There are too many questions for him to understand everything, so he limits himself to step out of the doorway to let Doakes in. 

There’s something in the air that just makes him feel like choking. When he opens his mouth to talk, the voice that comes out is very small. “What time is it?” his mouth feels like a fucking ashtray.

Doakes frowns and looks back at him from inside. He opens the light, makes it too bright for him to see. “Half past eleven. You fall asleep or what?”

“I don’t fucking know” he says, covering his eyes with his hands. The brightness is too much, he tries to rub it away with his knuckles. Standing there in the middle of the room with his hands over his eyes, he just wants to sleep, so he just turns around and tries to distract himself, at least until the headache lets him think properly .

“You don’t know? Dexter, stop” he says when he starts to unplug the vacuum, abandoned in the side of the office. 

“I just need to put this away,” he mutters. He registers his hands shaking a bit as he tries to roll the cables, and before he can do anything else, Doakes hand is over his, forcing him away. When he turns his head to see him, he can’t read the expression on his face, but he doesn’t like it one bit. If he wasn’t so worn out he’d slap him right out, he thinks.

“Stop. Go sit over there. I’ll put it away.” he orders again, pointing to the sofa.

He’s too tired to fight it, so he just complies silently. In the sofa, away from the light, his brother and finally sitting on a padded surface makes his head a bit lighter. He registers sounds Doakes is making as he pulls together the vacuum with his eyes closed.

He wouldn't tell a soul, won't even remember thinking this tomorrow, but he’s kind of glad James is here. It feels like he can close his eyes and rest, finally.

Chapter Text

For a long while, there’s only darkness. The sleep is deep, uneventful. He feels his neck hot, just his neck and nothing else. There’s no other than that pressure point, making him zone out. The dark is soothing, rocks him into a pattern, familiar and comforting. It pours out of him like thick water, there’s nothing else but quietness all around. He could stay like this forever.

A small noise wakes him up all of the sudden. He opens his eyes that are sticking together like glue. His mouth feels very dry, and he’s bothered. The dreamless sleep he managed to get was very much needed, and the interruption could mean back to insomnia. The small of his back hurts from being asleep sitting down, he knows he’ll feel this tomorrow. Dexter groans as he shuffles around, trying to sit straight. He’s a bit light headed but it's not like before, when it felt like sharp needles stabbing right into his frontal lobe. Now it has lessened, as if it’s an afterthought. On the sofa, he feels like he’s sinking into oblivion. 

The light of his desk is on, the only one lighting the apartment, when something shuffles around on the corner. He notices Doakes sitting on the chair, he watches him through the holes on the bookshelf that separates the office from his living room. There's something on the floor, one of his forensics books he keeps beside the lamp, but he barely registers it. For a moment he doesn’t know what the fuck Doakes is doing at his apartment. It’s embarrassing how long it takes to situate himself. He remembers Brian and jumps a bit, everything coming together now.

“You up yet?” Doakes says from there, as he recovers it from the floor. It’s shuffled and he barely hears it, so he just watches him get up and

“What?” he mutters, getting up as well. He really tries to put himself together, but it's useless. He stretches his arms a bit over his head, groaning again.

“You were gone for a while.” the other tells him pointedly. If he wants for him to feel bad about it, he’s not going to get it. It’s weird enough for him to still be here, to possibly have watched him sleep like a full blown stalker. It’s more likely he just searched his place. 

He just searched my place. Doakes was sitting on my desk, by my computer, just a moment ago. Panic sets in immediately. He tenses for a moment, not knowing how long he’s been out. The worry goes very fast when he remembers he took everything away to the rental this morning. If he snooped around while he was out, he wouldn’t have found anything at all. He curses himself silently for forgetting such a simple thing. Everything feels like it’s slipping off his fingers, it's as if he’s forgotten something. He doesn't like it one bit. When Doakes makes his way to him it's really fucking strange, just having him there looking at him leaning in the wall.

“Sorry about that” Dexter says, not knowing what else to say. He just hopes he looks right for him. Doakes looks him up and down as if he's assessing his state.

“You should go to bed. Get some sleep” he lets out tentatively.

“I’m okay” he replies, keeping his eyes on him. Doakes just shakes his head.

“You’re not fucking okay Dexter, that looked like a panic attack” 

He's too fucking gone to understand him fully, but he does catch the end of it, which is annoying. A quick glance at the clock on the wall makes him even more confused. It’s late, really fucking late. Doakes has been in here at least for three hours.

“I don’t have panic attacks” he says, furrowing his brows. When he tries to go to the kitchen, Doakes holds him off by putting a hand to his chest. “Keep telling yourself that if you like but I know one when I see one. So let’s cut the bullshit, yeah?”

Dexter snorts and tries to push right through him. Doakes is like a wall, and when he doesn't move he limits himself to push the hand off his chest. “Right, I know you wanted to get your dick wet, Sarg, sorry about that too” he retorts, trying to throw him off. 

He doesn't even blink to the jab, just keeps looking at him intently, as if Dexter just told him it was going to rain. “Tell me what happened”

“Do you want me to suck your cock? I can make it good” he lowers his voice, getting closer. He hopes it’ll make him angry, or at least get him to shut the fuck up and stop asking questions. He'd prefer angry Doakes over this anytime.

Doakes smirks, amused “Please, I’m not fucking someone on the verge of tears” He isn't budging, and maybe it's because of how uninterested the offer just sounded, even to Dexter himself. Acting is not his strongest trait, after all.

“Fuck you I’m not crying” it's the only thing that comes to mind. He’s starting to get really bothered now. If the goal was to make him angry, it's backfiring. 

“You look like it” Doakes insists, trying to provoke him standing his ground. He just sighs and walks forwards, pushing past him again. This time Doakes lets him and leans into the wall again. Dexter doesn’t look back, just goes right to the kitchen for a glass of water.

“If you don’t want to fuck just go” he says when Doakes follows him into the kitchen. He can actually feel his stare digging into his back. “I don't need a babysitter to-” When he turns off the tap and turns around, he’s truly lost. “What the hell is that?”

He’s turned to face Doakes only to be greeted by the sight of two suspicious looking bags sitting on the counter.

“Maybe you need one.” he hears faintly, but he can only watch the bags, still as a statue holding the glass of water. The moment he goes near them and actually looks inside, he can't believe what he's seeing.

“You bought groceries?” It's puzzling. He goes through one; there’s some buns, fries, orange juice… His stomach suddenly roars at the sight of food.

“Your fridge is empty. Thought you’d be hungry after that crying session.” He almost wants to tell him he wasn’t crying before, but something in the way he says the words make him feel like this time is different. Doakes is trying to lighten up the mood, which is really not what they do at all. Still, for some reason he’s glad for it. Doakes follows behind him, grabs the other bag and starts unpacking very nonchalantly. “And it’s almost 2am, I thought you wouldn’t wake up” 

Dexter is just surprised, and very, very, glad he moved everything earlier. 

“So, just to recap; you just stole my keys, ran to the shop and bought food?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, watching his every move.

“Yep, you invited me here and I'm taking you up on that” he answers confidently, continuing to unpack. “Actually, if you won’t go back to sleep I think eating something would be the smart thing to do, right?” Dexter pauses for a second and tries to gather his thoughts. Annoyance is growing in his chest as he watches Doakes rummage through his kitchen. He's opening cabinets, putting stuff away as if he lives there, as he talks to him like he’s a child. When he starts grabbing his good frying pan it’s just the cherry on top. He stops Doakes grabbing him by his shoulder. 

“I invited you here to fuck, not for you too cook for me” he says, grabbing the pan right out of his hands. Doakes turns around and looks him up and down like he’s crazy. For some reason, his gaze softens a bit before he grabs the pan again, stealing it back. Dexter hasn’t got any strength on him to stop him, but keeps throwing him the most menacing look he can muster.

“Jesus Morgan, can you relax a bit? Just sit down, watch whatever and I'll tell you when the food is ready. Then if you’re feeling better I’ll do whatever you want to you, how does that sound?” Doakes is being patronising, he can tell by the way he's grinning.

“I’m not looking for a relationship” he hopes he’ll get angry, that he’ll feel insulted. Of course it’s useless. Doakes' grin grows to a full on smile. 

“You think I am? Doesn’t mean I can’t be nice, right? Now go, let me cook” he laughs.

“You’re never nice to me. Or anyone” Dexter answers, unbelieving. He crosses his arms and refuses to stand away from the kitchen. Doakes huffs and just rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m not nice, so don’t get used to it. The moment you get back to being the annoying creep you are not getting any special treatment”

“I don’t need spe-”

That does it for Doakes patience, “Fucking hell Morgan, just go sit your dramatic ass over there and stop bothering me.” he orders impatiently. With a grunt, he complies. His pride is hurt a little, but the hunger is stronger. He pictures a burger and it’s enough for him to just go wait for the food. He’s not going to sleep again now, his mind is too agitated. Also, it's useless when Doakes gets like that, he won’t change his mind. The fact that he knows him so well already is off putting.

James prepares some weird goat cheese salad, frozen fries and burgers. The first bite makes him forget why he was angry in the first place. It is worth it, only for the food. James had been right, about his fridge being empty. He should’ve gone to the store a while ago, but with all of the stress about the case he’s just been surviving with takeout. He gulps it all down in one go, as Doakes is actually not that bad at cooking. He’s pretty good, even. The meal does make him feel a lot better, he feels as if he can think again. There’s no more slipping going on and Brian hasn’t appeared at all, which is good. Even if he’d been a mess before (and is, just a bit more in control now), it could be good the fact that Doakes saw him like that. He doesn’t seem to be as suspicious all of the sudden, which could be bad, but could be good too, very good. If Doakes knew, somehow, about him, he wouldn’t have cooked him a meal just because he was distressed. 

The conversation was good too. Even if at first there hadn’t been much to say, the silence was nice. Doakes didn’t expect for him to talk, which is one of the things he appreciates the most about him, so they sat eating in a blissful silence. Once James finished his half burger he started telling him about Jessica’s case, on his own volition, how the arrest went down and everything. Dexter listens carefully. It’s uneasy, because it’s almost as if Doakes knows the mask is barely there, but he’s making a point of not commenting about it. He tries to ignore it.

Unexpectedly James stops talking and reaches for his empty plate, carrying it into the sink. Dexter doesn’t pay much attention to him rummaging through his kitchen, not until he speaks again.

“You did good. On the lab work, it was really useful” he says, with his back turned to him.

“You’re welcome” he says, grimacing. If Doakes cooking for him was weird, this is a bit too much. He can’t take the compliment seriously, there’s gotta be something behind it, as always. So, when he turns around to face him it doesn’t surprise him one bit to watch him search for something in his eyes.

“So, seriously. Why didn’t you tell me?” He's serious now. Guess the special treatment is over.

“I told you, I wanted to make sure-” 

“That’s not it” Doakes cuts him off roughly.

Dexter is going to lose his patience now. “Why do you want to know anyway?”

When he lets go of his fork and stares blankly at Doakes, he finally stops glaring expectantly at him. “There you are,” Doakes smiles, as if he got exactly what he wanted to hear.

“What?”

“You’re feeling better”

Dexter doesn’t understand anything at all. Doakes gets close to him and presses a hand to his cheek. Everything feels right again, so Dexter relaxes a bit. He pushes his head against his hand, leaning a bit. When Doakes starts rubbing his thumb against his cheekbone, caressing carefully the skin, a sigh escapes him. He is better, after all. For once he’s glad Doakes is there. Maybe if he wasn’t so nosy they’d actually get along. Whatever it is that made him suddenly okay with spending time with a ‘freak’, it’s benefiting his plan, so he just gives up for now. 

“Yeah, a bit” he says murmuring.

“That’s good. I got ice cream too.” Dexter looks up at him and raises his eyebrows, straightening up. James lets his hand drop, and just stares back at him. It’s strange because it’s like he knew exactly what he needed right then and there. Dexter knows this is Pavlov 101, but the temptation the treat prompts is too strong. Without a word he gets up and goes to the fridge to retrieve the ice cream. Grabbing a spoon he sits down again, eating it straight from the container. Doakes leans against the counter, watching him start on it.

“You’re eating the whole thing?” he comments, but it’s a statement more than a question.

Dexter just raises the spoon and points him in his direction “You… want some?”

Doakes shakes his head, amused “Enjoy it Morgan”

I will.

James is all over him, bracketing his body between his arms. He hasn’t kissed him yet, and Dexter refuses to ask him. He laid him on the bed and took off his shirt without saying a word, daring him to react, but his body won't move. His hands are focused on his chest, following the lines of his torso. It didn’t take much for them to go to the bedroom after he finished the dessert, and it’s so good to feel James’ weight over him. At this point his scent, his touch, starts to get familiar. He knows where his hands go, how he likes to touch him as if he wants to memorize it and burn it into his brain. Even if they haven’t even fucked by now, it feels intimate and intense. 

He sighs when Doakes lips hover over his neck, feeling the breath hot against his skin. He’s still wearing his pants.Trying to meet the other’s hips, he raises his own. Doakes pins him harder into the bed, keeping him still. 

“Tell me what you want”

“I don’t know,” he sighs, trying to move against him.

“You know. Just have to think about it for a moment.” He reaches for a nipple and faintly passes his thumb over it. He can’t help letting out a moan. It should be embarrassing, but the approving look James has makes his head spin. “I promised we’d do anything you wanted”

Dexter tries to think about it for a moment, trying not to get distracted with the hand stroking his chest. He really has no idea of what he likes, with men, only knows whatever James’ been doing is good, it feels good. He likes the way it makes him feel, calms him down like nothing else.

“Kiss me?” he asks, giving up when nothing particular comes to mind. Doakes stares at him for a moment, unsure, before leaning in. It’s careful for a second, lips locking tentatively. James turns his head a bit, passing his tongue over his closed lips. Dexter opens his mouth a bit, licks into his mouth like it’s nectar. The ache in his head stops, he can only focus on the rough way in which James claims his mouth like is his and only his. He kisses him as he pushes him against the bed, pulling back to breath only when there’s nothing else to go. Dexter is lost again against that mouth, he can only think of how it’d feel over his body. When Doakes pulls back, his lips are shining. Dexter reaches for his shirt, pulling at it trying to get it off. Doakes indulges him, raising his arms to let him take it off. His body is perfect as always, but now Dexter doesn't wait to touch him. He puts his hands over his body immediately, touching the hot skin under his palms. He feels himself getting hard at the sight of him. It’s new, discovering he likes this, but it’s interesting. He doesn’t take his eyes off his body when he reaches for his belt. It feels exciting, something he hardly ever registers in these situations. James sits up a bit and lets him undo it, eyes heavy with pleasure. 

“Mhm” he sighs when Dexter tugs on his pants, rubbing a palm over the fabric. He’s already hard, it feels good knowing he’s the reason. He can't help but kiss him, put his mouth on him again and drink him down once more. The wet tongue inside his mouth is just right, he moves his lips desperately against it. 

After some struggling getting off his pants, Doakes ends up naked under him. He’s sitting hunched over his legs, still wearing his own pants, jeans and all. It’s calm in his head, he feels focused and in control. James looks up at him invitingly, like he knows exactly what’s going on in his head. For once, it doesn’t bother him one bit. He watches James’ cock heavy against his stomach and suddenly he feels the need to touch it, feel it against his palm and watch it leak. He didn't know that he would like it, that he would want to see it or that he’d seek whatever this is. Sex never felt this way before, as something he’d actively wanted to initiate. It goes beyond Doakes; he likes men, that's clear now. He just didn't know he'd be this turned on by one. When his hand reaches for it, he moans at the same time James does. He’s big, a light trail of hair goes down his navel to his base. He can’t stop kissing him for some reason, so he leans over and puts his tongue on the other man's mouth once more. James is quiet; lets him do whatever, grunting against his mouth when Dexter bites him or twists his hand a certain way. He feels hot, the twitching cock feels right against his hand. He likes feeling James at his mercy, and likes the control he’s giving up. He never thought he would just let him touch him like this. He didn’t know it could feel this way with him.

“This is- this is what you wanted, Dexter?” James pants against his lips in a whisper. He’s holding his face between his hands, making it hard to breathe. Dexter nods, moaning sweetly as he moves his hand faster. There’s some wetness starting to gather in his fist, James is leaking like crazy. When Dexter stops to gather some of the precome an spreads it all over, James lets out an indecent moan. His own cock twitches in his pants at the sound, so he bucks down, humping his leg against his thigh.

“Dexter, ugh- if you don’t stop I’m gonna come” 

He humps down harder and starts flicking his wrist at the base. It's good, so fucking good.

James moans, biting his upper lip and makes him pull back a little. Speeding down, he stares down at him, spread in the bed, moving his hips to follow his hand. He watches the hard cock slipping in his grip and, for a moment, he wonders how it’d feel in his mouth. Rita liked oral, and he always enjoyed doing that for her. This wouldn't be much different and he actually wants to try.

“Can I blow you?” he asks, voice trembling a bit. His eyes can't decide what to focus on, they go up and down from his cock moving in his grip to his eyes hungry and lustful. 

“Do whatever you want Dexter” James says, enjoying the easy rhythm he’s got now. He keeps stroking him, savoring the way James moves under his hand. For a second he’s not sure what to do, how to proceed. He lowers himself without letting go of his grip, lays himself between his legs. James scurries up a bit, making room for him on the bed. When he puts his head near his groin he feels small, but it’s good, it makes his head spin a little. From up close it’s a bit intimidating, but he doesn't back down, puts his tongue flat against the tip, rubbing against it. The taste is not what he's used to, a bit too salty and bitter, but nothing he can't stand. James sighs and moves a bit under him. When he licks over his head he moans, putting a hand on his head. It’s just there, not pressuring, but amazingly it arouses him even more. His cock rubs against the sheets and he can’t help but swallow him down. It’s weird at first, he’s big and barely fits into his mouth, but it’s not bad. He tries not to bite him, but when he starts moving a bit he catches the sensitive skin of his member with his teeth, making him flinch. Doakes hisses a bit and pulls him by the hair a bit, pulling him off his cock. Dexter feels his mouth hot and wet, his own cock hard in his pants.

“Don’t use your teeth” he orders, panting. His chest is rising up and down, cock hard in his grip. He nods and lowers his head again. This time it is easier to swallow him down, he just opens his mouth wide and tries to go as far as he can, still holding him at the base. When he starts going up and down, Doakes moans filthily. It’s good, feeling his mouth full, nowhere else to go. His mind is quiet as he blows him, making a mess out of it. He knows this can’t be a good one, it’s the first time he’s doing this and he can’t even fit all of him inside his mouth, but James is making sounds he never thought he could make.

“Fuck Dexter, you don’t know how you look right now” he grunts, tightening the grip on his hair “You look as if you were made for this- fuuuck”

He moans around his cock, his own spit starting to drool down his chin, he feels his face wet, his eyes start to water. Grinding his cock faster, he reaches to undo his belt as he swallows him up and down again. When James moans again he feels it against his tongue. He just gets his cock out and starts jerking himself as he gets James off, discarding his pants as quickly as he can.

“This is turning you on, yeah? You like this, you want me to fuck your mouth?” The words come fast, as if they're just thoughts spilling out of his head.

Dexter nods, feeling the words melt against him. It's fucking crazy. He's not even going that deep, he knows he isn't, but he feels like he's choking. James makes a fist with his hand, pulling him even further into his cock. Dexter moans like he's never done before. He's full on tearing up now, feeling his jaw stretch. He stops touching himself when he feels close, puts a hand on James’ hip, trying to ground himself, the other one still grabbing the cock at the base. James taps his head to get his attention.

“I’m going to guide you now, ok? Look at me.” Dexter looks up trying to see him through his blurred vision. James pulls him off his cock, giving him a respite. He leans his head against his thigh for a second, catching his breath. When he turns his head to look at James, he can see the wanton gaze the other is putting on him. He sees the desire, it makes his body thrilled. It’s good being wanted. 

“ Yeah ” it’s the only thing he can manage, glancing down at his still very much hard cock. His throat is burning, he feels it in his voice. Dexter reclines his head into the grip James has to let him know he’s into it. That does it, and James starts to move him back to him. He doesn't fight it, just opens his mouth as wide as he can and lets him do anything. 

James grabs himself as he situates Dexter over his cock again. When he pushes down, his head is silent. For a moment he doesn’t push further, just lets Dexter get used to the stretch his mouth is in. James grips his hair tighter and starts pushing up and down. It’s madness, knowing he’s being used, wanting to be used. Still, James doesn't go far at all, covering the bit Dexter can’t swallow with his own hand. It goes on for a while, until Dexter feels his lips bruised and swollen, until he almost can’t breathe.

“You’re doing so- so good” James starts, voice shaking “You’re so good Dexter,-uhh”

The words go straight into his cock, making him whine into the cock in his mouth. It feels indecent. Something in his chest tightens.

“Fuck, you want me to tell you huh? That you are good. That does it for you?” he can’t react, just lets James use his mouth as he likes, feeling the words pour into his mind like honey “Because you’re so good to me, you deserve this, don’t you? You’re taking it so good, fuck- Open your mouth, I’m going to come on your face”

Dexter is far gone by now, so when James pulls him off his cock and begins jerking himself purposefully he can’t do anything else other than open his mouth for him. He wants to see him come. James grabs his hair even stronger, he’s going to feel it tomorrow, but he doesn't care because it’s glorious. It’s not long before James finishes himself, coming in his face with a final grunt.

It’s uncomfortable and wet, but his cock hasn’t been this hard in a long time. He can't move, just rest the side of his head against James tight, breathing unevenly. When James pulls him up and into him, he goes easily. He feels hot, used and good . His cock is sandwiched between their bodies, but it’s an afterthought. James starts roaming his hands over his back, hugging him tight into his chest. Dexter is shaking now, he feels it in his bones.

“You did so good, so fucking good” he says right into his ear, grabbing his ass with one hand and rubbing the back of his neck slowly with the other “So good for me”

He moans deeply, feeling his cock leak at the words. It’s illogical, but he wants to hear more, wants James to tell him exactly how good he is, how well he does it. “James-” he moans again, when the other grabs his cock, making room between them to move his hand. He goes slow, making him shiver with every touch. When James lowers his head to kiss him, his legs turn into jelly. His mouth is hot and heavy, his tongue feels numb but James licks into him vigorously. It doesn't feel much different than before, just opens his mouth and lets him do anything.

“Look at you. Beautiful.” James says against his lips, licking some of the cum that’s for sure painted on his face. He feels himself tremble again, the praise takes over him like a hug. Suddenly James flips them around, lays him on the bed hugging Dexter tightly against him. He kisses him one more time, slow and deep, before going down on him. He kisses his way to his leaking cock, the moment he swallows him down, he knows he won’t last. He puts his legs over James’ shoulders, feeling the wetness envelop him. Of course, James can swallow him whole like it’s nothing. Dexter moans, now he can’t stop the sounds James is eliciting out of him.

The orgasm comes like lightning, he can’t even warn James before coming down his throat. James grabs his hips and keeps him still, swallowing around and through the aftershocks. There’s nothing else but pleasure going through his mind. He can’t do anything, just feel. When James pulls off, he whines .

“You ok?” he hears faintly. He can’t even open his eyes, just lays there breathing hard. The bed moves under James' weight, hearing footsteps around the room. He doesn't care. His head is blissfully silent.

James returns to the bed quickly, he feels the bed sink again under his weight. A hot towel starts wiping his face, so he lets out a groan and opens his eyes. James cleans him up methodically, before going back to the bathroom. His body hasn’t felt this relaxed in a long while. When Doakes comes back to the room he’s sure he’s going to leave right away, like always. Instead he gets on the bed again, kissing Dexter once more, open mouthed. He doesn’t complain, just opens his mouth for him and kisses him back. It’s good, feeling his mouth stretch again, so he keeps on kissing him for a while. When he can’t breathe anymore, he pulls back and puts his arms around James. It’s comfortable, he could stay like that forever. James doesn't make a move to get away, just moves them a bit so that they’re laying next to each other.

“What the hell happened?” It's weird because Doakes looks at him like he truly wants to know him , not as before when he just wanted to know he was right about him. It's like he's not looking for anything now, just waiting for him to talk, which is suspicious. Something’s changed and he doesn’t like it at all. It’s like Doakes suddenly decided he’s a real human being, but it’s not the right timing. Something’s off. Something is really wrong, because it’s not right to feel so relaxed about it. Somehow, he wants to tell him, even though it’s a mad idea. The fact that they’re so close, he’s almost laying on top of him, makes it even crazier. James has never stayed longer than this, but he’s not making a move to go. It must be late, really late. Brian would laugh. Just like that, he tenses. It’s classic, Doakes has to ruin the little peace he can get. He had to think of his brother, didn’t he?.

“Nothing.” he just says trying to get back to the post orgasmic rest. Doakes breathes into his mouth, making him chase after his lips. After kissing him softly again, James grabs his jaw and tilts his head up a bit.

“Tell me” he asks again, looking right into his eyes.

“I told you. Nothing” he shuffles around, trying to kiss him again, but James turns his head away. He’s not going to let it go, and for the first time, Dexter feels like he’s being seen and it doesn’t really bother him. It should, he knows it should, but the urge to just tell James something, is there. It’s madness.

“I know when there isn’t a thought on your little pretty head. Now spill” he insists, stroking his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Honestly?” maybe he’s losing it because he’s considering actually talking to Doakes about it. He leans against the touch, trying to think clearly about it before he fucks up. It’s like he’s forgetting this man stalked him for weeks, actually came very close to confirming his suspicions. It could cost him his whole life. Still, the way he’s caressing his face tells him otherwise.

Doakes actually rolls his eyes before kissing him again. He doesn’t even register the kiss in his head until he pulls back. “You can tell me”

Dexter bites his lips feeling his head get lighter. He takes a deep breath and decides it wouldn’t be bad to let something out. He never does, doesn't know how, but it’s bugging him inside. When he speaks he tries to be careful, “I don’t know how much I should know. About the past.”

Doakes doesn’t react, just raises an eyebrow and sighs. “You always sound so fucking cryptic?”

“I wouldn’t fucking know” For some reason, the way he answers annoys him. He’s never been this fucking sensitive, for God’s sake.

Doakes catches it right away, “Wait, no, that’s not- What did you mean by that, you idiot?”

He relaxes at the name calling, it’s more familiar than the concerned shit stare he was giving him before. He stays silent for a bit, relaxing even more under Doakes’ touch. This feels important, as if it’s a turning point in whatever they’re doing. He shouldn’t do this like this, when he can’t hide at all. Still; “You know how I’m adopted.”

“Yeah”

The silence in the room is palpable. There’s something ugly moving inside him, something wanting to get out. The Dark Passenger is silent too, but he fears it’ll come out any second now. He fears Brian may come back too. Still, the way he can feel James lying against him alive and breathing, comforts him somehow and gives him the strength to talk.

“Well, recently I’ve found some information about my family. And I don’t know if I want to know more. I don't know if I should dig into it about that or about- About anything that came before”

There’s another long silence. He’s never been more sincere with anyone, let alone someone who he despised. Dexter wonders if Doakes still hates him. The fact that he doubts it it’s almost unbelievable. “What happened to you?”

Dexter turns away. It’s very uneasy that Doakes sounds so careful, and is treating him as if he could break. His nerves betray him and he jumps, slapping the hand away. 

“If you just want to hear this to confirm your fucking twisted theory about me you can fuck right off” he says, looking away. It feels wrong to be this bare, even if deep down it feels easier to breathe. Doakes sighs, defeated.

“Dexter that’s not what the fuck I’m doing and you know that”

He does know that. It’s easier to hide right now, even if it feels right to tell him. Why the fuck does it feel right to tell him? 

“Alright” he breaks “I know it’s not what you’re doing, but don’t fucking look at me like-”

Doakes cuts him off, like he knows what he’s talking about. “I won’t. You have to let yourself trust in others, though.”

“Like you?” he says sarcastically.

“If you want.” Doakes says looking away. It must be almost 4am by now, and here they are, confessing their trauma under the sheets. And Doakes said he didn’t want a relationship. There’s more to what he says, of course there is.

When Doakes leans over to kiss him again, he stops him right before their lips meet. The words come over him, can’t shut the fuck up. “She was murdered. My mother. When I was a boy. I saw it happen” he takes a sharp breath before kissing Doakes shallowly. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

He expects a sad look, maybe pity. What he gets is nothing, just a concerned frown accompanied by a sigh, right into his lips. “You know who did it?” Doakes asks, narrowing his eyes. The detective in him is always there, Dexter realizes. It’s weird he feels comforted in his reaction. If he’d pitied him he knows it’d be over between them.

“Don’t go snooping around on this. Wait for me to decide if I want to know, don’t-”

“I won’t. You can trust me Dexter”

'You can trust me' Yeah right. He realizes right then and there who he’s talking to. What he’s saying. Even if it feels right this is fucking dangerous. It’s crossing the line. This is way too fucking much for casual fucking, and if Doakes isn’t backing down, it means he’s fucked up. If he can’t control himself around him it’s over. 

A shadow passes through the other end of the room. It's probably nothing, but the memory of his brother’s laugh suddenly rings in his brain. He tenses noticeably and his mind starts racing. Any calmness that transpired earlier is gone.

“I think you should leave,” he says blankly. He sits up, putting his knees to his chest.

“What?” Doakes asks, incredulously. 

Dexter sighs and puts his head between his knees. “Just leave, I can’t be- I just need to be alone right now”

There’s not a single movement from the other man, nothing at all. For a moment he thinks it’s over. He’s going to leave now, like before, they’ll ignore each other for a while and it will be like nothing happened. There can be nothing else. There’s rustling at his side, then a hand stroking the back of his neck. He exhales heavily through his nose, incapable of admitting to himself that the touch is good. Doakes keeps touching, massaging his scalp. His body melts against him, betraying his will. 

“Did I tell you about my father?” It’s nothing but a whisper, throws him off so much he thinks he’s heard him wrong.

“What?” he asks, raising his head from between his knees. His face feels hot, but he can’t keep his eyes from the other.

Doakes continues, like it’s nothing, “My father. He was a piece of shit. Abused me and my mother for years. I know what it's like to have a dysfunctional family.”

“I loved my father” he says, as it's the right thing to say. It’s amazing, hearing Doakes talk about himself like this. It never happened before, so he’s not sure how to feel about it.

“Oh, I did too” It’s amazing how James sees right through him, everytime. He can tell it’s not an easy issue for him to speak about, but still, he’s telling Dexter. 

“But he abused you?”

“Yeah. Beat me up when I got tired of watching him hit my mother.”

“Why then?” he asks, burrowing his eyebrows. It’s not logical to him, loving someone who hurt you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how love works.

“I wanted to feel loved. Everyone does. Even a freak like you does, I can tell” he says, but there’s no bite there. Dexter doesn’t know how to feel about that statement, so he tries to joke about it.

“Fuck off, I don’t feel anything, right?”

Doakes ignores his comment, which is even worse. “I’m just trying to help Dexter”

“I’m not asking for anything from you”

“Jesus, I'm not going to treat you like shit right in the middle of a breakdown. I know how you feel, that’s all I’m trying to say”

“I know.” 

There’s no more fight in him. He moves to kiss Doakes. It’s shallow, but it elicits the same reaction inside of him, there’s nothing else but their lips moving in unison. When Doakes pulls back they stare at each other for a moment, neither of them moving. Their noses touch, and it feels dangerous. Doakes moves to lay on the bed once again and opens his arms, so he falls into them right away. 

He goes to sleep to the sound of James’ breath, lays his head on his chest and lets himself be held.

Chapter Text

Sunlight comes from the far end of the room, there’s the sound of the shower going on the back. James is hardly awake, but he knows exactly where he is. Last night, lots of things changed, at least for him. He stares upwards, the yellowy shadows forming in the ceiling hover around, ever changing. There’s no stopping the flood of unsettling feelings that come over him at once. Seeing Dexter in the state he was, really did make him realize how bad his issues really are. He doesn’t even begin to make sense of everything, nevermind of how stupidly carelessly he reacted to the situation.

He sits up and looks for his phone. The bedroom is neat and clean, clothes folded on the night table next to him. Dexter must’ve cleaned up a bit, he almost laughs. Typical of the OCD maniac. When he gets his phone from his pants, the light of the screen is too bright and he has to squint to see anything at all. The freak is already up, even if it’s not over four hours that they went to sleep. 7:21 reads the screen . It’s really good that it’s sunday because he feels in his bones the minimal sleep he just pulled. As he dresses himself again he tries to shake away the sense of shame that’s creeping in on him. Very fucking gay, cuddling a grown man, his father would disapprove for sure. He cracks his neck feeling the air come out. It’s actually crazy that yesterday happened the way it happened, but to think of all that Dexter must’ve been through… It makes him feel bad, like he’s starting to doubt himself. He tries to shake off the creeping doubts as fast as they come.

He goes to the kitchen grumpily not caring at all about the dirty sheets (fuck Dexter for being the manical freak he is), gets the coffee going while he looks for a radio or something to pass the time while the other showers. He’s sure he’s going to make him leave right away so he’ll get at least a cup of coffee in his system before he hits the road again. It’s a circle with Dexter, they fuck, they both get the barriers up, then James calls him again. After last night it’s possible he’s not going to see much of Dexter in a while, he’s sure he’ll be mortified. James himself is pretty much mortified about the thing, so Dexter must be dead. It’s even possible, given the way he’s incapable to process feelings, that he’s actually having another breakdown in the shower. 

It was very weird being this open with someone else, especially someone who he has antagonized up until recently. Even now he can’t tell what he thinks of Dexter anymore, it changes day by day it seems. When he tries to remember how it went down and his heart drops a bit when he realizes what he told him about his father. He fucking told that ginger creep about something he himself hadn’t really thought in years. And he didn’t care what it meant. The only person who knows apart from Dexter is Maria; even for her it took a little while to tell her. He doesn’t even think about it anymore, for god’s sake. He knows how to deal with it, but the fact that he just told Dexter, no more thought to it, it’s alarming. So he’s just regretting not thinking twice before opening his mouth. 

Before he knows it, the coffee is ready, the whistling interrupting his shameful remorse. He’s just fed up from getting into fucking weird situations, first with Kara and his husband, now with a creepy motherfucker like Morgan. It could be funny how he is even comparing the two, if it wasn’t that chilling. He remembers very well how that ended. As he pours himself a cup, he takes a look around. Everything is in the same place, right as he found it. Last night he searched the house thoroughly, top to bottom. Dexter slept like a rock, didn’t even move off the spot from the couch even when he inspected the air vents. His car was spotless too. He shakes his head, taking a sip from his coffee. Being here feels wrong, somehow. To think he was wrong about Dexter it’s appalling, to think he could’ve been stalking an innocent man just because of his obsession to be right is just unthinkable. Maybe Maria was right about everything after all. Maybe he's the one with a problem. Still, he can't shake the feeling that there is something dark inside him, something he won't ever talk about, to him or to anyone.

“Glad you helped yourself”

Dexter walks in in just his towel, adjusted closely to his hips. It’s one of those long ass towels, goes down straight and reaches under his knees. His hair is wet, skin shiny from the steam. He suddenly wants to lean in and touch. He looks down at his naked chest, knowing Dexter is following his eyes the whole time.

“There’s some left for you, asshole” he says looking up, a frown forming in his face again. It’s strange and unsettling how the other just stands there looking like he could care less, he just raises an eyebrow at him and turns to pour himself a cup. This isn’t how he should be reacting. Dexter just smiles strangely.

“You’re always this charming when you wake up?” Dexter asks, amused.

James snorts and takes a long sip. “Only when I barely sleep”

“You didn’t have to wake up”

It’s funny because Dexter seems a little bit too okay with the whole thing. It could be that he doesn’t remember too well last night, but he seriously doubts it. He looked very conscious and present, especially at the end. It seems like he’s been awake for some time now, so he’s got time alone to remember it fully. Either that or, maybe, he’s hiding again. Right now he just knows that Dexter looks really good when his hair is wet. Makes him look younger. He looks better, much better than yesterday. It’s infuriating. 

“Thought you’d wanted me out of the house by now,” he says, just to test the waters. 

“What?” Dexter asks, pausing for a moment. The look he’s giving him, an incredulous puzzling stare, confuses James. It’s like it never crossed his mind that he would have to leave at some point. The worst part is that he can tell the reaction is genuine. He looks down to the floor for a second, unsure how to proceed.

“I’ll be on my way, just want to finish this” he taps the side of his mug like it’s the most normal thing to do, but inside he really would want to leave, like now. It’s not right, not like it has been until now. Dexter shouldn’t be acting this comfortable. It’s very out of character for him. It'd be much easier if he would just keep the pattern he’s repeated lately. Instead, he looks relaxed; not quite rested, his face still is pale with huge eyebags framing his cheekbones, but at ease with himself. The worst part is that he was never meant to feel good knowing Dexter was feeling better. That puts him off, makes him cringe a bit inside.

Dexter shrugs nonchalantly, “Okay” he says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Okay?” he repeats, even more confused. 

He shakes his head and tries to gulp down the remaining coffee. It's too early for this shit and he really misses his bed. Leaving the cup in the sink, he gets past Dexter, straight to the door. He's got it opened when Dexter opens his mouth again.

“I mean, you can stay if you want,” he says from the kitchen loud enough for him to hear, not even looking at him.

“I can?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. His body aches, he's feeling the lack of sleep like it's in his bones. Dexter makes it sound like he’s an idiot. It’s like he’s offering him a donut from the goddamned donut box like he does every morning; this time though, he really wants to accept it. There’s something fake there, something new that’s very alarming, but the temptation is too strong. This is what he means when he tells people Dexter is a facade, he hides and pretends he’s a normal guy, living a normal life, a man who does things just for the sake of it and not for some obscure reason hiding within. With the redhead, there’s always something more. The moment their eyes meet again he’s convinced Dexter is planning something. There’s something happening, something James doesn’t know about. 

He holds his stare for a second. If Dexter thinks he’s just going to stay because he asks him to, he’s very wrong. The fact that he got a bit soft yesterday doesn’t mean he owns shit to anyone, especially to the haunted ass geek that’s staring right back at him. He’s not anyone to order him around, there’s nothing that’s going to change- 

It’s frustrating that even when James absolutely knows that and is very sure in his decision to leave and never set food at this place again, he still closes the door behind him with no thought at all once Dexter drops the towel. That idiot has absolutely no shame. If he didn’t look so clueless about the naked thing he’d say it was confidence. He grabs very hard at the door handle once the door closes behind him, trying to keep his cool.

“What the hell” he asks, unable to look away. Dexter just bats his eyes and stays still. He’s sure this is another fabricated version of the man but it’s useless. He can't help but keep his eyes on his body.

“I would like to practice,” Dexter says very calmly, not even blinking once.

All the blood on his body leaves at once. There’s no other thought behind his head than to go kiss him hard right that second. He’s over there in two long strides, Dexter just latches onto him once he’s crossed the room, pulls him even closer. They make out like that for a while, James tries to pin the other to the counter like he’s done quite a bit now, but Dexter just stays still, like he’s fucking savouring the moment. If he’s supposed to be planning something, he sure as hell likes he's decided to stay. He separates for a bit, stares at the body in front of him lavishly. It’s a shame Dexter keeps all under the lab geek front. His body is just perfect. When a set of hands start to unbuckle his belt, he feels like laughing.

“You want to practice, huh?” he asks, very sarcastically. Truth or not, there’s something else there. He still is going to enjoy the next part very much. When the ginger nods, James just grabs his hair with a fist, twisting his head a bit. “Get started then”

Dexter drops to his knees immediately. He has a short flashback to the first time he was here; Dexter dropped to his knees the second they were inside, just as he is now. It’s the same except for two things, he was fully clothed and James didn’t know he was the first man he was fooling around with. He probably wouldn’t have blinked if James had tried to fuck him. He’d probably let him, even if it was clear he hadn’t done a thing with a man ever. That should disturb him. It does, at least the first part. But now, knowing that he’s the only one that’s seen this facet to Dexter, it only makes him proud, somehow. It’s twisted and sort of sick, but he doesn’t care one bit right now. Leave it for the future paranoia he surely will experience for days to come.

He leans in the counter and lets Dexter undo his trousers, swallow him up and start sucking. It’s something he’ll probably never get tired of, seeing the ginger on his knees for him.

“Fuck Dexter-”

It goes on for a while. Turns out Dexter is very skilled when he puts his head to it. Never better said. He laughs at his own joke, pleasure coursing through him. Dexter really loves to follow instructions like no one he’s met before.

“You want to know something?” he asks, breathing heavily.

“What?” Dexter asks, lifting his head a little. His hair is falling right into his eyes, curling a bit as it dries. It feels so intimate, to watch droplets of water form above his eyelashes. He contrasts the emotion with whatever his mouth is spitting at the redhead.  

“You look like a proper whore like this”

He can tell Dexter doesn’t like the comment one bit from the way he bites down purposefully. It’s so painful he almost yelps. “Stop that”

“Sorry” Dexter says grinning, not sorry at all. He’s got dimples, James notices, which is weird to notice since Dexter is back on his cock again, doing things he’s actually dreamed of with his tongue. He’s got more than a view to himself, yet the dimples are imprinted on his mind. The moment Dexter begins lifting his head up and down he grabs his hair to help him go faster, to be rougher. Pleasure courses through him seeing Dexter naked at his feet, sucking his cock like he's being paid to do so. He can tell he likes it, even if it not perfect it makes it even better to know he's not done this to anyone else. He feels fucking good, knowing he’s got the other kneeling for him. This is going to end up very bad, he thinks when he comes into his mouth and the fucking dimples are all that come to mind. 

Dexter pulls off and it’s clear he’s swallowed some, still he can tell he doesn’t like the taste that much when he goes to the sink to spit the rest. He washes his mouth a bit, time which James uses to pull his trousers up again quickly. When Dexter turns around from the sink, he can tell he’s not even hard. The disappointment he feels makes him want to smack himself across the fucking face. As if he should fucking care. 

The ginger just turns around and collects the towel, putting it on his shoulders, because why bother hiding his modesty right? “Do you want pancakes or eggs? I think I still have some-”

The question makes him so furious, so suddenly, that he’s very close to grabbing Dexter by the neck, and not in a friendly way. “Fuck off. I’m not your boyfriend.”

For a moment Dexter just stares at him like he doesn’t understand.

“I know?”

He slams the door before he punches the creep right in his stupid face.

After the weekend, he’s not sure of how to act around Dexter anymore. On monday at the station, all he sees is a broken shadow of a man walking. Not like he cares, anyways. He’s back to the donuts and the fake smile with the fakest personality, like a rubber doll. It’s almost as if the person is buried, disappears behind the act. It makes him mad, knowing he’s not what he lets the others see, but he’s beginning to understand it now. The distance makes him reflect on the situation at hand. He’s getting too attached to something that isn’t there, something that will never be there. Even if he could get past his issues with the fact that Dexter is a man (which is improvable given how disgusted he is at himself for even thinking of Dexter as something more than a fun thing to pass time), the reality may be the following; the freak is just curious, trying to feel anything and using James to do so. The worst case would be that he was in fact involved in deep shit and he would end up being another of the idiot puppets he manipulates on a daily basis.

The man he is at work is just fake, rehearsed and acted. When they’re alone he can tell what he's really like and gets a peek inside his very empty person. It attracts him like nothing else, there’s something that pulls him in and makes him give up. He even told Dexter he could trust him. Whenever that bitch ass idea formed in his brain, wasn’t exactly his brightest moment.

He’s working on a case late on Monday night when Dexter approaches him, a box in hand. He doesn’t even turn, just keeps reading the mountain of evidence he’s got on his hands. It’s funny that now he’s the one annoyed when the other hangs around. It hasn’t been that long since he was the one doing the stalking.

“I got something for you,” Dexter says, waving around a file. It’s the same vibe as the donut box (God, everything is like the donut box with Dexter, isn’t it?), this is just bait Dexter is throwing for some fucked up reason James doesn’t know. He didn’t expect Dexter to act as if nothing had changed. If this is his coping mechanism it’s a very convoluted one.

“What?”

Dexter rolls his eyes at him “You can use this for the case.”

“You better stop that Morgan” he says, suddenly very fed up.

They’d been at the scene this morning, early in the day. He remembers the needy eyes Dexter gave him the other night, it’s nothing compared to the icy gaze now. It still gives him the creeps when he’s like that; even if he doubts he’s got something to do with the main case, aka. The Bay Harbor Butcher, there’s something hidden there. Could be tied to his family. It’s a difficult concoction; he wouldn’t have reached this point if it wasn’t for their encounters, but now he hesitates to follow up. He promised Dexter not to dig further, when he knows damn well he’s going to end up doing so. It’s strange and upsetting that he kinda wants to keep his word.

When he reaches for the file Dexter hands him, it’s another heaven sent, at least for the case he’s working on right now. It could be the key to making the arrest, something he thought he’d lost already. “Why are you giving this to me? You know Peckman is in the case. He wants to make the arrest” he asks carefully. 

Dexter just keeps looking like he’s not got a thought in his head “He’s not going to. I want to give it to you.”

“What the fuck Dexter?”

“What?” The bastard really looks like he hasn’t got a clue. If this is his way of humiliating him, he’s not going to get away with it. It’s not like he needs his help to solve his own damn cases. His eyebrow is on the verge of flying off his face.

“Fuck you. You're a piece of work”

He storms out of the room, going straight to the elevator. He’s not going to let Dexter mock him like that. Dexter is back to a faceless robot, he had to know that wouldn't change. The file in his hands almost burns him, and he hates the fact that he took it with him.

05:32pm (Lt. LaGuerta)

Meet me later. I need to talk to you.

He meets Maria by the pier, they walk a little. It’s sunset so it’s very beautiful. He wouldn’t know of course, never notices that kind of stuff, but Maria is the one admiring the sun going down. She always did. Her hair is falling right into her face, and he remembers how good it was with her. They’re walking slowly, just taking their time. Maria doesn’t jump him with questions right away, which is something he’s always appreciated from her. He won’t ever admit it, but he kind of misses the comfortable silence. Lately he only has had that with Morgan, so he doesn’t want to think too much about what it means. That freak may get under his nerves, but he sure is discreet when he wants to.

“You seem distracted,” she says, turning to him. They’ve stopped at the end of the path, just right in front of a little viewpoint on the edge. The people at the end of the coastline look tiny from here.

“I'm not” he mumbles, not even looking at her. She’s not wrong. There are too many things happening which he doesn’t know. Still he’s not about to tell her. She would judge him, for she doesn’t see what he sees. Maria wouldn’t be able to see past the mask Dexter has.

Maria laughs shortly, like it’s a joke “I think you are. I know you well James”

She really does, which is the worst part. Trying to switch tactics he tries to divert the conversation point, at least for a while. He knows Maria too, and she won’t just leave it alone. “Yeah, right. Is that what you wanted to ask me?”

She smiles, like she knows what he’s trying to do.

“Did Lundy talk to you yet?”

That again, is unnerving as hell. The Bay Harbour Butcher being one of them is just unthinkable. Lundy made it clear he didn’t want him on his team, so he’s limited to remain on the low. Fuck him, anyways. He’s got options, he could leave to work in the private security industry. He’d have a job in a heartbeat. “Nah, why?”

Maria shakes her head and sighs, looking down at the water, “You didn't hear this from me, but he's interviewing every possible suspect”

“I'm not a fucking suspect” he almost yells, turning his head so hard he almost pulls a muscle.

“Not to me” Maria says, soothingly “To Lundy everyone in the precinct is. So just answer what he asks you and be calm. Be fucking calm about it. No need to create more suspicion around you”

He knows an order when he hears it; as comfortable as it is to have someone worry about oneself he can’t suppress the surge of anger that comes through him.

“I know how to behave, Maria. But this, this is a fucking man-hunt”

“It is. So I can't help myself to worry about you, you know that”

“I know”

They watch the waves for a little more. It’s so infuriating to think Lundy would even consider him a suspect, having that nut job called Dexter Morgan around. Sometimes he swears everyone is blind, including the fucking FBI. Even if Morgan isn’t the Butcher, he’s up to something, Lundy should’ve caught on by now. When he looks over to Maria, he notices how beautiful she looks now that the sun is hitting her face. She’s wearing one of those two piece suits she owns like no one else, sharp lines on blue fabric. She follows his eyes and smirks a bit.

“We had some fun, huh?” she says, lowering her tone.

“Yeah. We did” he agrees. Maria had been a very fun time, while it lasted anyway. He was sorry to lose her, maybe it could’ve lasted a bit longer but her promotion got in the way. It had been for the best anyways. She’s destined to bigger, better things, and he hadn’t been in a good headspace then. Now, it feels even worse. He feels angry at himself; for staying in the Miami Police even when the FBI is fucking investigating him, for making the worst choices time after time and worst of all, for finally realizing that there’s the possibility that he could be wrong about certain things (the certain thing being Morgan). He’s going nowhere with him, hasn't found anything incriminating so far even when he knows he's hiding something, and the clock is ticking. Feels like the fucking creep is just laughing at him.

“See? There's someone new” Maria says out of nowhere.

“What the hell?” He doesn't know what to think. It’s just fucking embarrassing, that his mind panics and jumps to Dexter immediately.

Maria just smiles knowingly. “I know you're thinking of someone. Who is it?”

“Oh, fuck off” he says, without much feeling. Inside’s he’s fucking quacking for a second. His interest in men has been such a separate area in his life, just the thought of Maria finding out is terrifying. It lasts a literal second, it’s useless to listen to something he’s got over many years ago again.

“James” she says his name like she’s scolding him. It’s so familiar it makes him smile. He shakes his head a bit and looks at her gently.

“It’s no one” 

“Very new, then?”

“Not fucking new at all”

The bittering brings back memories. He hasn’t relaxed for a while now, he feels it in his bones.

Maria is smirking very perversely now, and he knows she’s trying to remember his affairs. “Oh, do I know her?”

“Do you- no, you don’t fucking know her!” he says very amusedly. Maria hits his arm playfully, turning her head sideways.

“Just tell me, does she make you happy?” she asks, eyes now gone soft.

He laughs genuinely at that. It’s just crazy to associate Morgan to such a question. “It’s not like that. It's nothing serious”

Maria rolls her eyes at him, crossing her arms. They’re left staring at each other for a minute until Maria lifts her arms in defeat. “Yeah right. Just try not to be yourself too much or you'll scare her right away” she says.

“Whatever” The only consolation is that even if Maria managed to see right through him, she knows him like no one else here. Ever since he got started in the force she's been his rock. Losing her may have been the worst he's done, but she's right. There are no more feelings there, in any direction. What he feels now is… something else. If he's comparing Dexter to Maria, it's just not right. Not right at all. It’s not like he wants to take Dexter out on a date, spin him around and show him off, like he’s done with his other partners. That’d just be pathetic and very faggoty. These thoughts are just intrusive, he tells himself, maybe even planted by the freak himself. Still, the comment from Maria catches his attention somehow. “Why do you think I would scare someone?”

Now it’s Maria’s turn to laugh, she puts a hand over her mouth like he can’t see how funny she finds his question. “Maybe try to be a bit less?”

“Explain yourself” he demands, squinting his eyes, trying to read what she means off her eyes.

“You get really intense. It’s just how you are, I found it cute, but who knows if your new plaything is smart enough to know”

James blinks exactly three times. “I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that.”

Maria laughs, and that seems to be it. She'll continue asking, that's for sure. At least she doesn't even suspect it's a man, not to mention that it's Dexter of all guys. Not like it is Dexter of course, he's a no one to James, no one worth mentioning at least. That’s a conversation that will never happen.

“Did you get anything on your case?” The Lieutenant is back in the blink of an eye, like she never left. He’s still processing what she just said, so the words that come out aren’t very cohesive.

“Peckman’s doing the arrest tonight, got definitive proof”

“He did? I thought he had nothing yet, what happened?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. A seagull in the back starts screamings, which gives James a bit of time to think.

“I gave it to him. He wanted to be the one to close it.”

“Why? What was it?”

Trying to be careful is useless when the anger he feels at the memory of last night, how the ginger laughed in his face with the gesture. “Morgan gave me the blood report. I’m not playing fucking mind games. Don’t need his fucking help to close a case.”

She sighs like she’s been over this a hundred times already “Not that again. You have to stop that stupid obsession you have with Dexter”

“I don’t have-”

Maria’s phone interrupts him, she picks it up and turns a bit. “Yeah- okay, perfect, I’m on my way” 

Closing her phone, she pats him on the side of his arm lovingly before she's off to work again. He watches her walk away, hearing the noises of the beach in the background. James stays on the pier a bit more, and for a while he’s left thinking of Dexter and all the ways it's fucked up to be around him.

James was a teen who always got into fights. He was the kind of kid who was always nosing around, searching for what was wrong. Many things were wrong with him at that time. His house, his family, his mind. Looking back he realized how quickly he could’ve gone into the wrong path. The anger inside, the voidness he felt at times, brought him back to it. He would always be glad for his mother, the strong woman who raised him along with his sisters, but to go back to her is to go back to the pain. It was awfully easy to understand the ache he felt inside only came from the grief of what he could not have. The grief of the happiness he couldn’t get from his own father. To lament the person who never was there. He hated the fact he couldn’t get closer to them, Mom, Lori and Jess, but as they say; it is what it is. He’s over forty now, so he’s got pretty good at managing it. He’s learnt to control it, to tame the rage he has built up. He doesn’t even think about it that much anymore.

When his mother calls, he can only stare at the id. For a moment he can’t breathe. Just for a second he’s back to the house, back to the screams. He’s got chills over his skin when he realizes what just happened, where he really is. The phone stops ringing and the outside screen goes dark. 

10:16pm (Mom)

Will you come over next Saturday?

James leans over the kitchen table and sighs. He was eating a frozen lasagna straight out of the container when his mother called, but it looks absolutely disgusting now. He should be better than this and know this is just depressing; but he feels tired, too tired to answer. He needs something tangible, something strong to hang to. It’s just going sideways the more time it passes. Every day he feels more compelled to hit up his old Special Forces contacts about that position in the unit. He thinks back to those times, it was simpler. He’d always fit well in that world. It would be easy to go back to it. 

That line of thinking was quickly interrupted once he thought about the situation on hand. His sense of justice is too nosy, too strong to just pull back and go for the easy route. He tries to put himself together and pray for a second, that it will be worth it. He’s feeling doubtful, about his job, his identity, and fucking Dexter. Literally and metaphorically. He knows he could really fuck Dexter up if he keeps searching. He knows he will find something very dark there, something Dexter maybe’s not prepared to handle. This only leaves him feeling icky, to be thinking about the wellness of that fucking freak is just off putting. It wasn’t that long ago that his only objective was to find out and fuck him up.

Sighing, he gets up and throws the half eaten container in the trash. He stares by the window, watching his car parked downstairs. He could always just leave for good. He’s not gonna leave, but he could. Say fuck it, and just dissappear.

Lundy interviews him on Wednesday, calls him to his office in the middle of the day and has him sit down. He observes him, always calm and methodical, and tries to assess his behavior. James keeps a straight face, just stares back blankly.

“Any plans for tonight, Sergeant?” Lundy starts, innocent as a lamb.

“Why you ask?” he says, narrowing his eyes. If he’s going to start with the subtext question he better change and be fucking clear. Lundy smiles a bit and nods, as if he understood the need to change. Damned good detective, even if he’s being an asshole right at this very moment.

“You’ve been watching Dexter for a while now, right?”

“Come on,” he says warningly. Lundy just nods politely, like he’s talking about the weather. The danger at what exactly Lundy knows about Dexter and him it’s too much for James to take in. Thank God the man speaks before he can react fully.

“I sensed the tension between you too. I’ve heard the words stalking being thrown around too.” He snorts at that. If gossip is what Lundy ‘has’ on him, this whole thing is just a joke as far as he knows they look exactly the same to the outside world. He still thinks Dexter is a freak and up to dark shit. Which is true, he just wants to keep the fucking part out of the picture. He’s not about sharing that part of himself with the world. It’s nothing, something so little and insignificant in his life he doesn’t even have to think about it, and would really want to keep it like that.

“You are looking in the wrong fucking direction. Ask Dexter, see what he says.”

Lundy ignores him completely, changing subjects drastically “We pulled your service records, Sergeant. Special Forces. You were trained in severing human limbs. That’s an unusual skill.” 

His eyebrows can’t go higher at what Lundy is hinting at. “That’s some bullshit right there. Every military doctor, every paramedic knows how to take off a fucking arm. That don’t mean they’re out there hacking people up, does it?” 

He feels like he’s put on an embarrassing position to defend himself from such a horrible crime, it’s just wrong. He’s growing a very intense hate towards the other man sitting in front of him right now. His jaw tenses.

Lundy smiles and leans backwards on his chair. His hair is as white as his teeth, just the picture of a man of power. Fucking whitness. Even his voice sounds expensive. “No, it doesn’t. Just like being a cop doesn’t mean you’re incapable of murder.” Lundy looks unmovable. It’s infuriating knowing the Detective feels superior. He’s got no fucking clue.

“You seriously think I’m the Butcher?” 

He regrets the phrasing the minute the words leave his mouth. He gets a seriously bad flashback to when Dexter actually asked him the same thing. If this was how he was feeling when he asked it, he kind of understood a bit of his anger. It was maddening to think he was maybe wrong. He didn’t want to begin thinking about what it meant. Anger was the main thing he was feeling at the moment. The motherfucker was implying he was a goddamned killer. He had insulted him before; ‘You're a good cop, but you have no self-control.’ he’d said then. Now he really has crossed the line.

“I think you’re violent, impulsive, and you don’t like to follow rules. I also think… you’re the only one who ever suspected Dexter Morgan.”

The staredown they have may have been the tensest moment ever. He can hear the fan moving above, every turn and creek. He’s done with Lundy that fucking second.

James swears everyone has gone crazy. The fucking FBI has swarmed the station, they’re just fucking everywhere, and everyone idolize them, that’s what it fucking looks like to him. Even when they’re hunting down one of their own, it doesn’t seem to matter. Maria surely will scold him when she knows he walked out on Lundy. His days at the office are getting tiring now. He’s noticing the stares from the other cops, careful around him. The coldness is expected, how else would they react when they’re blinded with lies? If it wasn’t so exhausting working along judgment of every other cop he’d find it funny. Fuck those motherfuckers anyways, they’ve been proven blind time and time again. Still it stings a bit. He’s not exactly friends with anyone other than Maria, but he had gained the respect among his peers to be something. If they think just because that something is gone he will lower his head and let them fuck it up, they’re wrong. The fucking FBI can sit there, he’s going to listen to his gut if that means doing the right thing. After that interview he was left reeling, very very angry at the way things have turned, so the last thing he’s doing now is giving up.

Later that day he can’t stop himself from walking up to Debra at her desk. It’s mind blowing the fact that Lundy has managed to get Debra Morgan. She’s a very interesting person, he’d never thought she’d go this far after all what happened. A normal person would've quit. Still he can’t let Lundy destroy that girl without at least a fucking warning. It’s clear she doesn't want to talk to him, no one really does, but he doesn't fucking care.

"You're getting too close to Lundy." He spits out right away. Debra is the only sane Morgan he’s met, so it’s sad that she’s going to take a very hard fall with Lundy, especially after the horrible things she just is recovering from.

Debra frowns, annoyed, looking up at him "Excuse me?"

"He's FBI. That means when this is all over, he packs up and moves on. You really think he gives a shit about you?" he asks, very impatiently.

Debra straightens up, defensive "Oh, fuck off, Doakes. You don’t know shit about me or Lundy."

James sighs, frustrated. "I know you guys like him. And I know when someone’s being used."

Debra glares down at him, standing up "You’re just pissed because no one’s on your side anymore. Maybe ask yourself why that is."

James smirks, but his expression darkens "Watch yourself, Morgan. Maybe I’ll ask your brother what he thinks about it." 

Debra’s frown grows deeper. “Just leave my brother alone. He’s just trying to help. He’s the only one who isn’t giving you the cold shoulder and you’re alienating him? Fuck.”

James frowns at that, given how ridiculous the statement is. “He was mocking me”

“No he wasn’t. He seemed pretty fucking happy about it.” she says, like he's got no fucking clue

“Bullshit” he answers, because it’s stupid to think that the only motive Dexter had with the evidence was a friendly gift. Debra, fed up with the whole thing, shakes her head.

“Just get off his ass,” she says, leaving the room.

Fucking Morgans.

He decides to say fuck it and go to the records on Friday. A week’s almost passed since ‘the incident’, so James has had time to make up his mind. If there’s some suspicion, as little as it is, he should investigate it. Maybe everything with Morgan is clean; he could be wrong about the whole thing, but if there’s a chance he’s right he should try to prove it. 

The clerk is a young girl. He’s never been so far in the registers, so he doesn’t fucking know her. He tries to put on a friendly smile as he walks over to the counter. There’s not much conversation at all, the girl just makes a face at him when he asks for any file related to Harry Morgan. 

He brings the copies he makes home and starts reading. His life seemed the perfect picture from afar, with a lot of sewing wounds if you look closely. A father to two smart and healthy children, a faithful husband and a very dedicated cop. A man who lost a son, who cheated with a CI, who overdosed on his heart medication.

The realization at the meaning that report holds, is more than fucked up. The official story was a heart attack, a sad and tragic but perfectly normal death. He turns over the pages rapidly and puts his head in his hands, leaning over his bedroom desk. It’s all fucked up. He thinks back to the way Dexter declared the love he held for his father, so ingrained in his person that James is sure there are some heavy issues in that relationship. The ginger worships the memory of his father, in a way that’s not quite normal. He doesn’t know what it is exactly, but if he questioned the integrity of Harry Morgan, Dexter would undoubtedly flip out. Still, there’s nothing on Dexter himself or his past, which is disappointing.

With a heavy feeling coming all over him, he gets his shredder and starts destroying the documents. They’re only copies, but he’s not risking Dexter finding he’s searching up against his will. He regrets what he said last Saturday so much he can’t even feel stupider. He’s not even following Dexter anymore, which defeats the purpose of the whole thing. It makes him feel disarmed.

Just as he’s destroying the last pages, he gets a text from Dexter.

23:34 (Dexter Morgan)

Are you going to ignore me forever?

He should block the man, forget he exists and just move on in life. Sighing, he gets the last page in the fucking shredder and just watches it tear into pieces. He fucking can’t, not when he knows there’s something dark the other is hiding, and not when he remembers so clearly the sounds he made almost a week ago.

He’s knocking on the door forty minutes later. It’s very late, and there’s almost no traffic on the way, but he still needs a good ten minutes thinking in his car before he gets out and knocks. It’s fucked up that he actually wants to see the bastard. He grips the wheel until his knuckles are burning.

“Hey” Dexter greets him at the door. It’s too fucking normal, walking up into the apartment like he’s just a guest. They stand awkwardly for a second. Dexter looks good, like he’s finally got some rest. He’s only on a white tee, no pants, just the same briefs he uses, white too.

Dexter gets close when it’s clear he’s not going to do the first move. It’s awkward for a second, but the moment their lips meet he’s gone. It’s been a whole week, and he feels the need for touch in his bones. He won’t ever admit it, but he missed this. Dexter tastes like toothpaste, minty and stingy, making him want to lick it right off. He gets his nose on the base of his neck, inhales the cleanness of the ginger. It’s heady, knowing he’s showered probably just for him. Makes him want to ravage him right there. Dexter makes a small noise when he bites down on his collarbone through his shirt.

“I think we should clear something up” he hears himself say, right into his skin.

“Like what?” Dexter mumbles. He raises his head and looks right into his eyes.

“I’m not going to babysit you” he tells him seriously.

Dexter snorts like he just told a very funny joke. “You are not fucking babysitting me”

“This is purely physical,” he says, leaning over and licking his ear, feeling him squirm “I don’t owe you shit.” 

“I don’t owe you shit” Dexter says, now annoyed.

“Yeah, exactly. So don’t try and act like we’re friends now.” It’s good saying it out loud, makes him calmer about the whole thing. Dexter rolls his eyes like he’s being dumb, which is good. If he asked for something more things would be truly awkward.

“Can we go to the bedroom now?” Dexter asks, like he’s asking for the time.

James sighs. Like he’s going to say no to that.

Chapter Text

It’s been a long week and he still doesn't get Doakes. He’s ignored him for a week (thank you very much for that, actually), only to meet him now like nothing happened. He's not complaining, just would like to see things clearer. Trying to get on his good side has been useless. After last Saturday and the strange way he cared for him he really thought a romantic relationship was what Doakes was after, which seemed like a pain in the ass honestly. Now he doesn't think so anymore. Just sex. It's good, that's something he understands better than romance, even if he doesn’t really, not that much. Still, the way Doakes looks at him… it's just confusing. 

Tonight is just completely selfish. He didn’t have to call Doakes, to have him over isn’t a part of his plan. He’s not following him anymore, at least hasn’t since the weekend, and he’s been able to focus on his plan to get out of the FBI's sight with no problem at all. Having the whole week to himself, no shadow to look out for it’s freeing. So it’s not like he needs to bring Doakes even closer. A part of him excuses it by thinking of all the ways he could use him in the future, but that’s not even urgent. What’s urgent is to get rid of the FBI, so it’s better if Doakes stays on the sidelines for this. He can deal with him later. 

Dexter knows he’s shaved some of the suspicions away from the detective, so why call him now? It’s been a while since he’s drawn blood and the Dark Passenger is already gnawing at him. If he wanted to know for sure it’d be along the lines of having a distraction. Having Doakes touch him is just what he needed. It’s comfortable, not having someone expect something else from him.

They’re in the bedroom already; Dexter is laying in bed almost on top of James who’s touching him like he’s longed for this, like he needed it days ago. He understands the feeling, can make sense of it, which is something he won’t stop to think about for too long. The point is, it feels good. Doakes moves his hands lower, grabbing his ass. It’s very tempting to bite his lips, only to make him mad. They make out for a while, he can feel the need in his touch, eager to grab him and kiss him. It’s fine, nice even now. Doakes moves up suddenly, putting his hands on his chest, moving to lick under his clavicle. Dexter wonders if he’s fucking someone else. That would explain why he hasn’t fucked him yet. He hasn’t even asked to, which seems weird. If the goal here is to just have sex, they are moving very slow. He’s fine with it, doesn’t even know if he wants to try it since he knows which role he’d play, but it feels almost insulting that it’s never been mentioned. He’s watching James take off his shirt when the words just blurt out of him.

“You ever fuck someone?” It's a thought that's been spinning in his head recently, like a fly buzzing near his ears.

“Huh?” Dokes turns to him, pausing for a moment looking confused. He’s staring at him like he’s crazy, so maybe that wasn’t the best line to open up. Especially not when he just told me this means absolutely nothing. Just great.

“I'm just curious,” he explains quickly, trying to backtrack. Doakes looks amused all of the sudden, which is not the reaction he thought he’d get, honestly. “What?”

“Are you asking me if I’m a virgin?”

He snorts at that, putting his head on the other’s shoulders. It’s ridiculous to picture Doakes as a virgin, especially since he’s taught him so many things these last few weeks. He can feel James laughing under him.

“No, no no-” he says into his shoulder, trying to stop the funny thing his face is doing, “I meant like… I don’t know, do you even do that? Like with a boyfriend?” 

Doakes stops laughing at that and frowns his eyebrows. “I’m not that kind of gay”

Dexter looks back at him, sensing the changed mood. He looks him up and down, not moving a muscle “Thought you weren't homophobic” he says, trying to get him. Doakes himself said it the night this all started, at the club. So getting jumpy about the word boyfriend is just not logical, not to Dexter anyway.

The other rolls his eyes at him, pulling away a bit. He’s almost sitting now, looking at Dexter who is beside him, half lying on the bed. “I’m not. I don't date men, though” he says, looking very awkward. 

“So you just fuck them?” he insists. It makes sense with Doakes, giving how he presents himself in such a straight alpha male way. Before meeting him at that gay club he’d never have even suspected he swung that way.

Doakes sighs, bothered now, “Yeah. Why are you asking so many questions? Just lay back and let me suck your dick”

It’s funny how ironic it is, that he can’t stand the word boyfriend but he’s got no problem with sucking off another man. “You know how?” he insists, ignoring the way Doakes is starting to undo his pants. He helps him a bit by lifting his hips. It's a very nice sensation the way his hands feel up his thighs as he pushes the fabric down. 

Doakes frowns, like he’s getting tired of the talking. “Are you asking if I know how to fuck?” he asks loudly, raising an eyebrow. Dexter is getting frustrated too, Doakes can’t be that dumb to not know what he’s hinting about. He’s done trying to decode what he wants from him. Maybe being direct is the way to go if he actually wants to get somewhere with the man.

“Yeah. Like, men .” I can’t believe I’m having to explain this.

There’s a pause where Dexter is sure Doakes is about to hit him. His face doesn’t say a thing, it’s eerie how still he’s for a moment. To his amazement James shakes his head in disbelief, like he just figured something out. He looks right at him with a smirk on his face. “Jesus Dexter, start there yeah?”

Weirdly he can see James knows now what he’s really asking. It’s strange how his eyes change one moment to the other, interested now no longer bored. “What?”

Doakes chuckles, as he sits up fully against the bed frame. “I thought you were asking another thing.” 

Dexter doesn’t really get the joke, but it’s curious watching amusement light up his face. It’s so unlike his usually annoyed-at-the-world expression “Oh. Sorry.”

“It's okay. I get it” He’s got a softer look now, like he understands. Dexter blinks slowly, tries to follow the thread, but he’s suddenly lost. He didn’t know there was anything to get. “Why you ask?” James says, very stupidly as he knows exactly why he’s asking. He’s not going to drag himself through the ground to get fucked, so he just keeps silent. 

“Why do you want to know?” Doakes repeats, this time lowering his tone like he's spelling it out for him. If he wasn’t so fucking great at whatever this is, I would’ve killed him already. Doakes is lucky I’m curious about this.

“Well, you'd know what to do right? If you wanted to fuck me?” he retorts, expecting a clear answer now. If James doesn’t want to fuck is fine by him, one thing less to worry about, he just wants to know if that’s expected.

Doakes eyes widen at that. “Fuck Dexter-” he chokes out, like he never expected to hear that from him. Dexter is proud he’s made him fumble like that. If the idiot is going to be embarrassed about stupid societal taboos, that’s his problem.

“You okay there?” he asks with a deadpan look, enjoying the way James is struggling to breathe. 

James chuckles a bit “Fuck you, just-, you're too fucking direct”

“Sorry” He takes a double look at the man, grinning. He’s not sorry at all.

Doakes suddenly moves them both, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him up to his lap. He’s sitting astride him before he knows it. James looks at him like he knows what he’s thinking. 

“Yeah I would know what the fuck to do.” he whispers right into his lips. They’re not kissing yet, but still their mouths almost touch. Neither will move it seems, certainly not Dexter. He’s just waiting for James to break. His eyes go dark when Dexter grinds down. James puts a hand on his back pressing against him. He lets James kiss him for a second, enjoying the way he seeks his tongue, pressing closer against him. When Dexter pulls back, James looks at him hungrily “You ever done that?”

“No.” He tells him plainly. He knows James’ getting off on this scenario, can feel it in the way his hips move up, trying to grind against him when he hears the answer. It’s convenient that he’s got no clue about having sex with men, since he’s so eager to teach him.

“We don’t have to. If you don’t want to.” he whispers into his ears, but he can see right through him. It’s clear he wants to, so fucking clear that it’s a mystery why he hasn’t tried to before, why he’s waited for him to bring it up instead.

“Do you even want to fuck me?” he asks anyway, faking a pout just to rile him up. He knows James is finding the whole exchange annoying (he does as well, not gonna lie), putting on the fake innocent work facade is just going to get him angry, which he deserves for being.

“Do I really need to answer that?” It’s weirdly satisfying feeling his hands tighten around his hips, pushing down. Doakes still has his pants on, dark straight jeans held on by a brown belt. He appreciates the view. 

“You never ask if you can fuck me.” James ignores him, moving to kiss him. He pulls back harshly, refusing him until he tells him. They hold a stare for what feels too long before he breaks.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” James sighs and moves his hands to his thighs, feeling them up and down. He looks at him again, holds his stare with no problem. It’s a while before he actually says it, Dexter can see him debating whether to follow his game. Finally, he puts a hand down the front of his boxers and gives in, “Can I fuck you?”

The fact that the man who's hated him to the core the last few months is so eager to convince him, to please him this much, makes him feel powerful. He’s won again, he really still has it. He moans a bit, grinding up his hips trying to get a bit of friction. James is like a fucking wall, unmoving under him. “Well I don’t know,” he pants out “How would that work?”

“I’d prepare you first, with my fingers,” he says as he starts moving his hands under his boxers. 

“Fingers?” he asks, leaning over to put his head on his shoulder. It does make sense for the logistics of it, but he isn’t sure how enjoyable it would be, for the person being fingered that is. Still, if people do it repeatedly, it must be something there to enjoy. He hears James’ chest rise and fall, they’re very close, skin to skin. He’s almost mumbling the words right into his ear, he can hear the amusement. “What do you think, that I'd just stick it in there? No prep?”

The whole concept is foreign to him, maybe he should’ve done a bit more research before this. Not like I planned getting fucked tonight, god. It’s almost funny. “I don't know. I've never been fucked before.” he says, looking pointed look.

“You have to try it,” he says, moving his hips suggestively.

“Have you?”

James looks away for a second, but doesn’t shy away from the question. “Yeah. Don't really like it. For me.”

“Oh.” to imagine Doakes like that it’s almost impossible, it feels out of character for him somehow. There’s not much time to think about it, since James starts touching him again.

“You want me to touch you here?” he asks, putting his other hand down the back of his boxers. He feels his hand separate his asscheeks slightly, it’s weird and dry but the other hand jerking him slowly makes it better. He nods anyway, even if it doesn’t feel that good. If this is something people like to do, he’s still to see the reason. When he feels a finger rub right against his hole, his hips move up a little, can’t help but squirm a bit to the strange touch.

“You’ve got to relax,” James says, moving his hips down again firmly. He kisses him a bit, not moving his hand again, just his lips over his, licking over like he’s got all the time in the world. Dexter sighs against him and moves his thighs forward so he’s even closer to him. James slips his hand off his groin, grabs at his neck instead while his other hand is still right there against his ass. He moans at the loss, even if feeling his erection against James’ feels better not caring it’s just over the fabric of his jeans. “You wanna try? Just fingers” he asks as he grabs his ass with both hands, making Dexter let out a small sound.

He reckons the worst that could happen is that he actually hates it, and he knows he can stop this any moment, so he just nods, making a small mhm. Apparently it’s enough for Doakes, who just pulls him closer, kissing him again. His tongue licks over his lips softly before he puts his lips on him, locking his mouth over his like they’ve done this a thousand times. There’s a sense of calmness that he’s conveying into the kiss, rubs his hands over his shoulder plates as well like he’s trying to smooth the process. It feels patronising so he tries to deepen the kiss, putting some bite into it. He reaches for his hips as he kisses him, trying to get the belt undone but James puts hand on his forearm, stopping his movements before he can get it off. Instead he kisses him deeper, his tongue pushing against his forcefully. James grabs him by the hips again, pulling him up towards him so they are almost chest to chest. It’s nice, very nice, but the point of it escapes him. James did mention fingering him just now, so why he’d drag it out is a fucking mystery. With a swift move he lifts his hips a bit, trying to get back to the belt. James gets his hand again, this time pulls it up and lets it go forcefully against his body, making a dry sound when it hits his body. Dexter bites his upper lip at that, trying to get him to hurry. He doesn’t draw blood, doesn’t even leave a mark really, but James pulls back anyway. With a hard look he grabs him by the hips again, turning them around so he’s laying just above him locking him in place.

Yeah, it’s good. He’s got a perfect view of James now, who’s staring at him from above with a reprimanding look. If it’s meant to be a warning look, it’s not really working with the way he can’t breathe evenly. The distance now makes him shiver, feeling cold. He follows the line of James’ shoulders, appreciates the hard muscle, his arms… When he finally starts undoing the damned belt, he follows the movement of his hand with his eyes too. It’s not long before his pants are discarded, next to Dexter’s. He can tell James’ hard under his briefs, the shadow of his cock is very visible against the white fabric. He puts his hands on James’ jaw reaching for him. Their lips lock as James pulls his bodyweight right into him, kissing him slowly again. It feels nice, feeling the weight over him, caging him between his arms. James is like a giant pillow enveloping him, even his lips feel comfortable against his. He’s hard too, straining against his boxers. James starts grinding his hips down, the thin fabric of their underwear lets him feel everything which is heady. He’s got his hands holding James’ face, probably will leave a mark if he keeps holding on like that, but the tongue invading his mouth is the only thing he can think about. 

Pulling back for air, Dexter throws his head in the pillow and finally lets go of the other’s face. His lips feel bruised and used. It’s satisfying to see the redness underlying the dark skin and know it’s his own doing. His own mark. James breathes heavily and pulls back as well, pausing for a second.

“Is this gonna take forever?” he asks, staring at Doakes as blankly as he can.

James just sighs and reaches to squeeze his face between his fingers. “What’s the fucking rush, eh?”

“I’m getting bored here” he says after removing James’ hand forcefully and grinding his hips up. Even if it’s not remotely true, watching James frown once again is worth it.

“You’re an impatient one, aren’t you?” he asks, very rhetorically given how he’s rolling his eyes, like he’s done with the topic. “Wait,” James sits back, pushing off of him. Dexter tries to sit up as well, but a hand to his chest lays him flat on his back again. He fights against the hand not really trying, just to be contrary. James’ stares menacingly at him for a moment putting more force into his hold, so he just gives in and sinks into the bed. Their breaths finally even, he can feel the gaze go through his body thoroughly. “Stay there” he orders, squeezing his ribs tightly as a warning. When he lets go, Dexter is almost tempted to sit up, just for the sake of it. 

Doakes doesn’t take long, reaches in the drawer for the lube and returns to him like he never left, hugging his body again. He licks at his neck, probably will leave a bruise but he doesn’t care since his hands are on his boxers, pulling them down and away. He can’t look away when Doakes slicks his hand with the lube, spreading it with his fingers to warm it up. For a second he wishes he’d take off his briefs too, which is weird because he’s never wanted to see just for the sake of it. He feels the blood rush down in an instant when James takes him in his hand, making himself lean back even further into the mattress with a deep moan. His fist is slick and wet now, just the right pressure. 

James surely enjoys the sounds he’s making since he’s looking smug and too sure of himself, “Open your legs” he tells him firmly, pushing himself up to his elbows just so he can stare down right into his eyes. Dexter isn’t great at reading people just by looking at them– but this, he understands. This time Dexter doesn’t hesitate. He spreads his legs with no second thought, pulling his head back daringly. James turns up the corner of his mouth, amused, as he lowers himself to get between his thighs. He pulls under his knees and makes his legs bend a bit, grabbing under his thighs burrowing his fingers deep into the skin. He can feel the lube spreading all over his thighs, James’ making a fucking mess out of it. 

“Can you fuck-ing get on- ah with it?” he’s having trouble getting the words out, the way his hands edge closer to his bottom. His legs part further, without even realizing what he’s doing. James looks down expressionless for a second before reaching for the lube again. 

“You really are a fucking bother,” he says, as he coats his hand for the second time. His hand goes down between his legs before he can start listing all the ways he’s been a ‘fucking bother’ himself. He shuts his jaw tightly, his legs trying to shut themself on instinct when he feels a wet finger rubbing in circles just over his hole. James holds his legs apart with his other hand, just keeps on caressing. It feels too much right away, so he looks up trying to hold his breath.

“Are you going to listen now?” James asks, making a circle, slow and easy. His head is blissfully silent, only the touch of that fucking finger flowing through his body. James pushes in, just a bit. It doesn’t hurt at all, it’s just weird. The spot inside his thigh where James is slowly touching with his other hand feels like it’s burning. “Open your eyes”

Dexter does as he’s told, didn’t even realize he closed them in the first place. James is looking at him from between his legs, it feels like too much space from before. It’s only the intrusion, getting deeper as James pushes further until there's nowhere else to go. 

“How does it feel?” he asks like his life depends on it. There's an edge to his voice that hasn't been there before. 

“Like there’s a finger up my ass” is the only thing he can answer, truthfully.

“Okay smartass” he says, removing the finger suddenly. 

“What–” 

“Shut up” he says, grabbing the lube once more. He leans back on his ankles and rubs his fingers together warming up the lube. Dexter keeps laying there, watching his body. He really is a fine man, hard lines everywhere. He follows down his body, the trail of hair that leads to his groin is tempting.

“Fuck you,” he barks when the other leans over again, grabbing his face with the unlubed hand. Before he can continue insulting him the other hand is between his legs once more, this time two fingers pushing in, “James–”

“You wanna stop?”

“ Ugh- no, keep,” he starts, but he can’t finish the sentence. He just lays still, enjoying the slight pain his fingers drag out of him as they penetrate him. If this is what it’s supposed to feel like, he kind of gets why people do it. Everything is blank, there’s only the burning feeling of James fingers moving inside of him. His voice feels weak, “it’s good.”

“Okay, yeah” he whispers back, leaning a bit over him. Dexter reaches for him, pushing himself on his elbows to kiss him. James grabs his neck as he fingers him, the change in angle makes it deeper. Dexter moans when he curls his fingers upwards with no warning. Groaning right into his mouth, James follows the line of his neck until he finds his jaw, pushing it down between his index and thumb. He pulls back from the kiss, just keeps his mouth open pushing his fingers up and down, slowly. His face feels hot, can’t keep his eyelids open. Just as he thinks that's it, a flash goes through his body like lightning. He moans like it's dragged down from him, feeling good.

“Found it” Doakes smirks, eyes narrowing.

“What do y– ahhh” there's that feeling again, James is doing something with his fingers he doesn't understand.

“What the fuck?” he manages to let out. His thighs are starting to shake.

“Huh?” James isn't even looking at him anymore, he's staring down focused on what's happening below.

“Why– It feels good, fuck , why is it good?”

“You didn't think it'd feel good?”

“Uh-uh”

“Why the fuck did you ask me to do this then?” he says loudly, looking confused. The fingering isn’t stopping either it's maddening feeling the wet fingers bringing him to absolute bliss. It's violent in a way he feels like letting go.

“Don't know, thought you'd want to- ahh”

“You really are fucked up”

“James” he whines between his teeth. He can't focus on anything but the feelings James is coaxing out of him as he curls his fingers inside of him.

“Fuck Dexter- you look so good like this. You like my fingers in you yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah it's -” he can't even talk, just wants to drown in the waves of pleasure he's feeling.

“I knew you'd be good, take it so well” he tells him, curling his fingers right into the fight spot. Dexter can't shut his mouth for the life of him, he's a fucking mess. It's too much and not enough. Hearing James talking makes it better, like he knows just what to say so his body gets hot “I'm gonna add another finger, okay?”

Dexter just nods, too weak to talk. When James pulls his fingers away he feels strangely empty. Looking down he watches as James coats his hand in lube again (he's going to empty the whole thing at this pace), his chest moving up and down like crazy. He's hard, painfully hard and didn't even notice it. Three fingers is better, much better. James' stretching him open, he feels how he's moving his fingers inside of him insistent like a fucking clock. The pain is completely gone, there's only pleasure. His hip starts moving by itself, can't really stop fucking himself back against his fingers. He can't help but pant everytime James hits the spot. It feels electric and intense, like nothing he's felt before. Now I get why people like this.

“Look at you so well behaved” he whines at the words, grabs the sheets when James rubs his fingertips inside him, over and over in circles. James is struggling to breathe too, which is something “You deserve something don't you?” 

James reaches for his cock, just drags his fingers over it. He's leaking like crazy which is something that hardly never happens, especially without touching his dick at all. The combination of the hand still fucking him restlessly and the other jerking him slowly makes him numb. It's perfect. 

“You gonna come for me?,” he asks, as he twists his hand slightly, moving faster. The fingers inside him stop completely, he just rubs that spot again and again, making him whine loudly. He's coming all over his stomach before he knows it. The waves of pleasure seem never ending, he's shaking all over like a leaf. James keeps jerking him off until it's over, until it's too much. His heart is racing, eyes shut tightly. 

“ Fuuuck ” he whispers as he tries to get his breath even again. 

“You okay?”

When he opens his eyes James is looking at him hungrily. He's got that look on his face, like he knows what he's going to do next. Dexter finally looks down. He's naked, must've discarded his briefs at some point. It's baffling he was so out of it he didn't even notice. He’s still shaking a bit, his jaw is trembling too. James starts touching himself slowly, as he looks down at him. It's not hard to know what he's thinking as his free hand returns to his legs again, touching the red skin between his thighs. It's sensitive, especially when he gets near his ass. James is moaning softly, not looking away for a second. 

With a soft sound he comes, adding to the mess between them. Dexter just lays there, still breathing unevenly.

Dexter wakes up at dawn. He should sleep a bit more, can’t be more than six hours since he fell asleep, but his mind is restless. Doakes is by his side, snoring a bit. Last night he cleaned them up and just stayed there. Dexter was too out of it to notice, but he doesn’t really care. He’s turned in his side, an arm across his chest as he snores lightly. He observes him for a bit, thinking. There’s a sense of calmness inside him he’s been craving lately, the focus is coming back to him. If he can get Doakes to trust him he’s going to be very useful later on, even for the Bay Harbor Butcher case. It would be a waste to frame him when things are going this good between them. A few weeks back he'd kill him himself, now he selfishly wants to keep this. Getting to know him has been eye opening. Doakes is a good man, he can appreciate that. Sunlight is filtering through the blinds, making Doakes’ skin glow. He finds he doesn’t mind having him beside him. He’s content, as if the light at the end of the tunnel is finally coming through.

A quick shower and he's ready for the day. When he gets back to the room, Doakes is still asleep. He tries to get some clothes from the closet, makes as little noise as he can, but not everything. 

“What time is it?” Doakes looks up at him from the bed, eyes closing tiredly. 

Dexter sighs, “Almost seven. You can go back to sleep” 

“It’s too damn early” he complains, putting his hands over his head, like it's a very hard thing to do, wake up.

“I have things to do”

Doakes sighs deeply, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. “Okay” he says, sitting up as he throws the deets aside.

Dexter frowns, stopping on his tracks “What are you doing?”

“Waking up. If you insist on being up so early I’m getting some coffee and then we’ll go together, find out all about what you gotta do on a fucking Saturday.”

“Like a date?” It's so easy to tease Doakes like this, just hinting at it is enough for him to fluster. It's actually fun to see it.

“Fucking–”

“Don’t worry Sarg, I know you meant like stalking. You really like that don’t you?”

Doakes is annoyed, he can tell, and it feels very satisfying to be the cause “You’re sick in the head, you know that?”

Yeah, I know I am.  Dexter puts a shirt over his head and keeps on getting ready. “Go back to sleep if you’re tired”

“You’re going to join me?” he asks, still half sitting on the bed.

“No-”

Doakes leaves the room without waiting for an answer. He hears him moving around the kitchen. Sighing he finishes getting dressed and starts changing the sheets. It’s a mess of a bed, should’ve definitely changed them before. When he gets to the kitchen, Doakes is sitting down, a mug in his hand. There’s another one on the counter, waiting for him. He’s got the same clothes as yesterday, checking his phone.

“That’s for me?”

“Mhm” he doesn’t look up from the phone. Dexter sits down and takes a sip from his coffee. Not the usual way he takes it, but it’ll do. It’s nice, being quiet like this, at least while it lasts. 

When the phone rings, he knows what it is immediately. It's funny watching Doakes startle when his own cell starts ringing.

“Fuck, it's too early”

For once, Dexter agrees. A random crime scene isn’t how he wanted to spend this particular morning “Saturday too” he mumbles to himself. 

With a groan, Doakes gulps down his coffee “Is it far then?”

He shakes his head “Gotta be there before eight”

Doakes sighs and turns to leave his mug on the sink. “Fucking- gimme a shirt” he barks, looking expectantly at Dexter. The silence was nice while it lasted, given how annoying Doakes can be the minute his mouth opens. He’s got that very unfortunate defect to make anything turn into an order.

“What?” he spits out, just to be annoying himself.

“A shirt, are you deaf? Can't be wearing the same shit than yesterday”

It makes sense, still he doesn't understand why he’s the one who’s probably going to get  shirt stolen. He keeps a change of clothes in his car, it’s not that difficult to be prepared “They're in the closet.”

Doakes walks away to the bedroom, mumbling something he doesn't understand, probably nothing, just empty complaints. He follows behind him, because it still doesn’t feel right to have someone walking about his home. It's weird having him over again, annoying even given how carelessly he's searching through his clothes.

“- don't you have a normal shirt, these are all- nevermind” he rambles, picking up a dark blue polo “this will have to do”

He’s searching in the drawer where he puts all the stuff he doesn’t really wear anymore, ragged shirts and stuff, but he’s not about to tell him. “Sorry I don't have your style, Sarg, I know you're into fashion” he says, just to get him mad. 

Doakes face screws up in a grimace. “Shut your mouth Morgan” Without dropping his eyes off him, he takes his shirt off to put on the other. The fabric hugs his body tightly even though it’s baggy on him.

“Not a fucking word to anyone when we get there.” he warns him, which is dumb. If he can keep his mouth shut about being a serial killer he’s pretty sure he can hide this.

“Dexter, where the fuck are you? There’s a lot of blood here, we needed you like yesterday”

Debra is yelling at him through the phone. He’s driving to the scene as he listens to the many reasons why he’s got to be there faster than light. She’s not wrong, this is exactly his thing and he probably should be there already, but watching Doakes' car in front of him makes it weird. 

They arrive almost together, Dexter’s tailed Doakes to the location, as it isn't that far from his apartment complex, just a ten minute drive.

“Yeah, just got the call I had to rush” he tells her, turning a corner.

“Just come find me when you get here”

“I’m pulling up, see you in a minute”

Hanging up he pulls up to the makeshift parking lot the police have done in the perimeter.

Doakes is waiting outside of his car when he parks. Getting out of the car he starts walking over to the scene, not waiting for the other who follows closely behind him.

“What do you think it is?” Doakes asks as they step in. There are lots of cars all around, police mostly, cutting off the street.

“Maybe some type of adjustment. I think the bullet is engraved, Masuka texted me. Have to do a ballistics later”

James smirks and nods his head “Wanna bet?” 

Dexter snorts at the proposition. Doakes is kind of fun when he's not calling him a freak 24/7. Deb is there, he can see her observing the body with Batista. She doesn't even acknowledge him at first, too busy looking at her notes. Doakes stands at his side, watching the body in front of them carefully. “So, what do we have here?” 

It's really bloody, Debra didn't lie. The body is on the ground, like a lifeless puppet. Before Debra states the facts Dexter is already picturing the murder very clearly. Blood doesn't lie, after all.

“White male. Young adult, shot in the neck. Right through his main artery–” Debra stops suddenly when she looks up at them, but her focus is on Doakes, staring right into him as this is the first time seeing him. “I-” She turns her head then like a flash to stare at Dexter, like he’s grown another head “Dex, a quick word over there?”

He can feel Doakes frowning, of course he's noticed Debra ogling him, doesn’t even have to check if he's looking. Debra grabs him by the arm and pulls him away from the body where they can't hear them. 

“Why is Doakes wearing your fucking shirt?” Her eyes are big like plates, and even though she’s whispering, it’s just too loud.

Fuck. “What?”

“I fucking gave you that shirt!”

“Oh, really?” he asks, trying to come up with something “I had it in the truck, he needed it”

“He needed it?” she asks, like he’s grown another head.

“Morgan, stop talking and get back to work, the two of you” LaGuerta says as she passes them. She’s just arrived as well, the whole team is here, and Dexter is saved. Debra isn’t going to let go of the issue, so he has the right amount of time to come up with something to justify why his stalker is wearing his fucking shirt. 

Great. I really didn't think this through.

Chapter Text

A sunny and warm day is coming. He feels the light breeze of the wind through his shirt, it makes him shiver a bit even though it’s not cold at all. Dexter appreciates the coolness of the mornings, before the sun makes it so hot and humid. Perfect time to get some good photos. The corpse in front of him would disagree, of course. It’s a clean shot, perfectly placed to hit the right vein so he'd bleed out. Went in and out like butter. If it was another day, he probably would enjoy this much better. It’s a waste, really, to not be able to really focus on the dead body. The pressure of having your cop sister suddenly caught up in your very secretive homosexual affair makes it difficult to enjoy. This is just another problem he really didn’t need. As he takes photos of the body he doesn’t dare to look back at his sister not that far behind him. He is aware of the hole Debra is drilling in the back of his skull.

Through his camera he focuses on the face. Lifeless eyes look back at him, telling him nothing at all. He wonders what particular situation brought him to this end. If dead people talked he’d probably tell him a story of deception and sabotage. If this goes bad I may end up just like you buddy, he thinks as he observes him.

Doakes is talking to LaGuerta, not that far from him. The body lays on the street, next to one of the many palm trees that line up the street, so the shade protects them from the sun. The Sergeant is back on, conversing with the Lieutenant like nothing had happened, as if he isn't wearing a shirt from the same man he used to stalk. It’s ironic he accuses Dexter of wearing a mask when, in his own way, he wears one too. He sighs as he stares down at the goddamned shirt. There was no way of knowing it was one of Debra’s presents. There’s nothing special about the shirt either, nothing that stands out in a crowd. It's got a weird logo in the chest, like an acorn split in two, but that’s it. The color is a deep blue, like a toned down neon. Anyone could have this particular shirt. He could’ve shut up, but he admitted it, now there’s no turning back from the fact that Doakes is indeed wearing his shirt. I’ve got a feeling Debra would’ve pulled a reason why the shirt definitely belongs to me anyway.

A long whistle interrupts him. Masuka is standing by his side, a bag of evidence in hand. He’s looking back, watching how Debra’s talking to the detectives.

“What’d you do, man? Debra’s giving off serious walk-in freezer vibes.”

There's a long pause after he lowers his camera. He gives him a look, waiting for the realization to come in. Masuka doesn't even blink, unaware of the meaning of what he just said.

When it's clear he's not going to notice he just points it out. “That was a low blow,”

Masuka opens his eyes wide like a kicked puppy, like he suddenly realized what he’s said. It’s not like he’s offended by the words, not the way Debra probably would be if she was the one to hear it, but it’s an easy way to get rid of Masuka. It’s getting annoying to be seen this much, if he wants to make it right he doesn’t need another person all up in his business. 

He walks away, not waiting to hear more from Vince. He’s taken the shots he needs for the lab work, so the job is finished, he just has to get this to the lab and that’d be it. 

“Didn’t mean it like that!” he hears faintly behind him as he walks away from the palm trees. He really didn't, Dexter knows that, but he’s got to make him back off. He’s got enough with two pairs of eyes on him. Debra is on the other side of the scene, standing with Batista. She’s looking right at him with that menacing ‘I’m getting to the root of this’ look that’s got her to where she is in life. To know it’s directed at him is very dangerous.

Please, just don't ruin this for me.

“We're talking later” she yells, as he passes them to get to his car. He waves at her with his middle and index finger pressed close, smiling with his lips tightly.

As he reaches the car zone down the closed street, he spots Doakes following behind him. Of course, this will have to be dealt with too. Doakes is throwing him a very bad look, understandable if he takes into account the issues he's seem to have with people knowing he's into men. This really could set them back to the starting point, especially if his sister gets in the way and starts snooping around.

Most of the police are getting back already too, some to the station, some going back home to rest. It's the weekend, after all, so everyone is wishing to be in a different place. He can certainly empathize with that. 

“What the hell was that with your sister?”

Doakes catches him by his car, puts a hand on him and just gives it all away like he always does. He'd be lying if that was a surprise too. It’s only luck that there’s no one else close enough to hear them, because Doakes doesn't know how to speak without yelling.

“Yeah, gruesome I know. I think it shook her up a bit,” he says, casually, like he's talking about the weather. Maybe he's messed up big time here, but at least he gets to put that incredulous look on Doakes.

“I'm going to fucking kill you, Morgan. What did your sister say?”

He smiles politely, “I think that's between her and me”

Doakes snorts and lets go of his arm, getting closer. Dexter takes a step back.

“Don't start with that shit. I swear to God -”

“I've got this” he tells him slowly, not looking away once. It should feel intense, to hold the stare for so long but he can't look elsewhere. He’s got to calm him down. If he can control this reaction he will be able to use him in the future. It’s about power, sure; but the way Doakes looks back like he’s got him all figured out, eyes half closed and burrowing his nose in that half smirk, makes him painfully aware of how handsome he really is.

“Morgan-”

“You're making a fucking scene, if you want to be discreet just calm the fuck down” he whispers between his teeth. The tension is palpable between them. Doakes shuts up for a second, which is good, very good that he’s listening.

“Look- Look” he continues, even when the other rolls his eyes at him “I’ve got this. You said I could trust you? I’m telling you the same”

Doakes looks him up and down and takes a step back. The tension breaks a little.

“Fucking hell–”

“I know my sister. Don’t worry.”

Doakes finally nods faintly.

“This isn't over” he warns him, putting a finger in his chest. Somehow it grounds him. Doakes doesn’t seem to know Debra knowing is the smallest of the issues, in the grand picture.

He walks away. Dexter doesn’t wait before getting in his car and starting the engine. He’s spent enough time around cops.

Debra shows up that afternoon. He's been researching his own copycat. He's got a lead on them, knows he's got to be linked to Miami Metro. He knows things about the case, more than he should. There’s no way he’d be able to recreate his ritual so perfectly. She barges in like it's her place slamming the door after herself, which is annoying but that's Deb right there. 

“Thanks for knocking” Dexter closes down the computer immediately. Debra just stands there with her hands on her hips and scoffs. “No really, sweet gesture”

She rolls her eyes and stays put for a minute, as if she's waiting for something. It's unsettling that she's so silent. He's got to be thankful the stakes of her finding out about Doakes are not as high as her finding out Dexter is the Bay Harbor Butcher.

“Okay bro, start spilling” he just stares at the sink with a pointed look at the open faucet. Debra sighs and closes it with an exaggerated hand movement “It’s off, go on”

He sighs, sitting down on a stool “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Want a beer?”

She doesn't hesitate to walk to the fridge and get two out, handing him one.

“Fucking yeah. And you know what I’m talking about” 

He shakes his head as he opens the bottle, “Mmh, no, I really don’t know”

Debra snorts and throws her head back, flipping her hair. It’s clear she doesn’t believe him. “Yeah, okay, let's just recap, you and Doakes arrive together, right? And he's just casually wearing a shirt I’ve never seen you in since –never!”

“I had it at the back of my car, it’s not- And it could’ve been his, you’re not the only one who gets their clothes from Macy's”

She rolls her eyes, rolling up her sleeves “It’s from the sports team I had in college. It has the fucking logo! Fuck Dexter, sometimes I don’t know if you have memory problems or if you just don’t give a shit.” She shakes her head, incredulous.

“Okay, that’s not it, you know that” If he had to care for someone it would be Debra. She’s the only one who remembers Harry like he does. She kind of understands, has been by her side all of her life. There are moments where he imagines how it’d be like, loving his sister like a normal brother would. To lie and hide behind a mask in fear of getting found out is something he'll probably do forever.

“If you have to know, we had a fight-”

Her mouth opens likes she's surprised, “What the fuck do you mean a fight?”

“It wasn't a big deal, we talked it off”

“You talked Doakes out of a fight?” she asks, unbelieving.

“Wasn't a fight-”

“You just said it was!”

“Not exactly, we just- we're not that different, if he wasn't that fixated in my supposedly criminal activities we could get along, actually” Debra snorts, amused at the unintended sarcasm. “He’s just tired of the FBI getting all up on our business. I get that”

“Yeah, except you didn't torture people for a living before you worked here!”

“I work with dead people” he deadpans. Whatever turn of faith has him trying to convince Debra he could be a killer too is just too complex for him to understand. “Lundy is getting to your head”

She punches him in the arm, giving him a look. Typical.

“I have eyes too. And there is too much evidence that-”

He snorts, “What evidence is there, exactly? Cause I haven't seen anything solid up to now, enlighten me if there's something else I should know”

“Not like that” That's a relief  “But you know what I mean” she says as if he can read her mind.

“No, I don't actually”

“Don't get too close. He might not be who you think he is.” She pauses for a second, purses her lips unsure. Taking a deep breath, she lowers her tone, “Doakes could be the Butcher, Dexter. I don't know if you've made that connection, but Lundy is pretty sure of it.”

There's something behind her eyes, a fear he recognizes instantly. He can see her remembering the one who hurt her. She's thinking of Brian, how he deceived her so deeply. It's strange to think how differently they remember him.

“You’re projecting” he says, uncomfortable by the topic. If she's comparing whatever he is doing with Doakes to her relationship with ‘Rudy’, it's just very disturbing. Judging by the look on her face, he's probably said the wrong thing. Backtracking, it's probably the worst choice of words he could've chosen. “Sorry I-, I wasn't thinking” he tries to amend quickly. Debra rolls her eyes and starts pacing around the small space of the kitchen.

“You never think” she retorts, very severely.

“It’s not like that, anyways.” he says, trying to get back on track. Talking about Brian will only lead to trouble. He's better tucked in the remotest corner of their minds, like it never happened. 

Debra pauses and looks right at him like he's piqued her interest just now. “Like what?”

“Like friends ” he says, hoping she'll realize. She purses her lips for a second and narrows her eyes. She's in police mode which feels weird since it's Dexter's own personal life they're talking about. I wonder if a normal brother would just share his problems truthfully. If that's what normal people do it just seems too dangerous.

With a nod she makes up her mind, “So, when did this fight happen then?” she asks, as if she already knows the answer. 

“What? Yesterday.” He can't tell if she knows. There's no way that just because of a shirt her mind would go there. Dexter's been a hard set heterosexual for his whole life. That's how he's presented himself for years, so the change would be too crazy for Debra, he thinks. From her perspective he's just pursued women. Still, the look she has on makes him doubt.

“So you're going to go with that, huh?” 

Sighing, he runs his hand over his head, pulling his hair back. “Can you be fucking clear for once?”

She frowns, very fed up with his answer apparently. “You’re so fucking obvious sometimes, you don’t even know”

He doesn't have an answer for that so he just stays silent. Debra shakes her head and puts her beer down, “Look, I'm going to go deal with the Fernandez shit, call me when you aren't being this dense.”

She's out of the apartment in a flash. That was fast. What the fuck did that mean? How am I being obvious? Does she know? 

He sighs and stares at the half drunk beer on the counter.

On Monday afternoon Dexter goes out with his boat to the eastern bay. It’s silent in the Florida Keys, giving him time to reflect on his options. He’s done this route  maybe a thousand times. Inside, it’s restless. He’s got the need again, to feed the Dark Passenger inside. His head is too loud. It better not be long before he can kill again, or he might actually go insane. 

Last week, he visited Camilla. He really respects her loyalty to his father. She’s one of the few people who understands the kind of man Harry was. She's known him since childhood. Finding out the files of the Shipping Yard Massacre were just down at City Hall was just a very easy thing to get. A pack of her favorite donuts will do the trick, never fails. 

He obtained Santos Jimenez’s file from Francis, the records clerk at City Hall. He learned that the case is still open because Jimenez had turned state’s evidence. Now Jimenez lives in Naples, running a tavern, and probably thinks that after 34 years no one wants him dead. The clerk told him there was an audio tape of the informant in the case too, so he borrowed it immediately. 

Dexter listened to the tape in his office, dated Friday, Sept 28, 1973. It was surprising that the informant was his mother. He had a very eerie experience, listening clearly to the voice of someone he didn’t even remember fully. There were only flashes, quick portraits drawn in his mind very long ago. His father’s voice was different, he could picture his father talking. He sounded young, but it was the same man that raised him, he recognized him instantly. In the tapes Harry pressured his mother to find out when the next shipment of drugs was expected so that Estrada and his men could be arrested. Laura expressed her fear of being killed by them, but Harry reassured her that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her or her boys. We all know what happened next.  

He can’t stop thinking about it, ever since last week. It passes through his mind over and over again. Now that his life is hanging by a thread, he’s starting to question everything. Jimenez is still out there. It shouldn’t remove anything, since he’s got nothing to feel, but instead he was filled with so much anger he couldn’t think straight. He doesn’t know what to think about it. Now, watching the water he can’t think of anything else other than dismembering the man, bit by bit, making him suffer.

When he thinks about his father, this feels like a rebellion. The whole going after the men who killed his mother, having his whole body of work exposed to the world and the affair he’s having with a man would make him faint. Right now, he doesn’t care. He thinks of what James told him about his father, the night of his blackout. He wonders if he still loves his father, even after all the damage he did. It’s kinda freeing being able to be his own self with someone, even if he can’t actually explain why he does the things he does, nevertheless what is it what he actually does.

He gets his phone out to call Doakes. There’s something inside his chest that’s becoming larger every second that he spends thinking about it. It would be nice to just evade himself again. What he did last Friday was very nice after all.

“Here you go.”

Doakes is standing in the doorway, with the shirt in hand. He hands it out like it has lice in it. Taking it, he gets a look at the man. It's dark now, but he's stands out under the lights of the outside hall. He looks very handsome, put together as always. Dexter gets out of the way, closes the door after him. There’s no time for anything else, since Doakes goes right to straddle him between himself and the door. He’s kissing him in no time, slowly and surely, no questions asked. His tongue feels like silk, making his knees feel weak. The shirt slides right into the floor. Dexter sighs into his mouth, letting himself sink into the door and forget about anything else that isn’t James. He’s holding him by the hips, pushing him back firmly. He smells of fresh cologne, which is a sweet touch, to put it on at this time of the night, seemingly just to see him. He kisses him back fiercely, opening his mouth better, so he can put his tongue in. His head is blissfully silent again. 

“Wanna go to the bedroom?” Doakes asks, pulling back. It’s clear he doesn’t really want to talk either, which he can appreciate. Dexter nods, lets the other take his hand to guide him the few steps it takes to go into the bedroom.

Inside, they get undressed in a matter of seconds. It’s as if they are on the same page, knowing what the goal is here. Dexter can’t stop touching the other, his hand roams all over his back, his chest. It’s such a beautiful body, feels secure under him. He knows he can't break him, so he lets him be rough.

James lies them on the bed, puts their cocks together in one hand and starts jerking them together immediately. His hand feels rough against his sensitive skin, but the way their cocks rub against each other makes him even harder. It feels right, it’s exactly what he needed after the stressful week of revelations. He puts his head on his shoulders, nudging himself into the small of Doakes neck and just enjoys the pleasure he gets out of him. He tries to hold back the sounds threatening to come out of him, not because he’s embarrassed but because Doakes wants to hear them. He’s still far too composed to let him get what he wants, making him wait feels right too.

“Go grab the lube” he orders when his hand is no longer dry, their precome spread all over his hand. He says it into the top of his head, right into his hair, almost in a murmur. Dexter raises his head a bit, looking at him in the eyes, as he notices his uneven breath.

“I don’t have any.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was empty after the last time, so I didn't buy more.”

“You’re useless.” He spits in his hand and resumes his movements, this time sliding his hand much easier. Dexter can tell he’s frustrated at him, which is understandable. He’s just not used to having sex in his own apartment as often. With Rita it felt good, it felt right, but it was very orderly. He never had to worry about that kind of thing. Most of the time he let her lead him. That’s the only thing they have in common, which isn't just anything if he really thinks about it. It's just that with James it all feels upside down, ten times more intense. He's got the ability to shut his head off completely.

The words spill out of him before he can control them; “You can fuck me if you want,”

James pulls back, looking at him carefully. Dexter breathes deeply, trying to get his breathing in order. It’s probably a bad idea, but he really doesn't want to think at all. Getting railed seems like a good plan for that. “You don’t have fucking lube Dexter, I’m not fucking you like this,” he starts, like he’s being dumb.

“I don’t care”

James rolls his eyes. “You’ll care,” he says, like there’s nothing else to discuss.

“Just do it, I know you want it.” he mumbles, trying to wiggle his hips upwards.

Doakes suddenly grabs both of his wrists, putting them over his head in a swift movement. He’s gripping them with one hand, like it’s nothing. Dexter could get out in a heartbeat, but the way James lowers himself to whisper with his deepest voice right into his ear makes him stay put. “When I fuck you I’m doing it properly. I’m gonna make you come on my cock, after I’ve fucked you for hours.”

“Hours huh?” This is getting interesting. Something in the way he says it makes his head spin, even if it’s very corny. He remembers how the fingers felt. He knows that it would’ve felt even better, if he was using something bigger, wider, to fuck him. 

“Weeks maybe. You’re not going to feel your legs after I'm done.” He lets go of his hands, smiles when Dexter doesn’t put them down. He just keeps them over his head like he’s still got a hold on him. “Very good. Stay like that until I say so,” The look of approval in James’ eyes is enough to make him twitch.

Dexter is not keeping his eyes off of him, even he’s blurry over him. There’s something magical about giving up control like this. It feels right, like he’s doing good once for all. James’ jerking himself against his stomach, he can feel the way the other hand grips his thigh. It’s going to leave a mark, he can feel his nail piercing through the skin roughly. It feels good. 

Without letting go of his thigh, James lowers himself, puts his tongue over his hard cock, licking only faintly over it. His legs feel like they will begin to shake in no time, he thinks as he feels the hot breath over his member. He’s fully hard now, and can't stop the feeling that’s taking over him. His arms are uncomfortable too, he feels sweat starting to gather from the effort of keeping them up like he is. Still, his cock aches like crazy. A moan gets out of him when James starts sucking earnestly. The way Doakes puts it all inside of his mouth, just swallows around him like it’s nothing makes him tremble slightly. It goes on for a long while. 

Dexter is fighting the moans, small sounds that escape increasingly. It’s hard to breathe, his legs are shaking like crazy. James hasn’t pulled back once, keeps on moving his head up and down making a mess. He can’t feel his arms anymore. His chest is rising, fast , his whole body feels hot.

“Can I- ah- can I?” He tries to move his hands a bit, demonstrating. He can’t find the right words, not in the state he’s in. James whips his head up, looking at the way Dexter’s arms are shaking from the effort. He gulps down, pausing as if he’s forgotten about it completely. Dexter wonders what it is exactly that stuns him; Dexter obeying or the fact that he very clearly enjoyed being told what to do. He’d have to be blind not to notice. He pulls back and reaches for his arms, pulling them down. Dexter lets him, sighing audibly when James starts massaging them softly. He feels the blood start to run through again, with every touch. It’s relaxing, but he can’t help feeling on the edge. He feels like he’s going to come any time, and James isn’t even touching him. Like he’s read his mind he lets go of one arm, going lower. 

“That better?” he asks, taking him in one hand.

Dexter moans loudly when he feels how wet he is from his spit “Yeah, just–” 

“You did good. That was perfect.” James whispers right into his mouth, but pulls back to keep massaging his right arm as he strokes him slowly. Dexter brings up his other arm and bites his hand trying to muffle the sounds he can’t hide anymore. He’s coming all over his hand in a blink. It feels intense, and they barely did anything. He feels how James removes his hand to stroke himself. He lays there, eyes half closed. He doesn’t want to move at all. It doesn’t take long for James to come as well with a soft grunt, just adding to the mess on his stomach. Dexter goes to grab his neck, pulls him against him to kiss him forcefully. The last strength he has, he puts it in the kiss. It feels amazing, to ride the high of the orgasm like this, tasting himself in his tongue. He feels truly spent. 

“I’m gonna go,” James says, but doesn’t move at all. 

“Yeah, just a minute,” he says, eyes closed. It’s comfortable to lay over him. He can just pretend there’s nothing else going on, just focus on the skin under him, chest moving in unison. A hand comes up to his hair, fingers intertwining as he brushes the mess it’s in. It feels more intimate than anything else they’ve done. 

He can hear his car pulling out of the building from the bed. He knows the sounds of the apartment complex like the palm of his hands. When he’s sure James’ left, he finally turns over in the bed, trying to sleep. A part of him wishes he’d stayed.

On Thursday they find a lead, a small piece of fabric in one of the recovered body bags. It’s the freshest one, only a day worth of decomposition showing on the parts of the body. It surely doesn't belong to him, since he's changed spots since the discovery. The copy cat has been doing his homework. He gets the info from his sister early in the day. He’s been trying to avoid standing out too much, so he’s out of the lab only when it’s necessary.

Still, he’s absolutely calm. Happy, even. Dexter remembers clearly each and every kill. He’s got them under his skin, he’s committed the feeling to his bones. So this man, dead and in pieces, is just what he needed to deviate the suspicion from him.

Debra told him about the evidence. There is nothing to contradict the M.O, everything matches to the bone. They finally have something solid, and it’s completely inaccurate, away from his own persona. It feels a little easier to breathe. It has been easy to tamper with the evidence, only had to disconnect the cold machine in the morgue room where the body was being stored. Using the badge of a random nurse he covers his tracks. It’s a sacrifice that will be worthy in the long run. He wonders what Harry would think about it. The countdown to finding his copy has begun. I just need to find who this is before they do.

Dexter watches the room where the FBI has for the Butcher on his break, stopping in front of it for a minute. There are a bunch of agents inside, he can tell since the blinds let on their silhouettes. To think they could’ve found something else entirely that will lead them to the realization the last murders they’ve found linked to the Butcher are from a copycat. There’s no way of knowing what Lundy is thinking about. He sticks to what he does know, staying calm. 

“What’s going on in your lizard mind, Morgan?” he hears. Doakes is behind him, he can feel the familiar presence next to him. It’s not usual that he’s talking to him out in the open, but he guesses it’s not that crazy, since they work together after all. Their department is busy, many people coming and going. They’re far enough to not be heard, so he relaxes a bit. Doakes is wearing a linen shirt; navy, very fitted with a deep v neck. When he looks up from his body at him, he’s not even looking back. He’s got his eyes fixed in the room. Dexter can tell what he’s thinking.

“Honestly?” he says, weighting a new idea in his mind. His brain is working at full speed now.

“Maria caught me up with what they found. I guess your sister told you too?” He nods, even if the other isn’t looking. “You’re usually right about these things.” 

“I think they’re not looking in the right direction. If they think either you or me did this” he says slowly. “The body they found had to be murdered last night. I know where you were last night.”

“Touche”

“I’m thinking of talking to Lundy–,” he mentions, casually. 

There’s no way in hell he’s going to talk to him about anything, it’s too risky and makes no sense, but watching the reaction is worth it. He’s got to make him come his way. Putting Lundy as a common enemy only makes sense. “You’re seriously trusting that man? They just want a head to pin it on. They will do anything to close the case.”

Dexter shrugs, trying to look helpless “So what are you suggesting we do instead?”

“I think we should find the motherfucker. Especially if he’s still killing.”

Doakes is looking at him intently. It feels important, so he straightens himself and nods, choosing his words carefully. “I can try to find something out. Get a look at the blood report from this last one.”

Dexter can’t look away. It’s a turning point, if James agrees to work with him on this. He doesn’t know he’s already getting ahead of the game, but it makes sense. He’s been working towards this. They are both under suspicion. It’s not that noticeable, but now everyone is a suspect, and Doakes fits the description accurately. He’s the lead detective in four of the victims' cases, and has a known temper. The way he’s looking at him tells him he knows how it looks.

“You get something, you come to me.” Doakes says, low enough to not be heard but very clearly. With a final look, he turns away. It’s already working.

Chapter Text

The stars look bright over the concrete parking lot floor. It’s so bright they kinda reflect on the humid ground, like little fires. Dexter tries to distract himself counting them. It’s almost nine and nothing is happening yet. He taps on the wheel of his car as he listens to the radio. Stalking is boring when there is nothing you can do but sit around and wait.

Damien Miller. Ex cop, retired. Worked at Miami Metro for some twenty good years. Very respected. Very settled in life too. He goes back to the timeline carefully. Miller fits almost perfectly. A regular cop, nothing to stand out for with a regular record in place. He never made too strong of a friendship. His family life wasn’t perfect either, twice divorced and on rather bad terms with his current wife. Never was around that much as a father, according to the child settlement agreements. 

He's been over by his house, and a fancy house in a fancy neighborhood. Very modern. He’d usually be hunting, so this varies a bit from the normal end goal. It feels like teasing; he can’t kill the man once he confirms he is the one who’s been taking his name, not if he wants the plan to work. And he’s got to make this work, he can’t miss any detail in the making. 

It’s happening again. It’s going to keep happening, and I can’t stop it. Nothing can.

The days have been long and very tiring. Ever since he killed Anderson he hasn't been able to do what he has to do in order to channel his urges, so the darkness is eating him inside out. It’s a drag not being able to turn over to the darkness, especially when it could’ve been so easy. Doakes no longer follows him after work, and he’s got more than one candidate waiting for him. It had been the perfect time, but the consequences if he messed up were far too high. 

Jimenez is also in his mind, can’t stop thinking of him just prancing around, unpunished. He wants to go see him to Naples, where he’s got his bar, have a little chat before he knocks all his teeth in. He knows he’s going to eventually end up killing him, the idea drips into the front seat quickly. He wants to kill him. Mostly, he wants to see his face when he dies. Still, he has to follow the code, at least for now. The end to this mess is near, he can sense it, the light is coming through to him finally. 

A door opens. Miller is out of the building, alone. He’s got grey hair, rigid posture with a decent build for his age. Dexter remembers him, back when he was an intern at Forensics. He’d never got along with him, since he wasn’t in his father’s circle, but it’s familiar enough for him. He knew already, but seeing him in person only confirms what he knows. This man could be the perfect suspect. He watches as the man gets inside his car and starts driving.

Starting the car, the game is on. He wonders if Miller will be the answer he’s been looking for. He hasn’t been clean, that’s for sure, but the darkness could go further. The thought of  a copycat sickens him somehow, if he had to describe the feeling. Still that’s quite not it. To think someone is copying his work blindly feels like an insult to Harry, somehow. They haven’t got a clue about what he means, how he saved him by making him follow the code. 

He follows him through the city. For a second he thinks tonight’s not going to lead to anything. Sometimes it takes a night or two to discover the darkness in potential killers, but it didn’t take much at all this time it seems. They get to a storage room on the east side of the city. It’s a quick ride in the end, ten minute tops, but they end up in a very quiet part of town. Miller pulls up to the parking lot, it’s mostly empty. Dexter watches him get out of the car and go into the complex before following. There's a big sign at the entrance: Low Water All Storage. Bingo. If he has a secret storage room he’s hiding something, so whatever Miller’s got in there must be interesting. 

Once he breaks in, it’s not that hard to find him. The site is small, only a few corridors of storage rooms, curtains old and rusty. Miller’s has the light on, he can see it from here. He waits outside patiently. It’s a while before he’s out of the room.

Miller exits the locker as if nothing’s wrong. He closes the double lock and keeps the key with him. Maybe it gives him the false confidence that no one will be able to enter his dirty chamber of secrets. Dexter hides behind a corner, tries to stay hidden until Miller is fully gone, a couple minutes more even. The shadows shallow him in the night, making it very hard to be seen. He tries to make himself invisible, ever alert. No matter what, the man is a former cop, so he can’t take chances around him.

He breaks in when the coast is clear. The lock is an easy thing to get through, double or triple, it’s nothing he’s not encountered before. There’s that adrenaline rushing over him as he fiddles with his tools, like it does every time he partakes in his ‘hobby’. At first it looks like nothing’s wrong with the room. It’s just another storage room, two folding chairs against the left wall and a big chest on the opposite wall and that’s it. He’s got the chest opened in no time. Just as I thought. 

Inside the chest there’s three photos carefully laid over a velvet fabric, each for every victim he’s claimed using his identity. He observes each photo individually. The method improves, as he sets the kill room better. The second one, the one he left behind, it’s very crafty compared to the last one. It’s not enough to cover all of the murders, but it’s a start. 

He sneaks out, in the night, leaving all the evidence behind. He wants him to know he’s been caught, but it’s too early to introduce himself in person. He has to do this well, now that he’s confirmed his suspicions he has to find out why he’s doing it. If this is some type of. He wants him to be afraid, so he leaves a note inside the chest, a phone number to a burner and a quick note telling him to follow his instructions. The game is on.

“Are you ready or not?”

Masuka is standing in front of him awkwardly. It’s been a long night. After following Miller and confirming his suspicions, his mind has just been reeling. He’s got to take the chance, put the pieces together so that the end is unquestionable. It’s got to make sense, Lundy, Doakes and the entirety of the Miami Metro Police has to buy it. Miller worked in the department for years, he’s been flying under the radar all of these years. He retired not that long ago. He’s already got twenty years on the force, for one. Beats the ten on Doakes. He chastises himself lightly for even comparing them now. He’s made up his mind. Doakes doesn't have to die yet, not as long as he can be useful.

“Yeah. Lets go” he sighs after rubbing his eyes until he sees black spots. Getting up from his chair, he follows the other without much hurry. He’s cranky as anything, he knows Masuka noticed. They’ve worked with each other for years so they know their respective tempers. Weirdly enough, he doesn’t make a single comment about it.

And so, another day, another crime scene. That’s Miami. Sometimes he wonders what it would be like, to be innocent to death the way he is in other areas. Knowing he’s going to see a dead body should make him feel something else rather than curiosity, maybe sadness, fear or repulsion. It’s not like he’s the only one who isn’t perturbed by death. Other cops are used to it too but still, it’s just not the same affinity he has with it. Doakes saw it, recognized it. Since they started fucking he’s not mentioned the subject again. If it’s because he’s made amends with it or because he’s just keeping his opinions under lock, it doesn’t matter much to him. 

He follows Masuka out of the lab. When they pass LaGuerta’s office he notices Doakes looking at him through the window. He waves at him as he passes the room, which earns him the middle finger. He can tell there’s no real push in it, he’s smiling at him for one.

“He hates you, dude” 

“Can’t change that”

Just as they’re going to the elevators, Debra intercepts him, making him stop on his tracks, “Dexter, want to grab lunch?”

She’s got some folders under her left arm, the other holds a coffee. She seems back to normal, no more questioning looks. Still, he knows she’s not convinced. It’s tiring, knowing she’ll probably be back policing him about Doakes the moment it comes up. The blazer she’s wearing doesn’t match at all with the jeans, which is strange for her. Even if she doesn’t really care about clothes, she has a very distinct style. This is not it. Even the hair isn’t right. He can tell she’s just too worked up to care. She’s too wrapped up in the Butcher’s case, which is the more reason to finally put an end to the story and go back to the shadows where he belongs.

“Sure. Gotta go to the crime scene with Masuka he’s-” he turns around only to see him already in the elevator, the door's closing.

“Fucking Masuka, what’s up with him?”

“I think he’s just afraid of you” he says, 

“Yeah, as he should. Anyway, see you later. I’m going to finish this up, call me when you’re done”

He nods, smiling a bit, like he’s eager to spend time with his sister. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see her, there’s just so much he’s got to get right he can’t afford to waste time. As he turns to the elevator he tries to think of a way to make the Miller issue to work. Dexter’s got him now so he just has to wait for tonight when he calls, because he surely will call once he sees the note he left for him, so he’s got to be prepared. He sighs, stopping for a moment as he waits for the elevator.

The devil is in the details, brother. 

It’s just a whisper among all the noise, but it makes him stand straight like he’s been struck with lightning. He’s suddenly very aware of his surroundings. The neon light above him flickers, the sound increasing ever so slightly, like a fly buzzing right into his brain. Maybe it’s just his mind messing with him, but it’s getting harder to breathe too. He frowns as he watches the light of the elevator go up. It’s taking longer than it should, or at least it feels like that to him. When the doors finally open, he gets in immediately, trying to get away from whatever’s coming over him. The minute he’s inside and the doors close, he feels calm again. Back to nothing.

The burner phone rings that same night. Dexter is parked right out of the storage facility, phone in hand, when it starts ringing. He’d been waiting for Miller, who unsurprisingly arrived just at the same time as the night before. Ritualistic, maybe? Returning to admire your work, his trophies… He’d yet to find out. He’s parked outside on the street, no lights on. To kill time, he wondered about Miller’s reaction. If he was a follower, maybe he’d be grateful to meet the one who inspired him. It’d be easier that way. When he answers the phone, he doesn’t say anything at all. The reaction is a disappointment, like he knew it probably would.

“Who the fuck are you?”

He waits a moment before he starts. He can hear the anxious breath of the old man on the other line.

“You’ve messed it up,” he says slowly.

“Who the fuck is this?!” Miller yells into the speaker, like he doesn’t know what’s happening or like doesn’t want to accept he’s been caught. 

“You shouldn’t be so greedy. Wanting the glory all to your name”

“Is this-”

It’s not difficult to put two and two together. Miller’s a cop, even if he’s retired he’s got the lifetime experience of investigating to back him up. He knows who’s on the other line. He’s aware he’s been found by the real killer. He’s just stalling, delaying the inevitable. “Shut up. I’m giving you the chance to live. You are going to do exactly what I tell you”

“Yeah, okay”

“We’ll meet in five days. Grab the evidence you’ve got there and hide it in your house. Wait for further instruction. The police are already aware of this location, so you better move it quickly.” It’s a lie, of course, just another point to corner him even further. Miller pauses for a second, breathing heavily into the speaker.

“How do I know you’re who I think you are?” he asks slowly. He can tell from his voice he’s panicking. It feels good to make him afraid, so he gets everything on the table.

“You don’t have to believe me. I'll kill your entire family if you don’t do exactly as I say. Don’t think I don’t know about little Eleanor. Not even four, is she?”

Miller gasps. His voice is weak and feeble “I’m sorry I–”

“Don’t do that. Just do what I told you to do. Don’t mess up.”

He hangs up quickly. He’s got the message sound and clear. He drives away before Miller walks out into the parking lot. The Dark Passenger is very loud inside as he steers back home. He wonders what it would be like to just be someone else, without the haunting, and the hunger and the stupidly deep ache every time he thinks about his emptiness. He comes up with nothing.

He gets very little sleep after that. He can’t stop thinking about the details he could be missing. Everything has to be perfect. The next day he’s half asleep, walking around like some magical thread is holding him together. He’s got time to stage the final scene to this mess, but it all could fall apart very easily.

Debra took him out yesterday to that Japanese restaurant he’s never really wanted to go to. It was mild– as he thought, and annoying– as he predicted. Deb complained a bit about him over lunch. 

It’s always like this with couples, they have low after low only to get a high from time to time and be happy with it. He’d experienced it first hand with Rita. He always felt like a spectator watching the new situations unfold. Rita had hated that as much as she had loved it. She hated that he couldn't react to her loving gestures the way she’d hoped of him. She loved that he was so distant as to not ask her of her past. So there had been that understanding of the things Dexter could not give away, until it wasn’t enough for Rita. It’s understandable, she deserves someone real, not a half drawn puppet that used her as a shield. He wonders what Harry would think about it. In the end, he’d hurt more innocent people trying to hide than he would've if he just kept to himself. He already has hurt them enough.

With Doakes it’s different. He pulls him to the moment, makes him be there. He takes it out of him, acknowledges that he’s alive too, not yet dead entirely, if it makes any sense. He knows how to push him out of himself. It’s strange how easily he can unlock his true moods, the way he could see his dark side under the mask everyone bought.

Deep down he wants to know if he understands, because he can see the darkness simmering inside him too. He can see it in the way he's never doubted to make a kill, the way he doesn't flinch when a life is lost on duty or when his own life is at stake. He’d die for the job, Dexter realizes, which isn’t nothing. He can relate since he follows Harry’s code like gospel, it’s his whole life. Doakes lives for his work. Whatever it is, he puts everything he has in it. Maybe if there wasn’t attraction mixed in, he would’ve found out about his Dark Passenger. He respects Doakes in that regard. His instincts about people are pretty accurate and he saw through him since he joined the force. He’s a strong wall, unmovable. Dexter can put some bricks down, but the wall will withstand whatever he throws at him. It makes it more interesting to be able to just make him see what he wants him to see.

He’s left feeling unsure, since the way that put an end to all of the stalking is something he’s enjoying too much. It’s like being with Rita but only for the good parts. Nothing in his life’s changed so far, if only it’s been a very needed distraction for the stress he’s had about the Butcher’s case. He can use him as he likes since he can’t hurt him, just like he’s hurt so many others. That's what makes him the perfect match so far, really. No matter how much he uses him, manipulates him, and bends his mind; if the moment comes where he discovers what he really is, which it won’t, Doakes would stand firmly on his ground. The wall won’t come down just because they know what they look like under their clothes.

For now he knows that he’s got to keep him by his side until everything else is sorted, or he’s gonna have to go. It’s exciting knowing he’s got him dancing on the palm of his hand now. He can tell from the way he acts now, the furtive glances at his laboratory, the long stares when he’s inspecting a body or how he’s just discussing the case with him. Even if it goes wrong, he could always frame him, like his brother proposed. Even if he still doesn’t consider it an option right now, he hasn’t got that attached yet. Don’t think he’ll ever be, honestly. 

Fuck. How did I end up thinking of Doakes?

He passes a hand through his hair and tries to get back to his sister. Her relationship to Lundy is as dangerous as it is useful. Just as James said, he can't trust the man. For him, there's too much at stake. 

“You’ve got something yet?” Doakes ambushes him in the parking lot the next night. So much for old times. When he thinks about it it really hasn’t been that long since the change to whatever this is, but it feels longer. A month ago, in this same parking lot, he invited James into his home for the first time. Literally where they're standing. Being with him is somehow fine now, which is crazy considering how much he bothered him before.

“Nope.” he says, leaning into his car a bit. Doakes looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t think it’s going to be a good idea. 

“Going home, then?” he asks, like he doesn’t know the answer. Dexter wonders how he sees him now. He remembers the night he confronted him for the first time, just stating plainly what he suspected. It baffled Dexter, how direct he’d been, not hiding in the slightless what he thought of him. Now he’s spent some more personal time with him, he knows he means exactly what he says. It’d been confusing in the beginning, trying to decipher what he really wanted from him. He can read exactly what he wants now, even reads the hesitation right away.

“Hm” he nods, his lips curling up against his will. He wipes the smile off quickly once he realizes what he’s doing. Doakes furrows his eyebrows at his reaction, “What then?”

“See you there.” he says, getting in the car right away.

He hears Doakes snort as he gets in. It’s good, it’s familiar, and it should be concerning that he's actually eager to see him later.

Later, James opens him up slowly with his fingers. He puts him on his back, lays him down on the bed and spreads with no hurry. When they're alone, it's like James is different somehow. He wonders if he notices it. 

It was awkward at first. They had a beer before going to the bedroom, Dexter had already been drinking when he arrived. Doakes accepted it this time without a word and followed him into the living room. He looked tired, he sat down with a heavy sigh as if this was the first quiet moment he'd managed to get all day. He cracked his neck, making a snapping sound that reminded him of bones breaking. They sat down on the couch with a mutual understanding of what would happen. Dexter was okay with drinking in silence. It was weird to spend time with him without being cross examined. Doakes drank from his beer almost like an afterthought, eyes focused on Dexter. It felt almost like a dare. The way he held eye contact for too long usually made people uncomfortable, but it didn’t seem that way to Doakes. 

“You are tense,” he said after a moment. 

“No shit,” Doakes sighed, stopping the staredown to drink. Dexter observed him, the way he sank into the sofa, relaxing into the cushions. He didn't even think twice before putting the beer down. He kneeled in front of him, putting his hands on his thighs. He felt powerful doing this, just knowing the effect he had on the other. Doakes put a hand on his hair immediately, scratching his scalp with his fingernails. He sat up straighter, letting Dexter closer between his legs. 

“Let me make it better” he'd asked him. He already knew what the answer would be, but it was worth having a pair of eyes on him looking down hotly. He liked when James looked at him like this, like he was the only thing that mattered. Made everything else fade away. He could already feel everything he worried about disappear to the back of his head with every touch. He remembers the way James’ eyes went dark the moment his hands reached up to undo his pants.

He ended up sucking James off right there, pants fully undone and a hand pushing his head up and down again like clockwork. It was good to focus on the other’s pleasure. He could feel the lust James held for him right against his tongue, hard and hot. It felt maddening feeling the other become undone. He could hear every little sound the man was making, soft grunts and moans that filled the air everytime Dexter moved his head. His mouth felt used and tired when it was over.

Now, James’ got him on his back, fucks him with his fingers slowly. Dexter is lost in the feeling. He feels on fire, aware of every single touch. He doesn't even know what his face is doing, but it must be something embarrassing with the way James can't look away. His legs feel useless, he can only feel the tightness his fingers rub against incessantly. James has him almost whining, his hands grabbing the sheets by his sides. Any decency he had just went out the window.

James is solely focused on making him come, pushes his fingers deeper, harder into him. He cries out when he stops at the deepest he can go, curls his fingers and just keeps them there, pushing . “ Fuckk I can’t, I–” he moans loudly, incapable of shutting his mouth. Just as he thinks he’s going to come, James removes his fingers entirely. The sudden emptiness makes him groan. 

“You’re not coming yet,” he tells him, which is annoying, but he doesn’t have it in him to complain. Dexter just lays there, breathing heavily. His cock is curled upwards in his stomach. When James reaches down to caress it softly he feels like he’s going to die.

“ James– ” he whines through his teeth when he continues teasing him. James just leans forwards and kisses him open mouthed. He falls into the kiss easily, just biting into his mouth like he’s drowning. Kissing him feels right, like he belongs there with him just to make him stop thinking. When James separates from him he has to push him down to the bed again. He can feel his heartbeat on his throat, legs burning from being spread open. It’s a very heady feeling. James puts a hand on his chest, rubs the soft skin of his nipple with a thumbs before putting his fingers in again. The contrast of the touches has Dexter whining again. He’s got three fingers fucking him again in no time. For a moment he realizes he’s not touched his cock at all, he’s painfully hard, leaking against James’ hips. He moans as he lifts his hips upwards, trying to get some friction. It’s not even funny anymore, he wants to come but James won’t stop delaying it. 

James doesn’t look away once, just stares right into him as he pushes his fingers inside “You want me to blow you?” he asks Dexter, curling his fingers upwards. 

He moans like it’s dragged out of him, nodding quickly, very fine with the idea of feeling his tongue over him again. He expects him to stop fingering him, but he goes down in a heartbeat swallowing him down without stopping fucking him. He just keeps doing it, sliding his fingers inside as he sucks him whole. It feels like everything all at once. Sweat is falling off his forehead, blurring his vision.

In the end, he doesn’t really know how much time James has spent between his legs. He comes into his mouth without warning, just feels the high coming over him. It goes on for very long, like a never ending wave of pleasure that spreads through his body. He’s never felt like this before after sex. It was good, sure, but it wasn’t overwhelmingly intense, not like this. James, who still has his fingers inside, kisses his stomach, biting down over his hip bone. It feels possessive. His legs shake like jelly when he’s done.

“What are you thinking about?”

Doakes is cleaning him up, a wet towel in hand rubs his backside. Dexter’s got kind of used to the feeling of being seen this much. It’s not like he’s embarrassed, but it feels like being opened to someone in a way he’s never been before. The confusion he feels gets overpowered by the numbness he feels coming back to him. He focuses on the fingers touching his back, four points of pressure digging into his skin. “Nothing” he says into the pillow, closing his eyes tightly. He’s quiet inside, everything perfectly aligned.

James keeps rubbing his skin, making his way to his shoulders when he’s done wiping between his legs. The massage is good, it makes him come down easily. 

“Thanks” He says when Doakes places a final kiss between his shoulder blades. It feels more intimate than whatever they did before, a chill going through his veins. When Doakes sits up in the bed he follows his movements, turning to his side. He’s almost hugging the pillow now, incapable of moving a single bone. Doakes stays put on the edge of the bed, clearly debating his options. It’s so obvious he’s unsure. Honestly, Dexter doesn’t care what he does now. He’s got what he wanted, to not have to think for a moment. It leaves him feeling good, even if he knows it’s not going to last. So, if Doakes wants to go, he won’t be offended.

“Are you staying?” he asks, anyway, only because he’s curious, if Doakes will realize it’s dumb to be so hung up on the details.

Doakes turns backwards to lean back on his elbows. He’s close now, too close not to think of kissing him. “Naaah. I have things to do at home”

There's an awkward pause. Dexter runs a hand through his hair, feeling the wetness of sweat clumping up the strands. He wonders if his lies sound like that to him.

“Yeah. Okay”

Doakes stays put. His breath is hot, familiar. He’s drawn to his smell, wants to lean into it. The other doesn’t make a move, just stares into his eyes again, like he’s really trying to do something. Suddenly he breaks eye contact, speaking way too fast.

“I'm sorry” he says it so quickly Dexter isn’t sure he’s heard him right. He isn’t even looking in his direction, just looking at the curtains behind him. He blinks, slowly.

James lays on the bed, turning on his side to face Dexter. Guess he’s staying, after all.

“I've been thinking. About this. I shouldn't have ignored you.” His voice is soft and deep. Dexter can tell he’s been thinking of telling him this before. It feels rehearsed. 

“It's okay” he says, not a single expression on his face. James looks worried for a moment. He wants to get closer, but his limbs aren’t responding.

“Nah, it's not.” he insists “I shouldn’t have followed you in the first place either” 

He didn’t expect an apology for that, felt like way behind in time, even if it’s only weeks ago. 

“I’m glad you did” he says, just to make him stop. The reason why he’s chosen to be this wordy now after saying he would leave is lost to him. 

“Morgan–”

“I’m not joking” he continues, “It’s just how you are, I guess?”

“How am I?” he asks, frowning.

His sister once told him he’s got to be genuine, from time to time, when it comes to connecting to others. This feels like a great moment to pull the other a bit closer. He’s already made the first move apologizing, which is something so strange Dexter thought he’d never hear the words out of his mind. Suddenly, he feels the need to let James know what he thinks of him.“Just– It’s nice, you know? This.”

James looks at him stunned. Dexter looks right at him, can’t look away at all. 

“You know it doesn’t make a difference? I don’t care. If you stay or not. Just don’t be dramatic” he concludes, trying to put all the annoyment he can muster into the words. That seems to be it for him to finally relax. James wiggles in closer and kisses him shortly, putting his head between his hands. It feels like an agreement.

“Just don’t talk about it” he says when he pulls back.

“Sure”

Dexter pushes him flat on the bed, puts his head over James’ chest. He can feel his breathing against his skin. He makes up his mind. James’ torn about him because he doesn’t know what he wants. Some nights it seems like sex is all there is to it, others it feels like wanting more. Whatever it is, Dexter’s going to stick to it like it depends on his life. Until then, he’s just going to let him figure it out.

“What are we going to do once we find who it is?” he mumbles against his chest, the corners of his mouth pressed against it. He feels how James lets out a long breath, like he’d been holding it. He doesn’t have to tell him he’s talking about the Butcher. Dexter can tell he’s glad for the subject change.

“We give him away to the FBI. Will do anything to get them off my ass”

The scene presents in his mind clearly, all at once. He’s got Miller in his own home, he’s got the prints on the box, there’s all the evidence there the cops need to take him down. Lets him free in the basement, locked from the inside with a key they’ll never find, only to leave him to Doakes. The Butcher will die with Miller by the hand of James Doakes, Miami Metro Sergeant. There will be no doubt. He'll be able to get a clean slate.

“Hey!” James slaps the top of his head lightly with his free hand “Don’t start with that shit”

He’s looking down at him like he’s done with life. “What?”

“I know that look.” he tells him, like he should know what the fuck he means.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Doakes stares at him for a moment. 

“Is it about your family?”

His heart stops for a second. He blinks once before looking up at James. “Fuck off”

“You’re thinking about it, yeah?” he says, like he’s sure of what he’s speaking about. It’s just ruining the mood. He feels the coldness return to him. Suddenly, he wishes Doakes had just left when he said he’d do so. He can take one night stands, ignoring each other in the daylight and sporadic trauma sharing pillow talk, what he’s not going to take is James meddling in issues relating to his family.

“You’re so– This doesn’t mean anything, right?”

He feels shaky when his legs hit the floor. He thinks of standing up, and tries to get some of the weight up. “Dex–”

“Look, I don't fucking get you. Are we going to exchange trauma or are we just fucking? Because that's not fucking clear to me.” 

“That's not–”

“Leave me the fuck alone. Just leave.” He makes the effort to stand up. He doesn’t know how he coordinates to put one foot after the other, but he needs to get out of there before he does something he will regret.

Why did he have to ask about that? I wasn’t even…Why did he have to mention–

He goes into the shower without looking back once, turning it up hot. The thoughts suddenly spill out of his mind like it’s a watering can. He can feel every hair on the back of his neck, even as the water scolds his skin. His ears kind of hurt too, from the water falling in. He looks up to the showerhead and wonders why the fuck he reacted like that just now. It’s not like he didn’t trust Doakes enough to open up almost two weeks ago. It ended up working in his favor, but if he stops to think about it for too long, he doesn’t explain why he just told him about his mother. He just blurted it out, like he had been waiting to share it with someone. What’s crazier is the way Doakes reacted. He’d somehow understood him. 

“Do you really want me to go?”

He’s hanging just at the door of the shower, like he’s not supposed to be there. He’s naked too, didn't even bother to put on boxers. The water is still flowing and for a moment, there’s only that rushing sound filling the silence. 

“Doakes–” he starts, feeling his voice break a little.

“ Dexter. I’ll go.” he stays in place, doesn’t make a move to get closer. It clicks in his mind that James wants to stay. He wants to stay and is probably willing to not mention any of this again. 

He will do what I tell him to do. 

Dexter takes one step, face to face now. He’s dripping, waters still running through his face. James reaches up to wipe some of it, but he doesn’t dare get closer. He knows the weakness he has for the man will be a problem in the future because, even though he’s mad about what just happened, it’s like James already buried it. James pushes him into the wall of the shower the moment Dexter kisses him. There’s no hesitation, just pure need. He’s very decided now, just smothers him to the same heady feeling. It’s almost too much, to feel the hot water pour as the other licks it off his mouth. It is as intense as when he gets his Dark Passenger; the intrusions, the urges, the yearning. He feels powerful. 

James ends up staying the night. They don’t talk about the way Dexter hangs to him like he’s trying to become part of James, or how the other didn’t even try to make him move.

The feds are eating right out of his hand by now, he’s just gotta make sure the way he presents Miller will be credible. It’s very funny, actually, that he’s got a storage room as Miller does, with his own trophies and all. Very similar to his, at least superficially. The details, however, vary. He thinks about what his brother said before. He’s got to get it right. Maybe, if nothing gets in the way, he’ll really get through this like a breeze.

A day later, he beats up Jimenez like a dog. It comes out of nowhere. He should be focusing on Miller, but the curiosity did indeed kill the cat. It sweeps right through him, the anger, the loss, the pain that still hasn’t ceased.... It was taken from him, everything. He’s got his fists bloody from the hits. There’s only an unmeasurable frenzy to hurt, to damage.

“I feel like...you stole my life. I’m not the person I’m supposed to be. It’s like I’m hollow. I hide in plain sight...unable to reach out to people...close to me. I’m afraid...I’ll hurt them. Like I’ve hurt so many others.”

The phone is trembling on his hands. “Can I come over?”

Chapter Text

“Are you going to frown all night?” Maria is looking at him like she’s trying to figure out something. In James’ experience it usually leads to very annoying situations. 

They’re in a diner near the station, just a five minute ride. He's having a very sad slice of apple pie. It’s crumbling a little on the sides, just like he feels inside. Fucking sad pie. They just got off work, it’s almost ten already, but he can’t relax. The atmosphere is just fucking unbearable lately. In the last month so much has changed he wonders if it’s worth it at all, to try and make sense of it. He’s mad at everyone, hates the way they treat him like he’s the shit under everyone’s shoe, he can tell they do. It’s getting tougher everyday. Ever since the feds swamped the case he’s not been able to have a single chat with anyone. People are starting to avoid him like the plague, and it’ not like he’s friends with anyone at work, but fuck . It’s just unbelievable they actually believe he’d do something like that. He just stares at the pie feeling tired.

“ Hhm. ” Maria coughs, reminding him she’s still there. He looks up from the tragic pie, to find her staring at him still. “You’re starting to worry me”

“Not you too,” he lets out, thin-lipped. If Maria starts believing the stupid rumors about him being the butcher he’s going to lose it.

“You know that’s not what I mean” she says, batting her eyes. He believes her, but it’s annoying she knows what he meant with that. She noticed it too around the station. If she starts pointing fingers at him too, he’s going to lose it. She’s the only one who still hasn’t shunned him at work, other than Dexter if he counts all the time he’s spent with him lately. He’s sure Maria can see past the gossip, she always was the smart one, looking where nowhere would look and making sure to always stick to her instinct. He isn’t surprised she’s standing by him, would be otherwise really. 

Dexter however, is one of the strangest people he has ever crossed paths with. A month ago, he was sure he was hiding something. He followed, inquired and repeatedly harassed him only to find out a very troubled person whom he’d liked to kiss very much. Now, he’s the one being accused by his peers. And Dexter, even though he’s had to bear all of that, still stands by him now, too. He knows Dexter doesn’t even like him, his actual persona rather than their physical connection, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe the rumours either. He’s smart too, too smart for his own good, so why he keeps sleeping with him is beyond him. It’s ironic and fucking tragic, since it’s very uncomfortable to admit one’s faults. He knows Dexter is hiding something, but now that he knows him more he feels bad for trying to rip it out of him.

“Is there a certain someone crossing your mind again?” Maria asks, making him snap his eyes up from the sad pie in front of him. 

She looks serious, so he tries very hard to make her stray away from the topic, props himself up in the chair and smirks, like she’s kidding, “That’s why you made me come here? I thought you had ulterior motives, you know” he says, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“Does your instinct tell you that?” she deadpans, like she’s funny. He drops the smile immediately, pursing his lips tightly. Stirring the salad she’s having, she shakes her head before really answering. “I don’t think you’d be here if I had ulterior motives. You already have someone, don’t you?”

He snorts, not liking where this is going at all, “What the fuck does that mean?” Lately he’s asking that question more times than he should.

She purses her lips and smiles, knowing he’s getting mad at her for bringing up the subject. If he didn’t know her so much he’d think she was laughing at him.

“How’s it going then?”

He smiles tightly, “Nothing’s going on”

“Wow. You must really like her, I give you that”

“It’s not like– Fuck, you are really going to make me tell you?”

“I always win, James, thought you knew that”

He sighs and drums his fingers on the table nervously. Maria just stares at him as she picks a raisin with the fork. It’s not that busy in the restaurant, just a few people near enough to overhear them, so he knows she’s going to make him talk about it no matter what. She’s always got her way, no matter what it was. And if she wants to discuss his love life at fuck hours when he should be already at home, that’s what’s gonna happen. Maria giggles a bit, tilting her head to the side. She looks young now that they’re clocked out, definitely more at ease than at work. 

James sighs and puts his spoon down, putting his story in order. He’s not about to come out about his side appreciation for men in a shitty dinner, especially not to a former lover, but maybe a little white lie about the identity of his ‘new person’ as Maria puts it wouldn’t hurt. Maybe hearing an outside perspective would actually help him make up his mind about the whole thing.

“Okay, yeah– I fucked up, okay? Since the beginning”

“What did you do?” she asks, carefully. Maybe she’s hoping to hear a full story, but he’s not about to explain the fucking details.

“I just treated her kind of bad? I don’t want to go into fucking details about this, but I definitely fucked up.” he admits, finding it easier to talk about it as if it was a woman they were discussing over.

“So, it’s over?” she asks her, very skeptical. She’s reclining on the table with that move she always fucking does, the little lean to the left that only means: I don’t believe you.

“Never even started, I told you it wasn’t like that. We’re just fucking.”

“But you still want to date her.” 

James is stunned into silence. Dating isn’t exactly how he’d put it, but maybe he’d like to know him. He thinks of all the time he’s spent with Dexter lately, he’s slept with him, watched TV with him, he fucking bought him groceries. He knows he’s got freckles all over his shoulders, some almost fade into the skin. He’s been the only person he’s hugged, ever since Kara. James is, also, the one who stalked Dexter, the one who took advantage of his breakdown to search his whole apartment and the one who keeps showing up to sleep with him. He wonders for a moment what’s bothering him more, the fact that Dexter is a man or the fact that what he’s done to Dexter is a very fucked up thing to do. It’s like a veil lifted off his eyes at that very moment. “Fuck.”

Maria stares at him, takes a long sip of her wine before delivering her final blow. “You always fall in love too soon.”

It takes him by surprise because that’s not where his mind was going at all. “I’m not in love.” He really isn’t.

“But you could be. If she’d let you. You said it”

He hates that Maria is right. There’s something turning his guts inside out, he feels like the fucking world is coming down on him. How he couldn’t see this coming, he doesn’t know.

“Well, it’s lust rather than love really,” he says, still shocked by her words, “fucking in love, are you kidding me?” he laughs feeling somehow agitated at the suggestion.

“Why does it bother you so much?” she frowns, like something’s wrong. The worst part is that it is indeed wrong, everything is. He should’ve thought better, and stopped himself before even thinking of starting anything at all with the redhead. It hurts his pride to think he could’ve been this wrong about someone. His instinct was right, Dexter was dark and drowning, but he had jumped to conclusions far too soon. It pulled him in like nothing, just like Kara did. 

He smashes his pie in half, watching it crumble down. Taking a bite he sighs. He can’t tell her it’s because it’s a man. He can’t say all of the reasons why he’s got such a mental block about it, and he can’t detail how wrong he’s fucked up Dexter either.

“Just, it’s weird”

“Why?” she asks him. She’s not wrong. He’s got to be more careful about his reactions. If this was anyone else they were talking about he wouldn't get so fucking defensive.”What’s so wrong about you possibly loving someone?”

“There’s no chance she’s going to date me, anyway” he says, deflecting. Of course, Maria doesn't let it go.

“You don’t know that.” She says, pointing her fork at him ominously “If you told me more about her maybe I could help”

“Not gonna happen,” 

“You have it bad, James.” she chuckles, raising her eyebrows up high. “Anyways, when you want to talk about it you know how to find me.”

“I'm not–”

“Be real.”

He can't do anything other than give up and agree with her. “Only if she’d let me. And she isn’t going to.” Maria lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t debate him further. She leans back in her chair, seemingly accepting his answer. It’s not easy to tell if the interrogation is over, with Maria.

“I’ve got bigger problems to worry about other than her anyways.” he adds, trying to change the direction this conversation is taking.

She laughs, like it's a fucking joke. “Yeah, tell me about it”

It annoys him, a little, that she’s laughing. He’s been the one targeted by the Bay Harbor Butcher rumours, the one who’s been put aside and questioned. “You don’t fucking know how people treat me lately. How they look at me. It’s fucking disgusting to think these people are qualified detectives.”

Maria sighs and puts a hand on her temple, leaning on the table. “James, this is all going to go away once we find the real killer.”

“Who’s we exactly? Because as far as I know you’re under federal investigation too,”

“Well–”

“I don’t know if I believe in this anymore Maria” he sighs, putting his hands over his head.

“What?”

“The law. Justice. I used to think I could trust the system. Now I’m not sure. Lundy would sell me in a heartbeat”

Maria cleans the corners of her mouth with a napkin before answering. She’s thoughtful, like she’s moving some fancy piece of porcelain around, watching every step she takes.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” she says amicably. A true politician, she’s become.

“Even if he wouldn’t do it. Has he made a single move, Maria, a single move to fucking end the rumours? He’s a fucking snake I’m telling you that.”

She rolls her eyes at him, “You’re exaggerating”

“I don't think I am. Not only that, I think you're too calm about this.” he says. If he insists a bit, he knows she’ll know. She won’t be as blind as the rest, she’s got vision.

“Fuck, do you think I am calm? It's fucking crazy out there I should know that.”

For a moment he wonders what Maria would do if she knew what he was planning with Dexter. Finding the killer, the real one, never felt closer.

“I think we should get it done ourselves. The only thing the FBI has done is make us weaker.”

“Listen to yourself James. Do you really believe we could solve this on our own?”

“I think we could. If we listened to the right people. If the detectives we have weren’t fucking brainwashed I know we'd have the fucker in the chair already.”

Maria pauses for a moment, raising her eyebrows high.

“James, just drop the Dexter thing. You have to know how it feels to be accused of something like that now.”

It’s like a slap in his face. He’s reminded of his fucking stupid moves, the exact reason he’s got no chance to even consider having a normal and sane relationship with someone like him. She thinks he’s talking about Dexter, and suddenly a month seems like a very long time. “What? No, that's not–”

“Don’t even think to start stalking him again, next time I won't stop him from putting in a formal complaint. It could be very bad James, especially with a record like yours.”

Anger runs through him instantly.

“You know what, maybe I will. Just to get the fuck out of here. I've had enough, if it wasn't for–” he catches himself just at the right time.

“For what?”

“Nevermind”

His phone starts ringing, breaking the tension in half like a dry stick snapping. Maria looks away, eyes back to her salad. It’s like she’s bored all of the sudden. James shakes his head and opens his phone, looking at the ID. When he sees who it is, his eyes widen considerably.

“I have to take this,” he says, even if Maria looks like she couldn’t care less.“Yeah?”

Dexter’s voice isn’t right, he can tell the moment he hears it. 

“Can I come over?” 

He’s very agitated. The breath is ragged and raw, amplified like he’s out in the street, the wind is blowing into the speaker. There’s car sounds in the background, he’s probably near a highway. A million things go through his mind at once. “What happened? Do you need a ride?”

“No just – text me the address. I'll drive.”

He hangs up on him like he's sure James will just do as he says. It should be infuriating but he’s only worried about him. He hates that he agreed for Dexter to come to his place, just like that, because Dexter asked him to. He's just a sucker for the idiot, he hates that Maria was right in the end. She looks at him like she knows who he's talking with. She doesn't know , but she knows enough to raise an eyebrow suggestively.

“That her?”

“Yeah. Gotta go, sorry”

“It's okay. Go to her”

.

He finds Dexter sitting on the stairs to his house, head between his knees. His car is parked right at the front. He's worried for a second, walking up to him from the car seems like an eternity when he doesn’t move one finger. Standing in front of him, there’s not a word either.

“Morgan–” he nudges his foot a bit with his foot. Dexter quickly looks up at the touch. He expected something else. Maybe crying, tears, anger. There’s nothing behind his eyes now. It’s like his body is just an empty doll moving on its own.

“Let's go inside.” he tells him with a monotone deep voice. He sighs and pulls his keys out. Dexter follows behind him, like a shadow. It's the same dead look from that weekend, but he's not as gone as he was then. They stand awkwardly once James closes the door. Dexter is gone, he realizes, when he keeps looking over his shoulder, like he’s seeing something very eerie.

“So? What happened?” he asks anyway, because he has to. This is a new situation so he’s on full alert. Dexter makes eye contact all of the sudden, almost as if he forgot he was in the room too.

“Let's go to the bedroom” he says with no trace of excitement in his words. It really gives him chills, how bad it feels to think Dexter wants to use him to get whatever happened before this out of his system. He wonders if he still thinks he’d be that kind of man. He’s made some of those comments before. James’ no fool, he knows sometimes Dexter’s mind turns off, he just goes away until he pulls him back to the moment. 

“What is wrong with you?”

“Just, let me–”

He tries to reach for his belt, he takes both of his hands and puts them up forcefully. His heart is racing suddenly, the feelings he’s having about this difficult to process.

“Dexter you can't call me after a panic attack and just expect me to fuck you like I don't give a shit”

They’re struggling, Dexter twists his wrists trying to get off his hold. When he breaks it, he’s starting to look like he’s in the room again. There’s a hint of annoyment in his stare, finally some normality showing through.

“You don't give a shit about me, I don’t give a shit about you . That's the whole fucking point of this!”

It feels like he just fucking stabbed him in the chest. This is what he wanted. Nothing, no feelings, no attachment. The worst part is that Dexter is right. He told him he didn’t want to know about his problems. He said it was just physical. He should own to it, but he’s so fucking regretful of acting like he did, his pride just gets in the way. There’s a silence that stretches for too long.

“Dexter–” he starts, but he’s already turning, walking past him into his living room.. He grabs him by the arm, making him turn violently. Dexter just shrugs his hand off of him like he's been burned.

“Fuck off.” he says quietly, like he’s made up his mind about something.

“You are going nowhere until you tell me what's wrong” James makes Dexter turn around, and puts himself in the way to the door.

Dexter breathes deeply, exhaling and inhaling, he closes his eyes like he’s cornered up. He starts pacing around, small circles back and forth. James feels his heart beating, very fast. James’ concerned, worried and fucking annoyed he cares at all.

“Fuck, I can’t do this. Not now–” Dexter is speaking to himself, he can tell he is dissociating.

“Calm down,” he grabs his wrist again, this time doesn’t let go. Dexter isn't easy to hold onto, he makes it hard to just stay in place.

“You don’t understand I can’t, I just–”

“Just calm the fuck down Morgan!” he almost yells, pulling his wrist up trying to make him stop moving.

“Fuck you!” he screams at his face, so angry his face is going red, matching his hair perfectly. He can actually see the shadow of a person, only now when he’s angry. He prefers it much more to the marble statue he was before, even if he’s the recipient of whatever the fuck reason Dexter is like this now.

“I don’t fucking get you!” he laughs, trying to get him back.

“So fucking full of yourself, I fucking hate you” he says spitting venom at the wall.

“You wanna punch me?” he laughs, trying to get a reaction, trying to remind him he’s there too. Dexter looks at him like he just realized he was there. “Yell at me”

“What?”

They’re face to face, he can feel his breath hot and uneven right there.

“Come on, scream it out”

“I’m not going to–”

“Let it out Morgan,”

There’s a pause. Dexter’s eyes are restless, like he’s a caged animal going through all of his options.

“ AHHHHGH ”

“Louder”

He yells like he’s fucking dying. James continues to tell him to let it out, the words come out of him on their own. He’s got his wrist up, now limp only tensing from the force Dexter is using to scream. He can’t even tell what he’s saying in the end, too preoccupied about Dexter not falling to the ground as he screams his heart out. 

When he’s done he’s not crying at all, just shakes like he’s losing all control. He trembles like a fucking leaf and when James reaches for him he just tries to throw him off of him. He’s alive now, that he can tell from the emotion that shines through. Dexter must be feeling everything all at once. 

“That’s it, that’s–” James tries to shush him, puts his arms around him and just holds him there, which it’s just fucking crazy. Dexter would fall if he let go, he can tell. It makes him feel something he shouldn’t be feeling. “Hey, hey– it’s over now.” 

He tries to make his voice go softer, but it doesn’t feel right.

“I did something bad” he says against his shoulder. It’s muffled and he almost can’t hear him but it’s there. His heart stops for a moment and he separates from him. Dexter is still breathing hard, like he can’t help it. His eyes however are abnormally blank again, like he’s not there at all. James used to believe Dexter was an emotionless alien, someone who couldn’t get hurt since he had no feelings to be hurt. He's seen under the mask and knows when he’s being real. This is something else. 

Dexter steps away, puts a hand over his mouth, on his cheeks, everywhere. He can’t stop touching his face, which is unsettling. Dexter’s not even looking at him, he realizes, just stares into the wall behind him, trying to hide himself under his hands. James reaches for them, grabs his wrists and makes him stop.

“Dexter, what the fuck did you do?” he asks. His mind is going wild. Whatever happened must be serious to gather such a reaction. When Dexter looks up, his eyes haven’t got that plastic look to them anymore. He could go out onto the street and no one would tell he just had a panic attack right in his living room.

“Oh, fuck ,” he says blankly, but somehow it feels like he’s himself again. He’s no longer pacing or staring off God knows where. He just looks very tired.

“Fuck, sit down, come on,” he leads him to his sofa.

.

They sit for a while, Dexter lying on the couch with his head in James’ lap. He curls his hair around his fingers, massaging his scalp softly. He couldn’t tell how much time they stay like that, maybe it’s ten or fifteen minutes, but it feels like forever. What’s annoying is how much he likes being like this, knowing he’s calmed him down, that Dexter trusts him to be like this. It’s fucked up, he knows, to feel proud about this but he can’t help the tightness on his chest everytime he replays the dead stare. Now, he’s limp, lying by his side, face turned buried in his thigh. He keeps touching his hair, feels the even breath he lets out now. He feels defeated too. Should’ve faced it sooner, the truth. He feels protective of Dexter, and he doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but he knows there’s something very ugly inside of him he desperately tries to hide. Maybe it’s the way the man cuddles up against him like it’s the right place to be, but James truly wishes he’s going to let him help him, even if he’s got no right to, after everything.

“I found one of them,” Dexter says suddenly out of nowhere. His voice is weak but firm, getting very close to normal. It feels very important, this moment here. It feels like a turning point of some sorts, he couldn’t tell why, but it feels like it.

“Who did you find?” he asks slowly.

Dexter turns his head just enough to look at him. “One of my mother’s killers.”

A deep silence crashes his living room. He wonders if Dexter can feel his anger. He didn’t think he’d get a reason, a motive for what prompted this episode in him. Now that he knows, he For a moment a lot of things cross his mind, dark and grimy. There is the possibility Dexter’s done something there’s not coming back from, so he has to ask.

“Did you–?”

Dexter shakes his head “Just beat him up, pretty bad,”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

James could laugh right now. He could just bawl his eyes off from the irony this particular situation proves. He’s just a fucking asshole. He followed, insulted and questioned a man who now trusts him this much. Maybe Maria was right after all.

“He deserved it then.”

“James, I–”

“Don’t tell me,” he says “Just tell me you didn’t kill the motherfucker”

Dexter blinks twice. He’s looking stunned, so fucking vulnerable just laying there with his head over his thighs looking up at him like he isn't real. He just wants to smother the idiot in kisses. James reaches out to touch his face, but Dexter finches the moment he moves.

Dexter’s stare turns into a glare suddenly.

“You were right.”

“What?”

“There’s something very wrong with me”

“Dexter–” 

“I didn’t kill him.” he mumbles, “But I wanted to.”

Dexter stares at him like he’s not sure how he’s going to react. His stomach twists very uncomfortably. “I’m glad you didn’t.” he tells him, trying to leave it there.

Dexter sits up suddenly and looks straight into his eyes like he can see his fucking soul. “You don’t understand. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to just cave his fucking face in. I wanted to grab a knife and cut his fucking throat, make him suffer.”

He's silent for a moment, thinking all the ways he’d take out the bastard himself. Dexter looks unsure, like he’s said too much. He knows the feeling, so he tries to be gentle with his answer.

“I know. I’m glad you didn’t, Dexter.” he says, reaching for him. This time Dexter doesn’t stop him and lets him put a hand on the side of his face, but he's wary, almost cautious when he speaks.

“Why aren’t you freaked out? You fucking hated me, I give you the fucking creeps, right?”

They’re sitting almost touching noses. Dexter is so fucking close he can feel everything. He lets his thumb rub over his temple, feeling the thin hair as he brushes it back.

“I didn't know you then.”

Dexter frowns, like it’s not the answer he expected.

“You don't know me now either.” 

It’s almost embarrassing how much it stings, hearing the honesty pour out of the other man. Dexter may wear a mask at work, but he doesn’t have a filter when he’s being himself.

“No. I don't.” he says, pulling him even closer. He’s laying on the far end of the couch, Dexter almost astride him, his hands hugging his shoulders tightly. 

Maybe he doesn’t know him, but he knows this, he thinks as he leans to kiss him. Dexter gives into it like he’s been waiting for it. It’s selfish, completely, but he can’t help touching him, pulling him over his legs as he puts his tongue in his mouth. Dexter is helping, puts his hands on the back of the couch for leverage, grinding down. He can feel himself getting hard, just from the way Dexter opens his mouth for him, lets him do anything. Pulling back, Dexter’s got his eyes wide open, staring right into him. His heart jumps at the sight of it.

“You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?” Dexter nods, like he’s just focused on him. His pupils are dark and dilated, not looking away once, a steep contrast to his body, which is moving restlessly against him. “Everything is going to be okay, everything–”

He’s kissing him again, whispering between kisses. He doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s saying, the only thing that matters is the way Dexter moans into him, pulling closer and closer. When he turns them around, Dexter lets him lay him on the sofa blindly. He’s above him, impossibly close. His legs are pressed together, groins too. His chest cages the other man, making it impossible to move. Dexter’s hard, he can feel his erection pressing insistent against him. Sweat is starting to collect on his hairline, he strokes his hair again, this time taking a fistful in his hand. Dexter moans softly, closing his eyes and leaning into his grip. He wants him so much it makes him mad.

Dexter puts a hand on his own belt, this time he lets him undo it. James helps by lifting his hips a bit, and he’s got it off in a second. He puts his hand down Dexter's pants quickly, sliding it into his underwear and rubbing a palm over his cock, hearing the other man groan deeply. He stares at the face he’s doing, so immersed in his own pleasure he’s not even looking at him anymore. He’s so hot for the bastard, he doesn’t even know half of it.

It’s over almost as soon as it started. Dexter makes a sound and comes all over his hand the second he starts moving his fist with purpose. He basks on the sounds he’s making, small and frantic, like he’s trying to shut himself up.

“You did good” he tells him, rubbing his free hand over his cheekbone. He wipes the other hand on the blanket (he’s got to wash it anyway), while Dexter comes down. They didn’t even take off their shirts, so it’s a miracle he didn’t get any of it on his clothes. He wonders how he’ll act tomorrow morning. Right now he’s looking at him like he couldn’t look away. If he looks at him like that at work, he may lose it. 

He’s still hard in his pants, he feels his pulse increasing the moment Dexter reaches up again innocently, slipping into his boxers to touch him. It’s slow, intimate, something he’s definitely not ready for. They’re not even kissing, Dexter’s just trembling against his mouth, letting him pick the pace with his hips. The angle is weird, he’s got Dexter pinned under him, lifting just enough so he can fit his hand between them. He’s got more confident about it, moves his hand like he knows what he’s doing with no doubt of how good it’s making him feel. It does his head in, thinking he’s the one who taught him that. No other man has got this from Dexter, has seen him like this or make him want it the way James is sure he does. 

When he finally comes, he slumps over Dexter, unable to move for a moment. They’re both breathing hard, Dexter turns his head a bit to kiss him once more. His lips are soft and wet, he revels in the taste for a moment.

“Thanks” Dexter says when he pulls back.

.

Later, he goes to the bathroom to grab a wet towel. He cleans himself up first, his hands too. The water flows like silk, he puts his hands beneath it feeling it pass through his fingers. Just as he turns to the door, he hears a door slamming shut. When he walks to the living room, he finds the blanket slumped over the sofa, no trace of Dexter. It’s not like he expected him to stay, but still it stings a little. He wonders if this is how Dexter feels, when he leaves. He goes to the living room, gathers up the blanket and goes to throw it in the washer. He’s on autopilot.

When he reaches his bed, he lays flat, trying to make sense of what just happened. He’s not mad at Dexter for just leaving. He’s left plenty of times before. He’s just beginning to wonder who’s using who, now. Can’t blame him for that, either.

The next day Dexter seems cool as always, working on his blood spatters like it’s nothing. Like yesterday didn't happen. Two weeks ago, he was the same. After his breakdown he bounced back, clinging to his fake persona like he needed it to survive. He won’t blame him. He can understand him even. If he had his worst trauma coming alive, he’d try to repress it too. James wonders how much anger hides under the layers he wears to protect himself. Yesterday he confirmed the suspicions he had about it. When he opened up about what he almost did, it really chilled him to the bone. He’s had the intrusive thoughts about killing his father, just from the shit he put his family through, so he knows the control he must've had to stop himself from doing it. Especially if he had the chance to do so. Dexter's limits are still an incognita, so who's to say if he would actually do it? 

He watches him in the station, as much as possible without being obvious. There’s no movement from the redhead, not even a glance in his direction, so he doesn’t approach him. Yesterday, it was too much. He wonders if it would be best to leave now.

They’re in the meeting room, later that day, when he starts noticing the cracks on the mask he’s wearing.

“-white male, under his twenties. Cause of death, asphyxiation. His legs were probably tied, hands as well.”

He listens to Dexter from the other side of the room. He’s in the back, just observing the meeting from the shadows. As of lately, no one even bats an eye at him, so he just stays away watching them intently. 

“How long ago?” Maria asks Dexter, watching him carefully.

“Twenty hours, tops. Maybe twenty five, no more. I’m going to go back, do the testing and I’ll confirm if it’s a match.”

His voice sounds tired, which doesn’t surprise him at all after all the screaming he did. There’s an urge to touch him that grows the more he looks at the man, putting on a spotlight like he belongs there. It fits that he can hide it so well, he’s starting to understand just what made him be this way.

It’s strange because when they make eye contact, Dexter just turns the corners of his mouth ever so slightly, nodding his head in acknowledgment. He expected coldness, maybe embarrassment. It’s madness he feels relieved it’s not any of that.

Dexter comes close once he’s finished his report, sliding among the other people in the room, swift as ever. “Hey Doakes, I’m gonna go do the tests now. I’ll text you when the blood work is done,” 

It sounds like a question. He wonders what Dexter feels about what happened yesterday, if he’s expecting something out of him. He wishes he did, but it’s doubtful, after everything that's happened. He’s aching to ask him, but he’s got to keep his cool for now. Can’t let on too much.

“I’ll pass by the lab later, don’t worry about it,” he says, nonchalantly. 

“Yeah, alright. Talk to you later.” Dexter says with a small smile.

“Sure, if you don't run off on me again, Morgan” he jokes, unable to stop himself. He's still bitter about it, doesn't know why it rubs him off so badly, but that's his life now he guesses.

“Fuck off” Dexter answers, with no bite at all, rolling his eyes at him. He's got that smirk on his face again, and James is a fool because he'd do what he did yesterday for Dexter ten times in a row if it means he would be fine. He can't deny he wants more. 

“What was that?” 

Debra comes out of nowhere, pulling behind his brother like a fucking ghost. Dexter looks caught. It's a strange look for him. Now that he thinks about it he hasn't seen that face in him, ever.

“Nothing,” he says, awkwardly. Debra pulls his brother by the arm to the left corner of the room. Childish as ever, he thinks as he turns to leave the room.

“ Hey, has he done something to you? ” James hears Debra whisper. It’s the last fucking straw.

“I can fucking hear you from here, you know!” he says, raising his voice. The whole room stops for a moment, everyone’s looking at him like he’s losing it. He’s just by the door, almost out, but he can’t believe what he’s heard. It bothers him more than it should. He turns to stare back at the cops who ogle them, whispering among them. It feels ridiculous.

“Doakes–” Dexter starts, as if he didn't have the right to defend himself.

“Fuck yall,” he tells the little audience that's gathered. Their faces just infuriate him. “Fuck you too” he says to Dexter, pointing at him with his index finger. He doesn't know what comes over him, but he's angry at Dexter, especially at him and his fake ass expression sitting on his stupid face again.

After a second of just staring at the faces of all the people who are supposed to have his back, he just leaves, runs out of the crime scene like it's got lice.

He’s pushing the elevator button when Dexter comes to intercept him. He puts himself between the door and James, like that'd stop him from leaving.

“Hey, what's your problem? I thought we were good?” he asks, with such a idiotic face he just wants to punch it right off of him.

“My problem is you siding with people who believe I'm the fucking butcher.” he spits out, trying to get a reaction. Dexter remains calm, as if he's trying to mediate a solution. It only makes him angrier.

“That's my sister.” he says slowly, like he’s stupid.

“So what?” 

“Don't be such a smart ass that doesn't really suit you. You know we have to keep a low profile”

He laughs, shaking his head.

“Low profile my ass. I'm tired of this shit, I shout put in my resignation right fucking now–”

Dexter scrunches his face like he just smelled something horrible. “What? No. You aren't.”

It’s so cut-throat, James is stunned in place. “I'm not?”

“No, you’re not fucking quitting. You're going home to cool off, I'll talk with LaGuerra about this. And you're not fucking quitting.” he says, very confident that James is just going to do what he says. If he thinks he’s just going to let everyone walk over him, he’s very wrong.

“I will do what–”

“I need you now. So you are not quitting. Come over later when you're not acting so dumb” he says, throwing him a final look. 

I need you.

He's left staring at the closed elevator doors. Fucking Dexter Morgan.

They’re in bed, Dexter is fast asleep, clings to him like an anchor. After everything they’ve ended up in the same place they were. Dexter hasn’t talked about yesterday so James keeps quiet about it too. Somehow he wants to show him he is capable of staying in his lane, to give him space. He isn't able to close his eyes at all. The thoughts are hanging, heavy above his head. He kisses his shoulder and Dexter furrows in closer.

The next few days everything calms down a bit. The looks decrease in the station and people start actually talking to him. Whatever Dexter did, it’s kind of working. He knows most of the cops don’t trust him anymore, but at least they’re keeping it civil. 

Dexter doesn’t really talk to him at work, only a few stolen glances scattered over their shifts, which is more than he expected. He scratches his chin as he looks over the endless pages he’s got to examine. He doesn’t know what the fuck he expected, honestly.

At night, it’s become a routine for James to go to Dexter's apartment. They’ve got some files on former cops and staff opened, some he’s borrowed from the station, some Dexter’s found on the databases. Cross referencing everything is starting to be tiring, so much information and no lead at all, but his instinct just tells him to keep looking. It’s starting to feel like a routine. He wonders how he is at dating. He can’t imagine him being good at all.

“What do you think of this one?” Dexter says one night, holding a folder like it’s made out of glass. They’re in his living room tonight, Dexter sitting down on the sofa with his legs crossed, surrounded by files, while he’s down on the floor with his back resting against the sofa. He’s got a coffee, courtesy of Dexter, and feels like this is going nowhere.

“Let me see.” Dexter hands him the file.

“I think he’s close. If we got the DNA sample I’d just have to do some tests to confirm. Look, I’ve been matching dni to some of the discarded samples the FBI forensics used in my lab and–” Dexter is talking enthusiastically, like it’s a fucking game.

“How the fuck did they not look into it? If there’s a chance to have a match?”

He pauses for a moment, “If they want to frame you, I don’t think they’re focused about where to look, exactly.”

He nods and looks into the file. The profile is the regular retired cop style, a house downtown with a wife and two kids. Married twice, no notorious career achievements.

“So this is it?” he asks, reading the details.

Dexter nods. “Yes. Damien Miller. He used to work with my father.” He points at the photo, just an old white man, couldn't pick him out of a group. 

“So he’s been doing this for a while now. Who knows how many more.” he comments, reading through the file.

Dexter is hanging above him, watching him turn the pages. “I’m not sure it’s him. We have to be a hundred percent sure before we do anything.”

He puts his head back on the couch, looking at Dexter backwards.

“You’re worried. I can tell” he says, making him roll his eyes at him. Dexter puts his hand on his head, massaging his scalp gently.

“I’m just thinking about the feds. Do you think they’re following us?” he asks him. Of course he's thought about it, but he'd know if they were.

“I don't think so. Not yet, at least. Doesn’t it bother you?” he says, as he leans into the hands.

“Why would it?”

“If they are following us, they know what we’re doing here,” he says.

“It hasn't reached that point. Lundy still is half blinded by my sister.”

“Why you ask me then if you're so sure?”

Dexter punches him in the arm, from above. “Don’t play dumb, makes you look ugly”

“Don’t you fucking dare–” he raises an eyebrow, carefully.

“So?”

He sighs and lets Dexter have the file. If he thinks too much about it, his head will start to hurt.

“I don’t care. Let them know the truth. If they want to waste their time noting down their fancy computers how many times I come here and make assumptions, be my guest. They’re not going to filter this to Miami Metro.”

“Hm”

Dexter stands up, starting to gather the files. This is also one of the routines James got used to. Once they’re done with the search… Dexter walks up to him, lowers himself to the floor. He grabs his hips, narrow and lean, feels the skin through his shirt.

“Same tomorrow?” he asks, distracted by the way Dexter bares his neck, throwing his head back.

“Ah, I got bowling night” Dexter says, as he undoes his shirt.

“Fuck me, you're a nerd” he chuckles. 

Dexter raises an eyebrow back at him, in turn. “You knew that”

“Yeah, I guess.”

For now, he just kisses, pushing the files away. Dexter looks dashing, flushed and flat against the floor of his apartment. It’s a nice fucking view.

They’re out by the parking lot when it happens. He’s waiting for Dexter at the bowling alley, leaning outside his car. He checks out his clock, almost ten, which means they’re probably over. Dexter agreed to leave early so the others wouldn’t see them leave together. He’s parked further away, right on the other end of the lot.

It happens quickly. Dexter is out of the bowling alley, dressed in the ridiculous blue shirt. He remembers thinking how silly it looked on him the moment he realizes a man just jumped Dexter. The adrenaline hits him like a bullet.

They're struggling, the man has a knife, he's trying to hit Dexter with it.

“Hey!” He yells, running up from the other side of the parking lot, but it’s too late. Once he hears him the man is already getting into a car. He’s got his gun out in a heartbeat, almost takes a shot at the car, if it wasn’t for Dexter’s hand stopping him.

“Hey, calm the fuck own, another open file for a kill wont fucking help your case” he tells him, like he doesn’t fucking know it wouldn’t.

He grabs his shirt pulling him closer. The blue on his shoulders is turning red, “You’re bleeding!”

“It’s not that deep.”

James frowns, watching the wound “Who was that?”

“He tried to grab my watch,” he says, breathing heavily. It’s a miracle no one heard them.

“I should’ve shot the motherfucker,”

Dexter snorts, “If you want to be an idiot and expose yourself for something we both know you aren’t, be my guest. Just don’t come crying to me when Lundy puts surveillance on you.”

Doakes snorts at the sudden attack, “Why the fuck would I come crying to you? Also why the fuck do you care so much? Last time it happened you were happy to make me a liar. I had the fucking right to shoot him so don't bring it up like I shoot people for fun,” he says, referring to the Bayard shooting. Dexter shakes his head like an idiot.

“That was before. I was just doing the blood work and it didn’t match your story. Sorry.”

“So you weren’t trying to fuck me over?” he asks sarcastically.

“I wasn’t thinking of you like– You know, we weren’t involved”

“Involved.” He deadpans. Again, his heart does something weird.

“Let’s just go,”

He's reluctant to just go, he's eager to find the fucker who just stabbed Dexter in the arm. Maybe he'll come back for the surveillance footage. He’s got the plate of the man engraved into his mind too, but the way Dexter walks up to his car just makes him let it slide for his future self in the morning.

There are more important matters to tend to, afterall.

Chapter Text

Fucking Jimenez, stalking me in the bowling alley. I preferred Doakes much better, at least he never did stab me.

Doakes tends to his wound gently. He’s got everything laid out in front of him, the cotton bandages, sterile wipes, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. It’s a nice line, everything straight as it can be on the bed.

“Hey, don’t move”

He flinches as Doakes disinfects his skin, the liquid seeping into the open wound. He’s very focused on his shoulder, cleans it carefully, wiping the drying blood off his skin. Doakes looks dashing, wearing his brown pants and a deep neck black shirt. It fits him like a glove.

“Sorry” he says, “Just, it burns”

“I know.”

There’s something about this moment, just laying in the bed with James right next to him that feels nice, even if his shoulder is hurting. It helps him come down from what just happened. On the outside he’s calm but his mind is reeling about Jimenez, the fact that he got so close. He knows who he is now, stalked him and tried to kill him. The worst part is Doakes. If he hadn’t been there it’d be the perfect chance to finish what he should’ve done before. Sure, his bowling team with Masuka and Batista was still inside, but he could’ve thought of something. Now, Doakes has seen him, maybe has his plate memorized. He’s a sergeant so, if he wants, he can get to the end of it. He should’ve killed Jimenez when he had the chance. Why he lost control, he doesn't know.

“We should be looking for him,” Doakes comments as he puts a bandage over the wound.

He doesn’t even think about what he’s saying before it comes out, “We can’t.” 

He should’ve seen this coming. Doakes looks up, frowns at him like he’s being dumb.

“I can search the–”

“There’s nothing to search for.” Fuck me, he has the plate. Very convenient. He cuts him off before he can start. It’s crucial he doesn’t find out who Jimenez is to him. As he watches his frown deepen, maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say.

“The bastard stabbed you and you expect me to just leave him alone?” he asks him, like he’s being crazy. 

“Remember what is our priority,” he says, trying to redirect his thoughts. It’s no good to continue on that road, if Doakes finds out his name he could find out about his brother. That’d be the end of this. As Doakes touches his bare skin, his hand lingering longer than normal, he wishes selfishly he’d just give in to his excuses and just let it go. It’s good with Doakes when he’s not trying to get under his work. Last week, when he beat up Jimenez with the bat, it wasn’t the Dark Passenger guiding him. It wasn’t his urges, his blood thirst has to tend to every so often. It was pure anger, unfiltered and dripping out of him, the only goal to end the man as painfully as he could.

Doakes turns his head up to look at him. Dexter’s shirtless, only the bandage on his shoulder on.

“I should've shot him” he says, as he checks the work he’s done with the bandages. Maybe Dexter isn’t the best to read people, but it’s so obvious he’s resentful. Of what, exactly, he isn’t sure of.

“Why do you care so much?” Dexter asks, very forward. Doakes just narrows his eyes and looks away again. The wound is tended to, but he keeps on fiddling with the binding. 

“Because he hurt you” he lets out, softly, for him. His voice is still deep, but it has a weird tone. It’s unlike him, not to look at him when he’s talking.

“Oh.”

Maybe this is one of the times where he's got to show something, anything he's feeling. James keeps looking down at his shoulder, the start of a frown coming through. His eyes shine brightly, he’s clearly bothered by the whole thing. Dexter wishes he could see the inside of his brain. He can hear him thinking, just from the way he’s staring at the wound like it will just disappear if he wishes it away.

His hand lowers from the bandages to his bicep, his hand touches his arm for a moment before he talks, “Is it–” he starts, looking up again, but catches himself and pauses for a moment. When he meets his eyes, there’s a hint of regret there. Dexter wonders what’s there to regret. 

“Forget it.” Doakes gets off the bed and starts gathering everything up. It's like he wanted to say something else, but the words are left unsaid. Leaving it at that feels wrong. 

“Thanks. For caring.” he says, it sounds insincere even to his own ears. Doakes caring could lead to more trouble than expected.

“Yeah, it's okay.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear him at all. He’s putting everything back in the medical kit, no hurry at all. The calmness that’s suddenly taken over Doakes could be bad. For once in the short time they’ve spent together, he feels the need to fill the silence.

“You're right. It could've been worse. I'm lucky he just got me in the arm. What I'm trying to tell you is that… We are really close to finding the Butcher. We shouldn't take unnecessary risks.”

James takes his shirt that’s laying in the bed, folds it too and puts it away while he talks. The shirt’s ruined from the blood and the fact that a knife ripped it apart, but James holds it like he’s reliving the moment. He can’t tell if he’s even listening.

“Okay. I get you.” he says at the end, standing over the bed with his hands on his hips. They’re empty words, he doesn’t know what to make of that. Still sitting back against the bed frame, he reaches for James with a hand, laying it on the open space between them. He goes easily, lays across the bed to rest part of his body on his chest. He’s heavy and hot, just the right amount of pressure that makes his head spin.

“I just don't want you to get in more trouble. He's no one, it's not worth it,” he whispers into the top of his head “at least let's wait until this is solved.” he adds, just in case. If Doakes decides to follow up on this, at least he'll have some time to mend the situation.

James nods right against his shoulder, he feels his lips kissing the muscle softly just over the binding. “Yeah, yeah. It's fine. Whatever you say”

“James…” he starts, but then a hand reaches lower. He’s wearing his jeans, the fabric is rough so when he palms over them it doesn’t feel like much. Doakes pushes himself up on his elbows, just to look at him. His right hand keeps moving, faster now, making his body react on its own. It’s nice, but it’s not enough. James is looking at him right in the eye and he knows he can finally forget about anything else, at least for a while. He’s got used to that look and knows now exactly what he’s thinking of. He won’t oppose a bit of pleasure. It’s weird to think Doakes is the best lover he’s had so far, at least their sexual chemistry is nothing he’s had ever. He likes women just fine; with Rita it was good, but never this intense. He’s very attracted to the man in that regard.

“Are you going to listen to me now?” he tells him, undoing the button of his jeans. He feels the hand lower the zipper too, “Are you going to be good for me?”

A thrill goes over his body, his hips move by its own. “Fuck you,” he spits out, annoyed. James’ looking at him funny, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Excitement runs through him like lightning.

“Yeah, you are.”

His right hand makes its way into his briefs, starts stroking him firmly. Dexter moans, feeling the tension leave his body. James’ hand is just perfect, big, strong, it grounds him into the bed. Looking up at him, he tries to get him close enough to kiss. James moves away then, removing the hand too. If he had more self control about this maybe he wouldn’t have let out the whine that comes out of him the second he stops touching his dick.

“Fuck Dexter, you’re so–” It’s useless trying to hear what he’s saying because he pulls him by his legs to lay flat on the bed and his mind turns off like a switch. James is kissing into his mouth deeply while he pushes everything down, briefs too, with no thoughts at all. In an instant he's naked and his head is spinning. He lets him grab his jaw, opens his mouth for him and lets him bite into his tongue. He can’t get enough of it, the taste of James and the way he kisses him so intensely. James’ fully lying on top of him now, fully dressed over his naked body. He wonders if it’s wrong that he likes it, the contrast.

“What do you want me to do, eh?” James asks between kisses, slowing down from the moment.

“I don’t care.” he says, trembling a bit into his mouth. He feels the other man tracing his lips slowly with his mouth, like he's committing the taste into memory.

“Do you want this?” he asks, lowering one of his hands right over the curve of his ass. He’s aware of the way the fingers spread the top of his ass slightly, just enough to make him feel it. He moans a bit as he moves his hips up making it easier for him to reach his ass. He’s tried to do it by himself, ever since James did it to him for the first time, but it didn't feel the same. The angle was too awkward and he didn’t really have the motivation James provided for him. So, he tried it once and called it quits, never was the one to masturbate anyway. No need to practice when he had a willing body to do the work for him either. 

A finger slips in with no lube; it just burns. He groans when he starts moving, a sharp pain suddenly hits him. “James–” 

“You want more?”

“Yeah, you can do anything you want” he moans, tugging on his shirt to kiss him. James pulls away once again leaving him open mouthed, slips out the finger and reaches for the lube in the nightstand. Dexter watches him do it from where he’s laying, he’s fixated on how he wets his fingers, rubbing them to warm it up. It makes no sense he likes this, being exposed like this with nothing to hide behind at all. He likes James’ eyes on him, possessive and certain. He’d never admit it out loud, but he knows what the fuck he’s doing.

“You want my fingers again?”

Dexter nods and opens his legs a little. He’s still not used to being like this, submitting to someone rather than being the one taking the decisions. Dating has always felt like acting of some kind, he knows the role, how to treat a woman, what’s expected of him. He’s never had something like this, something that’s only for him, purely selfish. It’s not the usual but it works on him, his cock is hard and the only thing that’s on his mind is the memory of James’ fingers inside, how good it can be. 

James doesn’t make a move, expecting an answer out loud. Dexter sighs and leans back on the pillow. “Only fingers?” he asks, teasing him.

Doakes hasn’t made a move to try and fuck him yet, not even when he’s fingered him a bunch of times already. He even looks startled at his question. He’s happy either way, not really in a rush to find out how it feels. Still, it’s clear that James has some kind of issue with it, so it’s funny to mess with him like that.

“You gotta ask for that,” he tells him patronizingly.

“I’ve asked plenty” he says, following the other’s eyes, quick movements. He’s on full alert, just waiting for James to get the fuck on with it.

“You said I could if I wanted. Never said you wanted to.” James says, lowering himself a bit to kiss him. He starts on his mouth, follows the line of his jaw with his tongue, it presses down his body. 

“It's,” kiss “not,” kiss “the same.” He ends with a final kiss to his groin, making him moan.

He gives up the moment the fingers penetrate him again. This time it's two, it feels like too much right away, even if it’s better with the lube. He makes a small sound, pulling his hips back. James stops to put his mouth on his cock, just leaves it there and wets it with his tongue, making a mess. 

“Yeah, it's alright you can– Come on,” he hears himself say the moment he feels the initial pain fading. James doesn't wait long to fuck him again, deeper. It hurts but this time is manageable. James is being more intense than usual, relentless, his fingers are insistent once he finds his spot and he plays him like a fucking instrument. His mouth keeps finding the most tender places, his hipbone, the inside of his thigh… Dexter likes it, the undivided attention, it makes him feel good knowing someone wants him like this. It feels like he’s fucking worshipping him, just that makes his head spin. 

It goes on for a while, he just basks on the pleasure he feels every time James turns his wrist just so, when he puts the right pressure at the right time. He feels the fingers move inside, pushing over and over again. It's blissful to just feel the electricity going through his body, making him buzz. He's moaning now, no filter at all. His eyes are closed, but he can hear the groans the other man is making below him. When he opens them as a particular thrust makes him squirm, he finds James staring up at him so deeply it makes him whine again. He sways his hips forward as he tries to get a better angle the moment the other man lifts himself up, stopping his movements.

“Turn around” James says. He stares at him for a minute, feeling his chest move quickly, up and down. He's tempted to just stay how he is, just to make it harder for the other man. His fingers are still inside, unmoving now, so he teases himself moving his ass up a bit. James lets him do it, watching him hungrily. He moves to bite his thigh, almost breaking the skin, before pulling back completely. He feels empty without the fingers, his whole body feels hot without James' touch, who is now waiting on him, sitting up a little on the bed. He doesn't move right away. James observes him the whole time.

“Very good,” he comments when he turns around, something in him just flips. He feels his back curving when James runs a hand over, starting at the top of his spine down to the tailbone. His cock aches, trapped between his body and the sheets, the friction not nearly enough to get him off. James fits himself between his shoulder blades, puts his mouth on the back of his neck, and it’s good . It's terrible that it feels so good, feeling James’ hard against him, even if it's over the pants he's still wearing. “Are you going to come when I tell you to?” He asks, putting his fingers inside again, this time three. There’s no pain at all, just a blinding pleasure and satisfaction. He doesn’t even try to answer, just lets himself give into it.

His mind really goes blank the minute James starts fucking him, the new angle proving far deeper than before. James is rutting against his leg too, he can feel how he moves following the rhythm his hands fucks him with. He bites into the pillow and finds that he doesn't mind this position at all. It’s not long before he feels he’s going to lose it.

“James– can, can I?” He can't form a sentence right now, the only thing on his mind is the near orgasm, he can feel it coming with every thrust of his hand. He's pushing back too, trying to chase the pleasure James' coaxing out of him.

“Fuck, yeah, come for me now” James fingers him faster, deeper somehow. He doesn’t know what he looks like now, but when he turns his head back to see James there’s a very dark look on his eyes. Not knowing what to make of it, he turns his head back into the pillow and closes his eyes. He doesn’t wait much longer to fit a hand under his body, touching his own cock screaming for release. He thrusts into his hand two times before he’s coming. He's moaning the whole time, there are no words for the waves that run through his body. It goes on a while, or at least it feels like it. James removes his fingers as Dexter rides the waves, happy to give in to the good feeling it leaves. 

Behind him, James is moving, he hears the sound of his buckle being undone. He looks over his shoulder, still reeling from his orgasm, to find James slicking himself up. He feels hot again, just watching James stroke his cock, everything shiny with the lube. He's big, too fucking big, if he tries to fuck him now, he doesn't know if he'll get through it. His body is on fire the moment James crashes down on him, slipping his cock between his legs. He's almost relieved when he starts humping his thighs, that's good, he can take that. Laying back down on the pillow again, he lets him fit against his back, the pressure of his cock pressing between makes it just perfect. James bites the binded shoulder, making him moan in pain. His cock twitches again just from the intensity. It's madness, his back feels sweaty, his hair too. 

“When I fuck you, you're going to beg for it. Don't think –ah, fuck– that you're ready for it”

He moans when James picks up the pace, the friction of his spent cock against the sheets almost too much. He can feel the hard cock pushing between his legs, heavily rubbing against his own making it hard to come down at all. The fabric of his clothes also rubs on him, reminding him of his own nakedness. James breathes hard on his neck, mouthing a hot wet patch that makes it all the better. It's a nice contrast to the way his hips are snapping below. Dexter can't help himself, he lifts his ass back and starts chasing the friction lasciviously. Everything’s wet, his dick, the matress, the cock that’s fucking his thighs. It makes him shiver. The change of angle makes his cock go a little too deep, as James thrusts upwards catching the skin of his hole. He can’t help the raw gasp he lets out. He feels open and wet, but it’s too much, doesn’t fucking feel like fingers at all. It only lasts a second, James groans, moaning too, right into his ear, and suddenly he's pulling back. 

Dexter looks over his shoulder, still hot and somehow startled by the change. James jerks off, sitting back on his haunches as he stares at him intently. He is laying back against the pillow, head turned sideways just enough to watch James touch himself. He can’t believe he’s so fucking attracted to him, even now, fully clothed just his cock out. It's not long before he's coming in his hand, with a final deep grunt. He can feel the cum on the back of his thighs, adding to the mess. His heart is beating very fast as he hears James moan deeply. He sits on his thighs heavily, putting weight on his limp cock trapped between his body and the mattress. Moving above him, he caresses his back with both hands. Dexter’s pulsing against the sheets every time there's the smallest friction, like he’s never coming down. The pleasure elongates when James leans to kiss the back of his shoulder. He likes this afterglow, he thinks as James caresses the back of his ass, massaging carefully. 

His hands open his buttcheeks slightly, making him moan again. He’s exposed but he couldn’t care less. He’s relaxed when James puts his fingers inside again, pushing easily penetrates his hole with no resistance at all. Before he understands what's happening, a moan is dragged out of him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” His body is trembling like a leaf. He can’t feel anything other than pure unadulterated pleasure almost to the point of pain. Sweat breaks on the small of his back the moment he curls his fingers inside of him. James is just pressing right into his prostate, no warning no build up, keeps three fingers pressed against just rubbing incessantly. He whines desperately, feeling like he’s gonna die. “Doakes, I can’t, I just–”

“You can,” he tells him, confidently. 

It’s madness because it’s not like James is pinning him down. He could push him off of him at any moment, but he’s slumped over the mattress incapable of moving away. It’s nothing like before, he just pumps his fingers inside of him slowly, no rush at all, so deeply it makes his cock twitch again. The lack of pain makes the stretch of the fingers even more noticeable. He’s whining into the pillow before he knows it. He’s never felt this before, it’s almost too much, too intense.

“James, fuck–,” his legs twitch involuntarily. He can feel his cock filling up again, as much as he can, which is crazy. He realizes James is actually going to make him come again. Dexter lifts his hips and tries to move against the hand, demanding a faster pace. James obliges picking up the rhythm. He reaches around with his other hand to stroke his cock in the front too, making him fully hard. His mind is absolutely empty.

“Come on, just let me take care of you” he hears James say, tonguing at his neck before going down his spine as licks the sweat off him. He’s melting all over, just at the touch of his lips on his skin. He bites the pillow when James puts his tongue on his ass, licking down until it reaches the fingers that are still fucking him slowly. 

“Agh, what the fu–” he moans deeply, feeling his soul leave his body. He can't decide if he likes it, his body pushes back on its own like it's deciding how it feels about it. It’s so fucking strange feeling a tongue there , but his cock is hard again and James is touching him everywhere. “I can't James, more, I need–” His tongue opens him up along with his fingers. It’s not that deep, he just laps in between, making a mess, but it leaves him shaking.

“What do you need, eh?” he asks, stopping for a moment. He can feel his breath hot against his ass, it’s crazy. His fingers don’t stop moving though, following the rhythm of the hand that’s stroking his cock, and he realizes his ass is lifted up in the air almost like he’s begging for it– it’s like a punch to the gut.

He’s almost certain he’s reached the limit. He thinks of words but they won’t come out right. “Fuck, just– Ja-James I can’t,” he babbles, not even knowing what he’s saying.

“You gonna be a good boy and cum one more time for me?”

His whole body contracts on itself like he’s in pain, and of course he comes again. It was inevitable. It’s something he’s never felt before, nothing comes close to what James’ drags out of him. He closes his legs tightly, squeezing the fingers inside. James touches his back the whole time, he feels how he rubs circles against his good shoulder, almost massaging him. He can’t move at all now, James just broke him. Dexter never wanted this so badly before. No one has ever made him like this, so desperate for it. When he pulls his fingers out of him, he whines at the loss. 

James grabs his hips and manhandles him to lay on his back. He feels hot still, breathing unevenly. James is red in the face, panting too, like just watching him lose it was enough. When James lowers himself once again between his legs, gets down at his spent cock and starts licking the cum away, he kicks him in the head with his knee, this time too much for real. 

“No– Don’t fucking dare, it's enough–” Dexter tenses, cringing at the overstimulated skin.

James doesn't resist, gets his mouth away instantly. “Okay, okay” he says, putting a palm on his dick, like he’s fondling it, “We’re done.”

He lays down besides him with a grunt, and Dexter can't believe sex could feel this way. It's something else entirely from anything he's done before.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I– really kinda liked it” he says, sighing at the end. Feeling the burn all over his body, he leans into James; he's too tired to fight it. “You have fun with that too?” he asks him once he's able to think again. From here he can tell his face is flushed, looking very pleased with himself. He can tell he gets off on it too.

“Yeeeah,” he drags out, stretching his arms before pulling Dexter into a hug. “You did good”

Dexter moans softly, knowing fully well Doakes wants to hear it. He’s got no shame about being loud; if he’s going to do this he’s going to take full advantage, and he wants to keep doing it, especially after tonight. James takes a deep breath and breaks the hug to kiss him. It feels more intimate than whatever they did before. He can feel his tongue licking over his mouth tentatively, opens his lips with his and melts into him. It’s a nice kiss.

He can’t make out exactly what Doakes wants of him. After cleaning both of them up, he stays for another hour. They spend most of it on bed, kissing languidly, before Doakes gets up to go to the bathroom. He feels ruined, laying in the sheets, like he doesn’t have a problem. Like he isn’t losing control of his perfectly hidden life, like he isn’t standing on loose fucking ground. Of course, every high has its lows. Once Doakes returns to the bedroom he’s curled up on himself. Dexter can’t stop thinking about how quickly everything could go to shit. He doesn’t even register Doakes moving besides him.

“Stop thinking,” Doakes orders him, as he sits on the bed beside him. He puts a hand on his head, brushes some of the hair falling down his face backwards. 

Staring at his face he nods absently, the thoughts are just flooding his brain so he’s not really registering what he’s saying. 

He’s already trying to reorder the plan, he’s got to put the Jimenez thing aside.

First, he has to get all of the evidence he needs together. Second, set up the last crime scene. Third, lure Miller into it. Fourth, and last, find a way so Doakes can find him.

He has to make it believable for him to find Miller guilty. Drop hints there and then, lead up to it slowly. No cracks can be seen. He’s keeping Miller on a short leash, ever since last week when he confronted him. He won’t be able to keep it that way if his thing with Jimenez derails. 

James cares about him to some extent, why, he doesn’t know why but he’s earned his trust. He can breathe a bit better knowing he’s got it under control now, just has to keep the pieces together long enough to get the result he wants. He can see how easy it is with Doakes to be calm. He’s the most unstable he’s been in years, so losing control isn’t something he’s used to. It’s one thing with Doakes, with him he’s able to just let go without real consequences. He couldn’t explain it, but control is such a fundamental pillar in his life, it leads him into the dark path he follows like a rail he won’t ever stray away from. 

James ends up staying the night, but he’s gone before Dexter wakes up. The coffee left for him is a sweet touch, really.

He brings in donuts the next day for work. Everything is the same; looks the same, smells the same, moves the same. Debra is at her desk, like always, everyone goes on with their lives without a care. Without hiding the most fundamental part of themselves. Everyone lies, but the character is usually out there in the open. He’s so worn out from faking feelings sometimes he wonders if actually feeling them would be as tiring. So yeah, everything’s the same, except there’s Doakes at the end of the writing area, just sitting on his desk like he’s been waiting for him to show up. He nods at him, smiling a little in his own way, like it’s nothing. There’s something about pastries that he must hate, from the way the smile turns into a frown as he makes his way through the station.

“Want one?” he asks anyway, because it’s funny to watch Doakes’ offended face.

“Nah.” he says, dismissing him with a wave of his hand, but he leans back on his chair, eyeing him up and down. Dexter can’t help a smirk, the way he’s looking at him is no longer distrustful. He knows he’s thinking of last night the moment he lays his eyes on him. “How’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine. Thanks for yesterday.” he answers methodically. Doakes rolls his eyes and looks at his watch. Dexter is standing awkwardly by his side. He’s still getting used to Doakes not being aggressive to him around the station, so he doesn’t really know what to do.

Doakes nods, apparently as unsure as he is, “I should get going, gotta go to the crime scene” he says, like he’s ready to get the day over with. Vince’s the forensic assigned to the case, so he’s not on the field today, fated to writing and report work instead. 

“Do you have to leave right now?”

“I have like… Half an hour maybe.” Doakes says, raising an eyebrow. He’s amused, Dexter thinks, the expression is the same as when he finds something funny. The reason is unknown, so he just blinks at him with his usual rehearsed smile.

“Meet me in the lab in five. Won’t take long”

“Won’t take long, eh?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. Dexter leaves a donut on his desk, knowing fully well it’s going to annoy him.

“Eat this first.” he says, walking away without looking back. It’s best if they waste no time. He wants to make sure Doakes is going to leave the Jimenez thing alone. It’s good he’s entertained with a case, but one can never be too careful.

Dexter walks up to his desk in the report room. He stares at the box of donuts, half empty. He leaves it in the chair, not planning on staying long. The station is starting to fill up, a rush of people coming in for a number of things.

“So Miss. Popularity is above donuts now?” Debra chimes in, obviously ever observant.  She picks up a donut, pink custard, and takes a bite, “You’re feeding him now?” 

Dexter sighs, not really wanting to get into a conversation.“I told you to stop with that” he says, dismissively. He’s just gathering some papers he’ll need later. It’s still pretty early, so he’s got time to plan his script.

“Fuck, I know. LaGuerta made it pretty clear after what happened last week,” she talks as she’s eating, which is not the best look for her honestly. 

“So, just stop” he cuts her off very straightforwardly. Debra waves her hands up and shakes her head.

“Jeez, okay.” she says, taking another bite of the donut. “So now he’s your friend?” she reclines onto the desk.

“What if he was?” he asks carefully. He doesn’t like where this is going one bit.

Debra shakes her head and lowers her voice, at least giving him that, “You have to be careful Dexter. He’s never going to like you anyway.” he scrunches his face. Debra doesn’t even know half of it. She may sense there’s something going on between them, but she doesn’t know the truth of the matter.

To his dismay, his dearest ‘work’ friends interrupt them right fucking there. It's his fault, of course his working persona would bring the donuts just for that very reason. Normal, ordinary people love to waste time in meaningless conversations, especially trying to procrastinate on the actual work as long as possible.

“Dexter, my man!” He salutes him with a heavy pat to his bad shoulder. He squirms a bit, trying not to make his injury very noticeable.

“Hey Angel, Vince” he greets them, his usual smile on full display. He’s empty inside. He watches how they grab their share of the donuts, eating like they’ve never seen a fucking donut before. Donuts go a long way into faking a perfectly normal life.

Masuka is there with the equipment, ready to go watch a corpse. Batista takes out his phone to show him a photo of the game, “You should’ve stayed, man! We fucking won against the Rat Team”

“They’re the Tit Team” Masuka says, unfunny as always.

Angel doesn’t even bat an eye. “Rat fits them better, at least they’re self aware. Dios los cría y ellos se juntan , am I right?”

“I don’t know what the fuck he just say, but agreed.” Vince says before turning to Debra “Hey can I eat your donut?”

“Oh fuck off you perv, shouldn’t you be at a crime scene?” Debra punches him on the arm. It’s easy watching the dynamics play out. It’s familiar. At work, he’s part of this people’s life, but are they part of his? They could never be, how could they when he hides the lack of humanity he possesses. They seem so normal. So calm. Is that how innocent people act? He’ll never know. Doakes is the only one in the station smart enough to see the fucked up of the situation. 

It’s not long at all before Vince and Angel leave for the crime scene, he tries to make his exit too. He’s got twenty minutes left to meet with Doakes, and he’s aching to know if he’s still thinking of following it up with the stabbing thing.

“I’m gonna go run some tests,” he tells Debra, as he fixes his eyes on Doakes, still at his desk. He can’t even tell what he’s doing from the flow of people blocking the view of the floor, but he wonders if he’s waiting for him to go in first.

“Right fucking now?” she asks, raising an eyebrow sarcastically.

“Yeah, sure.” he says, without taking his eyes off of Doakes. He wonders if he’s already tracking down Jimenez. The uncertainty kills him inside a bit, so everything else is just numb to him. It’s the details he’s got to take care of, and this feels important, just to make sure everything else works out. He has to think of the bigger picture. Now Harry’s not here to guide him. There’s no guide to what’s happening to him. If Harry was here maybe things would be different. He’ll never know that.

“Oh my God, Dexter– are you going to fuck Doakes in there?”

Dexter snaps his head towards his sister like she just slapped him. “Can you be any louder?” he asks, checking if someone actually heard them, luckily there's no one close enough to hear his sister's big mouth.

“Are you for real?” she whispers, dumbfounded. This is going awfully wrong, there’s no time to deal with something like this now. He has no time to explain, try anyway. He wonders if he could ever justify his intentions with Doakes.

“There’s nothing going on,”

“So, Doakes isn’t going to walk up to the lab after you go inside?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. Of course she was going to notice at some point, just hoped it wasn’t too soon. This is something that’s blurring the line between his work self and his real self. Debra knows him to a point, but this is new even for him. He’s got no clue how he should act about it.

“Fuck off, I’m not like you” he rebuts, shuting the conversation instantly. He doesn’t really want to do this, but it’s for the best if she just stays away for now. There’s so many variables that could go wrong, he can’t risk Deb being one of them.

She does a double take on him, gasping like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. 

“What the fuck, Dexter? You’re being an asshole,” she says, voice breaking a bit.

“I don’t need you up in my personal life”

“Wow. Okay.” 

Debra seems hurt. He wonders if he’s fucked up again. It’s not like he doesn’t want to talk about it with her. Ever since they were teens, young adults in Dexter’s case, they’ve been all up in eachother’s relationships. Debra has met his girlfriends, introduced him to Rita even. She always tells him all about her own as well, of the people she dates, and asks for advice. He’s always wondered if he really is a good brother. He wants Debra to be proud of him, he can't let her down.

When he stays silent, she snorts and turns to leave, crossing her arms.

.

The walk up to the lab is short but nerve wracking somehow. He locks the door to Masuka’s lab and leaves the blinds shut too, just in case. He waits for Doakes in silence, reclining against a cabinet. The door opens not much later. He hears the steps before he’s at the knob.

“Hey” James greets him, locking the door behind him. He looks around for a moment, but once he really looks at him, nothing else seems to matter. They’re alone, but it doesn’t feel like always. There’s this tension he can’t put his finger on, it’s like electricity. It’s weird because it’s early, he’s really watching Doakes now, sunlight streams through the gaps on the blinds framing his figure.

“Hey” he mimics, leaning back on the cabinet. Doakes doesn’t answer, just steps close enough to put a hand on his shoulder, touches him just over where his bandages should be. He feels a tinge of pain course through his muscles, but it isn’t enough to make him want James to stop touching him. He wonders if James is going to make him look up the guy he almost shot yesterday, Jimenez to him. Maybe presenting a hint of the butcher could distract him. He doesn’t waste time to start managing the situation.

“So, I found a report on Miller, from back in 98'. Should take a look. I wanted to show it to you yesterday, but, you know…”

He listens to him without saying a word before stepping up to his face. It happens very quickly, his mouth is on him before he can process it. It’s a shallow kiss, just lips moving over lips like a feather. James takes a second, his voice steady and vibrating as always. “I’m going to see my Ma tonight. I’ll stay over there, so we can talk about this tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Dexter asks, chasing his lips again.

“Yeah” he whispers, right into his lips. Dexter wonders what happened to ‘not starting shit at work’. It’s perfect, really, if he has tonight to finish the job Jimenez won’t be a problem in the future. He can do damage control later on, if James ever finds out. Now, his lips are very tempting, soft and inviting. He tries to deepen the kiss, but James pulls back before he can really get into it. “Not gonna get in trouble, are you?”

“Fuck off” he tells him, kissing into his mouth. This time James doesn’t pull back, grabs the small of his back and pulls him into his body. When he licks at his tongue he can feel the sweetness from the donut. It hits him like a fucking train, for some reason. He moans into his mouth licking the sugary taste off his tongue. Doakes sighs, separating a bit again. He thinks of what Deb said, he wonders if James would be willing to pull that off. He doubts it, there’s just no chance he’s willing to risk people knowing about them, whatever they are anyway.

He finds it, he himself wouldn’t mind having a quick break. Everyone’s leaving for the crime scene anyway, so they could indeed use the time for something else. Could take his mind even further away from the bowling incident. He puts a hand on Doakes’ belt, pulling on it a bit.

“Do you want me to–?” he asks, lowering his voice.

Doakes snorts suddenly, like he’s joking. When he doesn’t remove his hands from the belt, he frowns. Dexter wonders what is there to frown about. The whole point of their closeness now is purely sexual it seems, this shouldn’t be unwelcomed. 

“Fuck, Dexter you’re a fucking menace,” he says, shaking his head. His eyes are getting dark, there’s no doubt he wants him, so the problem must be the location.

“I mean, you won’t come over tonight,” he insists, trying to make a disappointed face.

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, seeing right through his bluff. It’s working and James himself knows what he’s trying to get out of him. He shakes his head, but Dexter knows he’s interested, “I said tomorrow, you can wait a fucking night, can you?”

He looks very pleased, like he’s got the upper hand here. It’s annoying but not that bad, since an idea starts forming in his head, kinda diabolical. Dexter starts smiling coldly, knowing Doakes is going to regret rejecting him now, “Yeah, I can wait,” he starts, finally leaving his belt alone. He puts his hands away, stepping back. “You’re going to fuck me tomorrow then, right? I want you to fuck me. Clear enough for you Sarg?”

So much for not being like my sister. Debra has every right to hate me.

It’s out there in the open, just as Doakes states he does his business. He’s shocked, like he didn’t expect it at all. If he thinks he can make him wait, he doesn’t know how little he cares really. “You’re a fucking asshole,” he says, very offended.

“I’ll see you around,” he says, turning to leave. Doakes deserved that. Next time he meets him, it’s going to be fun, he can tell.

Putting his own fun aside, he spends the rest of the day focused on the Jimenez issue. He’s got a green light to use tonight to fulfill his purpose. After work he prepares everything to kill Jimenez that same evening. He’s got to take the chance to get rid of him before James finds him and questions him. He’s got to kill Jimenez tonight. He drives over to his storage room in the afternoon, prepares everything he needs. The Dark Passenger is screaming inside. He hasn’t killed, not since Anderson. It's almost been a month, almost the same time he's been seeing James. His mind is cold, he can see clearly now he should’ve never let this go on so far. If he wants to keep James, he has to make sure nothing ties him to Brian Moser, or any of his past. Jimenez could be the spark that lights the fire. Damage control starts with him.

It has to be perfect. He follows him to the cabin from the bar, the ride long enough for the day to turn into dark. They make their way to the Everglades, Dexter follows him close enough not to be seen by the man. His mind is blank again, gripping the wheel easily as he rides the road. It feels right, like he’s got it right now. This time he’s just got the darkness inside, demanding blood, the past quietly tucked away. He parks outside, turns off the engine and prepares the syringe to drug Jimenez. Watching the liquid seep through the head of the needle, he wonders why he suddenly felt that much. Was it his brother, seeping into him at that moment? Or just himself? He hasn’t seen Brian in a while now. He’ll listen to his voice faintly, sometimes, get a flash of a movement, but never actually sees him. He’s sure he’d support what he’s doing right now. He couldn’t say that about anyone in his life. No one has gone through what he’s gone through, either, so that’s that.

The night is quiet, the forest too. Humidness hits him the moment he steps away. It makes sense, being a swamp and all, but it’s still very hot for the night. The lights of the cabin are on, he can hear movement inside. It looks like he’s moving some very questionable cargo. Looks like cocaine bricks to him. He hit the jackpot. The location is just perfect to get rid of him. He just has to lure him outside to get him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Doakes appears behind the trees before he can do anything else. Feeling all blood leave his body he remembers he’s got everything in his car, the saran wrap, the tranquilizers, the plastic bags and the fucking knife set he uses to dismember people. He feels sick to his stomach all of the sudden. He’s looking at him like he can’t believe he’s there.

“Are you following me again?” he asks, unbelieving. He lowers his voice, trying to get him to do the same. He feels like a fucking idiot for believing him before. How could I get so comfortable with him?  

Doakes is not looking like he’s visiting his mother, he’s carrying his gun on his shoulder strap, luckily he’s not pointing it at him yet. “Yeah when you start doing shady things I do” he answers, angrily.

“Fuck, shut up, he’ll hear us” Dexter quickly steps away from the house. Doakes looks at him, then back at the cabin. He’s standing straight, in full alert which is exactly what wasn’t supposed to happen.

“He’s there?” he asks looking through the window. He looks back at Dexter with an open expression he doesn’t know what to make of, “Fuck me Morgan, that’s the guy who stabbed you, why–” he's stunned to the core, maybe just like he is. 

“Doakes–”

“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing”

“I just wanted to talk to him,” he says plainly. He can’t admit he was going to murder him in cold blood. He’s certainly not going to kill him now.

“Fuck. Shit, Dexter, why didn’t you tell me?” He's hurt. It’s no surprise he’s ended up hurting him too. “I told you we had to look into him.”

“He’s not who you think he is.” he says slowly, trying to get him to focus on him. If he cares about him enough, he’ll want to hear about this. What Jimenez truly means to him.

He can see Doakes connecting the dots. “Shit, is this the one who…” he leaves the words hanging in the air, but Dexter knows he knows. 

“I can't talk about this now. We’ve got to go.” he says, pulling them to the side of the house, near the trees. Doakes goes with him, follows dumbly luckily, still a bit stunned. They’re better hidden there, at least Jimenez won’t see them when he inevitably comes out because of the noise.

He’s got to abort the mission or he could lose everything he’s so carefully built. Doakes shakes his head, still unbelieving. He feels like his whole world is going down. He never felt so afraid of someone finding out.

“I wasn’t following you. Searched the plate, saw you outside the bar.” Doakes says after a moment. He wonders if he’s just a joke the universe is having.

“Fuck” he says, putting a hand to his mouth, breathing heavily into it. He thinks of the many ways James could let this go. He doesn’t come up with much, especially not when he realizes he’s getting really angry at him.

Doakes narrows his eyes, staring severely at him. “Yeah that’s right, fuck. What was your plan then, eh?”

“What was yours?” he asks back, trying to deviate the focus. Doakes did lie to him too, straight to the face. It seemed they both had no regard for hiding parts of themselves. Being the curious dumb idiot he is, he was going to follow the incident right up. He should’ve seen it coming.

Doakes can see right through him, just stays still, waiting for a real response. There’s no getting out of this one. “You’re right, this was stupid” he backtracks.

“You’re better than this Dexter” James says, like he can’t believe this is happening. Dexter wonders what type of person he is in his mind.

“I’m really not.” he says, because it’s true. Lying now is useless, at least after what Doakes’ found.

“Yes you are. Look, we’ll discuss this later. You go, never was here in the first place. I’m going to arrest his ass first,” he says, putting a hand on his gun.

“No, you can’t.” Dexter jumps forward, trying to reach for him, but James steps back. It’s annoying he’s not listening to him, everything was going so well–

“What?”

“This is my mother’s killer. If you lock him up my past will be brought up again, I don't want to do that again, I don't want Debra to know,” He goes for the truth. James will never believe a lie, an excuse. He can read him like a fucking book, so if there’s a way they can make it out of here without having to kill him, he’ll take it.

“Dexter–” Doakes starts, like he’s already understanding him. A ray of a possibility shines through finally, Dexter clings to it.

“Do this for me. Leave it alone. I promise you I won’t try anything.”

He sounds desperate even for his own ears. He feels desperate. Things were fucking good, great even. Miller’s plan was already on going, almost ready for the final scene. He could’ve had it all. If he kills Doakes, it will be another very hard thing to pull off.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing!”

“James, please. I can’t go through it again” he says, looking back nervously. Jimenez will come out any second now, there’s no way he hasn't heard them, “I don’t want to lose you”

He goes for the last resort. If Doakes cares one bit for him, maybe he’s ready to do something like this for him.

“I thought you didn’t care,” James says, slowly. For some reason his gut tells him this is the right path. And it’s not like he hasn’t found something very interesting in James. He can use that, make him believe him.

Dexter takes a deep breath and looks right into his eyes. He takes in the dark skin, his sharp features, bright eyes. It’s not difficult to come up with the right words, which usually never happens when it comes to these situations, “I’m only myself around you. Of course I care.”

Doakes looks shocked. “Fuck, Dexter–”

“Who goes there?!”

The door to the cabin opens, making them both jump. His heart is going crazy. This could go wrong any second now. Jimenez is inspecting their cars, a gun in hand. Doakes gets his out of the strap, positioning himself to shoot the man.

“James no.” he whispers, putting a hand on his shoulder. James looks back, lowering it at his touch.

“What would you do then?” he asks. He can tell he’s angry at him. Coldness sweeps in his eyes, like he’s looking at him for the first time.

He shows him his needle, pulling it from his pocket. It shines in the darkness of the night, metal bright and clear. He’s got his gloves on, which doesn’t help at all. He hopes this wasn’t the wrong move. James opens his mouth and just stares at him like he’s crazy.

“Dexter, this is fucked up”

“It’s just a tranquilizer. I wanted to interrogate him. Ask him about my mother. I swear it won’t kill him.” he says very fast. He needs to convince Doakes. He can’t kill him now, he likes him enough to try.

“He’s found you before. If we leave him here he’s going to want to finish the job,” Doakes tells him, and it’s not like he’s not right. Dexter knows he won’t let it go until he’s got a safe exit. His mind lights up suddenly. 

“Not if I get rid of his stash. He’s going to hide from the cartel before they find him, and if they find him…” he says coldly. James eyes him shaking his head. The noises are getting closer to them.

“That’s not–”

“James. Please.” he whispers, putting a hand on his face. James looks back, his breath uneven. He’s thinking very hard, Dexter can tell from the way his eyes won’t stop moving. He wishes he could just be like the others and blind himself to this dark side of him.

“Fuck. Okay, but we’re having a serious talk right fucking now.” Doakes says, but he knows he’s not happy about the choice.

That’s all the answer he needs for now.

“Stay here.”

Chapter Text

Doakes is waiting for him in his car. He didn’t prevent him from sneaking out on the man, just watched him take him out from the trees. He didn’t even look at him once he was done with it, just got in the car and let him deal with Jimenez on his own. It's not like Dexter expected him to help drag Jimenez into the cabin, he didn't have any expectations at all actually. But just knowing Doakes is right there, sitting in his car ignoring the law for him, it's unsettling.

The cabin is old and rusty. Everything is inside. Jimenez is laying on the floor, dead to the world. This normally would be the part where wraps him up and kills him. This is the part where blood is drawn, where he can finally complete his ritual. He longs for it. He is even tempted to kill Jimenez right then and there. Kneeling down beside him, he feels the thread of life still running through him through his hand on his throat. It's wrong that he’s alive. His Dark Passenger still hangs over his head, demanding blood. With a last squeeze he lets go of Jimenez. Doakes staying behind is helpful in many ways. It’s given him a moment to think, to prepare. He’s about to lose it and kill Jimenez. If Doakes were here it could go very badly. As he refills the syringe, liquid clear and innocent, he wonders if he should just throw caution to the wind and snap his neck with his bare hands. He doesn’t even have to use the needle again, he can keep the extra dose for Doakes. It’s so clear all of the sudden, he can be the next one to go after Jimenez, if the truth is too much to handle. Dexter could just get rid of both of them in one blow. 

Comparing the two doesn’t feel right, though. Jimenez is a past he can’t remember, not fully. It comes and goes, now he feels nothing. The body before him is just a sack of flesh ready to be torn apart. Doakes is a present he can’t make sense of. He thought entangling himself with him would make it easier to get out of the mess that’s coming to haunt him, something he could always throw away if needed. Now, doing the logical thing and killing him before everything goes awry doesn’t seem that easy. Everything comes back to Doakes. Why he’s got to ruin everything, he doesn’t know. He will get his own way, with or without him. He just has to figure if he can sway Doakes into his trust again.

.

Jimenez’ cocaine disappears into the wetlands. He watches the bricks sink one by one. He tied up Jimenez, just so he won’t be able to run once he wakes up. Once whomever he was doing business with comes over, they will find a failure of a man and no hint of their product. Jimenez will be gone tonight. It’s hard not to go back to the cabin and finish the job. The compulsion is nagging at him, trying to claw out and take control, he desperately wants to open his neck side to side just to watch the blood pour out of him, watch his skin go white and his breath stop. Dark thoughts consume him, but the only thing pulling him back is Sergeant James Doakes. He lets out a dry sound, not quite laughter. Figures how bad he’s lost it lately that he's willing to abstain just for a chance that man will remain on his side. Once he’s thrown in the last brick, he stares at the water, unmoving. He questions all his choices, the way he ran to Doakes after meeting Jiménez the first time and how he just told him what he meant to him. He's a fool for believing Doakes could just look away from this. 

When he gets to Doakes’ car, he’s staring ahead, sitting on the driver's seat. His hands grip the wheel tightly, revealing the anger he's feeling. Dexter can't understand emotions well, but anger he could recognise with his eyes closed. He's angry too; It’s impossible he’s seen anything from here, so he could’ve actually killed Jimenez without compromising the Doakes situation. It's no matter now, Doakes is still the pressing issue at hand. 

He gets inside the car without much preamble. Doakes doesn’t even look at him. He’s not blinking much, just frowns, probably feeling very conflicted. By previous experience Dexter knows people can feel a wide array of emotions, complex and, in his opinion, confusing. The only thing that crosses his mind when they make eye contact is, what's done can’t be undone, now comes the time for the consequences. Doakes doesn't even hold the stare like always, just takes a quick look at him and goes back to looking ahead at the trees. If his intuition is right, he’ll get to keep him for a little longer; if he’s wrong, the Dark Passenger wins. He can always sedate Doakes and go back to the cabin, finish the work and get to him after Jiménez. He’s painfully aware of the needle under his sleeve.

I will kill him if I have no other choice. If he lets this go, it could mean so much more…

The silence they breathe is utterly fragile. Dexter is totally disconnected from the other man. The anger he's getting from him isn't the same he's used to, it feels different, the way he's being unusually silent just adds to it. After the third minute of sitting still in the car he starts to get bored, so he starts fiddling with the air vents. He doesn't really mean to get a reaction, but it's satisfying the way his shoulder tense all of the sudden.

“Fucking hell Morgan stop that!” Doakes jumps, finally ogling at him through the rearview mirror. He can't even look at him directly.

“So, what now?” Dexter asks, eyes fixated on the mirror. Doakes sighs and shakes his head.

“I don't fucking know Morgan,”

“Are you–”

“I said I don't fucking know!” he yells, the sound reverbs like an explosion in the empty car. Dexter raises his eyebrows, annoyed. He knew Doakes would be mad, just didn’t count on him being as loud as ever with it. Silent, angry Doakes is much preferable over this, as weird as it is.

“Okay.” he says, huffing through his nose.

Doakes sighs and lets go of the wheel, exhaling through his nose. “Get in your car. We're going to talk and you'll tell me everything” he says decisively. 

“James–”

“Did I stutter? Get in the car or I'll beat your creep ass face into the ground.”

He takes one last look and gets out. 

Fucking Doakes.

Doakes follows behind him on the road. It’s silent as it can get in a car, his mind racing for a plan the only thing he’s focused on. The drive feels long, even if it's close to his place. Miami remains the same, people chattering on the streets like they don't have a care in the world.

His apartment complex is as silent as can be as he pulls up to park. Without wasting time he gets out of the car to watch Doakes’ car come behind him. He feels Doakes' anger pointed directly at him the moment he steps out of his car with his arms closed, now looking right into him without breaking the stare. He’s nodding to himself too, like he can’t believe what just happened. Dexter’s angry as well, a cocktail of frustration, annoyment and self disappointment is brewing inside.

“Fucking Morgan” he says, banging a fist into the roof of his car. Dexter clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. If he wants to die he just has to keep making those kinds of comments.

“Wanna search the trunk?” he asks, and it’s very strange the way he knows Doakes isn’t going to take the bait. As predicted, Doakes narrows his eyes, flinching like he just touched a nerve. 

“I fucking hate you” he spits at him, before walking off. Strangely, it doesn’t feel like a true statement, no matter how much venom he puts into the words. It’s plastic, rehearsed.

Pushing himself heavily off the driver’s door he’d been leaning on, he follows Doakes. He can’t even think of anything else other than how useless his whole plan has been, since the beginning. There’s nothing other going through his head other than; I should’ve seen it coming , over and over. He shouldn’t have trusted Doakes to be honest to him. Of course he was going to try and catch the man. Now he's got to make a hard choice. It's not too late to kill Doakes but, as they step into his apartment, he finds he really doesn't want to.

.

Inside, Doakes sits himself on the couch, eerie and silent. Dexter sits on the other side, sighing. It’s ironic because they’ve been here before, in different terms. Better terms. Nicer terms, really. He’s not happy how it’s turning out, not happy at all. Doakes’ put him in a fragile position; their connection is standing over a mount of leaves, one blow from caving in. He can always knock him out here, return to the cabin and finish both jobs at once. Maybe the other man doesn’t realize it, but now he’s here, he won’t be able to see it coming if he wants to kill him. No one knows he’s here. It’s perfect.

For now he stays still, waiting for Doakes to say something, anything he can use to blind him, at least stop this from breaking.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself? Anything else I should know?” Doakes asks, voice deeper than usual. Yes actually. I'll just tell you about my Dark Passenger, show you the monster and we'll live happily ever after.

He stays quiet for a moment, “Are you going to call this in?” he says, instead.

Doakes sighs and rubs his head with both hands. He observes him then, head low between his hands.

“That all you care about?” he finally says, reclining back and crossing his arms, every ounce of attention focused on him. His eyes are dark, serious and mostly tired. He's trying to read him, he knows that look. Dexter wonders if knows how much he gives away.

“You know it’s not.” he answers, looking at his hands that are resting in his knees. He smooths the fabric so it’s even. 

Doakes puts his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together frantically. He’s sitting on the edge of the sofa now, looking sideways, not breaking eye contact once, even if he’s moving restlessly “You know what’s going to happen to that man after this?” he asks very rhetorically, staring right into his eyes. He may be croc food as we speak. Either that or just torn apart from the narc’s. Maybe both. If he’s expecting some regret on his end, he’s not going to try and act like he isn’t pleased Jimenez’ time can be over any second.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he starts, hoping whatever he comes up with will be believable enough for Doakes. It’s not a lie. Him showing up just ruined nearly every chance to make things right. Dexter was supposed to get rid of Jimenez to focus on Miller, he was going to feed the Dark Passenger, give in to the urges and end the life of the man who destroyed his own. Doakes wasn’t supposed to show up. Doakes was his shining light to finish the Bay Harbor Butcher disaster. If he kills Doakes he’s going to have to get creative, very soon.

Doakes raises his eyebrows as high as they go, clearly disappointed. Fuck him. Like I need his approval. “Then tell me, what the fuck was supposed to happen?” he says slowly, not even yelling.

“I don’t think– Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to know who I am. He wanted to kill me for what I did to him.” he starts, trying to lessen the stakes. “With you gone, I thought I’d put an end to it, make him back off. So I followed him from the bar to get him alone, at his house or wherever. I wanted to hurt him, enough so he’d live like a fucking maimed animal. I didn’t fucking know about his drug deals or that shit.” 

“Fucking–” he begins, but he’s speechless. He can’t tell if he went too far.

The room is silent as he stares at Doakes, sitting very still. “I had to do it. You don’t understand.” He will never understand. It goes beyond Jiménez, it's the pure urge to finish the circle, to make a killing and placating the beast. No one ever understood, not even Harry. Only Biney.  

Doakes laughs then, against all odds. “I do fucking understand. More than you know”

His heart stops for a moment.

“You do?” He knows Doakes doesn’t know the dark truth beneath this incident, but something lights up inside him at the tone. It’s like he does understand it, but how could he?

Doakes shakes his head, his left knee starts to move frantically. “If I wasn’t there– fuck Dexter do you know how serious what you just did is?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

Dexter just sighs and repeats himself for the tenth time. “I told you, I wasn’t going to kill him.”

“I can’t believe you.” Doakes states, accusing.

“What more will it take then? Lets go downstairs, search my fucking car,” he proposes again. He’s getting on his nerves. If he agrees, he’s going to sedate him the second the trunk opens. It’d be easier to carry him to the trunk, if he’s already there. If he agrees, it’s over. He dares him to doubt him, holding his stare coldly.

“Fuck you.” he spits out again, shaking his head.

Dexter is getting tired of this. He doesn’t get the point. Either he’s with me or not, we can skip the foreplay in this, thank you very much. “Can't you just trust me?”

“Yeah, after you lied in my face?” he asks ironically. 

“Don’t act like you're a saint yourself. You lied to me too.” he retorts, poignant to the irony. Doakes scoffs, not taking the bait this time.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” It sounds almost like he’s hurt. There’s no infliction on the sentence, just dry and flat like a thin stick of wood on the verge of breaking in two.

He remains silent. Doakes shuffles in closer all of the sudden, gets a hand on his shoulders grabbing at his muscle tightly. His hands are familiar, he leans into them intuitively, like a routine he’s following. The touch is almost painful, too much pressure on the wrong nerves, but he’s grounded somehow. From up close he can see some of the hazel in Doakes eyes.

“You have to control yourself. What you almost did… I don't want to see you destroy your life Dexter.”

He breathes a little bit better, if he agrees to leave this alone it could mean there’s a possibility to mend this. If he’s touching him, he’s going to believe him. He has to. “James, I wasn’t–”

“Look I get it. I really do. You have to let me help you.” he insists, touching him still, grip softening a little. He lets out a shaky breath.

“You can't help me,”

Doakes releases his grip, follows his eyes when he tries to look away.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” he says, like it’s that easy to fix him.

“You don’t fucking get it. You can’t fucking get it.” he says, trying to get his thoughts in order. This is the problem he’s got with Doakes, the way he looks at him suggests he would actually understand. In the end, not even Deb would, so it’s useless trying to make him understand his fucked up life and actions.

“Let me get it then. Explain it to me, tell me what you’re thinking before pulling some crap like this.” He still looks at him like he can actually get it. Like he actually cares.

“Look I can’t explain it, okay? I tried but I couldn't.” 

“What are we doing here?”

The question throws him off, “What?”

“What the fuck are we doing here?” he repeats, mostly for himself. “I don’t know where the fuck this is going, what is the fucking point of this is.”

“I’m angry,” he lets out, it doesn’t feel like a lie, “I was angry. Am. That you’re going to leave. If you see me for what I really am.”

“You don't show it to me, how the hell could I know?”

He laughs a bit. He can see now, the way he can get him to back off. If he’s going to act all self righteous about this, Dexter’s going to make him regret it. 

“Have you tried to put yourself in my shoes? I always think you are waiting for me to fuck up, the littlest things just to justify your suspicions. Why would I tell you this?”

Doakes shakes his head, not wanting to hear about it. “Dexter that wasn't–”

“You fucking stalked me, followed me because you thought I murdered people. So where does that fucking leave me?” he asks him, coldly.

“I told you I shouldn't have, fuck Dexter you know I couldn't –”

“Well sorry for being a little reluctant. I don't think you'd want to help me anyway,” he says, sarcastically. Doakes is married to the law, he’s aware of that. There’s nothing in the world that could make him betray that relationship over any other.

“I'm not going to help you get away with fucking murder,” like it isn’t obvious he’s not a law obeying agent of the force.

“I wouldn't ask you to!” he says, raising his voice in annoyment.

Doakes is looking at him like he’s betrayed him somehow. “Why wouldn't you ask me?” he says, voice breaking a bit at the end.

He’s stunned for a second. “Wait, what?”

Doakes leans away, standing up suddenly. “No, I meant… fuck Dexter you're messing with my fucking head.” he says, looking up and down at him like he’s some kind of alien who just arrived on earth.

Dexter stays sitting on the couch, trying to make sense of his words. His brain is telling him this is good, but he can’t believe it. There’s no way Doakes would’ve helped him the way he needs it, if he told him about his Dark Passenger.

“I didn't think you'd really listen. No one does.” he mutters, looking ahead at the black screen of the television. Doakes hangs over him, probably staring right into him.

“I will–”

Dexter lets out a dry laugh at that. He snaps his eyes back at Doakes and lets out the words slowly, the final blow ready.

“Oh no, you fucking won’t. I told you to leave the fucking thing alone and you fucking agreed to it. I explicitly told you I didn’t want you to go behind my back with this and you lied to my face. So yeah, I fucked up bad, but you’re no better than me. And I’m messing with your head? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I was doing it for you!” Doakes says like Dexter could believe that.

“Sure. Look, if you want to call it in, be my guest. Go ahead, make my life miserable. But don’t say you did it for me.” 

“You know I’m not going to do that.”

There’s a relief that settles in his bones. Still, he has to continue pulling on his strings, make sure they’ve moved on from this.

“I can’t believe you.” he spits out, mirroring his own words from before. “Be honest now, did you try to find out more about my past?”

The face he makes tells him enough. He’s not even looking at his eyes anymore, turns around, putting his hands on his hips. After a moment, he confirms it.

“Dexter…”

He doesn’t feel anything inside. If he’d found out the truth about his past they wouldn’t be here, if he’d be able to really get to the heart of it. Knowing he’s gone behind his back is no shock at all. 

“It’s no surprise you did, you know? If you really care about me you’ll let this go.” he says, trying to make an ultimatum.

Doakes blinks twice before turning away again.

“I think I need to leave right now.” he says, taking one final look at Dexter over his shoulder.

Doakes leaves without looking back. It feels wrong. 

Fuck. I really don’t want to kill him. What’s wrong with me?

Miller is a fucking low life scum. He checks on him that same night. Jiménez was a failure, so he's got to make sure that Miller won't have the same outcome.

“Did you do what I told you to do?”

Miller’s voice is shaky as ever, but he's the same pedantic asshole. “Yeah. How long will this take? I just have to get the samples, I don't–”

He's angry enough about the situation he just experienced, so hearing the self righteous tone in such a scum of a person makes his blood boil.

“It's your call. Once you’ve got everything, I mean everything , I’ll tell you what’s next. Don’t bother me until then, if you want to keep your head.”

“What–”

He hangs up before Miller can say anything else. He’s got to speed this up if he wants it to work. Nothing has felt so important, ever. 

The next morning his sister is flat out ignoring him. He doesn’t see Doakes much that entire day either. He deserves it, really, for being so careless. Thinking coldly after such a night, he realized Doakes can't help himself. That's the way he is, and if he managed to catch him, that's on Dexter. Now, he doesn’t even look at him at all. Is such a contrast from yesterday, he wants to scream. There’s so many things that can change overnight, he's not sure how to fix them. 

On the brighter side, no one has tried to question him about Jimenez, so that’s that. It’s frustrating Doakes is back to giving him the cold shoulder. If he’s not going to tell on him, what’s the problem? He won’t be able to make Miller’s plan work if he’s flat out ignoring him. He’s tempted to go over and just ask him about it. 

Dexter goes to his sister instead, even though he knows she's very mad at him. He figures she won't try and turn him to the police if he fucks up, at least.

“Deb–” he starts once he reaches her desk.

Debra doesn't even look up from the paperwork. “Fuck off.”

“Look I’m sorry” he says, trying to not let his big mouth ruin it again. “I think I fucked up.”

“Well, duh.” she mutters, still not happy.

Dexter sighs, knowing if he doesn't actually tell her now, she's going to be even angrier at him in the long run. “Not only with you, I mean. I think Doakes hates me, this time for real.”

Debra turns her head around, curiosity peaking in.

“What? Did something happen?” she asks, lowering her voice.

Dexter sits down on the chair next to her, bag in his lap. “No, I think we’re done.”

“Done?” she asks, like he just told her he was pregnant. He really doesn't get Deb. Yesterday it was clear she was aware of his liaison, now it seems like it's a shock to her. Maybe it's the fact that he's willingly talking about him. He really is a shitty brother.

“Yeah. I think we shouldn’t talk about this here.” he whispers, looking back at Doakes. He’s not even looking at him, of course he isn’t, but it wouldn’t be hard to be overheard, so Deb agrees with much fuss.

“Fuck, yeah meet me later, we can talk over some beers. You are telling me everything, yeah?”

Everything, huh. If she only knew how much I hide from her she would never talk to me again. And that's the best outcome of her knowing.

.

“Ok, you have to start from the beginning.” 

The bar they go to is packed, only their corner far enough not to be near nosy ears. Luckily it is near the station, if Deb gets drunk she can leave the car here, he'll drive her home. She's got a habit of getting wasted when she's driving, reminds him of Harry and it's not the best comparison. He’s already half a beer in, sipping at it faster than he should. The way she looks at him like he’s a zoo animal really throws him off. “So. Doakes and you. How long?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “Like, four, no five weeks now” 

Debra gasps, whistling on the low. “Fuck me, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know how well you’d take it. Him being a man,”

Debra opens her mouth stunned. “You thought I’d care about that? Fuck Dexter you know I’m not a fucking bigot!” she says, punching him in the arm, almost knocking down her beer. It stings, but it’s good. That’s how Deb shows her love. He should be able to give it back. He’ll always regret not being able to, just for her. She’s the only family he’s got left, after all.

“Dad wouldn’t approve.” He says slowly.

She’s quick as lightning. “Fuck dad. I’m here for you Dex.”

He looks to the side, uncomfortable with the idea of talking about Doakes and Harry in the same sentence. “It’s not like I’m gay, anyway. Like women just fine. Just–”

“Just that Doakes is hot as hell, huh. I get you brother, you have good taste. Now, personality wise…” she smiles devilishly.

“Ha, ha.” he laughs dryly.

Deb takes a big drink before asking him what's apparently been on her mind since they got to the bar. He can tell, from the way she bites her lip, actually thinking before speaking. He's got a shoe in his mouth, but Deb does too in a way. “So you two broke up?”

She puts it delicately, yet it makes him flinch. “We weren’t dating. Just hooking up, you know?” He rolls his eyes when she makes a face.

“I don’t know and I would like to keep the details to a minimum.” he rolls his eyes at her again. As if she didn't talk about sex like she's talking about the weather… it's for the best anyway, he's not too keen on telling her Doakes has made him realize he likes putting things up his ass.

“We had a fight. So he’s not talking to me anymore.”

Debra narrows her eyes, “Motherfucker…”

“Nah he’s right. I kinda fucked up. He did too, but it was mostly me,” it's strange hearing himself defend James, but it really was his fault. He had to know Doakes would need to bring the man to justice.

“What did you do?” she asks then, amused.

“Let’s just say I took some things for granted. You don’t want the details.”

She makes a face again. Dexter laughs, and raises an eyebrow. “You said you weren't prejudiced”

Debra laughs too, shaking her head. “No, it's just… Doakes?”

“I know.”

I never expected Doakes would be someone I wanted either.

Of course Debra isn't content just with that. “So how did it start?”

He really doesn't want to make up a story on the spot. “I would rather not talk about this too much. It's new to me too,”

Debra smirks and her eyes soften. He wonders if she's ever going to stop caring about him. He knows the answer, but he likes to dream too.

“Yeah, take your time Dex. Let’s just drink for now.”

.

She insists on getting drunk. It's their own little ritual, since they were teens drinking together felt easy, natural. It's the only time Dexter does feel like he's not faking having a good time. Deb always makes it easy in that regard. He should've expected Debra would drag him along into inebriation  

They stay until late, talking about anything and everything (mostly Debra since he's happy listening to her rambling), many beers later his head starts spinning. He can't think about anything else other than Doakes, how much he hates the man for caring. It's truly fucked up.

"You're thinking too much, big bro," she says, already tipsy.

"I'm not"

Deb smiles and nods, like that just confirmed it. "Yeah you are. Thinking about Doakes?" 

"Fuck off," He is, really, but his filter is not really working thanks to the alcohol, so he better just keep his mouth shut.

"It's okay, you know? Even if I still think he's a piece of work, you deserve someone."

"I don't" 

His thoughts are turning darker the more time passes. He feels buzzed from all the beers, almost drunk. Debra is definitely drunk, she's leaning on the table like she's trying very hard to figure out what's happening in his head.

"You should call him."

"I am not going to"

She blinks, like she just realised something. The something she just figured out is wrong of course, and she's unfiltered from the alcohol. "Is that why you broke up with Rita? To be with him"

He sighs, "I'm not with him. Never was."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it you're just fucking, but you want him back right?" She asks, like it's fucking obvious to her. He feels the sudden need to strangle his sister. "Then you should. Call him."

"What for?" He frowns. He's called Doakes once and honestly it embarrassed him to go to him as quickly as he did.

"You can kiss and make up right? Doakes is a man, he think with his dick, you just have to, you know, just tell him you want to fuck? Never failed me, I'm telling you bro,"

He widens his eyes as he lets out a big breath, exhaling through his nose.

"You're crazy."

"You're about to see crazy. I'm ordering shots and you are going to drink with me."

He can't rebate her on that.

.

A few shots later, his tongue is starting to loosen.

“Are men always this touchy?”

Debra snorts, “Fuck, I mean, no. I think you’re too insensitive”

“Me?” he asks, kind of offended. He does his best and it's still not enough apparently.

“Don’t make me laugh bro, you fuck up just by opening your mouth sometimes.”

“Sorry,”

“I mean, you don’t realize you do it. But you do. And Doakes being the drama queen he praba- porba- Fuck! Probably! Probably took whatever you said personally.”

He laughs at her state, almost knocking a glass in the process.

“Let's just go. I want to sleep.”

Debra helps him get to his apartment, since it seems his tolerance is way lower than hers. He can see the taxi they took leaving through the blinds of the kitchen window. Getting the car tomorrow will be a pain in the ass but he's glad the night is over. His head is spinning a bit and his office lamp makes him flinch, even if it’s the only light that’s on.

His mind spins and he can only think about his sister's proposition. He could call him indeed. He's never refused an open invitation. 

Maybe I shouldn't?

He calls James on impulse. It goes to voicemail.

“Hey, Doakes. It’s me. Dexter. I’m sorry, I really need to see you…” he's slurring the words, but he doesn't care one bit how it comes off. He just wants James to be here, make him come like he always does and forget about the stupid thing with Jiménez. “It's just– I need you now.”

He waits three seconds before he gives in and picks it up.

“What the fuck Morgan” his voice is rugged, very confused.

“Can you come over?” he asks, wasting no time.

“Are you drunk?” he hears James ask back on the other end, stupid question really.

“I miss you,” he really doesn't, but intuitively he knows that's Doakes’ weakest spot. If he wants him to fake it he can fake it well.

“Morgan–”

“James, please come over,”

“Fuck you”

He hangs up on him.

.

The door rings forty minutes later. He's already in his night clothes, just a thin cotton shirt and black sweats on. James is dressed up, flawless as ever, white tee and blue navy slacks.

“You came,” he blinks, dizzy suddenly at the bright light of the porch.

James steps into his apartment and closes the door behind him, since Dexter is too preoccupied observing his body. “You’re drunk.”

Dexter laughs, like it isn't obvious. Now that he's got James here he remembers why he's getting so twisted up about this. “I like, your hands” he says, standing in the kitchen bar with unsteady footing, “Shoulders too. They’re good.”

James’ eyebrows can't go higher than where they are after he speaks. He takes two steps forward and pats him on the back. “You’re going to sleep this off and we’ll talk in the morning”

Dexter doesn’t move, so James pushes him in the direction of the bedroom. He lets him, glad they're moving to the good stuff, no talking and all. He trips twice on the way, James holds onto him hard.

When he falls into the bed, he expects James to get in too. Instead, he turns to leave.

“Why are you leaving?” He asks, feeling his eyes closing. 

“I'm going to sleep in my own bed.”

“At least stay until I fall asleep?” he murmurs, now with his eyes shut. It's a nice feeling like he's on a boat. He likes boats. Really, really likes boats. I should take James to my boat. He will like it. “Waste of gas if you leave now, dontcha think?” 

The last thing he remembers is the mattress sinking beside him.

.

He wakes up in the dark. His head is pounding like crazy, feeling nauseous from all he drank with his sister. For a moment he doesn't remember Doakes is laying on the other side of the bed, dead to the world. A sense of panic floods him all of the sudden. He did call him, and it's been the worst idea ever. He doesn't remember last night that well, flashes here and there. He remembers asking Doakes to stay. He remembers begging him on the phone. It's desperate. The worst part is that, even though he really regrets this, he just wants to turn in the bed and hug him just to feel his skin over his, something he's never wanted before. It makes him sicker. He can taste the food he's had on the back of his throat. Before he throws up all over the bed, he runs to the bathroom, throwing up into the toilet like he's dying. I fucking hate gettin wasted . 

In the middle of a retching something pulls his hair back, a hand cold but gentle. James is behind him, holding back his hair. He retches again, throwing up gracelessly.

"That's it, let it all out," he hears James murmur, while he rubs his back in circles. He can't even hear him that well, but it's so much better feeling his hand over his body. He's shaking but James grounds him.

When he's finished, his mouth tastes like sand. Unable to move, he breathes in and out, head hanging low over the toilet seat. The sweat is starting to feel too cold. He can't look at James, still behind him touching his back even though he's not vomiting anymore. He can't admit how good it feels. Letting out a shaky breath, he forces himself to push James away. He can't stand the touching, not when it's so soothing. He really shouldn't enjoy it. 

James gets up with no protest, touching his hair for a brief second, so quick Dexter might have imagined it. He hates the flavor throwing up left in his mouth, the bitter taste just making him dizzy.

Behind him he can hear him doing something, but he refuses to look. "Clean your mouth." He hears behind him. It's an order, yet he can hear the soft tone underneath. 

When he finally turns to him, James is holding his toothbrush, already with toothpaste and wet. He kinda wants to grab it just to throw it back at him. He doesn't fucking need a babysitter, James himself told him that. Why he insists on coming back to him, he doesn't know. He could've ignored his call, but he's here. Kinda stupid on his part, if someone asks.

"Thanks," he says instead. He feels too weak to get up so he stays on his knees, leaning over the toilet seat. When James sits beside him on the bathroom floor he's close to leaning onto him.

"Spit it out into the toilet, you don't have to get up." He whispers, putting a hand on his shoulders again.

What he hates the most is that he's relieved James is here.

.

He gets in the bed and finally looks at the clock on his night table. 5:13 am. He doesn't think he'll be able to sleep again. James gets in the bed too, but there's a distance between them that he hasn't felt in a long time. Maybe it's the drunken thoughts spilling over, but he can't stop the question.

"Are you still mad at me?”

James thinks about it for a moment. Even if he's staring at the ceiling, Dexter can hear the wheels turning inside his brain.

"I want to be by your side Dexter. You have to let me be there. This isn't going to work otherwise."

He struggles to breathe right once he's heard him. It's what he's been waiting to hear and his body knows it. There's a chill running through his skin that makes him want to bury himself right into the other man. Turning a bit, he finds him staring. Maybe it's the fact that he's so tired, but he gives in and shuffles closer, puts his forehead on his shoulder trying not to destroy the moment the same way he destroys everything else. There's just that point of contact between them, so fragile he swears it will break any moment. He feels James taking a deep breath, before pulling him closer. He grabs his waist and pushes himself against Dexter, inhaling into the small of his neck. They stay like that for a moment, hip to hip. His body feels hot, can't help remembering how good it feels to be touched by him.

“Hey, James…” he starts, separating a bit to look at him, “I want you to fuck me. You're going to fuck me if I ask you to, right?” His voice feels weak but the message is crystal clear now. No more games. 

James looks down at him, eyes shining in the dark. “Jesus, Dexter, you know the answer to that was always going to be yes,” he says, pushing his hardening dick against his thigh. 

He whimpers and James is kissing him like a madman. His tongue is wet, and velvety and perfect. He drinks the kiss like it's water, moans into his mouth desperately. His own cock is getting hard, feeling the way James grinds down, hips moving and pressing all the right places. He’s pinned to the mattress in a flash, his body hot and his mouth used.

“Touch me?” He asks breathlessly, when there is no other choice than stopping to breathe. James grunts and grinds down harder. His cock twitches in his sweats, he can feel everything through the thin fabric.

“Fuck, I'll do whatever you want” he says, licking into his neck. He sucks in the skin, making him moan. He wants him to leave a mark, to break the skin. He moans again just from thinking about it.

“Just fuck me, can you do that?” he asks, breathless, tired of the chit-chat. He needs to feel James' inside of him this fucking moment or he'll go insane. James doesn't wait a second either, has his shirt off in a heartbeat. 

“I'll fuck you so good, Dexter, you don't know how much I want this,”

“James–” he whines through his teeth when he starts unbuckling his belt. He's sweating again, now from the way James' hands roam his body. James pulls everything down and starts sucking him off. His mouth is heaven, Dexter is curling his toes the second his tongue curls around the head of his cock. The whine he lets out is embarrassing. James blows him like his only mission in life is getting him off. He can't help sitting up a bit on his elbows, stopping the pleasure James is giving him.

“I don’t want to come yet,” he pants out, looking right into James, who’s staring up as well. He moans into the meat of his thigh, which makes his leg twitch helplessly. 

With no words James sits up in the bed, taking off his shirt. Dexter stares, all the blood in his body going downwards. He’s sculpted, something out of a magazine Deb loves to make fun of. Slowly he unbuttons his slacks, taking his belt off effortlessly. If he’s trying to put on a show, he gets why people enjoy watching now. He moans softly when James strokes his cock over his briefs. Stepping out of the bed he drops it all on the floor with no care at all. His dick is fully hard, big and ready. Dexter wonders how it’ll work, a bit intimidated now that it’s definitely happening. He watches James get the lube and slick himself up from the bed, still propped up on his elbows. He’s so attracted to the man it’s stupid. 

“You will be good for me now?” he asks when he returns to the bed.

“Yes, yes–” Dexter lets his legs fall open, inviting the other man to sit in between them. 

James grabs the back of his knees and bents up his legs. He likes knowing James gets off on his pleasure, it makes his cock even harder. He touches his chest, rubs his left nipple softly as he leans down to kiss him again. His chest hair stands up, chilled by the sensation. This time their lips are closed, just a soft caress, almost like air. It’s a strong contrast to the finger that penetrates him at the same time. They stay like that for a while, James slowly pumping his finger in and out of him, like a fucking clock.

It’s over the second he adds another finger, putting the pressure into the right place with no warning. He moans into James’ mouth, biting down when his touch goes faster, harder. He can feel his back curving a little, chasing the friction. After the third finger goes in, it’s better yet. James spreads his fingers a little inside, he yelps, surprised at the feeling. It’s a strange thing, knowing James is preparing him, opening him to his cock. He never thought he would want something like this.

“Feels– feels weird,” he lets out, mindlessly.

James soften his eyes a bit and slows down, fucking him again, “I don’t want to hurt you. It’ll be over in a minute,”

“No, no it’s– ah, good,”

“You’re doing so good, fuck, never thought you–”

He can’t finish the sentence, moans into his ear and keeps fingering him for a while, switching between stretching and fucking. It makes his legs weak and his cock hard. The way James kisses him, his mouth and neck and chest, it makes him lightheaded.

“You will tell me if it’s too much.” James says, once he decided it’s enough. He’s slicking himself up, holding his cock Dexter looks down at it, desire and fear stirring together. It’s nerve wracking thinking he’s going to have it inside, nevermind that he wants it to happen.

“U-huh,” he nods, taking in the man masturbating in front of him.

“Turn around.” he says suddenly, “Just, it’ll be easier on you,” he quickly adds, concerned about something Dexter isn’t sure what it is. He’s turning around before he can think about the implications of his tone. James makes an approving sound.

“That’s good,”

Dexter moans into the pillow, happy just laying there. His dick rubs into the mattress, James grabs him by his hips and chest, pulls him up putting him in all fours. It feels indecent, not that he cares. Only makes his cock harder. Behind him James is touching his shoulder blades, going up and down and up and down again. When he feels his cock rubbing just against his hole, he gets shivers down his spine. It’s much bigger than fingers, that’s for sure, he can’t see how it’s going to work.

“You ok?” 

Dexter nods, moving his hips up against him, testing the waters. It’s a weird feeling having a cock pressing closer. He can’t really decide if he likes it.

“Feelin’ shy now? Say it outloud." James makes circles slowly, pressing just enough so he can feel just how big he is. It’s maddening, sweat runs all over. He refuses to talk, wanting to be contrary, just because. Pushing back into his cock, he feels James pull back. “You have to ask for it,” he tells him, breathing hard.

“Just put it in,” he barks, looking over his shoulders. He’s bothered now, tired of the teasing. James is smiling, enjoying this too fucking much. It only adds to his growing annoyance. It’s real in a way he knows James is doing this on purpose.

“I think not, I’m not in a hurry.” he says,

“I fucking hate you,” he growls, trying to get his thoughts straight, “I’m ok. Just fuck me already–”

He gives up, his head hanging low between his arms again. He’s got his eyes closed, but James is on him immediately he feels him moving behind him, putting the tip of his cock against his hole, this time pressuring, pushing in. He groans when James pulls him closer by the hips, moving his body towards him. His mind is racing, he feels his heartbeat on the back of his throat. It feels like too much, like it won’t ever fit at all. He stops breathing the second the head finally goes in, it’s intense almost to the point of pain. It’s wet all over, which helps a lot but doesn’t make it better. James pushes more, and he hisses when he feels the cock moving inside of him. It’s like he’s splitting him in two, unforgiving with his moves. It goes on for a while, James pushing inside a bit, remaining still until he can breathe again and pushing again. Words are lost to him, he’s gripping the sheets tightly. His cock is getting soft between his legs, but that’s the least of his worries. Sweat breaks on the small of his back as James puts it all in. He can feel it in the way their hips touch and the other body is pressed tightly against his own. 

“That’s it Dexter you’re doing so good,” he hears him say above him, and it’s insanity because he’s feeling the vibration of his voice right into his body. His back is rigid, like he’s never going to be able to move again. He doesn’t really know how it’s going to work, it’s too much to be any pleasure. He just feels full, tries to focus on the hands that roam his back. James really isn’t in any rush, so they stay like that until Dexter gets used to the feeling of a cock inside.

“Ok-Okay. You can–” he moans when the pain’s faded only to give way to discomfort.

“Yeah? You want me to move?” James asks stupidly, since he’s thrusting up anyway. It’s the littlest movement, yet it feels massive. He can only look down at the mattress as he circles his hips a bit too, making him squirm. 

It starts easy, just that forwards and backwards momentum being the only pressure, he doesn’t even pull out, just rocks his body a bit to show him how it feels. It’s not bad but it’s not good, it’s just there like an annoying fly buzzing right into his ear.

A particular thrust makes him moan, his cock is pressing right into his prostate all of the sudden and a pointed pleasure makes him forget the uneasiness from before. “Jesus, fuck–” he moans, hearing himself pitch his voice high. He would be kinda embarrassed if it wasn’t for everything that’s happening between his legs, he can’t think about anything other than the way James is fucking into him softly, pressing right where it matters the most.

Suddenly he feels James pulling out with a grunt. He doesn’t even register the moment he flips him over, puts him on his back and sits himself between his thighs. He’s breathing hard, like he just ran a marathon, focused on the sensation James gives every time he runs his hands through his body. “What are you doing?” he lets out, confused.

“A change of plans” James says softly, as he grabs the lube to slick himself up again. Dexter takes in the view, his hand holding himself tight making the veins in his arms look very nice. Something about the man just fucking does it for him. “You good?”

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself,” he says, trying to regain some sense of composure. His legs are wide open, all by themselves, and he feels empty without James. 

“That’s how it is, huh?”

How it’s what–

He can even finish his train of thought once James reaches over his head for a pillow, stuffs it underneath his hips. He can see the logic in that, which will definitely make things easier, but it feels way too open. At least when he was kneeling he didn’t have to worry about what his face was making. 

He makes a shocked noise the minute James works himself in. He’s staring down at him the whole time, when he enters again it’s easy. He’s open wide, and this time James slides in much easily now, it’s not as bad as the first stretch when he honestly couldn’t breathe for a minute. It's somehow worse just because, without the pain, he can feel everything going on, no place to hide.

“Feeling good?” he asks him, impossibly close. They’re face to face now, James occupying the space between his legs like he belongs there. His heart beats like crazy just from the intensity of it all.

“Fuck off,” he says, just because it is good and illogically it’d feel like a defeat to admit. James’ isn’t making fun of him, he’s got no trace of amusement in his voice, but irrationally it feels like he’s looking for something to exploit, for leverage. He can’t wrap up his mind about how good it feels. It's embarrassing the way he’s spreading his legs for him, if he can’t see that on his own that’s his problem.

“Dexter, fuck, you feel so good,” he says hissing through his teeth, ignoring completely his outburst. Dexter is just grateful he doesn’t try and make him talk again, so he just concentrates on the pressure inside of him making way. 

When he’s all the way in he just stops for a moment, they’re left staring at each other, nowhere else to go. The one thing he didn’t expect about having a cock inside is the way his legs are rendered completely useless, the way his knees feel weak all of the sudden. Everything feels new, so fucking new he can’t even think, too busy with everything that’s happening. James makes a pensive sound and thrusts upwards, just a bit, making him moan. He starts fucking him softly, slow and controlled movements. That’s good, he can do that, he thinks relieved, he can definitely do that. Whatever traces remained of pain are quickly replaced with the weird feeling of a slick cock sliding in and out of him. James changes the angle suddenly, frowning like he’s trying to figure something out, when he touches the spot again.

He doesn’t make a sound because there’s not enough air left in him. He just feels, inhaling sharply as his legs draw up together around James’ hips, chasing the feeling. It’s overwhelming but he wants it again immediately.

“That’s the spot?” James asks breathlessly, like the only thing that matters is the answer to the question. His voice is pitched low, deep and grave like his asking for a secret. He can feel him inside, hard and pulsing.

“Yeah,” he pants out, incapable of thinking about anything else other than the bright pleasure James’ is touching deep inside.

James nods and proceeds to thrusting right into his most sensitive spot, even more confidently now, like he’s sure what he’s doing. He fucks him in way he’s not doing it for himself but for the other person. 

James moves with purpose, picking up the pace when he’s sure he can take it, and the world goes white. He closes his eyes the first thrust, moaning weakly against James' shoulder. Dexter recognizes the way he moves his hips, just enough to make him loosen up inside, melt like a fucking candle. The worst part is that it works, he’s hot all over and if he keeps this up he definitely can see an orgasm in the near future. Whatever James is doing fucking works, if he keeps it up he will lose.

Every thrust makes him shiver, the start of the orgasm gathering like droplets in his groins, in the back of his throat and in the base of his cock. He can’t even focus on the way he’s rock hard against his own stomach, cock begging for release each time James’ grinds down.

He’s kissing James before he knows it, wet and desperate like he needs it to breathe, “James, fuck–” he whispers, like he’s telling him something very important, “This is– oh fuck”

“I know, I know, you’re doing amazing.”

Their foreheads are touching, just that point of contact, not even kissing anymore. He just breathes in the others’ man moans above him, pulling him into him again and again. James’ snaps his hips methodically, like it’s his fucking job. He’s trembling too, Dexter notices from the way his arm shakes, propped up beside him. They’re so close.

After a distinctly sharp thrust that makes him whine, James lets go of his hip and makes his way to grab his wrist, pulling it down to his cock. He hisses through his teeth, too sensitive to the touch, but he can’t stop moving his hand, stroking his cock swollen with blood and rock hard. James looks down at him so intensely it’s borderline frightening. Dexter can’t look away, the way his eyes are dark and wide, filled with pleasure, makes him moan. He’s watching him lose it, he thinks, he will make him come, he wants him to lose it.

When he does, inevitably, come, he absolutely loses it. He’s arching his back like he depends on it to survive, nails clutching at the other man’s back, hugging him desperately. James pins him down on the bed, not letting him go anywhere, keeps fucking him nice and easy through his orgasm. He can feel the wet patches of cum adorning his stomach as he rides out the orgasm. 

“Fucking hell–” James thrusts into him a few times before coming very obviously himself, buried deep inside. It’s weird feeling his cum dripping inside, makes his thighs shake, still tightly wrapped around his hips.

They don’t move for a long time afterwards.

Chapter Text

Like water, it all comes back around. Balancing on a thin crack of ice. Thin as the mist of rain. How long can I keep this lie? 

Breathing is hard when you have a full grown man lying on top of your chest. James is on him, heavy with his full body weight but he's content with the pressure. It feels nice.

He can’t stop the shivers, they are too close, too connected. He can feel James from inside, can feel the smallest of movements, every shift and breath. His legs won’t let go of James. He’s going soft inside of him, but he can’t let go.

Why did I have to like this so much?

Doakes pulls out, and it feels weird. It’s uncomfortable, and sort of painful in a way. He doesn’t even want to think about the wetness between his legs, getting more noticeable as the pleasure fades. He's not used to this, being so weak for something, for someone .

Now that it's over, he still can’t get his head around how he feels about it. Doakes props up a bit on top of him and he can finally let out the air he’d been holding. It's no matter anyway since he starts kissing him again, lowering again into his body. This time is slow and unhurried, almost as if he's telling him it's okay through the touch. His mouth feels used. It’s like a wave, making him weightless. It feels indecent, somehow, to surrender to the touch so innocently, but it's nice so he just lets himself enjoy the moment. Doakes puts a thumb under his ear, presses softly as he keeps kissing him. His body is fully relaxed, as if he spent every ounce of energy on this. He sinks into the mattress content. 

“Are you happy now?” Doakes asks him, pulling back from the kiss. The words are like honey down his spine. James whispers them right into his lips, a soft peck following. They are pressed up impossibly close, there’s not an inch between their bodies. A hand reaches down to his waist, caresses his hips like a feather. It’s nice not having to pretend, not having to commit to a role with predetermined rules. It’s just there, no judgement or expectation. He grabs the back of his neck and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. Doakes goes easily, opens his mouth for him and keeps holding him.

The sun hasn't come up yet, there's sometime until it lightens up outside, but the darkness is dissipating. It’s not long before they have to get up, but they have time. He’s calm because there’s still time left, after all. Lately everything is like a countdown; it’s counted the seconds it took him to break up with Rita, it will do the same for Doakes and he can feel it clocking down for something else too, whatever it’s ticking too depends on his plan working. The thoughts are feeble, just floating above his head like an afterthought. He’s centered entirely on what he feels by touch. Right now he just wants to bask in the sensations the man on top of him draws from him. After kissing for a while, he wonders if it’s normal to enjoy this as much as he did.

“Why don't you like this?” Dexter asks, “It felt good.”

Doakes is the more experienced of the two of them, he’s older too, it shows on the way he’s sure of everything he does to him. This isn’t either the first or second time he’s done this with a man, not even the third that’s for sure. He’s curious, all of the sudden, he likes the way he’s kept the secret hidden so well. He can relate himself, being a closeted serial killer and all. It’s not like he denies it to himself. He’s told him before he’s not picky about gender, but it’s clear their entanglement is not something he wishes to broadcast to the world. Debra knows, and he’s sure James would freak out if he ever knew. He already looks uneasy at the question, separating a bit just to think.

“It's not that I don't like it,” he says after a moment, the sound rumbling right over his chest, “Just makes me feel some type of way. Did you like it?”

“I did.” He says, because it's true and he’s got no reason to lie, but he knows Doakes is deflecting the question. “It was good. Really good,” he continues, making a point of pushing his hips forward.

“I'm that skilled huh?,” he says, smirking down at him. The bastard.

Dexter bites his shoulder hard, happy to hear Doakes’ groan, “Keep bragging and we're not doing this again. Ever.”

“Again you say?” James smiles devilishly, and he could actually kick him for that, so he does, making him fall off of him. He enjoys the yelp of pain the other lets out.

“Yeah. Again.” He also says, because he knows this will happen again inevitably, at least while Doakes trusts him enough to keep doing it. It may have been his first time, but he can see how much Doakes wanted him too. It’s something he’s never had, the veneration he gets from him when they’re in bed. He may be one nosy and annoying individual, but when he’s touching him the only goal is making him come, no other underlying intentions creeping underneath. He doesn’t even have to think about it, just say yes and let Doakes make it happen. And he’s made it happen over and over again, just for the sake of it even if Dexter is repulsive to him in most ways. He doesn’t care how James feels about him personally, he just knows this is a good connection he’s found. His mind is clear, and he can’t comprehend how wrong he was about this. It feels like he’s just discovered a way to focus again, to have a hold place until he can kill again. His mind is focused, he can think coldly, a new perspective, as loose as his bones. He turns to hug James, pushing him sideways and resting half of his body on top of him. “So?”

“Look, it's not that it doesn't feel good for me. I just have issues with it. Don't really feel like bringing them up right now.”

It fits with him, to keep his own trauma behind a concrete wall. Men fucking other men isn’t considered so great to the American people, after all. He’s happy he’s free of such societal oppression. To him it’s not a question about what he likes. The question is if there’s anyone at all he likes, anyone at all. He can appreciate sex, with Rita he learned to appreciate those moments of relaxation, to appreciate her beauty. He thought of the physical nature and reaction. He liked it because he’s got no other alternative. He’s got the right organs, a sane body, it’s only his mind that’s damaged. He’s done fine without sex for the most part of his life. With Doakes, he makes him want it. Maybe it’s just his life falling apart, and he’s clinging to the only thing that makes him feel something. “I get it,” he says, right into his chest.

Doakes separates a bit, making him look into his eyes. “You do?”

“My whole life has been a pile of issues, maybe not about this but I get it. You don't have to tell me about it, I was just curious.”

Humming for a moment, Doakes starts brushing Dexter’s hair with his fingers, untangling the strands and pushing the back.

“Fuck me, you’re really not bothered by this, are you? You really never did anything with a man before?” His eyes shine with something akin to jealousy. It shouldn’t be a defeat to not have more experience in regards to men, but here they are. Dexter doesn’t know the rules about this, he’s standing in loose grounds.  

“Nope.” He confirms, anyway. It’s not shame that’s ugly it’s the sense of pride, he’d never cared too much for social standards. To follow Harry’s Code was to have a sense of order and neatly packed drawers. He’s broken it many times now, Doakes being the last shovel that’s burying The Code. 

“That what you were looking for at the club?”

The question comes out of nowhere. He remembers that night clearly and knows what James is referring to instantly. He remembers the rush of the kill interrupted, the urges to bash Doakes’ skull into the parking lot concrete. It feels very far back, like another version of himself. “What club?”

“The first night. When I found you at Miami Foxes. Never thought you would be there.”

It’s interesting James thinks of it as the first night. To Dexter it feels the last night of knowing himself, maybe the first of the doubt that’s growing inside. Sergeant James Doakes is the last nail to the Code Harry taught him. James is now expecting an answer, but he’s not sure what he wants to hear.

“I thought there was something wrong with me, I felt numb with Rita. I could’ve kept the pretence. I liked her better than anyone I had dated before, but it wasn’t love and that’s the only thing she wanted from me. I thought I’d try something else, spare her the hurt in the long run.”

Honest enough?

“What did you expect?”

I expected the same. Nothing. I've got something now. 

He takes a breath and really thinks about it. He’s not sure how James will take it if he continues to be this straight forward. Most people take it bad, he’s learnt. “Not you. You're like, nothing I imagined. I never thought you liked men, for one,”

James moves a bit, uncomfortable, before trying to justify himself. “I try to keep that part of my life to myself. It has never been too important. At least–”

“What?”

“It's just sex.” he says, ending the questioning with a cutting tone. Dexter finds it illogical, the contradiction he finds on James' words in contrast to his actions. He says it’s just sex, yet the times Dexter’s won his trust haven’t felt meaningless at all.

“How did you know?” he asks, trying to change subjects. He won’t press on it, couldn’t reciprocate even if he was correct in his suspicions James wants more from this, so it’s good he’s lying to himself about it. It's a comfortable ground, he’s standing on, somewhere he doesn’t actually need to talk about himself. He’s got a growing need to know details and intricacies about the man, though. He wants to decipher his character and bend him to his will. It’s selfish and ugly but he’d like to have him like this all of the time, revering and unsuspecting. He’s basking in the afterglow of a pretty amazing orgasm but he knows it will end soon enough, and he’ll be back to stressing about his destiny. For now he’s resigned to put it all in the back of his mind for later.

Of course, Doakes gets what he’s talking about instantly. “That I like men?” Dexter nods, even if the question is rhetorical. “Always knew. I like women better so I just kept it to myself. It's easier that way.”

“Hm.” Dexter mutters, accepting the answer. He admires the ability Doakes’ got to separate his life, divide it into drawers without letting them fall open into each other. He knows a thing or two about it himself, and now his own drawers are getting mixed up. 

“How did you know?” James asks. It makes sense that he’s asking, but Dexter really can’t relate to the question. There was never a question for him anyway. Straightness was the only way to be normal, to not stand out, the only way to make the number one rule from Harry’s Code work. He truly doesn’t care. A body is a body. To him people are bodies, he never cared much about what they had under the clothes, if not at all. What’s happening right now, this conversation, doesn’t even make sense to him yet, why he’s liking it so much. It doesn’t have to do with the fact Doakes is a man, but to the world it seems it’s the only thing it’s about.

“I don't really like anyone? If that makes sense.” Saying that out loud feels strange. To other people he’s always been a normal guy who likes women and wants a family. That’s his mask. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have dated anyone in the first place. He just needs it to survive. With James it’s the same, he’s using him to cover himself, even if it’s not the same way as he’s used his previous relationships.

Of course, James laughs like it’s a joke, “Bullshit, let me put it easy for you, who do you think about when you get off? Men or women?”

He thinks about it for a moment. James seems happy to wait, puts a hand on his hair and keeps on curling the locks. It’s not that he’s shy about this, with him it’s easy to talk about these kinds of things. He knows James is listening very carefully, and will probably use whatever he says against him, but he’s not judging. He’s honest because there’s no use in pretending to be someone he’s not, at least in what’s bedroom concerned.

“I don't really do that. When I do I usually just think of getting off. You're the only one I've masturbated to, I think, if that’s what you want to know,” 

If he doesn’t believe him, that’s his problem. He’s got no reason to waste energy into lying about it right fucking now. James makes a fist with his hair and pulls back a bit, making him turn to stare up at him. “Fuck Dexter you can't just say that”

“Well, it's true.” he says, distracted by the cold wet feeling between his legs more noticeable with the movement. It’s not going anywhere, he’s only more aware of it as the orgasm fades away. “I'm gonna go clean up” he says, trying to move away from the other man. A hand makes him stay still.

“Stay here, don’t move.” he tells him, getting up from the bed wearing only what he was born with, nothing else. Dexter watches from the bed, comfortable to wait. It’s very convenient, having him around.

.

Doakes makes him lay on his stomach, spreads his legs a little and cleans him up as well as he can in their predicament. There’s a wet patch on his left, but he really doesn’t feel like changing the sheets. A shower would be wiser, but there’s time for that later too. Dexter’s too comfortable just letting James sort out his own mess. The pleasure may have stopped, but the clarity he’s experienced from the act remains. He's thinking of Miller the whole time, can't stop the very pressing matter from digging into his brain. Inside he’s settled. It seems very clear to him, what’s in Doakes future from now on. He wants to keep him, and he’s going to. He just has to wait for the perfect moment to strike.

Doakes is humming something as he wipes him down. The touch is careful but firm, not enough to keep him away from his thoughts. He doesn’t even realize when he lays down beside him, only notices when James nudges his shoulder a bit. Dexter turns a little so he’s facing him, lets him hold him again. They’ve still got an hour and a half to get ready for work. Two hours so he’ll be free to replan the Miller issue. Roughly three days until he can start over again. He wonders if he’ll ever see his father again.

Doakes kisses his shoulder, a faint touch that makes him remember he’s not alone. “Where did you go?” he asks him, and sometimes Dexter forgets how observant he can be.

“What?” he asks, trying to pretend he isn’t right. It’s not working, he knows James will see right through him, but he can be difficult just for the sake of it.

He sighs, pulling him closer, “You're thinking too much.”

Dexter puts his weight on Doakes, making him lay flat on the bed. Distracted by the way Doakes is breathing under him, he wonders if he’ll be happy with Miller being the butcher. If he’ll stop suspecting him finally. He can’t wait for this to be over, can sense the end is near. He’s got almost all of the pieces together, just has to make that final push.

“I’m glad you’re here.” he says, putting his head on the curve of his shoulder. He lets himself take in the other man’s smell. He’s clean, he appreciates that. James moves under him a bit, moving a hand to caress his hair again. He seems to like it a lot, from the way he can’t let go of it for a moment. It’s relaxing, to just let him do it. “You are?”

There’s a strange ring to the question, but he pays it no mind. James inhales sharply, makes him pull back to stare at him. He’s looking at him very seriously, in a way he’s never done before, but it doesn’t feel like it’s a bad look, so he continues. “I know we’re going to find out who it is.” he says, “Together.” 

Doakes groans, he can actually feel the moment breaking right there and there. There's a confused expression on his face, as if he's lost. What did I say now?

“What?” he asks, because it was going really well, in his opinion.

He raises an eyebrow at him, “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“What? ” he repeats, trying to go over his words.

Doakes moves, sitting up on the bed a little without letting go of him. He remains still, incapable of reacting to the change of tone. “I mean, fuck that. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to continue this thing with the Bay Harbor Butcher.”

Dexter is really lost now. Everything was alright, wasn't it? What changed?

“What? Why?” he can hear his voice go high, hoping it doesn’t give away too much. It’s no matter because Doakes looks at him strangely anyway.

“Not after yesterday. We should talk about it.” His tone is final, like a judge sentencing in court. Any trace of contentment he was feeling vanishes right that instance. He lets go of Doakes, lays himself flat on the bed. 

“What is there to talk about?” he asks the ceiling. It's tiring, thinking of going through this again.

Doakes sighs, laying beside him again. He ignores him, disappointed. “I don’t think you’re okay to do this.”

“You don't know shit,” he's losing all patience he had. He can see all of his plans falling apart, all this only because Doakes apparently believes he's a fragile little thing and can’t handle some of the usual undercover illegal investigation deals.

“It’s not even a day since your actions got a man killed and you’re talking about meddling into a federal case.” Of course James isn’t shy about saying it. He’s biting his lips hard, afraid of what may come out if he lets the anger control him.

“That man killed my mother. I’m not going to feel bad about this.” he points out, very slowly.

Doakes doesn’t seem to be aware of his growing restlessness, just agrees with him as if they were talking about the weather and keeps on pressing. “Yeah, I agree, but you see my point? How can you be so calm after this?”

Dexter laughs at that. 

“I can’t feel anything. That’s my problem if you were wondering.”

It’s a very abbreviated version of the dark truth he’s holding. He does this for a living. It’s his daily bread, just with the special sauce of revenge in Jimenez case. There’s not much to be affected by, at this point. In the corner of his mind he knows it’s better if Doakes thinks he’s actually shaken by this, but there’s some kind of pride that makes him want to correct the other man. 

“Bull-shit” Doakes laughs in his face, reaching for him.

Violence fills his soul like lighting, unable to keep it at bay.

“Fuck you” he says, slaps his hand away so hard it falls hard against his body. Turning away from his touch Dexter rolls over to the other side. For a moment no one is breathing in the room. He's got an ugly thing growing inside, there’s nothing there to stop it.

There’s a beat and then silence. He’s sure Doakes is going to leave at that moment right there and then. He’s fine with it, too worked up to care. His back goes rigid when James fits himself against his back, hugging him again.

“Don't fucking touch me.” he grunts, still like a stone.

James doesn't even bat an eye, puts the arm he had around him away and keeps laying by his side, at least not trying to hug him anymore. He really can't take that now. 

“Dexter. You do feel.” he says softly, which is the worst part. He’s tired of trying to explain himself to others. He's fucking ruined the mood. Couldn’t shut his mouth for his life.

“I. Don’t. Feel. Anything.” he points out every word still staring at the wall, really tired now.

Last night’s drinking is starting to show through, and he would really like a coffee after a shower. For whatever reason, every time he fucks up and drops the mask a little too low, James just won’t go away. “What’s this then?” James asks, like he gives a shit.

“You’re a fucking pass time.” he answers, trying to be cutting. He's not going to pretend he's got feelings for Doakes, and Doakes is grown enough to hear it. 

“Fuck you. You may be fucked up in the head but you are a fucking human like the rest of us.” James doesn’t take the bait, isn’t even frowning when Dexter turns around. He pointedly makes eye contact, puts on his dead eyes as he does. If James wants to play the feelings game, he’s got a head start.

“I mean it's not like you like me like that . Do you?” he delivers the sentence with the utmost lack of emotion he has in his body. It works, from the way James stops, thrown off like he’s been caught.

“What?” daring him to continue.

“You know what I mean." It sounds ridiculous even to him. James screws up his face, cringing in disgust at his words. 

“Hell no.” 

Doakes can’t even hear the words. He may be a confident man in bed, but the panic he shows every time something has to be put to words tells him all he needs. “What is this to you then? Why the fuck do you have to care so much about what I feel or not,” he asks, trying to get him as angry as he's made him with his questions. Doakes won't talk about this. There’s something there, a reason for the many times he's shown interest for more, but Dexter knows he'll be dead before he admits it . Whatever it means, anyway. 

James thinks about it for a moment, and it's surprising he's not trying to run away as he'd thought he did. “Hooking up.” he pauses “A friend maybe.” 

That does surprise him. Hooking up is the safe answer. He never thought friend would be an adjective Doakes would describe him as, though. “Friend,” he repeats, now curious about what he means.

“I don’t mind you being around. I thought we were on the same page about that.”

Maybe he should feel bad for putting Doakes in such a position, but he can't find it inside himself to care. The rush of annoyment goes as quick as it comes. The tiredness remains, he’s painfully aware of every physical sensation, from the sheets he’s laying on to James’ breath, suddenly so close again. He didn’t even realize they’ve gotten this close.

“That’s fine. I always fuck up relationships anyway.” he says, trying to even up a little. It’s not too smart to risk losing Doakes over pride, that’s just what the other man would want him to do. To lose it under pressure. Luckily, Dexter was born to keep his cool.

“How so?” James asks, narrowing his eyes. Dexter is aware he would like to know every detail, every little thing that he’s ever done. 

“I don't feel anything. Rita told me she loved me. I tried to love her too. She deserved something real. So that’s it.”

“That’s real–”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He’s getting agitated, and it’s a shame James only knows how to make him calm when he’s fucking him. It makes him forget how fucking annoying he can be when he wants to. He's is frustrated too, for some fucked up reason since Dexter is the one being questioned here.

I really fucking hate him. He’s pulling James in close before he can’t even think too much about it, crashing his mouth against him violently. There’s no doubt from James, he follows his lead for a moment, lets him take it out on him. Licking into his mouth he can only let himself make James clear the conversation is over. His mouth opens beautifully for him. He’s biting his lips, makes him groan everytime and bruises his mouth. He ends up almost on top of James, weak on the knees that keep him propped up. James doesn’t protest at all, lets him control the movements and lead them. He slows down, feeling the anger die down a bit. It’s satisfying the way Doakes lets him do whatever he wants. 

James breaks the kiss, puts a hand on his face. “Does anyone know you like men?” he asks, again not being able to shut up.

Dexter lays back down on the bed, this time puts his head on James’ shoulder, grabbing his other arm and putting it around him. He just wants to spend the time they have before work in peace, and he would if Doakes wasn’t so damn inquisitive. “Why do you have to be so fucking nosy?”

James snorts, pulling him close again. “Well, fuck me for wanting to know you better I guess,”

The patience is running out, of course Doakes doesn’t fucking get it, he expected that, but it’s annoying having to talk about it. In a way I started asking questions. Maybe it’s on me.

“I don't like men. I like you.”

James jumps a bit, which is to be expected. He will probably misinterpret him, but maybe it’s for the best. If he thinks Dexter can feel the same way, whatever way it is, that he feels, he’ll be moldeable. It’s okay because it doesn’t even feel like a lie.

“What the fuck does that mean?” His voice is rough, but he’s on the right track.

“You choose what you want it to mean,” he sighs, “I really don’t care. I just like you, don’t overthink it,”

He’s overthinking this for sure. That will probably work in my favor later.

James remains silent, and that topic shuts close. He’s happy to forget about the frustration and let the other man examine his words and draw his own conclusions. Dexter is spent, but something comes up to the front of his head, something he should probably address, even if he really doesn’t want to. It’s not too long before he’s the one to break the peace.

“Look, I think we are really close. I can see the way everyone is treating you at the station. The FBI is making you the scapegoat, you fucking know that.”

James is listening, he can tell from the way he goes quiet and doesn’t insult him right away. Maybe he’s risking too much right now, but he’s sure James can’t be serious about letting the ‘Bay Harbor Butcher’ go. 

“I don't want this to cost you your sanity. You’re a fucking idiot if you think you’re not going to lose it after this.” he hears the other man, wondering how sincere that is. If he knew he hadn’t got any sanity left he surely would gun him down right and there.

He just blinks twice and states out the facts. Deep down they both know it’s true that he isn’t affected. Doakes knows, and for a reason that’s what he wants to be blind to. “I do this for a living. This time I want to do it for you.”

“How are you so sure we’ll find him?” James sounds hopeful, a bit, but maybe he’s imagining it. He moves his head to look at James. They really are too close. He’s more aware of it every second. 

“You said it. I'm not wrong about these things.” It’s a remainder of the way Doakes saw him before all this mess started. If it helps him jump on board with the Miller thing, he’s going to use it.

“I trust you, but–”

That’s right. It's very good that he trusts me.

“Just let us try. Maybe I'm wrong and this is useless. But what if we are right?” he’s making his case, making sure he can settle this finally.

“Dexter –” he starts, but he’s not going to let him doubt this, he can’t doubt this.

“We make a good team.” he insists.

“We do.”

Breathing is a bit easier now that Doakes seems to be thinking about it seriously. “We are going to find a way. So you see what I see?”

James shakes his head, “I do. But you aren't okay.”

Who is ever fucking okay?

He grabs his hand, locks their fingers together and brings it to his mouth. Worked with Rita when he wanted something out of the ordinary, maybe it does with James. “I'm not. But I'm okay with this.”

James looks at their hands, but doesn’t make a move to pull back. “Dexter–”

“I told you–” 

He lets his hand go from Dexter’s and puts it over his mouth instead, shutting him up effectively.

“Let me fucking speak. It's not that I don't want to catch that motherfucker by the neck and chop him to pieces myself. I just don’t want it falling back on you. Because if we catch him, we may lose our jobs, and that’s the best outcome. We are both under active investigation.”

He’s smart, too smart for his own good. But it’s good James feels like protecting him, even if he should be protecting himself from Dexter. Carefully, he removes the hand that’s over his mouth. Doakes is expecting something, so he settles for the middle ground. He’s lost, too tired to find a convincing lie for him to agree with him.

“I have a plan. Lets just leave it here for now, come later and we’ll talk it over again. I promise if you don’t want to continue after that I’ll leave it.”

James laughs a little. Maybe he hasn’t been able to close this now, but he’s got all day to find a way. I will find a way.

“I’m just glad we managed to fuck before this” James says, pulling Dexter towards him again, and for once he agrees with him.

“Don’t get too comfortable, we have to go to work in less than two hours.” he reminds him, obtaining a very tired groan. The room isn’t dark anymore, the light now filling the room completely. It’s not too bright, but enough to know it’s morning already.

“Aw, fuck. I’m going to sleep, wake me up when we have to get ready.” Doakes yawns, stretching his arms. He makes himself comfortable under the sheets, lets his eyelids fall shut.

“I’m tired too.” he says, stretching his body as well. He feels loosened up, like his limbs weigh nothing. It’s a nice feeling.

Doakes mumbles under the sheets, “You’re not sleeping again, I fucking know you”

He’s not wrong.

“I’m going to go shower. I’ll wake you up.” he informs him. James nods at him, watching him move away. The moment he’s sitting up in the bed, both feet flat against the floor, he knows it’s going to be very uncomfortable, standing up.

“What’s the matter?” James says, and he knows he’s very amused to watch him struggle. 

He grits his teeth and stands up anyway, masking as best as he can the sharp pain that goes through him. 

“Shut the fuck up.”

If he looks back he will see James with a proud grin plastered on his face. He doesn’t have to actually look at him to know.

He would actually want to kill him, he thinks, as he feels the pain with every step he takes.

I guess this is the downside to this kind of thing. What a mess. Fuck, why did I have to like it so much?

Chapter Text

Dexter does wake him up later. James feels the cold touch of a hand pressing against his shoulder. Opening his eyes feels like a really hard task, he tries not to let the morning light blind him as he puts a hand over his eyes. Everything is sunlight and Dexter is above him, the only respite from the light, a halo covers his silhouette like something out of this world. He curses himself for being so weak for the redhead, so weak the first thought on his mind is to kiss him silly.

“You should wake up now.” he hears him, as cold and grimy as ever. 

For some reason, just by hearing his voice he’s brought back to the reality of the situation. As he gets used to the brightness, the room suddenly looks much bleak than a few seconds before. He just spent the night over at Dexter’s. Fucked him right after watching him almost kill a man a full day before. He did nothing to stop him, just got in the car and left him to his devices. He will do nothing to clear up what happened. Apparently, he will come over at very late hours, just if Dexter asks nicely. It's feels like a joke.

Watching Dexter stare down at him makes him realise how much he would rather sink back into the sheets with him again, instead of returning to the nest of snakes the station has become. He lets himself watch the other man for a second, the way his hair is wet and falls into his forehead spreading out like a map. He’s dressed already, a pale tan shirt matching some faded out jeans, and sits on the bed beside him, waiting for him patiently. 

James remembers how he looked last night, spread out in the bed with nothing else on. 

“What time is it?” he asks, painfully aware of the hopelessness of the situation. A full day of headaches and incompetent people questioning his every move is ahead of him. Dexter brings his hand up to his face, in the empty way he does when he’s thinking very hard about something. It’s just intuition, but James can tell he’s the one on his mind, for better or for worse.

“You have half an hour to get ready.” Ominous as ever, he takes a moment before he pulls his hand back off. He looks radiant, as if he’d never done a single thing wrong in his life. It’s the farthest thing from the truth, he knows that, but it’s the first thought that comes to his mind. 

James remembers how he looked last night, spread out in the bed with nothing else on. He remembers his chest, the scar still healing on his shoulder and his legs opened only for him. Dexter raises an eyebrow, questioning him as if he knew exactly what he is thinking of.

“I’m going to make coffee. I don’t know if I have enough left for you.” he says, as if he was delivering some very bad news. It is bad news, after all, since he really would appreciate some coffee after the night they just had. He should have the last cup, he's the guest and he deserves some damned coffee for answering his call at fuck hours of the night. Of course, James' not about to open that can of worms right now. He just wonders how much Dexter regrets last night, if at all. For his first time he hasn't freaked out once. He isn't bound to societal norms, he's starting to comprehend, there's nothing like Dexter he's known before.

“That’s fine.” he struggles to let out the words, but it’s no matter. He can tell from the way his gaze is going hazy that his mind is occupied with other things, even if he’s staring right at him. It’s no use trying to say anything else.

Dexter takes a last look before leaving. He stays down on the bed for a minute. His head is pounding, even if he’s not the one who was drunk enough to throw up. He remembers every word that was exchanged, the words are ingrained in his brain, unable to stop them playing back. There was a time when he could separate the man he fucks and the man he works with. When he looks at Dexter now, he feels like he knows him. Even if he doesn’t actually know him, even if there's a shadow of something darker there. The only times he opens up is when they have sex, any time they’re outside the bubble they’ve created, he’s wearing a mask, a damned shell he won’t take off. He’s seen under the mask now, so he can’t look at Dexter the same way as before, when he only knew the surface. It's like a very bad joke some poor fucker is playing on him.

When he finally gathers the strength to sit up, puts his feet on the ground and actually wakes up, he notices the clothes folded neat and clean at the end of the bed, a towel laid out for him too, his toothbrush on top of it. Maybe Dexter won’t give up his coffee for him, but this he will do. 

.

Under the water the restlessness settles for a moment. There’s only the rushing of the water filling the room. Alone, a thought comes up to the front of his mind. 

‘I like you’.  

It echoes again and again, the only thing he can do is stare down at the tiles of the shower. He’s sure Dexter was telling the truth. He likes him enough to have him over, to let him fuck him in his own bed. He likes him enough to call him well past midnight telling him that he needs him. He also knows he doesn’t actually care at all. Not in the way James does right now. It’s a fucking obsession, what he’s got, it’s a fever he’s got to pass. 

He tries to think of Kara, the way things got torn apart. He’d envisioned a future, he was going to marry her. He didn’t care what all the other cops thought of him. He just wanted her in his life. Dexter is an antithesis. All the things that he hated about him aren’t enough to the things he likes about him now. He’s finally found evidence Dexter is dangerous, evidence that could land him time, but he’s fucking worried about him.

He wonders if there’s anything else he should admit to himself. He wants the man, that’s clear, and he’s going to stick around for him, even if he’s sick of the job. Even if he just wants to just throw everything away and skip town altogether. It’s a very convoluted situation, one that should feel like it’s splitting him inside. It’s easier than it should, to look the other way. 

Can it be so easy to look away from this?

.

“There was some left for you,”

Dexter is handing him a mug of coffee like it’s nothing. His head is strangely empty, he just nods, accepting the drink.

“That’s great,” he says under his breath. He truly doesn’t know what to say, just stands there with the mug in his hands. It’s still too hot to drink so he blows on it carefully. Dexter is busy serving himself a full on breakfast meal. It’s weird because when they’re alone he doesn’t really care to pretend he understands social norms and emotions. He observes Dexter in his habitat, no masks or coverings blending his personality. He really doesn’t care about what others think of him. There’s something to envy there, something he himself lacks. He’s been accused of caring too much about what people think, before.

“I made some eggs too if you want.” Dexter comments casually.  

“The coffee is good, thanks,” He’s learnt not to read into what he does after sex. It used to scare him, the thought of having something more other than casual sex with a man. He’s fine now, with whatever they have going on now. He knows Dexter won’t ever ask for more. That’s a safety net he can rely on. “I made you hungry, hm?” 

Dexter stops plating his eggs to roll his eyes at him. Sex is a safe topic. Sex means nothing. Sex distracts him from what he really wants to ask.

“You give yourself too much credit.” Dexter is amused, even if he acts as if he just pissed on his coffee. For a moment he lets himself really remember the sounds he made, how tight he felt under his touch, everywhere. He watches Dexter stand by the kitchen bar, eating his breakfast like a starved man and the only thing in his mind is how easy it would be to bend him over and do it all over again. 

“Want me to remind you?” he asks him, enjoying the way Dexter turns up his head to him, confused.

“We have less than ten minutes to leave.” He says seriously, as if he didn't fucking know that. It pleases him that he’s considering his offer seriously. James can’t see the day he stops wanting that irredeemably handsome redhead freak.

“A man can dream,” he settles on, taking a sip of his still steaming mug. Dexter is as cool as ever, doesn’t look like someone who was throwing up to save his life last night. As if he didn't get fucked for the first time a few hours ago. It's very tempting to mess him up again. He could just suck him off, he bets it wouldn't take long. Bending him over the counter would be a very interesting sight as well. His mind wanders away, thinks of all the things he could do in ten minutes.

A phone rings before he can really enjoy his daydreaming, the melody breaking the moment. It's Dexter’s, and for some reason he knows who it is before he picks up.

“Hey, Deb.” 

James isn't able to know what it feels like, to have family actually close enough to call him randomly on a Tuesday morning. He doesn't remember the last time he actually opened up to one of his sisters, doesn’t even remember when was the last time they just talked about whatever. Just because they feel like talking. He'd die for his family, but he's not actually even close to what Dexter has with his sister.

“Yeah I’m okay.” Dexter isn't looking at him at all. He acts as if he wasn't in the room, drinking coffee while he's listening to him talk with his sister on the phone. “You were definitely worse than me, yeah you were.”

They went out drinking. It's not surprising Dexter's drinking buddy is his sister. He's got to have someone as a support system, otherwise he wouldn't be able to go on to the world, not after what he's lived through. Debra would be the spine he clings onto. He wouldn't have survived as long as he has if he hadn’t had his sister. No one could’ve. It's obvious how close they are. Maybe that's Dexter's only real relationship, not the empty crafted persona he uses to function out in the world.

 “No I didn’t.” he glances at him quickly. Whatever they are talking about better not be about him, he thinks, as a very not good thrill passes through him. The moment goes as quickly as it comes. Debra says something else, something Dexter is definitely not on board with.

“No, no it’s fine.” he tells her, obviously trying to stop her from doing something he really doesn’t want her to do. He knows that tone on him, he's heard it enough the last two days. “No, I told you I didn’t. Yeah, yeah you go on.” He’s almost smiling as he says his goodbyes. “I’ll see you later, me too,”

He hangs up and turns to look at him, in his own way apologetically. “That was Debra.”

James wonders if he realises he's smiling a little. “Yeah I figured.”

“She was going to come pick me up. Told her I didn’t need a ride.” Dexter says, pointedly, as if it should concern him in some way.

“Okay.” he doesn’t know how any of that is relevant, but as always, Dexter is a fucking mystery most of the time. Of course, there's something else going on, something Dexter’s probably hinting at that he doesn't get. Just watching him wait for him to say something is awkward enough, so he tries to pretend they didn't fuck their brains out just about two hours ago and they’re just two coworker having breakfast with no underlying subtext.

“By the way, you finished the report, the strangling on Palm Beach Park?” 

It's not something he needs to know right now. He can ask him later, in the station. He just doesn't know what else to say. If Dexter didn't seem so eager to hear him talk he wouldn't say anything at all. 

Dexter blinks twice, as if he really was waiting for something else from him. “Yeah, just let me–” he mumbles, leaving his plate to walk to his desk. James watches him go over some files, it doesn't take him long to find the one. 

“Here you go.” 

Dexter continues to stuff his mouth of what's left on his plate, as he takes a look over the file, sipping on his coffee. The report is flawless, as always. There’s nothing to revise, but he keeps on screening the pages.

“You know Lundy won’t like it, that I'm working with you so closely.” Dexter comments not having passed even five minutes, already finished and cleaning up. To James, that statement is a very narrow path, leading to the same conclusion; Lundy can go fuck himself.

“What the fuck should he fucking know? He’s FBI, not Miami Homicide.”

Dexter laughs as he puts away the dishes. “Don’t you think they're not snooping around, watching how we handle the cases that come in?”

James laughs for a moment, tired of the situation. “Well, fuck him. Let him think whatever.” 

He’s about to complain about Lundy at least three more times, when a groan makes him look towards the other man, crouched down on the floor “You alright?”

His face is blank, he's staring at the cabinet in front of him, unmoving. He doesn't have to ask to know Dexter isn't feeling very well, neither does he have to ask for the reason. It’s uncomfortable, no way around it. He’s definitely going to feel it all day, no matter how well he hides it. Sickly, it makes him feel proud of himself, and it may be a selfish thought, but he’s glad he’s the only man that’s touched him, ever.

“Yeah.” Dexter grits through his teeth. When he stays down for a second longer than usual, James starts to worry.

“Did I–”

“It’s fine.”

“I could–”

Dexter cuts him off, standing up suddenly. “I told you it’s fucking fine.”

He shuts up immediately. It’s painfully obvious the way Dexter is trying to hide his discomfort, how he’s trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

“Okay. We should get going anyway,” he says, putting his mug away in the sink as he tries to give the other man some space. Dexter sighs, walks to grab his phone. James watches him, baffled, as he starts looking through his contacts.

“I’ll call a cab,”

“What the fuck is wrong with your car?”

Dexter stops to look at him like he’s dumb. “Was too drunk to drive home. Left the car at the bar.”

He didn’t even notice his car missing in the driveway. He’d been too busy thinking over all the reasons he shouldn’t come over to notice. It dawns on him the grip Dexter has on him. The way he’d do it all over again, with a blindfold, just to feel, and hear Dexter lose it under his touch.

“Fuck that, I’ll drive you.”

Dexter closes his flip phone dramatically. “What if someone sees us?”

The chances are low, since they’re late already anyway and everyone will be in the briefing room, and even then–

“Fuck them too. And you can ask me directly next time, I don’t like your fucking mind games.”

Dexter smiles, clearly very pleased at himself and not smart to hide it for a second. It’s enough for James to notice he wasn’t going to call a cab in the first place. And James just went and straight up confirmed to him how distracted he is, he didn’t even know what Dexter was hinting at in the first place. The manipulative fucker.

“Let's go then.”

He was right about his suspicions. The parking lot is almost empty when they pull in, only the cars and staff around, not a single cop they know in sight. Even if he truly doesn’t give a fuck about what his coworkers think of him anymore, the thought of being perceived as anything other than straight is an abyss. There’s no need to worry too much, logically, since no one would automatically jump to the conclusion they’re fucking just because he gave Morgan a friendly ride to work. It’s a terrifying thought, nonetheless. 

He can hear Dexter thinking from the copilot seat, busy in his own thoughts too. He’s never been too worried about the men issue, only that first night. He knows now that was only a defensive move, to get a response from him. If he pulled that move now, he’d see right through him. His muscles are cramped, he’s feeling tight everywhere. When he finally parks the car, he wishes he could just sleep the day away.

“Thanks for the ride.” Dexter says, unbuckling his seatbelt. He’s got some dark under his eyes, but otherwise he looks just fine. James suddenly wants to reach over and mess up his hair.

“It’s okay.” he says, still gripping the wheel with both hands. If he puts them down God knows what he’ll do. Dexter doesn’t make a move to get out of the car. They’re late, and neither of them are moving. Nothing seems to move at all. James wonders when did Morgan gain the ability to stop time. The moment they enter the station, the moment will be over. Back to reality.

Dexter’s voice cuts the air like a knife. “You’re coming over later?” 

James looks into his eyes and finds them hopeful, or at least close enough to the actual emotion. 

“Yeah,” it’s the only thing he can say, the only thing that comes out of his throat, dry and deep. Dexter remains still. He knows there’s something he wants to say, so he just waits. Waiting is the key, he finds, to really get to know him. Waiting got him here, feeling like a fucking hopeless tragedy.

“I meant it, James. I do like being around you. Even if you decide you want to stop, what we’re doing.”

It’s terrifying because a thrill goes over his body. For a moment he can’t breathe at all. He looks at Dexter, scans his blank face for two full seconds before getting out of the car, committing the indifferent stare to his memory. He can’t fucking hear that, not from Dexter, not now. Maybe that’s exactly how he wants him to react, or the place to make him hear it. 

How the fuck do I unhear it?

Briefing is the same. His cases are the same. The looks he gets from everyone are the same. He should’ve quit a long time ago. Maybe it would be best if he quit. There’s a lot of maybes lately.

He should just quit.

Dexter likes him, so he should fucking quit. Most of the maybes come because Dexter likes him, just like that, likes something about him and he can say it, so he does. He should quit because he knows Dexter likes him the same way he likes his computer. He likes the form, likes the use he gets from him. 

He should quit because he desperately wishes there was a way he could have more, the same way he wishes he could use him back just as Dexter’s using him.

.

He runs into Lundy early that morning, in the briefing room bathrooms. He’s washing his hands when the agent comes in, leaving with no other choice than to face him. The bathroom is empty, most people already working on their cases or out on the field. Watching the smug grin Lundy seems to have permanently stuck to that wrinkly old face makes his anger come up to the surface. He really tries not to think too much about it, to let it slide into the back of his brain. 

“Sergeant Doakes.”

He nods, acknowledging him barely. The warm water runs through his hands, just like  a million thoughts are passing through his mind all at once. Lundy takes a quick glance at him before calmly stating his intentions, loud and clear for once.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Morgan lately.”

The back of his neck feels on high alert, waiting on something to come over and attack him right then and there. He keeps on washing his hands like nothing’s happened. He’d be dead before he’d let Lundy throw him off his feet now, especially not about this.

“What’s your point?” he says, looking at him through the mirror sheepishly.

Lundy raises an eyebrow, tilting his head just so he looks like a never-did-no-bad lamb. It’s insufferable, and honestly, quite tiring of a routine. “Just interesting. You kept asking what Dexter might be hiding… Stalking him one may say, even? But you—you're getting closer to him now.”

Lundy is one hell of a snake, he was so blinded in his conviction of Dexter’s guilt, he let that go right through him. He sees it now. Lundy is gathering pieces, doesn’t matter where he gets them from, he wants to make them fit.

“Are you accusing me or Morgan?” he says harshly, turning to the man finally. Lundy grins down at him.

“Neither. Just... observing.”

Lundy exits the restroom without waiting for an answer. He didn’t even try to look like he wanted to actually use the bathroom, or pretend that it wasn’t just a cheap excuse to get him alone. He hates the motherfucker to his core, he’ll be damned if he tries to frame him.

.

Dexter keeps looking at him. He can feel his eyes watching him from his desk, from the curtains of the lab, from the fucking lunch room everytime he goes to get water. It’s never been quite this between them, where he’s the one being observed. 

He knows what Dexter wants to hear him say. He wants them to continue with their private investigation. He wants him to join him in his search. He told him tonight he’d tell him what he wanted to do about it. He promised Dexter an answer. James tries to see this thing as anything other than an obsession for Dexter, but it’s the only way it can be explained. First Jimenez, now this insistence on meddling with a very serious case that’s affecting them directly. His past self would jump to conclusions, but he can see something else leading Dexter’s actions. Something inside tells him there’s something more there. Something he doesn’t know yet, but that moves Dexter into the dark violence he carries. He knows a thing or two about that. He’s doubting all the choices he’s made so far.

Deep down, he understands Morgan for what he almost did. He ponders it over his second and third coffees. It's a fucked up situation to be in. His heart aches for the ginger in a way it hasn’t in a very long time. It makes him feel dangerous things. He questions the system, the law he’s followed like a mantra, up until now the only thing his heart was guided by. It’s still an unanswered question, what he should do and what he should believe. 

He knows he doesn’t even have to listen to Dexter once, to agree to keep on looking for the Butcher with him. He has his answer ready.

He’s working on a case, already settled for the day at his desk when he hears them from Batista's desk. 

He’s had lunch already, went out with Maria for a quick bite earlier than everyone else. Lately he finds lunch time a pain in the ass, the stares of distrust more prone to appear. It’s not unusual for the boys to gather up, tell some stories and joke around a bit.

The day has been good, work wise at least. He’s closed two cases, helped solve a third which ended up with a happy ending, as the victim recovered in the hospital with high chances to live after being stabbed almost ten times. 

He can hear them talking about the case, discussing the details. It’s all detective banter until Masuka has to ruin his fucking day.

“You ever notice how Doakes is always pissed when there's no murder? Like he misses it or something.” he laughs, as if he’s just told the funniest fucking joke ever known to mankind.

His blood runs cold. He’s had enough, of this fucking place laughing right at his face. He doesn’t even register any other reaction, just feels the words hit him like a truck. His heart is already racing when he jumps out of his desk.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Masuka jumps out of his skin, tries to fix his big mouth backpedaling,
"Hey, — I was just kidding, man. Jesus." 

Everyone is staring. Any chatter going on has died on the spot. He’s making a fucking scene every fucking week, just because of the audacity of the entire police force to believe the first thing they hear floating around. No common sense, or critical thinking at all. It’s fucking pathetic. This is the last time. He swears he’s going to quit, fuck Dexter, fuck the Miami Metro Police.
"You think this is a joke? People’s lives are being fucked up, and you’re out here playing CSI stand-up hour? Keep my name out your mouth before I shut it for you." The words spill out of his mouth, sharp and ugly, as he walks towards Masuka, who’s cowardly hiding behind Batista.
"Doakes, chill, man. It was just a joke." Batista says, putting in the middle of the two.

For some reason he feels the stare of everyone in the station all at once. Regret pours out of him at the same time he realises the reality of his outburst. He’s not going to quit, he’s already made his mind, he’s going to help Dexter to keep their names clean. He can’t quit now.

James points at Masuka. His head is pounding again, unable to control himself further. "He gets one more. Just one. After that, it’s not a joke — it’s a problem."

He gets one moment of public understanding before Detective George fucking Frayer opens his mouth and makes him forget any regret he was having about standing up for himself.

“Hey Vince, don’t piss off Doakes. You might end up in a garbage bag,”

The room is silent for a heart beat. The nasally annoying croaks again and again like an echo breaking the last remaining self control he had. Frayer laughs in his face and turns to leave, as if he’s going to let him just walk away from this. His hands are balled up when he storms towards Frayer.

"You got something to say? Say it to my face!" he grabs Frayer by his collar and it’s over. Chaos ensues behind him, a pair of hands on his back trying to get him off the other detective. He shakes them off violently, angrier every passing second.

“We all know what you are!” Frayer screams it to his face, almost spitting it into him. He wants him to fight him, wants him to beat the shit out of him just to prove his point. The sick bastard is about to get his way.

“Say that again, motherfucker!” he screams back, tightening his grip.

It’s almost like a punch to his stomach, the visceral reaction that comes over him when he hears Dexter call his name, loud and clear.

“Doakes.”

Dexter is standing up behind him, a hand in the middle of his shoulder blades, the touch burns through the fabric of his shirt. Even if there’s another two pairs of hands on him, pulling him away, it’s only Dexter’s touch he registers. He never even felt him come to the room. It’s comical, because he’s about to punch the fucker in the face. He’s about to beat the shit out of him, but the only thing that stops him is that point of contact. 

“It’s not worth it.”

He’s telling him to stop. He’s trying to make him stop. His hands are shaking when he lets go of the collar he’d been holding.

His hands are completely still when Dexter comes into the lab. He has barricaded himself there, closed the blinds and sat himself down, waiting to speak with LaGuerta. Frayer’s inside now, giving his fucked up version of the events. He’s not worried about this. Just feels utterly hopeless. He can’t do anything about the situation. Nothing will be the same again.

I should fucking quit.

He’s sitting on Dexter’s chair, taps his foot nervously. He expects Dexter to start naming all the ways he just fucked up whatever plan he had for tonight. He expects reprimands. He expects questions. He doesn’t expect Dexter looking so fucking proud of him. It makes him sick.

He starts shaking when Dexter kneels down to hug him. He feels pathetic, leaning into the touch as if he wasn't a grown fucking man. As if he needed something to grab onto. He wants to punch anything that moves into the ground. He takes a sharp breath when Dexter covers his hands with his own, as if he knows exactly what he’s trying not to do.

“Hey. You can’t let words make you lose your mind.” His words are soft, right against his right ear.

He’s laughing before he can register it. It’s bitter, and cruel, but Dexter knows. Dexter knows.

“You think this is easy for me? You think I’m proud of this? I’ve spent my life trying to be something other than my father— But there’s something, it's there. It's always there. You’re not the only one who’s fucked up, Dexter.”

He doesn't even know what he's saying in the end.

“I know.”

Dexter kisses him, swift and clean and everything he doesn't deserve from him. Everything tucks neatly to the back of his mind for a blessed second.

Chapter Text

James is sitting down in his office, looking at the wall pleased with himself. The room is a mess, papers, files, folders spread around in piles that don’t seem to have an end. However, the chart pinned up to the board in front of him is neat and tidy. He can see it now, how everything is falling into place. He’s spent all night setting it up, but he’s not tired at all. If anything his full focus is on this investigation. It’s times like these he’s glad the doubt led to something real. It’s clear in his mind now, he’s got a goal, and he can see there’s an end near, he can feel it. Justice will be served.

The official letter communicating his unpaid suspension is sitting on an empty chair beside him. He’s read it just once, but he could quote it with his eyes closed. His heart isn’t settled yet, no matter how clearly he can see the path he has to follow from now on. It irks him beneath his skin though, that even after everything he’s put up with, he’s the one being punished here. That no one other than Dexter can think for themselves and realize how ridiculous they sound accusing him just because fucking gossip. 

It doesn’t matter. James made up his mind the moment he stepped out of the building. He left his badge and gun behind. He doesn't need that anymore. His instinct is screaming at him, always was. He just looked at it the wrong way. Dexter was never the problem, he was the solution. He’s broken and very dangerous, but he’s got the same intuition as him. That’s why they are so alike. He’s got an extraordinary mind, sharp as a blade. The darkness almost drowns him, and the disgust he used to feel about it is turning into concern as he gets to know the man. There’s something in him that betrays the capacity he has to make the right choice, it betrays the doubled sharpened intellect he’s got too.

Still, James is aware of the distance between them. He can't face the reality of the situation he's in. The thought of someone knowing he feels this way for a man shakes him to his core. Every bone in his body also tells him nothing good will come out of this, whatever it is. It’s instant, every single time he remembers who Dexter is to the world, who they both are. Dexter makes him forget it just like that, at least when they’re alone. He–

His thoughts are cut short by the ringtone of his phone, the little screen lighting up non-stop in his desk. He knows who it is before he opens the phone.

“Maria,” 

There's a sigh on the other end. Last time they saw each other she asked for the badge and gun. He didn't even say goodbye to her, still too enraged about the situation.

“How are you feeling?”

Her voice is tight enough to betray the concern. James sits back on his chair, turning his neck to look through the window. “I’ll be alright. You know me.” he says, and he really means it.

“I’m sorry this happened. Frayer had no right to say the things that were said.”

He groans, closing his eyes shut. “It’s not just Frayer, I told you they want to set me up!”

“They’re not trying to set you up James, they are just hopeless now. I got from Matthews that they’re starting to look for retired officers, they don’t have any real leads,”

He’s stunned to hear it. Miller fits the profile like a glove. They’re two steps ahead, all because Dexter was able to see it before anyone else could. He’s got that dark gift, now he understands why it’s there in the first place.

“That’s a fucking reason they want to pin it on me. Lundy didn’t do shit to shut those rumors Maria, you know that” he tells her, trying to reason.

It’s useless, since Maria changes subjects, smooth as always, “They’re moving floors. Increasing security on the operation. Nothing like we started, hm?”

“Yeah.” Hearing her voice calms him a bit. Maria always brought him peace. He lets himself take a breath before moving on, as much as he wants to make her see it.

“I didn’t think the FBI would make such a shit job out of it. What did Frayer get?” he asks, because if he can’t make her see the incompetence of the FBI and the entire ridiculousness of the situation, he will at least now what else did they fuck up.

“Suspension without pay, same as you. He’s got two weeks, not three days though.”

He clicks his tongue, thinking about it for a second.  surprised the bastard got anything at all, given the bad rep he’s got right now, if any at all.

“So you had some influence, then?” 

He pictures Maria raising an eyebrow at the accusation, just by the tone, “Well, as Lieutenant I decide what consequences there are in situations like these. Frayer was in the wrong to speak for the whole department.”

“I know Mattews got involved after I left.” The Captain never really liked him, not the way he did with the other detective. The feeling’ mutual, for what it’s worth.

“You got a slap on the wrist, take it for what it’s worth. You know how Captain Mattews thinks about you.”

Looking through the window he wonders how much longer will it take to just separate himself from the job. He’s already drifting away. There was a time it was important for him to be the best, the perfect cop. Now, he wouldn’t have cared if they’d just fired him on the spot. “Yeah, sure.” he says absently, almost too concerned about watching cars passing down the street to notice the stretching silence.

“It was Dexter.” 

The words don't quite reach his understanding for a beat. He blinks before trying to make sense of it.

“What?”

Maria is talking, but the words aren’t meaningful to him, he’s still too shocked about the twist. “You asked me if I had influence in the decision. Dexter was the one to change Mattews mind about Frayer. You were both gonna get two weeks. Maybe you’d get one more, if so. He got you down to three days.”

“How did that happen?” he asks, confused.

“Dexter requested to speak with us about it. After they escorted you out.”

“What the fuck did he say about me?”

Maria laughs at his intensity, he can hear her through the speaker. His mind is racing about this, it feels dangerous, like something he can’t control which is maddening. “He defended you, actually. What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do shit to him! I don’t know why the fuck he said that, I can’t fucking stand him.”

“He said he was your friend.”

“You’re kidding.” he doesn’t even know what to say without revealing too much. He doesn’t know what the fuck Dexter told them, exactly, and he knows Maria is too smart as to tell him fully. He knows this is big news for her, from all the shit he’s talked about him to her before.

“Why am I hearing about him now? You hated him.” she obviously asks him, very curious.

“I still hate him.” he replies, intentionally vague. 

“James, he wasn’t lying about it. I can tell, I’ve known Dexter for years now.” 

He sighs, shaking his head even if Maria can’t see him. She’s known him for years and couldn’t see the dark side. Dexter is one of the better liars he’s met, and he’s met a fuck ton of manipulative people throughout his forty five years of life.

“What else did he say?”

Maria doesn’t give in, “You’d want to know, don’t you?”

“Don’t fucking play me Maria, what the fuck did he say about me?” He hopes Maria will be merciful and tell him, because his brain is going to wild places. There’s the paranoia, as irrational as it is, that Dexter is just broadcasting what they do to the world. It makes him want to disappear from the world entirely, shame starting to spread through him. 

“He said we’d be losing one of the best detectives we have. If you quit over this.” 

He’s speechless. “Fucking nerd,” he mutters, something else entirely different growing inside. Maria snorts, a short pause before she shocks him again.

“So, is it going well? The romance?”

He raises his eyebrows as high as they’ll go, feeling his voice go higher. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“I am changing the fucking subject, James, how is she?” Maria sounds confused and he’s a fucking idiot.

“What– ah, you mean her ?”

“Who else would I mean? I don't even have a name,” 

Very well handled, fucked it up right from the start. He kicks himself in the head for being so stupid. He’s sure as hell not giving her a name.

“Jane.”

“Jane.”

“What?”

She’s laughing now, amused at his very obvious refusal to tell her, “Jane, like Jane Doe? That’s what you came up with?”

He laughs a bit too, feeling relieved Maria isn’t pressing him for more. “You don’t believe me?”

“Do you believe it yourself? Look if you don’t want to tell me it’s fine, but don’t be making up names, I beg you.”

Trying to get over this whole conversation he sighs, already bored. “Oh, come on. She’s fine. Will come over later, so let me worry about it.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re okay. Just think about it before making any drastic decision.” She points out. He can’t promise her anything, as he’s more and more convinced there’s no place for him at Miami Metro anymore.

“You won’t let me quit, anyway. Regret ever telling you in the first place.” he jokes, trying to keep it light. Maria is quiet for a moment, ignoring his joke attempt.

“About that… Why did Dexter know you wanted to quit?”

“He didn’t. Probably assumed and got lucky.” he shrugs it off. It’s not good that she's thinking too much about it.

“Right,” she says, and it’s not a good omen because he can tell she’s not convinced. “We'll talk tomorrow, I'll keep you updated.”

“Thanks Maria. I'm glad you got my back.”

“ We’ ve got your back.”

“Whatever,”

She's already hung up, so he puts the phone down, defeated. The board in front of him hasn’t changed. It should be obvious, but he keeps on looking, hoping something will come of thinking about it.

9:56am ( Dexter Morgan )

I have what I talked to you about last night, will bring it over by noon.

He sighs as he stares at the text, there’s still too much time until he gets here. He tries to shake the uneasiness about the whole Dexter saying their friends away, tries to remind himself of how little it actually means. He’d like to call him now, ask him about it, but he knows it’d be useless and it probably would lead to Dexter saying something very insensitive he’ll probably take by heart. Maybe it’s for the best to just forget about it. There’s a lot of work to finish and he doubts he’ll go back to the force after his suspension. He’s got three days to think about it, and so far he can’t see a single reason for him to stay. If he brings this up with Dexter he knows he’ll try and convince him to stay, so it’s better if he just keeps it to himself. Now it’s the time to focus on what’s really important. He’s got the feeling whatever he brings to him will start tying up ends, at the very least. 

Dexter comes over later in the afternoon. James spent the day making some big connections on the more recent murders. Miller is tied up to the last victim, after all. There’s no doubt now. The killer knew the victim personally, and he was the ex-boyfriend to Miller’s step daughter from a previous marriage. That connection was painfully obvious, but it was hidden under the mess Miller’s personal life had been for the last 20 years. No friends in the force, failed relationships (multiple) and children all over the place that don’t want to do anything with him. What James sees in him is something ugly, something that could mean much more. The murder style isn’t the same as the others they found resurfaced. The killer is getting messy. It makes sense with Miller, his age, the pressure he must be feeling… Even the coldest murderers have their downfall. If they’re right about this, it could be a very big thing. Right now, he doesn’t care about the consequences. He could just not come back to Miami Metro. It’s a very tempting thing to do. There hasn’t been a contrary thought all day that’d make him want to stay.

When Dexter knocks at his door, he feels like the day has passed by like a blink. Sitting up in the chair of his office, he’s a bit nervous, cracks his neck both ways just to release a bit of the tension he’s feeling before getting up to go answer. He’s nervous about the case, the job, about Dexter. The moment he opens the door, he can't focus on anything else other than how attractive Dexter looks standing there on his porch, even with his hands full. He’s holding two boxes, one on top of the other, almost drowning him.

“I’ll take that.” he says, going for the boxes immediately. Dexter just hands them over, stepping right into his home like he’s been here a million times. He takes note of the way his shirt rides a little too bit high when he stretches his arms up, letting the pale white skin show through. It’s a weird sentiment, because last time Dexter was here he wasn’t in the best headspace. Now, he looks determined, focused. He shares the sentiment. Leaving the boxes on the dining table, he tried to remind himself why exactly Dexter is here. Then, he smirks suddenly at him, as if he just remembered he exists. He tends to do that, James’ used to by this point, but he always wonders where he goes.

“Hey.” he says, as if nothing ever happened. James wants to kiss him so bad, he almost does after dropping the boxes on the dining table. He’s too late, since Dexter turns away and drops down on the sofa, looking a bit worn out from the day. James imagines it wasn’t easy, dealing with the ambient there must be at the station. Can’t be nothing good, not after the scene he did. It was deserved though, the bunch of hypocritical bastards.

“So, how was work?”

He hasn’t seen him since he almost beat Frayer’s smug face into the ground. Since Dexter kissed him goodbye at his lab. They’ve never done that, not like that, not as a fucking greeting. They’ve never kissed just because. It felt casual, warm. He remembers the indifference behind his eyes, at least to the feelings that moved inside James right at that moment. He’d been wearing the same expression when he told him he liked him, so he’s not sure about the sincerity of it. Still, it moves something dangerous inside.

“The same as ever,” he nods absently, as if the day really was just work. To James, this whole week has felt like a turning point. Everything’s happened one thing after the other, the reveal about Dexter’s past, the bowling stabbing, fucking Dexter stalking his mother’s killer… Now this, and the Butcher is still around, hanging in the shadows. He feels as if he’s been lost and now making sense of everything is just tiring. And Dexter is in front of him, like he always is so squared up and lifeless. He’s lost in a world James’ not sure of what nature, something he keeps to himself under key. James doubts it will ever come out of himself to tell him. He’s got to accept the nature of this relationship, the meaning he’s giving it is too much for the expectations he’s got on the other man. This was never meant to last. Maybe catching the killer will put an end to it. The mess it would cause, this getting out, is bound to be a destroying force to whatever is happening between them right now. 

What he’s absolutely sure is that he would like to keep fucking the man, he wants him like crazy. If it's up to him, this will continue no matter how wrong he feels about it sometimes. He hasn’t even fucked anyone else since they started fooling around.

Fuck.

“Do you want me to show you what I got?” Dexter asks, ignorant of the many ways his presence alone makes James fall into pieces.

The wall is filling up now, with everything Dexter’s managed to get out of the record room. There’s FBI stuff too in there, files he won’t even ask where they come from. Dexter’s something to be careful of. He knows how to use his resources, goes under the radar like no one he's met before. Dexter just spent about two hours presenting the evidence, explaining his forensic opinion on each of the cases. James moves a little in the chair, his legs a bit stiff from being sat for so long. Still, Dexter goes on, explaining each lead carefully.

“Maybe it won't hold up in court, but you see the connection right?”

James can see it. He can fucking see it and it’s mindblowing, just the level of intelligence Dexter has. He understands so much, just from letting him talk. He’s cold when he’s rambling about corpses because it’s the only thing he understands. It’s what he was born out of, after his mother was killed, right in front of him. Of course associating your mother with blood is going to fuck with the vision you have of the world, that’s for sure. It makes his heart ache a bit, thinking of a smaller Dexter, just a child living through that. 

“There's nothing to connect him to the older murders though, not yet at least. How do we know he's not a copycat?” he says, just because if he’s not contrary in some way, he doesn’t know what could get out of his mouth right now.

Dexter just nods, walking from one extreme of the board to the other. He’s folding a block of notes, already in the last pages. It’s obvious he’s been doing this for a while, maybe even before they started their ‘visits’. James isn’t really sure how to feel about it. “He's changing his technique, that's why we've caught him these last times. I think he's probably killed other people recently that they haven't found yet. If he's not stopped, he won't slow down either.”

“But why? Why change now? Especially when we've caught him after the bodies showed up.”

Dexter shrugs, like it’s not really that important. “It's not the strangest thing, there are lots of cases before where the killer switches tacts just after the investigation starts. I told you about the Franklin murders and John Ruthe before, they have similar stories. Not as many bodies though. Maybe he knows he has to innovate so he doesn't get caught. Maybe something about his ritual has changed. Could be a number of reasons.”

“I see.” Dexter is showing him proof that really connects Miller to the last killings, in context with the Butcher, and the possibility he’s also connected to the Butcher bodies doesn’t seem too far-fetched. It’s nothing but a silk thread, too fine to put out there, but it leads to a big ass coil. James has a good feeling about it, it’s all of the other pieces that still either won’t fit or won’t come to light. 

He’s glad to have Dexter by his side. The seriousness he takes comparing each case, making the conclusions for the blood analysis on every single one and his ability to deduct it right each time has James over his head. He’d like to be inside Dexter’s head at those times. It’s more than just the gory stuff. Dexter can put himself in the killer’s shoes. He can feel it. James understands now why. Dexter’s just got the bad luck to have his intelligence as high as his trauma.

It’s late now, and they’re in his office. It’s a strange way to be with each other. So far theyve behaved either as if they hated or wanted to fuck eachother, and even the times they've investigated this before the focus hadn't been so strict. They’re really working together now. James can tell from the way Dexter speaks to him, he’s not thinking about anything else but the case. He’s not caring about this situation the same way James’ twisted up about it. The whole thing makes him mad, so he gets it to the corner of his mind and closes that door.

Dexter is more touchy than usual too, which doesn’t help at all. It’s been constant all evening, his tendency to grab his shoulder when he hands over the files, putting his legs close to his own when he sat down beside him… It’s a lot of little things he’s definitely never done. The worst part is that he knows it means nothing to Dexter, at least not the way it means for him.

They’re sorting the last files when it turns to more.

“I'm going to put it on the board,” he says, getting the file Dexter is holding to pin it down. Dexter stands up, gets behind him. It's a presence behind him he's still getting used to, but the way he can physically feel Dexter getting close makes his head spin. He remains in front of the board, trying to get his thoughts away from the other man. We're here to work on the case, so I better get a grip. Dexter hugs him from behind, putting his chin over his shoulder, almost possessively. He lets out a breath but doesn’t move a finger. When Dexter puts his arms around his waist, letting his hands fall lower to unbuckle the jeans he’s wearing, his intentions are clear. He groans and lets him hold him over his boxers, lets him do whatever the fuck he wants. 

Any excitement he had about the situation dies the moment he turns his head just so and realises Dexter is trying to read the board while he touches him, not even paying attention to what's happening below. 

“We don’t have to fuck.” he scolds him, suddenly angry.

Dexter stops for a moment and that’s enough for him to grab his wrist and yank it away from his pants. When he turns around, Dexter's face is stupid. “What?”

“You don’t have to be acting like this is a fucking transaction.” he says as he buttons back his jeans, very bothered.

Dexter just stares at him unimpressed, like was sure this would happen. He would like to punch the idiot right on his perfect nose. “I’m not doing that.” 

“Cut the crap Dexter, I know you now, I know when you want it and this isn’t it” he tells him straight, “Let’s just finish and you can go home.”

Dexter rolls his eyes at him. The bastard.

“You’re so fucking annoying.” he hears behind him as he walks away. He can’t stand looking at his face anymore.

“Yeah right.” he says, already on the other side of the room not even looking at him.

“I don’t fucking know what you want.” That makes him stop in his tracks. He’s mad at Dexter, but his voice feels so vulnerable, he’s not able to keep being angry at him for trying to act as something he isn’t. And that’s the key to this whole thing, isn’t it? He doesn’t fucking know when Dexter is being real, most of the time. 

He turns around and sits on his chair, feeling hopeless. Dexter's fiddling with a pen, playing with the cap as if it could give it the answer to his question. Knowing Dexter is confused about it makes him calmer somehow.

“I want you to be real. Don’t put on another fucking act just because you think I won’t like you for you.”

Dexter is staring astonished, like he just slapped him across the face.

Great. I just fucked up again.

“Fuck you, I’m not doing that.” Dexter says, holding the pen at him and pointing accusingly in his general direction.

“Then what the fuck is this?” he asks, shaking both hands in the air as if to demonstrate. All it gets him is a sigh, as Dexter puts his hands to his temple, rubbing slowly as to organize his thoughts. When he speaks it’s like he didn’t listen to him at all. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I mean I don’t care either way. But if you want it I don’t mind. I don’t care–”

“I’m not fucking someone who ‘doesn’t care’.” he reminds him.

“ I don’t care because you make me want it.” Dexter continues, as if he was talking about the weather, “Always find a fucking way.”

“Why the board then?” he questions, sitting back in his chair. Inside, his ego can’t stop replaying what he just said to him.

Dexter gets closer, taking the three steps it takes to stand right in front of him. He stays there, looking down as if he was daring him to touch him. What James would like to do is to pull him by the hips and into his lap, so he lets himself do it. Dexter goes, sitting down awkwardly. Still, he can feel his whole weight on him, pressing him down into the chair. Dexter has his arms over his shoulder, uses them to get some balance. James can feel himself starting to get hard again. 

“I just get distracted. Sorry.” Dexter says without breaking eye contact, grinning just a bit, which is a full on smile for Dexter’s standards. He grabs his hips tightly, pulls him closer into his lap. 

“You’re disturbed.” he says through his teeth, trying to hold himself back. He gets a feeling Dexter just loves getting him angry.

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“Dexter…” he tightens his hands even more, trying not to let him get away with what he wants, which is for James to lose it and just do whatever to him. To not make that choice for himself. The easy way. He doesn’t know why it bothers so much, but it definitely does. Now, though… feeling Dexter's hips moving so slowly against him, it makes him wonder why it was such a big deal in the first place. Maybe he does overreact sometimes, because what he’s doing is good , and James is a weak man for the ginger.

“I know you want to fuck,” Dexter tells him, leaning right against his lips, and he’s holding his face now, so delicately his fingers feel cold against his skin. It makes him want to just pull him against him and ravage him right there and then. He can feel the tension growing by the second, neither of them makes a move.

The moment Dexter breaks eye contact and leans to kiss him, he gives in to his own lust. He hauls him up from his lap, making them stand up from the chair. Dexter is panting into his mouth, standing now but impossibly close again, he kisses him deeply returning the energy James is putting into it. It’s wet, and angry and perfect. They’re pushing each other, James takes a hold of his shirt and guides him to the nearest wall, almost slamming him into it. He’s pinning him in a blink, grabs both of wrists and puts them above his head. The small sound he rips out of him makes him feel electric.

He’s kissing him non stop, addicted to the sounds he’s getting, right against his tongue. He feels his stubble rough against his skin, the smell of the sea clinging to his skin. It's an intoxicating feeling as Dexter gets easier to the touch as he lowers his focus to his neck, ears. It’s calmer now, but he’s still a mess of feelings inside, all over the place. He needs to fuck him into next week right fucking now or he’s going to lose it. The moment he separates a bit to breathe he notices how Dexter’s got his pupils blown into perfect circles, whining at the loss the minute he steps away, letting his arms fall down. He looks like something out of a painting, red face like the rose fucking sunset that’s creeping in. It makes his heart proud he can get such a reaction, just because, apparently, Dexter likes it when he tells him what to do. He kisses him again, moves his mouth purposely, trying to make him chase after him. Dexter moans into his mouth, a little too close to needy, and it’s over for him. He reaches for his shirt and tugs it a little.

“Off,” he tells him, not playing anymore. Dexter nods but keeps unmoving otherwise, just reaches for his face holding his head on both hands firmly. It's like he's waiting for something. James can feel the coldness of his hands, chills him a little. He nudges the arms off and leans down over him with a final kiss to the small of his neck before turning away, crossing the room to get to his desk.

Dexter stays still against the wall but soon enough he gets his shirt off right as he requested. It's a surprise when he lets his pants fall down too, briefs and everything, without having to tell him to. He can see him from the corner of his eye as he roams on the drawers, searching for a bottle of lube he knows he's got hidden in there, small but handy. “What do you want me to do?” he asks from the desk as he takes in Dexter in all his glory, trying to give him options. He’s still not sure where they’re standing, he’s just sure he’d like to follow what Dexter wants to do, and now would be a very nice time to start if only he decided on something. 

He gets back to him, kisses him nice and soft, exactly what he deserves . He mutters it into a kiss, very quietly but clear enough for him to hear, which makes the other bite down on his lower lip. It’s worth it, only for the way he can feel Dexter melting against the wall. He looks very present, as if he’s really living the same James feels. There’s a mutual understanding he can’t get outside of sex. Licking his lips, Dexter huffs through his nose, thoughtful. James follows his tongue, red and perfect, passing over the white teeth. He’s hard, he can see it, and it feels like a fucking wet dream to have Dexter standing in the middle of his office wearting nothing at all . There’s a beat, James thinks he’ll have to repeat himself, as he always does, to get a clear answer from the other man. When Dexter puts a hand on his chin and starts caressing his lower lip with his thumb, he loses the ability to speak. He watches Dexter focused on his mouth, for some reason he knows what he wants before he even says it.

“I want you to suck me off,” It feels like Dexter is trying something. His voice is deeper than usual, making his cock twitch in his pants. Usually, he just gives him a vague answer, followed up by something generic. Lately he’s been getting comfortable like that. Three days ago was the first time he explicitly asked for something, and he’s not sure how the change will evolve. So, he’s not used to him just requesting him to blow him, he’s never this explicit in the actual moment, at least not right away, when he’s not even touched his cock. Of course he’s not finished. “Then, then I want you to fuck me again.”

James' knees go weak and he drops down to the floor, putting his mouth on him as if God himself stepped down from heaven and ordered him to. He’s pressing Dexter into the wall from the floor, pushing his hips back and swallowing up and down, slow and easy. Above Dexter is moaning without any shame even though he’s perfectly still, only the light shaking on his thighs reveals his desperation. He keeps going, feeling the hard dick become even harder inside his mouth. The pace is slow, he tries to make a mess out of him. It goes on for a while, only the wet sounds of his mouth filling the room. He hears how Dexter goes from quiet to loud, which is a heady thing to hear, he doubts he’ll ever get tired of it.

He moves carefully, getting everything wet and nice. Dexter lets out a whine when he focuses on the head, sucking softly at the tip while he holds him with his other hands. Dexter is just a work of art. He stops sucking him off for a moment to look at him. Dexter does a full body shudder the moment he takes him in his hand again, jerking him instead. From this point of view it’s so impossibly handsome, James doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Do you want to come now?” He could make him come. He could come and then they’d go back to the bedroom. He could eat him out, make him come again before fucking him. He is fully erect now, just from the prospect of what’s going to happen. 

“I want to come when you fuck me” That is indeed, a good option too, makes his mouth water just hearing it so plainly, so he lets him go, reaching for the lube. 

“Turn around then.”

He doesn’t get up from the floor, just grabs the bottle laying on the floor and starts slicking his fingers. Dexter is panting a bit, chest rising quickly. It takes him a moment to do what he's told and turn around but James can wait, given how good he’s behaving today. The view is magnificent. Pale skin sparkled with freckles turning red at the touch. There’s marks already, all over his hips from where he’s been holding. It makes him feel good, knowing he’s the one who’s left him like that. He’s sculpted too, his thick thighs adding to the perfect shape of his ass. A fine fucking view, that’s what this is. He can’t help himself imagining how it will feel to be inside of him again.

Dexter shifts his weight from one leg to the other, probably uncomfortable from all the staring, so James takes pity on him and puts his hands on his ass, spreading the cheeks slightly. He hears him sigh, the skin beneath him feels soft and silky which only makes him want to break it. He puts a single digit in first, lets him get used to the feeling before moving his wrist, insistent on the movement. A finger turns into two, and soon enough he’s got Dexter pushing back, trying to chase the feeling. He’s pushing harder now, trying not to hit his prostate, just because he knows that’s what Dexter wants. From the floor it could be very easy to just put his tongue in there too, make it even wetter than it is now. His mouth is there before he can finish the thought, presses between his cheeks and licks inside, pushes against the ring of flesh that’s being stretched out with his fingers. Dexter whines , he has to hold his hips with his free hand when his knees give in. His own cock is rock hard, almost wants to give in too and rut against Dexter’s leg like a fucking dog. Still, feeling him so intimately, with his tongue and fingers, it’s enough for him to only focus on Dexter, on making him come his brain out.

He hasn’t even started eating him out when he feels Dexter pulling his hips up, getting away from the touch. “James–”

“What?” he asks, stopping his movements at once. He looks up from between his legs to find Dexter staring from above, turning his head around over his shoulder. He’s red on the face, mouth hangs open.

“Don't, don’t do that.” he pants, and James is concerned for a moment, that he’s really fucked up now. He didn’t even ask him if he wanted his tongue.

“Don't like it?”

Dexter shakes his head, as if he can’t really think at all. “No I just– I'm going to come if you keep doing that,”

His chest puffs up, fucking proud of himself for some fucked up reason. It’s enough to make him stand up, pressing himself against Dexter and into the wall. He can feel the hot body under him, skin smooth and silky. He’s fingering him deep, three fingers now, trying to get over this part as quickly as he can. If Dexter wants to come on his cock, he’s not going to deprive him from it. They’re panting against each other, never getting enough.

He’s just fucked Dexter once, glorious as it was he can’t wait to really fuck him, to push him against the wall and really give it to him. When he pulls back his fingers, Dexter’s tense. He steps back for a moment, watching the way Dexter’s got his hands on the wall, holding himself against it. He takes off his shirt, undoes his pants and finally touches himself slowly, coating his cock on lube. He moans, which makes Dexter turn his head around. He can see how he’s looking down, staring at his dick and how he’s jerking off. 

“Ready?”

“Mmh.” It’s not the full answer he’d like, but he’s too worked up to care. He just want to fuck him, and there’s nothing from Dexter to make him think he doesn’t want him too. Just the way his back is arching from the wall, putting himself on a fucking platter for James to fuck. He gets his hands on his ass, touches the perfect skin before lining himself against his hole. It’s not long before he’s pressing inside. It’s glorious. The tightness makes his head spin. Dexter is hanging his head low, trying to breathe through his nose. He can hear the small sounds he makes every time he gets deeper. When he stops, buried deep inside, electricity is floating through him. He’s got his hand on the other’s hips, hauling him up to align him perfectly with him. He can’t stop staring at how well he’s taking his cock.

“James, just– fuck, please just–”

He’s fucking Dexter against the wall before he finishes his words, one hand on his neck the other on his hips, pulling him back onto his cock. The tightness is amazing, there’s no thought inside his head other than the friction he’s getting the pleasure seeping out. He can feel the frustration of the previous days fading away, just fucks it out of the man. Dexter is moaning like crazy, which only makes him want him to really lose it again. It’s a matter of pride for him, to be the only one that’s touched him that way. He wants him. It brings the possessive instinct he has. It’s not just about power anymore, about finding out who Dexter is or what he does. It’s not about that anymore. It makes his head spin. 

He lets his head fall into his shoulder, bites down on the skin only to hear Dexter groan, to see the skin turn red. It’s easy now, to slide in and out of him. He lets himself go faster, in a way that feels too fucking good for him. He tries to hit the perfect spot too, and can see he’s succeeding just from the way Dexter is moving his hips down, trembling all over. His hips are snapping up non stop, he doesn’t think he could stop himself now, when Dexter is moaning so loudly, tightening around him as if he could get him even deeper.

“James, I can’t–”

He slows down for a second, but doesn’t stop thrusting up, deeper now. Dexter seems to like it well enough, since he’s taking himself in hand, masturbating at the same pace James is fucking him. He’s really letting himself go, when he notices Dexter’s finished. He’s gone limp against him, all his body weight resting against him. It feels like a rag doll, lifeless only reacting to where he’s touching him. He gets a hand on his dick, feeling it go soft, wet with his cum. Regretfully he wishes he’d seen it, or at least noticed, but hearing the way Dexter is moaning under him makes it all worth it. 

He pulls out and for a second he’s only aware of his cock pulsing, filled with blood and ready to come. The image of Dexter, now a fucking mess slumped against the wall feels like a fucking reward. He’s jerking off to the visual, hard and fast. Dexter turned his head just so, watching him with heavy eyes.

“Can I suck you off?” he asks, voice rough and used. He almost comes on the spot.

“You don’t have to fucking ask.”

Dexter is on the floor before he knows it, swallowing him down with no doubt. It’s blissful, being enveloped by his mouth, it’s rough and deep and just what he fucking needed. He grabs his hair and pulls him, helps him get it all inside. It’s not long before he cums in his mouth, giving in the second Dexter starts to move his head up and down, sucking him off like he’s paid to do it. It leaves him absolutely demolished. 

“Are you okay?”

It’s weird hearing that from Dexter. He looks down to watch him haunched up on the floor, a hand wiping the cum off his face. He wants to do it all over again, wishes he could press him into the floor and fuck him again until he can’t speak at all.

“Yeah, just give me a minute.” he says, feeling his own voice rough and dry.

Dexter is just so fucking beautiful he wants to kiss him again, only to do it again after.

“I’m hungry.” 

James is making a list of the things he could make him before any other coherent thought makes his way. I can’t say no to him. I'm really fucked, aren't I?

Chapter Text

Dexter is kinda slumped against him, back turned and his head falling back a little against his shoulder, face up, letting the water hit his face. They are in the shower, naked and finally coming down from one of the best fucks he’s had in a long time. They’ve been here for a while now. The water is warm, just the right pressure for all the muscles of his body to unwind. James reaches for the shampoo while making sure he just doesn’t slip and fall over, but Dexter grabs onto his left wrist and pulls it up against his chest like he needs it to stand upright, even if he’s already leaning his full body weight back into him. He wonders if he’s feeling any kind of shame, like he did when he started fucking men, but something tells him Dexter couldn’t care less. It’s so strange, being with someone who’s so free about himself, not in a public way but just comfortable in his own skin. It took a while for James to get used to it, to being physical with other men. Now he’s gotten over most of it, yet the shame remains if he starts thinking about it for a little too long. Until now, he didn’t really have the chance to contemplate his issues, the encounters he had with men were in between relationships with women, one night stands he found at clubs and so on. This isn’t that at all.

His back is smooth and feels hot, nothing like the cold skin he started with. He can’t help but be proud he’s the one who made him this way now. He presses his lips into his shoulders as many times as he can without being too obvious. It has been easier than he thought it’d be, showering with Dexter, he just finished washing his body and it’s so natural he almost forgets any kind of intrusive thought that may haunt him. They’ve showered together before, but it hasn’t been this… this easy. He likes it when Dexter gets like this, so open and just completely his, at least for the moment. It feels like Dexter needs him to be okay, like he’s the one who can take care of him, ground him. It’s just wrong to be this proud of watching him being so trusting. It’s starting to look like casual to James and for some reason, Dexter is just going with it. That seems to be a pattern, he just adapts to whatever he throws at him. He’d let James comfort him, wash him, fuck him; they’ve talked about deep shit, shit he knows Dexter’s probably never told anyone before, but he never asks for more. It’s like he really doesn't give a shit about their dalliance. Deep down he thought whatever they’ve got going on would end because of his messed up issues about relationships, boundaries, and the fact that Dexter isn’t a woman, very obviously so. He’s never had something with a man that lasts this long, not even over a night. He hasn’t showered with a man if they weren’t fucking, but just now he gave Dexter a fucking sponge bath. In short, he’s never felt so much for a man. It’s as if the tables have turned on him.

He looks down at Dexter’s body, the way he’s widening his legs a little so James can lean over him, so he can put his head over his shoulder. What if he wanted this? Not just for a while, but just to have it and make it his. It’s not different from what he felt with Maria, or with Kara, or with any other woman he’s been with. He’s got it bad now, it could be very ugly if he lets himself want things that won’t happen. Even if he could just work through his issues, even if he didn't feel ashamed everytime he remembers that Dexter is undoubtedly male, he’s unsure about where they stand now. He really doesn't know what Dexter wants out of him. 

Sometimes he thinks it’s just the sex; just for the fact that he’s the first man he’s been with and he’s clearly discovering himself in that regard. That’s very obvious, in the way sometimes he looks like he can’t believe it can be that good, that intense and so different from being with a woman. It’s almost wrong, because Dexter is so trusting of him when they fuck, he just lets him lead, he would follow blindly to whatever he wanted to do to him. Other times Dexter just seems to be genuinely happy to be around him, like it’s a mutual understanding of what they have. Then there’s the ‘I like you’ thing. He knows what he meant by that, he’s got the exact words in repeat inside his brain, and he’s fucking disappointed . His heart sinks to his stomach just knowing what he wanted it to mean. How he wishes Dexter had said it. But that’s one of the times Dexter looked at him like he wanted him around. That’s one of the times making James doubt the whole ‘I don’t feel anything’ act. But then again, he’s never even hinted at wanting more. It makes him feel responsible for him, somehow, and the worst part is that Dexter probably doesn’t care at all about this. 

Most of the time he forgets Dexter isn’t wired like normal people, and that’s he’s convinced he can’t feel a fucking thing. It could be that it was true, after all, and he just can’t love the same way James loves. And he can’t wrap his head around it, not when he’s got him like this, pressed flat against his chest and just basking in the closeness. 

Having Dexter near suddenly feels wrong, and he doesn’t know why, his chest gets tight for a second like he can’t breathe anymore air. Maybe it's the fact that he's managed to destroy what he thought of himself in a little more than a month. He’s starting to question his own hang ups, asking himself real questions. Because, would it be that bad to try and get over his issues about men properly? He’s felt confident in himself because he’s justified his feelings towards men as purely sexual. Maybe if he faces the fact that what he’s feeling for Dexter could compare to a real fucking relationship, some day he won’t feel like throwing up when he thinks of a domestic life with the man. 

Dexter turns around and hugs him properly. It's slippery with the water, but he holds onto him as tight as he can. He’s thinking, James can tell he’s not really in the room, or at least his mind isn’t. Dexter does that a lot. Where he goes, he doesn’t really know. James just hugs him back tight for a second before letting go, reaches once again for the bottle and starts shampooing his hair. It’s no use trying to deny himself that he likes taking care of him, feeling how his body reacts under his fingers, the way his head tilts a bit to where his hands are. There’s murmuring against his shoulder, like Dexter’s humming something into it. He wonders if he realises what he’s doing. Today he’s being too touchy, which makes it even worse for James to stand strong.

“You staying?” he asks, because he doesn't trust himself to ask about anything else.

Dexter raises his head to look at him, and his eyes are reddish framed by his dark eyelashes, full of droplets of water that makes them shine. The water is just rushing right into the top of his head, hair sticking to his forehead in a way he’s never noticed before. He raises an eyebrow, as if he was saying ‘What a stupid question’, and it almost makes him laugh out loud. The audacity of this man has no limits. He leans and kisses him, keeps it short and easy. Dexter opens his mouth beautifully, like he always does.

“Mac and cheese sound good?”

“Perfect.”

It's decided then. He’s going to make some mac and cheese for Dexter. Yesterday he wasn’t sure of what he wanted. Now, foolishly he wonders how it’d be to have this everyday. It’s selfish, because he wants something he’s not ready to acknowledge, not even to himself. Watching Dexter may be something he will never get tired of.

.

Dexter has become very easy to be around. They don’t say another word until they finish the shower, but it’s not needed anyway. He likes that about Dexter, how he’s reserved and polite but so differently as when he’s in public. Here, it doesn’t feel fabricated. He can tell Dexter enjoys the quietness for what it is. 

He even makes sure his hair is rinsed, amazed at the lack of complaint from the other when he leans in to kiss his shoulder once more, this time in a very obvious manner. When they get out, he wraps him up in a big ass towel, pulling it over his head. When Dexter sits down in the toilet seat he looks like he’s drowning in it, hair dark because it’s still completely wet. It’s a good look for him. Makes him look younger. Reminds himself of his own age. He sighs and hands him some clothes, trying very hard not to stare when he drops the towel and starts putting them on.

After the shower Dexter goes to sit down in the living room and starts reading through the more relevant cases again while James starts on dinner. He doesn’t even try to pretend to help him, he just makes a straight line to the office and gathers the most important files before sitting down. Staring at the man from the kitchen door, he’s trying not to think too much. Trying not to notice how normal Dexter looks there sitting in the room, settled and wearing his clothes which are a bit bigger on him. He’s sitting in the farthest chair of the table, the one that’s got the lamp just beside it. The warm lightning falling right over him does nothing to help. Just watching him from there feels so different than before. He fits in well in the house, and he hates himself for thinking that the second he thinks it. When they’re like this, it’s not awkward at all. That’s what feels right, they do work well together, they’ve got the same interests, the same– He stops himself, cringing a little. Instantly, he stops, trying to reason the shame out of his body. 

For now, he turns around and goes to the pantry. He can tell Dexter is very deep in thought, not paying attention to anything else but the case in hand. It’s nice to know Dexter isn’t expecting anything out of him, at least not in the way expectations are usually in order, at this stage. He busies himself with the cooking and tries, now for real, to not think about it.

.

His dining table has become a mess, paper and files and everything they just ate, empty bowls mostly since Dexter doesn't seem to know what self control is when it comes to food. Knowing his eating habits, he made enough food for three people and Dexter still managed to make it clear he would keep on eating if there was anymore left. Where he puts all that, James will never know. 

They don’t talk about anything else other than the case. Miller is the main suspect now. It’s clear from the way so many recent cases connect to him, the undoubtedly connection he’s had to Miami Metro previously and the way he’s managed to break down every family bond, jumping from wife to wife and just abandoning the family. That just tells him what he needs to know about his temperament. It’s almost midnight when the tiredness hits him fully.

“I'll turn in now, you come whenever” he says when it’s clear Dexter isn’t going to sleep any time soon. He's still relaxed from his orgasm, buzzing pleasantly, and his eyes are already starting to close on their own. Dexter is curled up in the chair, very quiet. He gets like that when he's comfortable. He doesn't even look up from what he's reading, just nods in his general direction. Maybe another time he would try to tease him about his lack of sleep, but now it’d be weird, at least for him, to ask him to come to bed with him. They’ve fucked already, not likely at all they’re going to do it again, so the idea of asking Dexter to come to bed just for sleep, it feels like something bigger. 

When he eventually comes to bed, James is almost asleep. He feels the warm body beside him, just inches away from him, that’s enough for him to turn to him and open his eyes, completely awoken. Dexter is like a plank beside him, laying on his back with his hands over his middle. There's the scar there, even if he’s got a shirt on now he remembers it’s there, it comes to his mind all of the sudden and James wants to ask, but he shuts his mouth and reaches for Dexter instead, turning to his side and putting an arm around his torso. Maria is in the back of his head, reminding him of his other life, the life where he hides these feelings.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he hears faintly, almost innocently. It's a simple question, but James knows better. There's always more to it, with Dexter. He finally turns on his side to look at him, and even though James tries to, the darkness of the room makes it impossible to discern what intentions he has, the skin can’t even. He settles on the easy answer.

“I'll stay here, go over it again.”

“Okay.” he nods, before turning to his side as well.

He's lying to Dexter again, but it’s not like he doesn’t know he has ulterior motives with the question. It’s not a difficult decision to make. They aren’t going to catch the Butcher without doing some field work, and James knows Dexter is aware of that. So tomorrow, he’s going to tail him, get to the raw facts that will determine if they’re following the right track. Something inside tells him Dexter is thinking of following the man too, acting like the hero and trying to secure evidence on his own or worse, like he did with Jimenez. So if he can do something to prevent Dexter from fucking up, he's doing it. He has to protect him from himself. And even if he’s wrong and Dexter isn't trying to get his way, he wants to finish this as soon as possible too.

When morning comes, it’s not long before he’s on his way. Once Dexter leaves for work he gathers his things and gets to it. Miller lives in a suburban neighborhood, classy and neat, appropriate for a retired detective. Thinking ahead, he puts his suit on, and tries to make himself look like that kind of personality. He looks in the mirror, checks himself out. His tie is smooth and straight, not a single wrinkle in the black button up he’s wearing. He thinks of Dexter driving to work, thinks of him as he puts on his old wedding ring. It’s better to keep up appearances, but when he sees it on him now the crude reality is there. He’s not the same man he was when he married Kristen– He was younger, angrier and at war with himself. Dexter makes him think of those times, as ridiculous as it is. Taking a final look in the mirror, he snaps on his watch and gets out of there before he can make more senseless connections about the ginger. 

The address being not that far away from the Bay Area, makes it somehow even more obvious, now that they know more about Miller. He’s not someone that likes to be seen, that’s clear when he sees the house, looks like a fortress, a high gate and tinted windows.

James stays outside, parked right on the verge of the street and waits. After an hour passes and there's no activity at all, he knows he's going to be bored for a while. 

.

It's almost noon and there's nothing at all, not one window opened or nothing. James sighs, tapping the wheel. He's very used to doing this, so he's not getting frustrated, but still the quietness leaves him alone with his thoughts, which are just too confusing to even try and go through with them.

The wife, Anthea Myers, who never took Miller’s name which says a lot, runs some errands before twelve. She takes what he assumes is her car, pink and flashy, to go. She’s a blonde woman, maybe in her late thirties, dressed to the nines. He’s seen Miller’s photo, knows what he looks like, so to be with someone like her… She’s probably the same age as his older children. 

After that, nothing again. In the car, he starts on the layout of the house. He drove around for a minute to make his plan. He's breaking inside sooner or later, so there can be no further doubt about his identity. He's going to follow him around, see where he goes and who he meets.

That is if the guy ever leaves.

When he goes to get his sunglasses out, there's a cookie there beside them, wrapped in a napkin and sitting on the smallest pocket of the bag. The memory of them sitting in the kitchen earlier in the morning pierces through any other thought.

“You're not eating?”

“Why is that any of your problems?”

“It isn't, just wondering how can you be so big if you don't fucking eat.”

“I do eat. My stomach isn't a black hole like yours and I’m not messing up my routine.”

“Don't think a cookie is going to mess it up.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

“You don't think it's going to taste good?”

“That's not the point, Morgan.”

He eats the cookie and tries his hardest not to think of Dexter.

Miller finally gets out, around 14:00 pm. He drives a Black Audi A6, James knows the model, elegant, expensive, not flashy. The kind of car an ex-cop with a retirement package and something to prove might drive. Clean, quiet, powerful. Like Miller — on the surface. 

He follows him into a day club downtown, typical for a man his age. Considering he's got no real friends, at least not one who's been keeping tabs on recently, it feels rehearsed, almost as if he wants to be seen there. There was no intel on his hobbies, since most of the files are about his police life, but still James can’t see him hanging at a club like that just to have fun. 

Miller parks on the outside parking lot, which is lucky since James’ got a GPS tracker that will be very useful to have on.

After placing the tracker, he gets inside the club. There's a young boy in the reception, not that many people around, so he takes his chance to try and sneak in. He leans on the counter confidently, one elbow resting his weight and his left hand showing off the ring just right. It's not likely they’re going to deny him entrance, but it's always good to have a cover, just in case.

“Hello, I heard you did tours? The wife has been very… insistent about joining, a lot of her friends like it here apparently, but I'd like to see if there's something for me too.”

The boy smiles at him like a robot, the same fake smile he himself is wearing. 

“Welcome! My name is Jake, you're in luck, we just started the open doors month. You just have to pay for the day ticket and a staff member will show you around, there's a free ticket for a drink you can have at the bar too, and–”

The verbal diarrhea the boy is letting out makes his head hurt, so when the staff finally comes to start the tour it's a blessing. The club feels expensive, wood and marble all over the lobby, expensive art on the walls and so on. It's the kind of place he wouldn't put a foot in on his own if he had a gun to his head. This case, however, overrides any negative feeling he could have about these kinds of places. Being surrounded by everything posh is just nauseating, so the second he finds a way to dodge the man explaining how important it is to have a private sauna pass, he takes it.

Thankfully, it’s not difficult to spot Miller. He's sitting alone at the bar on the main floor, like he's waiting for something, or someone. He looks like a very lonely man. He orders a beer while he watches him from another table in the bar area. Miller hasn’t even looked in his direction, which is good. He wonders what the wife thinks of him, if there’s anything else other than money that made her get with him. He remembers his own marriage, the anger, jealousy, disappointment… It was a dark time for him, and looking back, maybe he was trying to prove to himself he could be that kind of man. And now, after several failed relationships he’s always back to the starting point, alone and angry. 

Maybe he should try it with Dexter? He's knows he's going to fuck up, it probably will be the shittiest idea he’s ever had, but somehow, the more he thinks about it, the more calmer he feels to know it wouldn't be the same as dating a woman. The idea is warming up, but there's that fear in the back of his mind that threatens to come out, the very ugly word his father called him by still engraved, even after more than three decades have passed.

He almost misses Miller slipping out of the bar. Fuck, Morgan manages to distract me even when he’s not around.

He drinks down what’s left of his beer and follows him out of the club.

Miller locks himself in the house after the club, leaving James on his own to wait. The GPS is working, he only has to wait for him and the missus to go out long enough so he’ll be able to search the house. Right now, his hopes of that happening any time soon are looking bleak.

Just as he's getting frustrated about it, Maria calls him.

“Hey, do you want to grab lunch? I want to talk to you”

If Maria knew what he was doing right now, she'd probably get mad as hell.

“Eh– I’m kinda in the middle of something.” he says, trying not to sound too guilty.

“You’re suspended, you know that?” like he predicted, Maria isn’t the kind to just accept a dodgy answer.

“I know that Maria, I’m looking for another fucking job.” he says, just to make her think of something else, other than what he could be doing on a suspension day. She sighs, as he knew she would.

“James, I don’t know if it’s the best move to go back–”

“I don't know if I want in on special ops again.” he says, because it’s true. That period of his life is long over, and he would like something more stable. Something in the city, so he doesn’t have to move. “Maybe something calmer, something here in Miami.”

He hears Maria snorting on the other side. “You don't want to leave her, hm? Maybe I should be grateful, otherwise maybe you'd have left the country by now.” she laughs.

He scoffs, shaking his head even if she can’t see him. “Well, don't get over your head Maria. That's not the only reason.” he says, very embarrassed. Maria stops laughing suddenly. 

“I don't want you to go. You've got a bright future here.” she says, and it makes him laugh from the ridiculousness of the statement. She’s serious, he knows she means it with her heart, that’s why he can’t get mad at her. But she’s wrong.

“I don't want a future somewhere where they think I'm a goddamned serial killer.” he reminds her.

Maria starts babbling the same old mantra, “This will pass, I'm telling you–”

He cuts her, fed up with hearing her say it over and over again. “I know it will pass. Sooner than you think. Still don't change the facts.”

“Don't be resentful James, it's not a good look for you.”

There’s a long silence. He wishes he could tell her everything, about Miller, what they found… Even about Dexter. He gets chills when he imagines her knowing, fear that she’ll see this part of him, but still he wishes he wasn’t so scared. Maria is one of the best people he’s known, but he can’t tell her. At least for now.

“I'm just thinking of my mental fucking stability. And this is not it.” he settles on, but he knows Maria is disappointed.

“If this will make you happier, I support you. You know I do. But don't let the anger make the decision for you.”

“Thanks. I won't.”

She ends the call abruptly, as she always does.

It’s well into the afternoon when he gets his chance. Miller’s car drives off, and it’s as if God wanted it to happen today, since he’s leaving with his wife using his car. The one he just planted a GPS on. He waits a bit, puts on his gloves, gets his gun ready just in case. When the car is far away, the game is on. 

He gets inside Miller's house through the back, disables the alarms and cameras. For an ex-cop and presumed serial killer, Miller has little to none security. He thought it’d be more difficult to get in, but it seems like the high fences and scary looking spikes on top are just for show. As he thought, the interior follows the rich void and personality lacking aesthetic Miller’s seems to have going on. He searches the whole house while making sure Miller is far away, but it’s useless. He finds a spotless home, empty for the most part. The wife’s got her own room, he doubts they sleep together on the regular, which makes a lot of sense. There are few photos, only of the two of them, but nothing more.

.

He’s about to give up when he finds it. It’s in his office, which is cold and lifeless, like he doesn’t use it at all. At first, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. It’s located on the second floor, right past the second living room that contains a bunch of paintings depicting the origin of the riches Miller seems to keep. It’s luck really, he nearly tripped on the persian carpet that’s wrinkled, just as if someone moved it around recently. Under it, there’s a white glove. The red stain just in the middle makes him ecstatic. If the blood isn’t Miller’s, they could have the case solved in no time.

He gets out immediately and makes his way to his car. He’s not been inside for that long, but he better play it safe. He opens the GPS tracker receptor, the couple are still far enough for him to stall a little if there’s any complication. His heart is beating fast, very pleased with himself for the discovery. He can’t fucking wait to tell Dexter. Now that he thinks about it, it’s been a whole day and Dexter hasn’t tried following Miller, like he thought he would do. It makes him queasy, because he always assumes the fucking worst when it comes to him, and he keeps showing him the contrary. It’s Friday, so he’s probably still at work. He told him he’d call later, when he was on his way to his place. It’s weird, to think that this week he’s spent right about all of the time talking to Dexter, thinking about him, worrying about him.

He almost hits his head on the roof of the car from the jump he makes when he catches a glimpse of Dexter sitting on the backseat through the rearview mirror.

“Did you break into my fucking car?” he yells loudly as he turns around to throw Dexter the most menacing look he can muster, feeling his face get hot. It’s like divine intervention; just as he was feeling bad about lying to Dexter, this happens. Dexter is a snake that will crawl anywhere to get what he wants. The bastard.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” he just says, which makes him even angrier. He’s got the nerve to joke around, like this is a big fucking joke.

“This is what I wanted to avoid. Fuck , I fucking knew you would do this, I knew it.”

Dexter looks unimpressed, as if he finds the situation funny.

“I just got here. I took the bus and everything, then I saw your car. Guess the files got boring for you too.”

He stares at the man before turning again to sit straight in his seat. Dexter looks at him innocently through the mirror.

“You're fucked up.” he just says.

“You've said that a million–”

Anger is real, he’s losing the few patience he’s got left with the other man. “You think you're funny? Almost gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“So you can stalk me but when I do it it's wrong?”

Of course, that again. “Are you ever gonna let that go?”

“Nope. I like the gloves by the way.” he says, pointing at his gloved hands holding the wheel tight. “How did you know Miller wasn’t home, anyway?”

“Put a tracker in his car. I followed him today, he went to some rich ass suburban club, just right next to where we arrested the Richarson case, yeah?”

“A tracker? Like a GPS tracker?” he asks, with a curious gaze that infuriatingly erases any anger he was feeling for the ginger. It’s cute to know Morgan thought he could manage to get what he just discovered.

“I’m a pro Morgan, not like you. You’ve still got a few tricks to learn if you want to play detective.” he says, now turning to look at him again. The tension is broken and, honestly, James is mostly mad at himself to get so lost thinking about the ginger he didn’t even notice someone had broken into his car.

Dexter purses his lips, but his eyes are shining, like he found it funny. “So did you find anything?”

He reaches for his pocket and gets the evidence bag he put the glove in. “I got this.”

Dexter takes it from him immediately, examining it through the plastic.

“If this isn’t Miller’s, you just secured the most important evidence yet.” he mutters, and for once, James agrees.

“Only if it's a match. Maybe it's just ketchup.” he jokes.

Dexter shakes his head like he was being for real with the question, while he’s still looking at the stained fabric. “It's definitely blood. I still have to test it though.”

“Of course you do.” he says, knowing Dexter probably won’t get the sarcasm either. “Want me to drop you off at your place?”

Dexter finally looks up from the bag. He looks happy for once. That’s a good look too, one he hadn’t really seen before.

“No, I'll go to the lab now. I want to know now.”

“I'll drive you there.”

Even if Dexter is a frustrating man, makes the worst fucking choices and could drive him up the wall everytime he just does whatever the fuck he wants, even if all that it’s true the thrill is undeniable. Maybe that’s what makes him so obsessed about him.

“Well, get in the front, I’m not your fucking chauffeur.” he says, because he’s still got some dignity left in him.

He parks a few blocks away from the station, just in case someone wants to snoop inside his car and finds everything he’s got in the back. It’s still early and the sun has still some time up. When he moves to get out along the ginger he stops him, questioning him as he leans from the door, like he’s lost his mind.

“What are you doing?” 

“I'm going with you.” he answers.

Dexter raises an eyebrow. “You're suspended, you can’t come up.”

James wants to shoot himself right in the head. It’s embarrassing to be so caught up in the situation he just forgot his situation, he even forgot people could see them. “Fuck I forgot.” I’m an idiot for a fucking nerd. This is getting bad.

Dexter relaxes visibly. He wants to kiss the smirk right off his face. “Is that right?”

“Oh, fuck off. Come on, I want this to be over, be quick.” he says, sitting back in his seat.

“Whatever you order, Sergeant.” Dexter answers, already walking away before he can react.

He waits in the car trying to ignore how much that just turned him on.

.

When Dexter comes back, it's been about half an hour. It felt like years. Alone, James tries to think about something else, but all he can see is Dexter; his eyes, his freckles, the way he sounds when they're by themselves. Now he's back, breathing feels easier somehow. For all his faults and peculiarities, Dexter gets him. 

In his seat, Dexter stares with the same observing manner to it.

He can’t stop himself from reaching over and pulling him into a kiss, a hand holding his jaw while he tightens his hair in a fist with the other. He's gentle, though, he just does it because Dexter is right there, and he's kissing back so he doesn't have to think about anything else but his lips moving together. Dexter just follows him, locking his mouth desperately against him too, opens it a little so James can kiss him deeper. He's in no rush, so he bites his lips, making him squirm. When they separate, he feels like there's not enough air in the world to breathe. Dexter's lips are red and the bite mark is just right there, not gone yet. He wants to do it again immediately.

“Do you want to come over to my place tonight?” 

He'd say yes to anything at this point. 

Chapter Text

The lab results just came in. Or, better said, he just got what he needed to convince Doakes that Miller is the real deal, the one who they’ve tried to find. It was easy to use just a bit of dried blood from one of his own trophies, leaving it to Miller to hide it exactly where James would find it. As he stares into the screen, that's just the answer James needs to hear. He thinks of the blood the Dark Passenger demands, it’s getting closer to getting his desires fulfilled. This week has been agonizing to live through. His head actually hurts from the darkness closing in on him. The Code is there for a reason, but he can’t shake the need for a kill. Harry would look down on him for being so careless, but he can fix it. He just has to hold on a little bit longer. And then I’ll have a fresh start. Once Miller is dead, I’ll be able to feed the darkness again. I just have to wait for everything to fall in the right place.  

Yesterday everything worked like a clock. It's unusual for it to be like that, especially after his fuck up with Jimenez. After last week Doakes had been very paranoid about the whole ‘stalking his mother’s killer’ situation, so when he asked him what he was going to do the next day, it was clear he wasn't just going to stay home and reread files.

Miller had been easy to convince too, just mentioning his granddaughter was enough to get him to leave the glove and get out with his wife so that James would be free to snoop around. Dexter could never understand how easy it had been to convince Miller to do it, especially since he’s so estranged from his old family. He’s got a heart, unlike me. He’s just a dumb old man trying to be someone. That’s lucky for me and very unfortunate for him.

So, it was a good day all things considered. Doakes found the bloody glove and gave it to him, securing the path of his carefully laid out plan. Now he’s sure the other isn't going to find the truth about him if he keeps playing his cards right.

He can’t wait to show the report to Doakes. He can’t wait for this to be over.

9:47 (me)

I'm coming over when I’m done here, I got the results already.

9:47 (James)

And?

9:48 (me)

It's not his.

9:48 (James)

Great. 

9:48 (James)

I'm in the store, do you want something for breakfast?

9:48 (me)

Coffee and anything to eat if you can. I'll text you when I'm on my way.

9:49 (James)

Got it. 

He wraps up the blood report as fast as he can. James must be back from the store already and strangely, Dexter actually wants to see him. Yesterday he came over to his apartment, made them dinner and sucked him off after, put him horizontal in the bed and took his time with it. He used to be indifferent to sex, still is most of the time, but just remembering the way he touched him it’s enough to make him want it again. When he fucks him, the Dark Passenger is just a distant voice in the back of his head, at least for the moment. It’s actually nice being with him these last few days, so spending the last normal day with him before they ‘catch’ Miller, doesn’t sound too bad. I wonder how it’ll be after it goes down and I don’t need him anymore. When it’s over, keeping him around may be a bad idea.

It's Saturday, so there's not that many people around in the station. James still has another day left of suspension, so he won't be back until Tuesday. Masuka and Vince aren’t working until later, and Deb is hanging around Lundy's office, still heads over heels for the old man. He can't fucking stand him, and as useful as it is to have that connection from his sister, he really hates he's actually dating her. Why Debra wants him is still absurd to him. 

There's a knock on the lab door just as he's finishing up the last touches on the report. “Dexter, a word?” he hears, loud and clear from the other side.

LaGuerta’s voice throws him off a little. She’s never gone out of her way to see him, not since the awkward mating ritual she tried to pull him through last year.

“Come in,” he says after pulling everything he's working on out of sight. Better be safe than sorry. The door opens immediately after, LaGuerta walks in using the same confidence she always struts herself around the station. She closes the door behind her, staring at him like she’s looking at a cute dog. It irks him a little inside.

“Hello Dexter.” She nods her head to the side, smirking annoyingly. Her voice is strangely amicable, more than usual. He thinks back on those days when she used to flirt with him, which was disturbing, but this is not it either.

“Hey. What do you need?” he asks, putting on a friendly serviceable smile. LaGuerta comes in, smiling back, and sits herself on the empty chair beside him. She looks away for a moment, staring blankly through the half closed blinds. 

“Have you talked to James?”

The question fazes him immediately. He knows LaGuerta and Doakes get along pretty well, knows there's a history between the two, but she's never actually asked him about him. On Wednesday, when the fight happened, he did tell her about their ‘friendship’, but he didn't say nearly enough to make her think it’s something they were going to chat over casually.

“Yeah.” he nods, waiting for her to continue. She stares intensely, as if she’s waiting for him to confirm something. If she thinks I’m just going to tell her anything, she can keep waiting.

“So?” she insists, raising an eyebrow at him. He sighs and lifts a brow back at her, trying to get a little more info on what exactly she wants to know from him. 

“He’ll be fine,” he says, vaguely.

LaGuerta shakes her head a little, leaning back on the chair. “He still wants to quit, I don't know what to tell him.”

Huh. He told her this before he told me. The cat’s out of the bag now, and for a second he’s genuinely shocked that she’s the one telling him this. James didn’t really bring it up these last days, so that’s new too.

“He told you that?” he asks, trying to make himself come across as a concerned friend, just finding it out.

“He didn’t tell you?” she asks, but it’s not like she’s surprised about it. It’s irritating that she thinks she’s the only one who knows James. If she only knew…

“Not really.” He shakes his head innocently, trying to not let her see how much the situation affects him.

She nods and crosses her arms thoughtfully. “Mhm. I see.”

What she wants from him is still unclear, other than gossiping about their common ‘friend’. At least, there’s no chance it will affect his plan with Miller. He spins in his chair, moving back and forth a little as he thinks about it. If he does quit after they catch Miller, it could be good. To have him far away, not meddling on his ‘work’. Still, it doesn’t really sit quite right with him.

“He's not going to quit.” Dexter regrets the words the minute they come out of his mouth. Why did I say that?

LaGuerta notices it, of course she does. Raising an eyebrow she leans forwards to face him. “How are you so sure?” her tone is almost mocking, which makes him want to kill her right then and there. He can picture it really clearly, could smash her skull into the table and make her face so unrecognizable not even Masuka would be able to ID her. That would take the edge off, tame the Dark Passenger for a while.

LaGuerta coughs and he realizes he’s actually got to say something back to her. He blinks twice, pursing his lips tightly. “I’m not sure, but I'll talk to him again. He’s too stubborn to see what’s right for him.” he says, shaking his head.

There’s a silence before LaGuerta nods, apparently accepting his answer.

“You talked to him after what happened on Wednesday right?” she asks. Dexter looks up to the clock hanging over his desk. He could be on the way to Doakes’ right now. He could be doing much more useful things rather than gossipping with his Lieutenant. 

“Yeah, I saw him the next day, went over to his place after work.” He taps his fingers on the table, really getting tired of it now.

“You did?” she asks, opening her eyes wide, clearly very interested in what he has to say about that particular meeting.

He sighs and picks up a pen, twists it around his fingers anxiously. Maybe giving details isn’t the best thing to do if he wants to get out of the station sooner rather than later. It’s like LaGuerta has recruited him for a Doakes fan club he really doesn’t want to be in. Still, he has to maintain his composure and act as the harmless friendly guy she thinks he is. She’s looking at him with her piercing stare, focused on whatever is about to come out of his mouth. 

“Yeah, we talked for a while and he didn't say anything about quitting.”

“Hm. So you've met her then? How does she look?”

Her?

“Her?”

“James' new girl.”

He stops for a moment, putting down the pen he's still holding, feeling very confused. For what he knows James hasn’t been seeing anyone else but him. They’ve spent almost every day of the week together. They’ve fucked almost every night. I would know if there was someone else, wouldn't I? There’s no chance I’ve missed something like this.

“No I didn’t see anyone.” he says, leaning back on his chair trying to go back in time, thinking of anything he could’ve overlooked. He frowns now concerned he really did miss that. James’ lied before, so maybe he really is fucking someone else he doesn’t know. Am I that blind to not have noticed it? “He didn’t tell me he was dating someone.”

For some reason, that makes LaGuerta perk up and stare at him like he just grew another head, like he just said something bizarre even for him . It’s only for a second that her face betrays unbelief, so sudden and pointed, Dexter can’t help but feel he missed something big.

“Nevermind. If you talk to him again tell him he's being too fucking stubborn for his own good.”

LaGuerta is out of the lab in a blink.

What the fuck happened just now?

Dexter stands on Doakes’ door. He can smell food from out here, something sweet and buttery that only makes his stomach grumble. LaGuerta’s questions about the mysterious girl are still stuck inside. Maybe she’s just confused, Doakes is probably using a fake girlfriend for cover but the hint of doubt is there. Doakes is a man, after all, and he wouldn’t blame him if he seeks pleasure elsewhere, maybe even love, something Dexter can’t give at all. He really doesn’t know how he should feel about it, so he just puts it into a drawer in the back of his mind. He’s still deep in thought when the door opens.

Doakes is dressing in gym clothes, very short shorts and a navy tank top that only makes his muscles more obvious. He’s almost tempted to make a joke, but the other man is dragging him inside before he can open his mouth. And once the door is closed he can’t say anything either, since James is grabbing his head with both hands and goes for a kiss, which is weird but nice. He smells of sweat, bitter but sweet. It’s just a kiss, but his knees feel weak once it’s over. Get a fucking grip, will you?, he thinks to himself, trying to shake the feeling away.

“Hey,” Doakes is in a good mood, he can tell he’s smiling from up close.

“Hello,” he greets back, unable to think of anything else to say. Doakes stares at him right into his eyes, and looking elsewhere is just not an option.

“I just got back from the gym, you hungry?” he asks him after some agonizing seconds of just staring, letting go of his face to walk to the table. 

Dexter turns to look at the set table, pancakes, some fruit and orange juice. He can smell the coffee brewing from the kitchen too. “Yeah, you made all that?”

It's weird to be here in plain daylight, not in the cover of night to work on a case Dexter's already cracked down on. It's a nice house, barely decorated but it fits Doakes perfectly. He knows the house now very well, the bedroom is in the far end, the small kitchen the first door left. He’s been here at least half a dozen times now, but seeing Doakes sitting down at the table starting to fill his plate it's something else. It reminds him of Rita, the way they used to talk over breakfast, about the trivial things he actually found hard to come up with. Unaware of his line of thought, James isn't even waiting for him to sit down, just starts talking to him like it's nothing.

“We have to celebrate we finally caught the fucker.” He says, finally looking up from his plate. “Sit down, we can eat now,”

“Okay”

He sits down in front of Doakes, and starts on the pancakes. It’s not like they haven’t had breakfast together before, but this feels different for some reason.

“So, it’s not his,” Doakes starts, and Dexter remembers the reason he’s here in the first place.

“Nope. The blood isn't a match to Millers’ DNA, we just have to figure out whose blood it is” I already know. He just has to believe there’s pieces missing.

Doakes nods, pleased with the answer. “Wow. I can’t fucking believe we caught the fucker before the FBI”

“I know,” he says, as he starts in on the pancakes, which are too fucking good. Doakes shakes his head, unbelieving, but he knows he's pleased with the answer.

“We should give in the evidence now, get this shit over with.”

Dexter puts down the fork, staring at him seriously. He knows that would be the next step in Doakes’ mindset, but he can’t let him go that route. He’s worked very hard so that tomorrow is the last day Miller will be alive and breathing, so he has to control Doakes’s impulses. He swallows down the food with some juice and clears his throat, trying to put it down delicately.

“Let me get the results first. I ran a test on the Butcher’s previous victims because the new ones weren’t a match. We should be 100% sure before we submit something to them. Could make it backfire on us if we don’t get it right. I need some time to run the tests on the first victims, see if something matches.”

He expects Doakes to press further, to make it difficult. He’s already got a dozen answers lined up to do damage control. What he doesn’t expect is for James to nod and get up without saying a word. He really can't tell if he's mad or not. He follows him with his eyes, how he gets into the kitchen with no hurry and comes back with two cups of coffee with no hurry at all, puts one right beside him. He kisses the top of his head as he does it, so quick and fleeting, for a moment he thinks he’s imagined it.

“You’re right. I’m just excited that this will be over soon.” he says, once he’s sat down, sipping on his own cup. 

That was… too easy. James is getting closer, much closer to what I want him to be, to what I want him to do. I could end the Butcher issue tomorrow, but the question of what to do with him after everything is over remains.

“It will. And everything will be back to normal again.” he says, feeling relieved that everything is going according to his plan. He eats his pancakes with berries, puts syrup on top and he’s content of being back on track for once. It feels right.

“Yeah. It will.” When he looks up, mouth full, James is staring at him unusually. He turns his attention back to his plate trying not think of what it could mean, devouring the food with enthusiasm. He’d never say out loud, but James does know how to cook. 

“You finish that, I’m gonna go clean up the dishes.” Doakes says, grabbing his empty plate and the other stuff lying around the table. It’s like they’ve done this a million times, which is a strange thought to have.

He’s left alone with his thoughts. There’s many things to do today, he has to call Miller, set up the kill room, the timings, bring his trophies down there for Doakes to find… It will be difficult to part with them, but it’s a necessary step to ensure his own persona is far away from the FBI’s eye. If Doakes keeps being cooperative like that, it will be easy to pull off. He doesn’t realize James is standing beside him until he taps him on the shoulder. 

“You okay?” 

He’s frowning, like he’s concerned. Dexter shakes his head, a rush of proudness taking over his body. He really did make him trust him, to the point he doesn’t question him anymore. It makes him want to… I don’t even know what it makes me want to do… I just want to keep owning him like this. Is it wrong that I want it to be like this after it’s over?

He looks up at James from the chair and nods, putting on a slight smile. “I’m just worried everything is going too well.” he lies, even if it's not really a lie at all. Doakes sighs and ruffles his head.

“You think too much. Let me worry about it, just rest your pretty head. Want to take a quick nap?”

Dexter shakes his head and turns a bit on the chair, admiring James’ body. He really isn’t used to seeing him dress like this so it’s interesting. He reaches for the tank top, just because he can, lifts the shirt a little. He admires his abdomen, carefully crafted. It makes him want to lick down the sweat right then and there. Doakes smirks, knowing what he’s doing.

“Maybe you want something else?” his voice is low, in that way Dexter recognizes the lust there. It’s very surprising how he can just make that happen now, just from a look, and he could use some relaxation like that. He nods and bares his throat a little as he licks his lips, just enough for James’ to know how he feels about it. 

James laughs and shakes his head, pulling his shirt down. “Let me go shower first, I’m filthy from the gym.” 

Dexter is standing up before Doakes can walk away. 

“Don’t,” he gasps out of air, feeling the desire grow inside. There’s something about the raw smell of sweat on Doakes that makes him dizzy. Irrationally he wants to be the one to lick it off his skin, to claim his body just as it is.

Doakes raises an eyebrow, just about to say something stupid, like asking him if he’s sure, but he kisses him before he can ruin the mood. He likes the taste, the sweetness from the syrup and bitterness of the coffee mix up deliciously, he just licks it away with his tongue, feeling James pressing in closer. It’s perfect.

.

Once they’re in the bedroom, he can’t keep his hands off of him. There’s an anxious thought on the back of his mind, the ticking of a clock wearing down. How many times will I be able to have him like this once it ends? He wants to make the most of it. 

James is clearly on board with him taking the lead, lets him sit him on the bed and take off his clothes, first the tank top then the shorts. He pushes him back into the bed with force, not caring one bit to be gentle. It’s still new, the freedom to just touch him as he wants, however he desires. Doakes isn’t breakable, he’s a solid wall of muscle underneath him. He caresses his body up and down, gets his mouth on his throat and tries to bite down, to leave a mark that won’t fade easily. The smell of sweat makes his dick hard, twitching inside his pants. 

Dexter’s never been so proactive in this area, but there’s something about the man that makes him want to just smother him down on the bed and make him… His cock is fully hard and they haven't even done anything yet. It's fucking mad he wants him like this. Doakes just lets him touch him, bite him, he’s content laying there and letting Dexter explore his body. When James reaches for his shirt, he takes off his own clothes as quickly as he can, only leaving his briefs on. 

They’re just in their underwear now, James is wearing tight fitting red boxers which leave no room for imagination. The line on his cock is there, growing and tempting. He sits down on his groin, pleased at the moan the other man lets out. He grinds down hard, feeling the incipient hard-on press against his ass. He can’t fucking wait to have him inside again. James puts his hands on his hips, pulling him down again, while rocking his hips back and forth. There's lust in his gaze, something that makes Dexter tremble from what's surely about to come.

They do that for a while, not even removing their underwear, but it's enough for Dexter to start leaking into his brief just from thinking what's about to happen. James is enjoying it too, since his cock feels heavier as he mimics the movements, rocking his hips up and down and up and down again. After a particular long moan, James puts a hand down his briefs, starts stroking him at the same time he's thrusting upwards. It feels delicious, he likes how James' able to take him in hand completely, how he lowers it to caress his balls every time he bucks up. He likes sitting over him too, watching his chest rise up and down, watching how affected the other man is just by the friction of his ass against his cock. He can feel the fabric of his boxers wet under him.

“Can we–” he starts, moaning when a particular thrust makes him roll his eyes back.

“What do you want?” he hears James, already panting.

“Can we do it like this?” he asks, looking down with heavy eyes. James moans, slipping his other hand to spread his ass apart, sliding his fingers inside his cheeks and starting to play with his hole lightly. Dexter can’t stop a whine forming in the back of his throat.

“You want to ride me?” he asks back, wide eyes as he bites his lips looking down at his body as if he’s seeing him for the first time. Dexter lowers down to kiss him, biting down on his lips too and enjoying the way James thrusts up violently. His mouth opens for him, licking into his own like he owns it. 

“Mh-hm” he lets out, moaning when he grinds down on his cock again.

“That's so fucking hot Dexter, you're going to fucking kill me,” James says, and lifts him off his hips moving him to the other side of the bed. He's about to protest when he notices James is looking for the lube on his bedside table. He takes off his briefs as fast as he can, sitting on his haunches.

“Do you want me to prep you?” James asks him when he turns around, lube in hand.

He nods, feeling all the blood rushing down to his groin. “Take those off first” he says, pointing to his boxers.

“You're bossy today, aren't you?” James smiles at him from the other side of the bed, but obliges him anyway.

“Shut up.” Dexter mumbles, annoyed but horny just at the sight of James’ cock standing proud and unashamed. He's become fond of it, likes how hard it gets for him, likes the way he uses it to make him lose it completely.

“Lay down so I can do it properly” he orders, already wetting his fingers.

He lays back, putting his knees up and opening his legs for him. James does an approving sound that makes him tremble, hips moving up on its own. He gets between his legs, starts jerking him slowly, now easier thanks to the lube. At first contact the lube is still kinda cold, it makes him shiver. James isn't too patient with it either, lowers his hand to his ass and gets to it in no time. He can feel the rush in the way his fingers spread him apart methodically, in the way he's biting his chest, sucking at his nipples until they're rock hard. God, I want to be fucked right fucking now.

“Are you good?” James asks, after spreading him out with three fingers for some time. Dexter whines, trying to grind down and reach the spot on his own, but the bastard avoids it like the plague.

“Yeah, can you–”

James removes the fingers immediately, leaving him wide open with nowhere to go. When he lays himself beside him, Dexter almost forgets what was the point of it.

“Take a seat then,” he says as he lubes himself up. His cock stands big and proud, massive from where Dexter is laying. He has to take a breath before getting up and putting his legs over James' hips again. Feeling the bare cock right against his ass is another thing. He doesn't even know how to start, how to fit it inside. The whole concept looks more ridiculous as he thinks about it. 

James must sense some of the doubt on his face, grabs his waist and starts making circles in the dip of his hips. “We don't have to do it like this if you changed your mind.”

His eyes betray the lust inside him. Dexter is having a similar reaction, a mix of nerves overpowered with the desire of having James inside right at that moment.

“I want to, I just–” he tries to grab his cock and line himself up to it, but he can’t keep his legs still to save his life. He really feels useless, doesn’t even know what to do with his other hand.

“Want me to help?” James asks, already out of breath.

“Please.”

James grunts at the begging, takes his hand off of his cock and manhandles him to make him sit on his stomach, throws his hips forwards making him feel everything on his backside . “You look so good on top of me, just like a fucking piece of art” he pants out, “Let me just–”

He puts two fingers back inside, this time going straight for his prostate. He massages him inside, relentless about it. Dexter can’t help but lean forward, puts his hands on either side of his head trying to gain some balance. “That feels good, sweetheart?”

“Don’t– ah- don’t call me-” he’s too busy feeling the white hot pleasure James’ coaxing out of him to complain. The name twists something inside, he isn’t sure if it’s good or bad, just that it’s weird.

James smiles under him, crooking his fingers inside making him whine again. “Sorry, you just look too pretty like this, want my cock now?”

He’s got no words left, just nods frantically. Sweat runs down his spine like he’s just ran a marathon. He whines when Doakes makes him lift his hips a bit, pulls his fingers out and lines himself up firmly with his free hand, holding his throbbing member firmly. “You can sit on it now. Take your time there's no–”

He pushes back against it before James can finish the sentence, takes the head in one go even if it feels impossible. That’s the worst of it, isn’t it? If I just get that… 

He tries to go down slowly. He really tries. The moment the head is inside he can’t help but sit down on it, gritting his teeth at the pressure. James has to physically hold him down, slow the movement a little. He’s sitting down on his groin before he knows it, trying to accommodate the cock inside as best as he can. There’s pain too, something uncomfortable about the position. It makes him feel exposed, like he’s really got nowhere to go now. James is impossibly still under him, and it annoys him the way it seems like he’s not affected at all by the situation, while Dexter himself feels like he can’t even move a muscle without tearing up. James senses his unease and reaches for his back, rubbing up and down the tense muscles.

“It’s okay, you’re doing so good,” the words drip down his spine like honey, can’t help a shallow moan that rips out of him when he adjusts his legs a little and James’ presses even further inside of him. “Take your time, you’re beautiful like this Dexter.”

He moans and tries to relax, even if it feels impossible. The hands on his back helps, they stay like that for what seems hours to him before he can even think of moving.

“Oh, fuck–” he moans after rocking his hips a bit, teasing the feeling. The pain’s faded away, and he no longer feels like his back is a plank of wood. James suddenly lifts his hips up, just the tiniest bit, letting him fall back into his cock. It feels good, but not great. It’s nothing like the other times, when he’s fucked him on his back. Now, the whole thing seems ridiculous. His cock is going soft, but he’s determined to make it work. 

They start easy like that, Dexter moves up and down on his dick, trying to get the right amount of pressure to touch the damned spot inside of him. It is not quite right, even if can feel himself getting more comfortable every time he falls back on his cock. James is grunting too, which is nice to know at least one of them is feeling positive about the whole thing.

Everything changes the moment he gets his hands on James’ chest as he tries to change the angle, pushing himself even more. White pleasure envelops him all of the sudden, unexpected, like fucking lighting, so intense he has to close his eyes. He can feel the tip of his cock press hard against the spot, he clenches down and for a second he can’t even breathe right.

“That’s it?” James asks, and when he opens his eyes it’s like he's staring right into his soul.

“That's it.” He whispers, and when he rises up to fuck himself again on his cock, it's over for him.

He can't stop moving his hips, there's nothing else on his mind but chasing the feeling, grinding down harder and harder. His legs are starting to shake uncontrollably, but he can't stop. James lays still, lets him set the pace, which isn't even fast. He just fucks himself deep, circling his hips every time he's fits it all inside.

“Do you want me to do anything?” James asks after some time, now really affected but letting him do whatever. The hands on his hips don't even help him up anymore, he just grabs him tight like he fears Dexter will just get up and go any moment now. He moans and shakes his head, it's perfect like this, just taking what he wants from the man. 

At the end, he's a mess, cock fully hard again pressing up into his stomach. The orgasm is a slow build up, he can't see the end of it but he doesn't want to rush it. His mind is perfectly numb.

James suddenly thrusts up, planting his feet on the mattress, and something inside him just breaks. He cums all over them, whining and moaning like he's fucking dying. He didn't even touch his cock once. It's the first time he's come untouched and it feels great.

Underneath, James has his eyes wide open like he can’t believe that just happened. Dexter knows he's enjoying the noise he can't help but make too, so he just gives in and lets it all out, clenching down hard on his cock. He doesn't know how long it lasts, just that it's good, too good. The waves of pleasure are unending.

Opening his eyes again, barely keeping them open, James stares at him wantonly, still hard as a rock inside even when the last of his orgasm starts to fade. There's a question in his eyes, Dexter can read it immediately.

“Go ahead, I'm fine” he concedes, too tired to think about it.

It's no time before James is turning him around, laying him on the bed, spreading his legs –which he can't really feel at all anymore– and really fucking into him with an urge, chasing his own orgasm. Dexter just lies there basking in the pleasure, and it'd be too much if it wasn't for the fact that James only lasts a few thrusts before he comes inside of him with a deep moan right into his ear.

.

It’s still early on the day after that, not even lunch time. James is breathing hard by his side, even sweatier than before. Dexter feels loose and relaxed lying down with James like this. The curtains are drawn, but the high sun of Miami still gets inside. 

The persistent thought of James’ leaving Miami Metro is still there. A month ago, it’d be his dream come true. Now, he’s not so sure. There’s also the violence he’s got inside that Dexter recognizes– he’s not scared of conflict and most of the time he seeks it. He’s seen him kill people in cold blood without a hint of regret after. He’d certainly qualify to be on his list of potential victims, as he’s got many kills under his belt himself. He just wants to know now, the man makes him want to know just how much they’re alike. Did he enjoy it? The kills, the blood, the screams? Could he really be like me, in a sense of seeking that satisfaction that ending a life brings? Could he really understand me?

“Do you ever miss being in Special Operations?” he asks him, getting closer to him. His body is warm and cozy, like a pillow. James puts an arm around him, hugging him closer. It feels lazy, being in bed even if he’s still got many things to do. He really doesn’t want to get up right now.

“Yes and no. Why?”

“Just curious.” he says, feeling James’ sigh under him. He knows now he’s uncomfortable, maybe at the question, maybe of the memories it brings back. Dexter wants to know too, how much blood the other’s seen, if he enjoyed it, what exactly made him feel.

“It was a dark time for me.” he ends up saying, which answers nothing he wants to know.

“Hm. But you liked it?” he presses, mumbling the words into his chest.

“I liked the work, I just felt bad afterwards. Had to kill and torture people, that stays on your mind forever you know?” I know. I know very well about that. James turns his head a little to stare at him in the eye. There’s a look there he can’t decipher, “I know why you’re asking, don’t think I’m that dumb” he says, almost mocking. It makes him wary, like said too much. He can’t know.

“You do? I’m not-”

James interrupts him before he can expose himself further. “Look, I’m not going to keep being a cop, not even if this gets solved and my name is cleared.”

“But why?” He insists now that he can rest assured that Doakes thinks that’s the only thing interesting to Dexter about his time in the army. Still, it doesn’t sit right with him thinking about Doakes just moving away, leaving him after this whole thing is over. Maybe the girl is real after all, and he’s planning an escape. I wouldn’t blame him.

“There’s nothing left for me there.” he says, and Dexter can tell he means it.

“I’m there.” The words slip up on their own.

There’s a short pause. James actually stops breathing for a second, he can tell how he hugs him tighter but keeps still. He kicks himself in the head again, for having such a big mouth when he’s around him. He really doesn’t know what to say, the conversations out of his hands right now.

“Dexter–” he starts, and for a second he swears he’s said the wrong thing. “I think I was wrong. About us.”

“Us?” he frowns.

James turns to look him in the eye. “I don’t think we can be friends. Not like this.”

Is that because of the other bitch he’s fucking? Because I freak him out? Because he’s–

“Why not?”

James gulps down, his Adam's apple moving hard, before kissing him shallowly, just puts his lips over his and presses lightly. When he pulls back, Dexter wants more, but James sits up on the bed. It's clear there's something he wants to get off his chest.

“I just… I want you. Even if I retire from the force I want to keep seeing you. I want to fuck you, make you dinner, just spend time with you. Is that wrong?”

He’s frowning, but Dexter can’t really empathize. He doesn’t care what he wants to call this, just knows it’s too good to just let go.

“No, that’s…”

James continues, as if he’s scared of what he could tell him. And he’s right. Dexter can’t fucking reciprocate, no matter how nice it is to sleep with him. He wouldn’t know how. “I know you don’t want that. That’s why I can’t keep doing this friends with benefits thing. I just–”

“I thought you didn’t date men.”

“I don’t. It’s just you.”

The words remind him of his own, weeks ago when he thought of everything James awoke in him. This, however, carries a very different meaning.

“You’ll get tired of me. I can’t give you what you want.”

“Let me try.”

Dexter pauses for a minute. It could be like Rita. Probably will end very badly, worse even given their history with violence and aggression, but selfishly he wants to keep it to himself.

“Okay.” he agrees, finally. After tomorrow, maybe he will take it all back. I wouldn’t blame him.

James smiles at him relieved, kisses him softly like he’s savouring the moment. 

“Will you let me take you out? After this fucking mess it’s over?”

He doesn’t know how it will be after they catch Miller. It could go very wrong. And he’ll keep on killing, if he ever finds out he’d have to kill him too. He really doesn’t want to. But still…

“Yeah. We can try that.”

James kisses him again, passionately. He lays himself over Dexter, intertwining their legs together.

“Just let me. I don't expect any feelings from you. I just like being by your side. You make me happy.”

James’ gaze is soft, pleased.

Is he really happy? Why me?

In the afternoon he goes to his apartment and calls Miller. He’s determined now to end this for real now. The Dark Passenger screams at him from the inside now that James isn’t around to fuck it out of him, it makes his head hurt, puts him back into reality. He needs this to be over.

“Tomorrow’s the night.” he tells him on the phone as soon as he picks up.

“Fucking finally.” Miller says, like this is a fucking joke. He thinks they’re going to kill together from now on. He’s a fucking fool with a clock ticking down on his back

“You better watch your mouth if you don’t want me to call this off.” he warns him, getting tired of hearing his old creaking voice over the speaker. I wish I could kill him myself. Maybe I’d use the chainsaw, cut every limb before ending his life, just so he’d suffer more.

“You’re making life very difficult for an old man.”

The many ways he'd personally kill him flash through his brain in no time.

“Listen carefully now–”

Miller does listen in the end. Tomorrow, he’ll drive to his storage room. He’ll set up a kill room there, and he will bring the target Dexter’s chosen already. 

Doakes will find him there, and he'll kill him on site. There's no room for error.

That night Dexter puts it all together. He’s got his box of trophies with him, cleaned from his own prints and set up with Miller’s instead. It was easy to put them on from the ones he stupidly agreed to send him. He hides them on the chest, next to the trophies of his recent victims. There will be no doubt he’s the real Butcher. 

He's finishing setting up the storage room for tomorrow when he hears Harry’s voice again.

Is this the way to go, son? Do you really think this will solve everything?

Chapter Text

Is this the way to go, son? Do you really think this will solve everything?

Dexter stops in his tracks. When he turns around, Harry is there leaning against the plastic covered walls. He's stunned to actually see him, after so long he's spent alone. The urge to show him how he’s achieved to keep his secret undercover beats him.

“You see that? Neat and clean. The copycat takes the fall, Doakes walks free, and I... stay free.”

He looks around, admiring his work. Clear plastic sheeting unfurls across the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Every surface is wrapped, sealed, stapled and clean; but not too perfect. It’s the best he can do to look like someone else did it. Someone less precise. Someone who’s starting to crumble under the FBI pressure. The seams are just a little off. The angles, a bit careless. In the center of the storage room he’s placed a folding table, metal and generic, something Miller might’ve dragged in himself. Dexter checked its weight and stability too, it’ll hold. The tools are similar to his own too, he’s decided for a hunting knife, not his usual blade but it will do. He’s already lifted Miller’s prints he foolishly sent him, pressed them onto the handle with surgical tape. Gloves, an apron, disposable boot covers; all the things a methodical killer might wear are folded nearby, ready to be dressed onto Miller once the job is done. The strands of Miller’s hair he’s ‘borrowed’ two weeks ago are placed methodically around the space; stuck to tape edges, pressed into the lining of a glove, one smeared against a wall in fake struggle. DNA in the right places, chaos in the margins.

More will follow, of course, there will be undeniable proof Miller was there, but no one can be too careful. The cameras are already accounted for as well. The building's CCTV will show nothing during the window he’s chosen, since he looped the feed earlier this week. He double-checked the locks and brought a spare keypad chip to erase any trace of his entry. 

For a moment, Dexter feels the old reflex stir, the comfort of seeing Harry after all this time, the feeling that someone understands. He’s proud of his work, he truly is this time. There's nothing he hasn't thought of that could go wrong. This time, after all the uncertainty, the fear of being caught and the anger at his own previous mistakes, he truly feels like he can have a fresh start again. He almost smiles. Almost. But Harry speaks again.

“And you feel good about that?”

He pauses for a second. Harry’s tone isn't normal. There’s something wrong with his voice he can tell just from the many years he’s heard it inside his head. The almost smile falters. “It’s just how it is. Better than killing an innocent man. You should be proud. The Code worked.” he says, waiting for the words of approval to start flowing in his direction.

Harry shakes his head, pushing himself off the wall. “Did it? You manipulated everything. Lied. Let a patsy die to save yourself.”

He just looks at him. Not with warmth or approval, but with something else, something colder. Appraisal. Doubt. Maybe even disgust. Dexter’s throat tightens before he realizes it. A flicker of something unfamiliar passes through him, something too human, too soft. Shame?

“He is a killer. A bad one, he tried to emulate me, shat all over The Code. You taught me to only take out the trash and he was overflowing.” his voice is getting tighter as well, confused at Harry’s straight face.

“The Code isn’t about convenience, Dexter. It’s about control. Discipline. What you are doing is... desperate.”

He shakes his head. “I adapted. I will survive this. Isn’t that what you trained me to do?”

“I trained you to be better. Not to hide behind dead men and clever tricks.” Harry’s voice is tough and unforgiving. Anger starts to settle alongside the confusion.

Dexter glances away. It doesn’t make sense. Harry had always stood by him. He gave him the Code. Had shown him how to channel what he was. Wasn’t that support? Wasn’t that love, in its own warped way? But now, standing under that gaze, Dexter sees it differently. Sees himself differently. And he hates it profoundly.

“You trained me to survive a world that couldn’t accept me. This is what I’m doing.”

“You think Doakes will accept you? You think he can be the answer to your Darkness?”

Is that what this is about? Does he really think being with a man is worse than needing blood spilled to calm his urges? He really doesn’t think it’s that, but it hits a nerve deep inside.

“I’m using him just like I use everyone.” he lets out, coldly. There’s nothing he could say that’d make Harry accept him, he knows that, but this is trivial.

“You're already different enough, Dexter. You don’t need to add that to it.”

He laughs because there’s nothing left for him to do, there’s just the irony of Harry’s words hitting him right in the face. It’s not like he cares. He never felt bad for his Dark Passenger, for the dark thoughts that haunt him everyday of his life, at least not bad in an empathic way, in a human way. So hearing Harry try and throw his situation with Doakes to his face is just very self-righteous of him. 

“What if I can't help it?” 

Harry stares at him for a long moment.

“You think you've won. But you're just one lie away from losing everything, even me.”

Dexter’s hands curl at his sides. He feels hollow. Exposed. Like a child in a mask that no longer fits. If Harry wasn’t proud... if Harry didn’t believe in me... then what’s left?

He wants to ask. To demand answers. To scream. 

Instead he lifts his head up high,  “You made me what I am now. You don’t get to abandon me now.” he mumbles, trying to get something out of him.

But Harry says nothing else. Just keeps watching him from the far side of the room, silent and still, as if Dexter were a puzzle he no longer has the will to solve.

Something in Dexter closes. The old warmth he always feels when his father appears cracks. Whatever part of him had needed Harry’s approval, the part that had believed this was all for something snaps off, quietly. And now that Harry’s seen what he's become, who Dexter really was, there was no pride in his face. Only distance.

He turns away first.

Harry doesn’t follow.

I always thought Harry approved of what I was doing… but what if he didn’t?

He leaves the storage room angry. He did everything right, and this is how he rewarded him. Only judgment and repulsion. As if he wasn’t the one to teach him everything he is. As if he didn’t know how much he’s venerated him all these years. As if Dexter hadn’t been even a son to him at all, just a failed experiment. It’s infuriating and hurtful. For once he wonders if this is what it means to feel something. Harry didn’t have the decency to show up when I needed him the most. And now he shows up to judge me.

Getting in the car is a blur to him. Everything’s done and there’s nothing left to do other than waiting for tomorrow, but there’s an ugly thing twisting and turning inside of him that he doesn’t like at all. Before he knows it he’s in the front of Doakes’ house. 

He blinks twice. It’s late, way too late to make an appearance and not be questioned. He doesn’t have the strength to lie either, not to James, not right now. He grips the wheel, thinks of what he could say to just make him not that suspicious, to not let out that something’s wrong. There’s not a single bone in him that wants to deal with too many questions. Maybe James doesn’t even answer. It’s not a normal time to be knocking on the door unannounced, he knows that. Still, he told him yesterday he wanted to try and with Rita it wasn’t that weird if he showed up in the middle of the night, wasn’t it? He can’t know how he'll react if he actually steps out of the car and tries to have a sleepover right at this moment. The lights are out so he must be already in bed, especially since it’s almost 1am. Strangely, he doesn’t feel like going home.

As he steps nearer into his door, it’s a mess inside his head. He can’t stop hearing Harry’s voice, the judgment and bitterness. There’s rage too, that he dares to compare Doakes to his Dark Passenger. Dexter always thought Harry was smart. To be disappointed at him for such an irrelevant issue flies past him. He stays still for a moment on the doorway, gathering his thoughts. Harry would be fuming that his first stop after their little talk is to come here, that’s for sure. It makes him angry so he knocks on the door.

It will be better talking to James, he thinks, at least he'll be able to get it off his chest. There’s so many contradicting thoughts, about his father, The Code, his own messed up person… he can’t afford to be like this. Not when tomorrow’s the finale to the mess he’s let spill out, a moment he can’t fuck up if he wants to keep the life he’s created for himself. Doubt is spilling out of him, with James he always feels calmer after they talk. He has to trust that he was being serious when he asked for more in this. He has to trust himself that he’s getting through this.

When the door opens, James just stands there. It's ajar, he can't just half see the silhouette of the man, looking him up and down like he’s not recognizing him fully. For a second Dexter is sure he's going to close the door on his face. Instead, Doakes just looks behind him, confused.

“What are you doing here, you didn't call me did you?” The door opens just a tiny bit more. Dexter can't make up anything to say, so he puts his hands on his face, taking a deep breath.

“Hey– hey, what's wrong?” he asks him, opening the door wider now. He can tell he woke him up, James is in a white shirt and boxers with a sleepy confused stare laying on him. Dexter still doesn't move. What should he say? I’m in the middle of a breakdown and I came to you, that’s what you offered right? To keep putting up with me.

He can’t vocalize it, so he settles on a lame string of words that don’t make sense. “Sorry, I don't know. I just– I’m,”

When he drops the hands covering his face, James looks taken aback. He feels his left eye twitching. They stand awkwardly on the porch, Dexter wonders if this is the moment he realizes being with him it’s going to be like this, a fucking pain on the ass. God knows Dexter wouldn’t put up with himself if he could.

“Get in.” Doakes nods with his head after a brief moment, already turning away and stepping into the house. Inside there's just the light of the living room on, an empty plate on the table and some files scattered. Dexter closes the door behind him, trying to keep the surely stone cold expression off his face. He’s unable to do so.

“Sit down.” Doakes gestures to the table and Dexter drops down on the nearest chair he finds, feeling heavy. He’s been here before, just like this, the night he beat up Jimenez. He remembers the loss of control, how James made him scream at him just so he could let it out. He remembers it working perfectly– how surprised he’d been at James for understanding how to get him out of his own head. Now he knows yelling won’t do anything. He doesn’t know if he could yell, let alone speak. The hole in his heart deepens by the minute. 

What the fuck am I doing in here? James sits beside him on the chair next to him, brings it closer in front of him so their legs almost touch. They stay silent, James puts his hands on top of his thighs rubbing up and down, waiting. Dexter knows he’s waiting for him to say something, anything at all.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he lies, feeling his throat getting tighter. It comes out as barely a whisper “I just, I was going to call you–”

The lie is obvious even to himself. James shakes his head, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing down gently. “It’s okay. You can come over whenever you want, no need to bother with that.”

Dexter lets out a sigh and leans forwards. He puts his forehead on Doakes’ shoulders and just lets it fall there. James keeps quiet. The string of questions he’d been regretfully waiting for don’t come, and it’s almost worse knowing James is holding back on him. He’s sure he wants to ask. The complicit silence he’s always liked about James is now just exasperating. 

“I’m just tired,” he says, in a shaky breath that almost turns into a sob. It’s the first truth he’s told him since he got here. James puts a hand on the back of his neck and strokes his skin lightly.

“Hey- hey, let’s go lay down, just let me–” James tries to lift up his head, but he feels heavy and dense. Dexter separates from him and lets James kiss him, lets him press his lips against his softly. The moustache scratches against his skin, a familiar feeling, something he never thought he’d get used to. When he pulls back, he pushes him upwards, almost pulling him on his feet. “Go lay down, I’ll be right there in a moment. I’ve got you.”

The words are soft, but they don’t do anything for him, he still feels numb. Maybe if he was a normal person they'd make him feel better. He feels anesthetized. That’s what Harry meant, wasn't it? I will never be able to be like them. Like him.

.

Dexter throws himself in the bed, doesn’t even take off his shoes or turn on the light. He’s face up, looking at the ceiling. He thinks about what will be after this. Once his plan is complete he’ll follow Harry’s Code. There can be no other way. Yet, he wonders if he’s lost the sense of morality Harry gave him. He’s broken it already, Harry wouldn’t be proud of the direction his life has taken the last months. His careless mistake has led to a huge landslide. His life has always been a series of carefully planned movements. Harry’s Code was the steering wheel, it dictated his education, his profession, even his personality. The relationships he kept had always been in favor of the faith he had in his father’s vision. He hadn’t seen Harry for weeks now. And now he comes back only to remind him of disappointment. To confuse him even further. It makes him question if it was even worth it, in the first place.

Brian hasn’t appeared again either, faded into nothingness. Even if they haunt him lately, in a confusing way and especially Brian, it makes him paranoid, of what it could be driving them away. He can’t stop the flow of worry, of pain that swirls inside of him.

“Here, change your clothes.” he hears James, can see him standing over him, but he’s just too tired to move.

There’s a tug at his feet. James unlaces his shoes for him and before he knows it, he’s in a comfortable cotton shirt with his jeans off. He could move to help him, but he really can’t stop thinking. Harry did make a number out of me. James takes off his clothes, puts him in his clothes before he gets on the bed with him. He doesn’t even feel it that much, just acknowledges the mattress sinking beside him. James is on his back as well, not even touching him. He just keeps staring at the ceiling, the yellow light making him see dark spots.

“Do you want to go to sleep now? I’ll turn off the light.” The words are quiet, almost as if he doesn’t want to disturb him. It would be endearing any other time, but it irritates him suddenly; the careful way he’s treating him as if he could break down at any moment.

He shakes his head quickly. The words come to him before he can think what he’s saying. “No, it’s not that– My father…” he cuts himself off before he can fuck it up.

James listens attentively, like they’ve got all the time in the world. He waits for a moment, thinking of the way he should put it. There’s a part of him that wants to tell him everything. About Brian, his father... Maybe even confess what he really is. He’s tired, of hiding, of pretending… He’s just tired of wearing the mask around everyone he knows. Of trying to make people believe he cares . Still, his father’s words ring deep inside. And James is looking at him like he never thought he could. He’s looking at him like he cares. Like Rita did, in a way.

He turns on his side to stare at James fully. Does he feel like the other people do? It looks like it. Dexter’s never achieved that look, the caring, soft-hearted, attentive look everyone gets so easily. He’s seen it countless times, on lovers, friends and family. He’s been accused of not having a heart in the past. Deb’s always protected him, she’s the only one who truly ever loved him. Yet, they’re not wrong. He wonders if James realizes just how empty he truly is.

You're already different enough, Dexter. You don’t need to add that to it.

Just remembering Harry’s words makes him angry. He can hear him right into his ears, the words playing back non-stop. Harry's judging him for things he didn’t even have the decency to be by his side when they happened.

“Dex? You don’t have to–” he realizes it's been a while when James nudges him on the arm. Like a hush of wind, the words leave him just ah the touch. His gaze snaps up at James, he didn't even realize he was staring off past the man into the other side of the room.

“I always believed he had a… plan. That he saw something in me. Something good. I’ve lived by his rules. But near the end... he changed. He pulled away. Like I disgusted him.”

Softly, James reaches for his face, stroking his jaw, “What the hell are you talking about?”

He sighs. It feels better hearing him swear, so he continues.

“Just… little things. The way he looked at me. Like he realized he made a mistake when he adopted me.”

James frowns, confused. “You think your father didn’t love you?”

“I think… he saw something he couldn’t unsee. Like you did. And it made him sick.”

Doakes goes still.  “Parents mess up. They get scared when kids don’t turn out to be what they want them to be. It doesn’t mean he stopped giving a damn about you.” he pauses for a second, “You know I don’t see you like that anymore, do you?”

“I don't know. Maybe. Maybe he saw what I really am—and couldn’t handle it.”

Cautiously, James presses in closer. Their noses almost touch, he can feel his hot breath over his face.

“Dexter… what do you think he saw?”

Dexter stares at him– face unreadable, almost smiling, almost breaking.

“Something he couldn’t fix. A monster.”

The answer comes as fast as lightning, it almost surprises him the quickness James has to gather his thoughts.

"You’re not a monster. You’re a human being. You’re feeling this because something inside you is broken. But the system… the system’s broken too. It failed you like it failed me. That’s  one of the reasons why I became a cop, to fix it. But maybe that was bullshit too."

James places a hand on Dexter’s chest, grounding him. Dexter breathes in and out, like he expects something else to happen, his body can feel impending doom falling over him.

“Whatever it is– you’re not alone with it anymore.”

Dexter doesn’t believe him. He can't believe him. The plan is in motion. Miller will die. The setup is meticulous. The frame is airtight. It should feel controlled, clean, but it doesn’t. There’s a looseness to it, something raw beneath the precision. The kill isn’t about The Code anymore. It’s about the need, the urge of satisfying his utmost wish, to feel complete once more.

And yet, here he is. In this bed. With James, trying to feel something other than numb.

James doesn’t know, of course. None of it. Not The Code. Not the blood. Not what Dexter really is, under the fake persona he's tried so hard to build. How would he know, when he’s spent so much time keeping it, making sure he won’t find out who he truly is? And for once, Dexter isn’t comforted by his ignorance. It gnaws at him. He could tell him. Right now. Spill everything, strip it all bare. But the risk isn’t exposure isn’t it? It’s the change. What will Doakes see, once he sees it all? The ceiling offers no answers. The air feels thick. Too quiet.

Dexter has lied a thousand times, worn masks so long they became skin. But this lie, the one that breathes beside him, trusts him, holds him; this one feels different. He never wanted to keep it. And now he doesn’t know how to let it go.

The mask, the code, the balancing act, it’s all collapsing under the weight of this silence. Of this warmth that doesn’t belong to him. Of the way James lies beside him, open, unaware, believing in something that doesn’t exist. Believing in someone who doesn’t exist. Dexter can’t breathe under it.

The kill is still ahead. Miller, the frame, the clean ending… It's waiting like a loaded syringe, ready to numb everything. But tonight, that doesn’t feel like freedom. It feels like another page in a story he doesn’t want to write anymore. This was never supposed to happen. He was never supposed to be known. Not like this. Not touched, not held, not… seen. But Doakes sees him now, or at least he thinks he does. And the guilt isn’t about the killing, it never was. The guilt is about this. This lie. Dexter doesn’t know what’s worse, losing this, or keeping it. He could say it. Right now. Let it all fall out like blood from a split artery. No more hiding, no more rituals, just the truth. 

He imagines all the things he could say.

"I’m not who you think I am."

"I’m planning to frame a man. I don’t even know if I care anymore, about whether it’s right or wrong, if I ever cared at all."

“I kill people. I’ve always killed people. And I don’t know how to stop.”

There’s so many things he could tell him, truthfully. And then, maybe, it would all be over.

Maybe James would leave. Maybe he’d arrest him. Maybe he’d finally look at Dexter the way Harry did at the end; not like something worth holding, not like someone with potential, but like a failure. Maybe that’s what Dexter needs.

He wants it to end. Not the connection, not even the killing, really. Just the hiding. The double life. The unbearable weight of pretending to be something he knows he isn’t.

His throat aches with the confession he doesn’t speak. His hand twitches, inches from Doakes’. He could say the words, it would be so easy. He could give it all up– the kills, the lie, the illusion.

He lies there, hollowed out, wanting to be caught. And waiting for someone else to pull the trigger.

“James, I am th–”

“Look, I don't want to know what you think your father saw. You don’t have to be like him, or follow what he thought was right. You deserve to be your own person, baby.”

That's the thing isn't it? He's not even a person. How can he be a person, when he's been dictated his entire personality since before he can actually remember? He's never had the chance, doesn't even think he could be real, but he's never tried, hasn't he? Looking back now, Harry became more distant as Dexter refined his methods. He remembers how he looked visibly unsettled after seeing the calmness that came over Dexter after the kills, after he kept killing. He remembers the disgust in his face, clear and unwavering. Dexter wonders if Harry truly believed in The Code, or if he was just trying to control what he feared he couldn’t stop. Maybe Harry hadn’t been guiding him out of faith, but out of fear. Maybe the Code wasn’t a path, it was a cage. A way to keep the monster hidden. Controlled. Less of a legacy and more of a containment plan. 

He wants to hit himself hard for almost ruining everything. He was going to say it.

He had the words half-formed in his mouth, jagged, heavy, real. The truth, finally rising after so many years of decay. James surely thinks he was talking about Harry as a father. About legacy. About ghosts. He thinks Dexter’s torment is about expectation, about morality, about living up to someone else’s rules.

But it’s so much deeper than that. James doesn’t know, doesn’t realize how far gone it is. How much of Dexter isn't a choice, but programming. Conditioning. Blood slides, The Code, the Dark Passenger… Words Harry handed down like a twisted inheritance which Dexter never once questioned.

Until now.

You deserve to be your own person.

That line hits him like a blunt instrument straight to his temple. Because that’s the wound, isn’t it? The core of it. He’s never been a person. Just a role. And every time he’s thought about change, about control, about being real, he’s looked to Harry. Not inward. Never inward. He doesn't even know if there’ an ‘inward’ to look at, if it ever was there in the first place.

Suddenly he doesn’t want to tell James the truth. For the first time, the possibility of something else opens up, terrifying and vague and impossible, but there. What if he didn’t follow the Code? What if, instead of ending everything with a confession, he actually started something new? Something that was his, even if he finds out he doesn't have anything inside other than voidness after all.

He doesn’t believe in it. Not yet. But he’s never tried, has he? He lets the moment pass. The truth stays buried in his throat. And for once, it isn’t just fear keeping it there. It’s a question. What if I could be something else?

Instead, he focuses on the one thing he can mention so the whole topic will go away.

“What did you call me just now? Baby ?”

James panics, it's so clear it’s almost comical. 

“I didn’t–”

It’s funny so he laughs. They laugh together, the tension finally snapping in two. 

“Look, sorry, I know you don't like those names. Do you mind? It slipped out.”

“It’s just weird to hear you like that.”

James smiles broadly, brushes his hair out of his face. “I’ll try to keep it down.”

“Well, thanks.” he rolls his eyes, amused for once in this horrible evening.

He grabs James' shirt and pulls him in closer, kisses him deeply, letting himself be selfish. James responds like he always does, doesn't blink twice before he's over him, caging him with his arms, pinning him to the bed. 

Dexter is lost in the feeling, he lets himself stop thinking for a moment and just feel. It's electric, like static snapping through his touch. James lowers himself to kiss his collarbone, he bites down on him making him whimper.

“Fuck Dexter, what– what do you need?”

“I just want you.” he says, and James makes a shaky noise, just over his skin.

He's being truthful, and it feels so strange to just admit something he knows it's true. Because he wants James. He needs this now, his touch over his skin like a glass of water on the dessert. His gaze is so intense over him he can't help himself but bring him up to his mouth again, kiss him again, and again, until he feels his lips are bruised and swollen. James doesn't let the air hit his lungs, makes his legs shake with every little movement. When they separate he can't stop looking at him, admiring how his dark complexion glows, even in the yellowy light of the room. He's attracted to him like he's never been to anyone before. He knows it's true.

“Can we–” he starts, tilting his hips upwards, inviting. He feels James, hard over his felt pajama bottoms, and it's heady knowing how deeply the attraction is reciprocated.

“Whatever you want, baby.” he can see the exact second James realizes, squints his eyes and shakes his head like he’s fucked up. “Fuck, sorry.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, ignoring the way the name makes him warm inside. It's a no-brainer. “Get the lube.”

“Yeah, of course,” James agrees, but doesn't move an inch. If anything he moves even closer, pressing his erection right into his, dragging his tongue over his neck slowly. For once he doesn't feel the need to hurry, he likes the attention, the wanton moans James drags out of him.

When he pulls back he tries to hold him down, to keep him pressed against him, “I'll just get the–”

“Ok, yeah that's,”

Dexter lets go of him regretfully, and it’s not long before James slides to the night table and starts searching for it. It's so quick he doesn't even get to finish the sentence before James is over him again, going back to his neck to suck a mark on him.

He takes off his boxers, finding his entrance and massaging him with wet fingers. It’s not long before he’s fucking him with three fingers, sliding in and out of him softly, stretching his hole to accommodate what he's about to do. It’s heavenly, the way he curls his fingers ever so often, touching his prostate like it’s his job.

“James, please, just,” he pants out when he feels himself open and ready. James looks up at him, kisses him for a minute before pulling out his fingers.

“How do you want it?” he asks, voice raspy and deep.

“Like this.” He puts his legs over his hips, locks his ankles around him and makes him fall against him once more, flat on his chest. They’ve still got their shirts on, but he doesn’t care one bit. James pulls himself out, his trousers pooling around his hips just the tiniest bit so he can fuck him.

When he enters him, he can't think of anything else other than mine. He can feel him pulsing inside, so close he can’t even think of anything other than the body on top of him. James puts a hand under his shirt, moves it up until he reaches his chest, separating just the tiniest bit so he can feel the bare skin. His own body feels on fire, can’t even take the wait he knows he needs to get used to James.

“Please–”

A moan gives out his desperation. James snaps his hips a little, and it's over for him. It gets deep, deeper than he's ever been. Maybe it's just the way he's circling his hips, pulling him down with his legs, pulling him closer and closer. It's slow, like they've got all the time in the fucking world. James doesn't stop kissing him and he doesn't let go of his hips for the life of him. Each time he leans back for air he can't stop looking down, and up to James flushed face and down again. He's sweating, hair sticking to his forehead by the end of it.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when he finally gets his climax. James' got a hand around him, Dexter gasps, he moves it up and down at the same time he fucks him through the orgasm, squeezing his balls gently at every moan. It's not long before he comes inside of him after that.

His legs feel tired, he hasn’t let them down for one second since they started this. James moves a little, grabs his knees and untangles the legs from where they're clutched hard against his hips, putting them down into the mattress again. Pulling out still feels weird, making him wince hard. James seems to notice, as he bites down on his neck almost to distract him from the sensation. After, he lays down beside Dexter, both of them struggling to catch their breath. Dexter looks up to the ceiling again, feeling calmer, relaxed.

“Thanks. I feel better now.” he says when he feels he can speak again. James snorts quietly, like he finds it funny.

“I bet you do”

Dexter nudges him a little, mildly annoyed. “Shut up. I mean it. You gave me lots to think about.”

James doesn't answer, he just leans in and pecks him on his used lips, just the softest touch, makes it all the better.

“Anytime, Dex.”

.

Something's ringing in the distance. When he opens his eyes, the sun is coming through the blinds, already morning. It takes him a while to find the source of the noise, his phone ringing on the other side of the room, probably inside of his trousers. Doakes stirs, beside him waking up as well. It's comfortable to just be in bed. He's not answering, until it rings again right after the first ignored call. When he steps out of bed to go grab it and sees his sister's ID, he almost regrets it. 

“Yeah?” he answers, laying down again on the bed. He doesn’t even know what time it is, just that he’s slept better than he’s slept in months. It’s almost ironic, considering the headache Harry’s improv visit gave him.

“Where are you Dex? I'm at the door.”

Perfect timing. He thinks, sarcastically. “Uh, I'm not home right now.”

“Where– don't tell me you're at Doakes'?” she screams over the phone.

“Yeah…I'm–” looking at James. He knows he's fucked up something the moment he looks over to him. Doakes has his eyes wide open beside him, now fully awake. Fuck. “Look I can't talk right now, I'll call you back.”

“You dirty dog. Okay, I'll see you later, have fun.”

James stares at him angrily. For a moment Dexter really can’t connect the reason for him being this upset. Then he remembers James' unique sensitivity to being exposed.

“That was my sister.” he says, trying to lean against James, but he brushes him away like his touch burns him. It's a stupid reaction, so he tries to move closer to smooth it over, to anchor them back in the comfortable softness they’d had just hours ago, but James recoils again, his body rigid and his eyes full of fury and betrayal. The silence between them cracks down.

“Are you fucking for real?”

Dexter blinks, momentarily disconnected from why this is happening. He didn’t say anything incriminating. There’s no reason for this overreaction, at least not one that makes sense to him . The reaction is so intense, it almost pisses him off.

“What?” he asks, sitting up on the bed. James mirrors him, but moves further away, now almost on the edge of the bed. 

“I can't fucking believe you.”

“What?!”

“You fucking told her?”

“I didn't tell–”

“Don't bullshit me you're talking right next to me I heard everything.”

“Look, it's not–”

“You're fucking mental”

The accusation clangs inside Dexter’s skull like a dropped weapon. The fact that James is saying that, like Dexter just violated something sacred, only fuels the heat rising fast in his chest. Mental? He’s spent his entire life keeping it together. He’s the reason people like Miller don’t get away with what they do. And now he’s being talked to like a reckless child.

“It’s just my sister, you're overreacting,” he says, voice clipped, jaw tight.

But James won’t let it go. “I didn’t tell you you could–”

“I’ll stop you right there,” Dexter spits, suddenly sharp, venomous. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

There it is, the thing beneath it all. He doesn’t do permission. He doesn’t do control. He’s spent a lifetime operating in the shadows of rules made for other people: Harry’s, society’s, his own. He won’t let James try to cage him, not now, not ever.

“Who else knows?” James asks.

The question is almost laughable, but it burns. Not because it’s true, but because of the nerve. The assumption that Dexter would be so stupid. So weak.

“What, do you think I go around telling people about this?” he snaps.

“I don't fucking know. Are you?”

That does it. The pressure inside Dexter finally cracks. The unspoken judgment, the glare. Like he’s some wild, unstable thing that needs to be managed. Controlled. Hidden.

“We're barely anything.”

He says it cold. Intentionally cruel. He wants it to sting, he needs it to. Because he’s cornered, and when he’s cornered, he draws blood. And the look on James’s face tells him he’s succeeded.

James doesn’t back down, snorting as if. “I'm glad to know that's how you feel.”

His voice is tight, defensive. Dexter hears the fear behind it, hears the way James puts up his armor like he’s bracing for something worse. Dexter knows that tone. He recognizes the panic under the anger, the shame creeping into his voice. And it irritates him.

He’s not trying to hurt James, not really. But he also won’t be shamed for this, for Debra. She’s the one person he’s always trusted, the only person who’s ever been allowed behind the curtain, to a certain extent. And now James is acting like that trust is some kind of betrayal.

“You know how I feel .” he says, laying the words bare.

“You’re fucking priceless.”

Dexter flinches, but only internally. He knows that kind of venom, the kind that comes when someone’s hurt and flailing. He’s pushed Doakes into a corner, and now he’s spitting whatever he can to make himself feel less small. But it still grates. Still pisses him off. He gave more of himself than he ever has to anyone, and this is the response?

He leans in, sharp and cold.

“And you’ve got fucking issues,” he says, deliberately. Just from the way Doakes stiffens he knows he’s gone too far. Means to go too far. “You’re the one that wants to be in a relationship, so don’t fucking act like I’m the one invested in this shit.”

He watches the words hit, observes Doakes swallow them like poison. Dexter knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s pressing on the bruise, the one Doakes tries to hide. He knows the man still carries his own chains; the upbringing, the expectations, the constant weight of who he’s supposed to be. He knows this thing between them terrifies James, and not just because it’s complicated, because it’s himself he’s ashamed of. That just makes Dexter angrier. What does he have to be ashamed of? He's got everything he himself always wished for, he can feel, he cares for people, he can understand them, he’s everything Dexter isn't. And the shame he shows is just pointless, so fucking useless. Because Dexter isn't ashamed even though he's got many reasons to be. He has never been, even when he's the one who should be. He’s been taught shame, taught how others see him and how, but he’s never felt it the way Doakes does. He doesn't think he’s capable of it, not like that. And he resents being punished for someone else’s guilt.

After a moment of staring daggers into him Doakes turns away, sits up backwards to him and gets his feet on the ground, his shoulders drawn so tight they look like armor. His voice drops low. “You know what? Nevermind. Forget about it.”

The words should be dismissive, but they land like surrender. It should be a win. And yet Dexter doesn’t feel satisfied. He feels… defeated. Still burning. Still insulted that Doakes thinks Debra can’t be trusted. That he can’t be trusted. That this whole thing was more fragile than he thought.

He stays still, seething quietly. Watching Doakes walk to the other side of the bedroom and slam down the door of the bathroom loudly after himself is infuriating. Knowing he caused it. Knowing he could stop it, but doesn’t. He could choose to be kinder, but he won't.

He gathers his things and leaves right away. He’s just glad Doakes cleaned him up before they went to sleep. That’s the only thanks he’ll give him, he thinks bitterly as he starts his car.

By lunchtime, he regrets the fight. Yesterday was the first time he felt like he could be his own person, Doakes made him realize that. He had been very close to just giving up and revealing himself. Just thinking about it makes him cringe, at his own foolishness. Doakes wouldn’t understand, that’s for sure, he’d be appalled, probably would’ve arrested him right there and then. And he might have lost him too, just because he felt he deserved to be hurt.

He still doesn’t understand the shame he feels, why he’s so paranoid about their situation, of people knowing. Rationally he gets it, but he can’t empathize with the feeling. He knows Doakes’ just a person, flawed as anyone else, yet he couldn’t help himself from pressing on the wound on purpose, hurting him. It’s not just guilt that’s settled in his stomach, it’s that sour, hollow space where self-disgust nests, gnawing quietly at the edges.

He’s just doing to him the same he did to Rita. He’s using him as a vessel to hide, even if it’s not the same way. The context is different, but the pattern feels familiar. To think about it, it's like he’s watching it all unfold from a cold distance, as if he’s studying a crime scene instead of his own life.

Tonight, he’ll call Doakes right after killing the last victim the Bay Harbor Butcher will have, and he’ll kill Miller in turn. That’s what will happen. Because he knows Doakes isn’t the same man as he was almost two months ago now. He will come because he cares, even if he’s mad at him. He knows that, and still, he only cares to use him. The thought should be worse than it feels. But he’s always been good at compartmentalizing, hasn’t he?

He wanted to hurt him this morning, he succeeded. Maybe that’s the reason his father left him. Maybe that’s the reason he has to be alone from now on. He’s selfish. He tries to shake it off, but it lingers like a bad taste in the back of his throat.

Debra calls again just as he's about to put something together to eat. He isn't even that hungry anymore, which is just the cherry on top. His stomach feels like it's holding a stone, not hunger. The ringing cuts through the silence of the apartment like a drill to the temple just as he’s putting together a quick salad and Chinese leftovers he had last Friday for lunch. The lettuce is wilted. The rice smells faintly of soy sauce and neglect. It’s no use, he’s gotta eat something since he's got many things to do ahead of him after all, he’ll need the energy. He stares at his phone for a moment before answering, thumb hesitating for just a second.

“Hey, do you want to meet up for lunch or are going on a date with–”

Her cheerful voice only reminds him of his own complications, to put it lightly. He cuts her off right away, frustrated just at the reminder of Doakes. Of everything messy and unresolved.

“I'm not in the mood for jokes, Deb. And I'm already eating.”

The Chinese food in front of him doesn't look too appetizing. He shakes his head and moves to the counter, forcing himself to swallow it down. The soy sauce tastes too sweet. Everything tastes wrong.

“Hey, what happened?” her voice sounds concerned, just as any good sister would sound, he guesses. It only makes him madder, having to talk about it. Talk about shitty brothers.

“Nothing. It's fucking over, that's what happened.” he bites out, tired of the conversation already. He just wants to eat something and lie down for a few hours before heading out to the storage room to wait for Miller. But now even eating feels like a chore. He takes another bite and chews mechanically.

He can hear Debra sighing through the phone. “You're a drama queen Dex, you just need to–”

“If you tell me to fuck him again I'm hanging up.”

“I was going to say you need to fucking get a grip and actually talk things over. Did y’all fight?” she says, like he’s a child.

“I’m fucking done with him.” he mutters, trying to get her to drop it. Of course, she doesn’t. She never does. God, he loves her for it and resents it all at once.

“What the fuck happened?” she asks, with a loud pitch that makes his head hurt.

Sighing, he gets his fork and plays around with the food in front of him, closing his eyes tight. His head is starting to hurt. There’s a tightness behind his left eye that pulses in time with his irritation. “I don’t want to talk about it. Look, I just want to be alone right now, can we just have lunch tomorrow?”

There’s a silence, and he’s sure she won’t take the answer. The silence stretches long enough to be mistaken for annoyment, until she hums a little. “Yeah, sure. Just worried about you, bro.”

“It’s okay.” He doesn’t mean it. It’s just easier to say.

“Don’t get too angry, ok?”

“I’m not angry.” It’s almost laughable; he isn’t. Not really. There’s something else buzzing in his blood, but it’s not anger. More like exhaustion. Offense taps him lightly at the back of his mind, quiet but insistent. Why does everyone always assume the worst of him? His voice is flat, and not because he’s hiding anything, just because that’s all that’s left. He’s calm. He’s collected. Isn’t he?

“Sure you aren’t. Take care.”

He ends the call and sets the phone down harder than he means to. The silence returns. It feels heavier this time, thicker. He stares at the salad. One of the cucumbers has gone soggy. He leaves it on the fork for a moment before tossing it in the sink. Cold air from the vent brushes his skin. He doesn’t move for a while.

The storage room is cold and quiet, just how Dexter left it. Plastic-lined walls, drains cleared, the scent of bleach still faint in the air, sterile, prepared like a waiting stage. With a mask over his head, he waits for the old man. It’s an old balaclava, black and used up, scratches against his skin. The eyeholes are just slightly off, tight around his brow, but they do the job. They hide him enough to keep the surprise until he’s got everything done.

It’s a while before Miller stumbles in, dragging the unconscious body over the threshold with both hands clenched under the arms. The victim’s head tilts uselessly to the side, one shoe scraping with every tug. Miller grunts as he drags him inside, breath ragged. The effort shows in every line of his body, he’s not young anymore that’s clear as light. His spine curves with each pull, knees creaking as he shuffles forward. Dexter can hear the muttered curses under his breath, nothing distinct, just the cranky breath of a man who should’ve retired years ago. He doesn't lift a finger to help him. When the storage room door closes, locked tight behind the man, he just keeps silent. He knows Miller is uncomfortable by the silence, just from the way he shifts in his feet. I wish I could end him myself. It would feel so good…

“I got him,” Miller says, puffing. “Out cold. No one saw.”
There’s a hint of pride in his voice, but it’s laced with something else, impatience maybe. Or suspicion. Like he’s already questioning why he’s the one doing the heavy lifting.

Dexter watches him, offering a nod that passes for approval. “Nice work,” he says, nodding to the table “Set him there.”

Miller lowers the body onto the center of the plastic. Sweat beads along his brow, nerves pulsing under the surface. He’s been on edge since he entered the room. Easy to steer. Eager to please, and more importantly, easy to manipulate.
Still, there’s an edge tonight, something grumbling beneath the obedience. Maybe it's fatigue or maybe doubt. Old men don't like feeling handled, he knows that from experience.

The victim is small, wiry. White male, early 30s. There’s a scar above his right eyebrow and a cigarette burn on his neck, signs Dexter knows well too. The man’s name is Harold Greves. He tortured his girlfriend for over a year, then nearly killed her in a basement in Hialeah. She lived, but barely. The courts failed her. He’d been on his list for months before the Bay Harbor Butcher incident. He’d finally get a use out of him. 

Dexter lets his eyes linger on the victim’s face. Even unconscious, Harold wears the faint, contemptuous look of someone who thinks pain belongs to other people. Dexter feels no hesitation to make the kill. It won't be as good as it would be to kill Miller, but he’ll do.

Miller steps back, stretching his shoulders with a grimace. “What’d he do?” he asks, eyeing the victim with disdain. “You never said.”

Dexter shrugs slightly, voice low behind the mask. “He hurt someone. Bad. Kept her tied up for six days.”

Miller’s lip curls. “Sick freak. I followed him for two days. Saw him pick up a girl near Biscayne, try to get her in his car.” His hand gestures vaguely, but there’s something sharp in the way he spits it out. Maybe he’s offended, or it reminds him of something personal. He’ll never know what it is. Dexter nods once, letting silence settle over them. He never asked Miller to follow Harold, just told him a name. Miller took initiative. Maybe to prove himself or for something uglier. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that Greves is here, exactly where he should be. Exactly as I envisioned.

Dexter crouches beside the body, examining the victim’s face. Miller is already wrapping his boy up in the plastic, just as Dexter instructed him to over the phone. He doesn't even have to tell him to start, so that’s that. His breathing is shallow. Still alive. Still a chance to make this right, or at least, feel right. Miller steps closer after he’s done, trying to get a look. “So what now?” There’s a pause before he speaks, like he’s weighing whether to add something else, to ask again who the hell this masked guy really is. Who the Butcher really is. He can read the curiosity on his face, loud and clear. But he bites it back with some old-school restraint. Still, it simmers.

“Now,” Dexter says smoothly, reaching into his kit, “we get ready.”

He pulls out a small vial and a syringe, pretends it’s something for the victim. The same tranquilizer as ever, his safe old bet. Miller watches, eyes fixed on the needle, not questioning, though his jaw ticks once. A little movement, like a dog unsure if it should bark or back off. His hands rest on his hips for a beat too long. He’s sceptical but not brave enough to speak it aloud. He disgusts Dexter a lot, his whole persona.

“Hold him steady,” he orders, and as Miller crouches beside him, gripping the victim’s shoulder, Dexter turns the needle slightly and drives it into Miller’s neck.

“What the–”

Miller jerks back, hand flying up to his throat, but it’s already taking effect. His balance falters and his eyes blink unevenly. The confusion that flashes across his face is more frustration than fear. Not panic, just a very tired man pissed to be caught off guard. Dexter steadies him with a hand on the shoulder.

“Shhh. It’s fine,” he says quietly. “Just go to sleep.”

Miller collapses backward, body twitching once before going still. It will be a while before he wakes up.

Dexter doesn’t allow himself to relax, even now. Old men are unpredictable. Sometimes they come back swinging when they should be dead asleep. Now, Dexter can finally breathe.

He turns to the victim.

No witnesses. No noise. No distractions.

Except…

The man stirs. Groans faintly, head twitching to the side. Harold’s eyelids flutter. Then they open. Bleary. Confused. Dexter sighs. Right on time. 

He grabs the roll of duct tape from the kit and wraps a tight band over Harold’s mouth before he can scream. The man writhes instinctively, but Dexter pins him down with a hand to the chest, calm and practiced. His breathing stays level. The ritual begins.

He grabs the knife he's prepared, not out of necessity or convenience, but desire. This one deserves it. Deserves to feel the cold precision of his blade, even if he never wakes to know it. Dexter works in silence, each incision practiced, exact. The ritual grounds him. Anchors him. He won’t pretend he’s doing this to get justice anymore.

Stepping to the tray, he lifts the scalpel. Then he gets his slide. The drop of blood taken from Harold’s cheek is neat, perfect. He holds the glass square to the light. It catches it like a diamond, red and final. This is what I needed. I don’t need anything else other than this. Not even Harry.

“Harold Greaves,” he says. “You tied a woman to a pipe in your basement and beat her until her jaw broke. You left her there for six days. You walked free.” His own voice, even through the mask, sounds like something deeper. Sharper. Hollowed out for purpose.

Harold’s eyes are wide now, pure animal panic. He fights the tape with little jerks, weak ones.

“This is what the justice system missed,” Dexter whispers. “Not me, though.”

It’s over in an instant. He raises the knife, holding it over the body for a second, savouring the kill. When it goes through, blood pools where it should. The plastic cradles it. Not a drop is wasted. He stares down at the body, chest open, life gone.

It’s beautiful. 

After staring at his work for a moment, Dexter turns back to Miller, unconscious on the floor. The next phase begins.

He strips off the bloody apron and gloves, cleans his hands with practiced speed, to then dress Miller in his own killing clothes, the ones already prepped with blood. Gloves. Boots. The stained apron. He smears blood across the sleeves and hands, under the fingernails. A hasty job, believable. Clumsy in the way it needs to be.
The boots are too tight on Miller’s swollen ankles, Dexter has to force them on. Miller groans faintly but doesn’t wake. Still breathing like a truck engine trying to turn over. Just loud enough to be a nuisance.

He drags Miller across the floor, positions him at the victim’s side, tucks a wiped-down, empty gun into his waistband. Cuts the ropes he previously bound him with. One wrist. Then the other. They hang loose now, frayed, with no sign of abrasion on the skin to tell a story.

This story is where Miller lost control. Dexter stands back and surveys it. It looks impulsive. Sloppy. Real. And it’ll be confusing as hell when Miller wakes up. That’s the point. He’ll have questions. Dexter imagines the old bastard’s voice now, grumbling through cracked lips: “Who the fuck are you?” Maybe there’s some satisfaction in that. Let him chew on mystery as his end closes in.

.

He steps outside the unit and takes a breath. There’s not a sound around, just the faint noises of the city, cars and all. Looking up at the sky, he wonders if he’ll be able to be normal again with Doakes after this. It’s enough time to settle his voice. There’s no hesitation when he pulls out his phone to call Doakes. The phone picks up quickly.

“What the fuck do you want?”

The violence in his voice is clear. He’s still mad at me. Perfect.

“James,” he says, breathing quickly, voice strained, just enough panic in the delivery. “I lost it. I followed him. I– I thought I could stop him, but… he went inside one of the units. I think he’s got someone in there.”

A beat of silence. Then, a flare of anger ignites on the other end of the line.

“You followed him?” Doakes' voice cuts through, sharp and incredulous. “What the fuck, Dexter? You went off alone again? After everything?”

Dexter paces a few feet from the door, keeping his voice low and urgent. “I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t plan to– I just saw him and,”

“No. Don’t give me that impulsive shit,” James snaps, his voice heated, fast. “You don’t get to pull this lone wolf act and then dump it in my lap like I’m your fucking safety net.”

Dexter clenches his jaw, but his voice stays measured. “I’m not asking you to fix it. Just come. Please.”

“Where the fuck are you?!” Doakes growls. “You know what, just text me the address. I can’t fucking believe you. The tracker shows his fucking car is at his home, did he take a taxi or what?”

“I think it’s his wife’s. Saw the plate only partially.”

He exhales hard, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, but colder. “You don’t get to do this and then pretend you didn’t. Not after the shit you pulled this morning.”

Dexter closes his eyes, letting the words sting. “Look, I’m outside the unit. I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“You better stay that way.” There’s fury barely held back. “Don’t touch a goddamn thing. Don’t say a word to him and don’t fucking even try to play the hero. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Dexter slides the phone into his pocket, jaw tight. The echo of James' voice lingers longer than the call. Not just the rage, the hurt beneath it. It’s messier than it should be.

He draws a breath and looks toward the door. It’s almost time. One last act to finish. One final push before he hands James the lie and watches him swallow it.

.

Back inside, Miller begins to stir. It’s been awhile since he called Doakes, so he could be here anytime now. Dexter kneels beside him again. Miller blinks, groggy and slow, confused. Dexter pulls back then, standing up to be out of reach.

“You did this,” he murmurs softly, not with malice, but with finality.

He grabs his gun and points it at him. Even if it’s empty, it works. Miller is still confused from the drugs, but he’s free from any restraint, just the gun to stop him from trying to do anything. Dexter’s got the gloves he needs to cover his finger prints, so when he tosses the gun to him there will be nothing but Miller on the metal. Everything’s in place, now it’s just a matter of waiting for Doakes. For the truth to take the shape Dexter’s given it. For justice, or at least, the illusion of it, to play out the way he designed it.

Miller keeps on talking, even if he’s got a gun to his face. “You can call the police I don’t fucking care. I want you to. I want to be remembered when I die.”

Dexter snorts, amused. It’s pathetic. Just like him.

“So you’re willing to accept the charges for me,” he says flatly.

“I will, but I’m going to kill you before I do that.” Miller says daringly, annoying even when he’s got no reason to be.

“Why did you copy me?” Dexter asks, even if he knows the answer. Miller holds his stare for a second and gets up from the ground. Dexter doesn’t budge, lets him do it, still pointing the gun to his face.

“I always wanted to know how it felt. I didn’t like being in the shadows.” he says slowly, like it’s not a sad answer. It’s disappointing. It’s pathetic. Just like him.

He takes off his mask, finally revealing himself.

“Morgan?” 

The way Miller recognizes him is like a gift. He likes watching the surprise on his eyes. 

“I know. Shocking right?”

Miller scoffs, returning to his bitter face. “You were always the weird kid. I never hanged around Harry, he was mental”

Dexter tightens his grip on the gun. “If you’re trying to get a reaction, you won’t get one”

“That’s why you are like this, isn’t it? Harry is got to be the creep to teach his own son how to kill” Miller presses into it. He shouldn’t be feeling so defensive of a man he swore he wouldn’t follow anymore, but just hearing his father's old co-worker say things he doesn’t even know, bugs him the wrong way.

“You don’t fucking know anything about–”

“That’s why he killed himself, isn’t it?”

He’s too slow to react to the statement. His phone rings suddenly, surely Doakes who’s just arrived. There’s no time to overthink now.

“Dexter!”

Doakes is outside of the storage unit, pounding at the metal blinds. Dexter smiles warmly at Miller before tossing him the empty gun. Miller catches it in the air, fumbling a little bit, surprised.

“Any last words?”

It all happens very quickly. 

The door of the storage unit starts to open wide as Doakes pushes it, body slamming it. Just as he finishes the sentence. Miller, shocked at the sound, jumps in place, tries to shoot the gun. It doesn’t shoot since there’s no bullet inside. 

Doakes sees him through the thin gap of the metal as it rises. His eyes widen. He barely gets a shout out before Miller is running to him. Doakes opens the metal blinds of the storage room loudly, but it’s too late.

Miller crashes into him. It’s wild, almost animal-like. The glint of the blade flashes just once. Miller must’ve hidden it in his boot. Dexter clocked the bulge earlier, but didn't expect him to act so quickly, so stupidly. There’s blood on his side suddenly, he can feel the sharp pain of a blade tearing through him. Why didn’t I fucking check for a knife? I’m a fucking idiot. That’s the last coherent thought he has.

A gun goes off and Miller drops to the ground. Dexter watches him fall, he splashes into the blood covered plastics. Very slowly, he feels his knees weaken, falling down too.

Doakes shouts something –his name?– but it sounds muffled. Like he’s underwater. Like the blood already flooding his gut has started filling his ears too. The room spins. It smells like iron. The part of him that feels everything stutters into static. The part of him that feels nothing breathes in relief.

The last thing he sees is Doakes hanging over him. He closes his eyes, feeling tired all of the sudden.

Chapter Text

-while the evidence in this case ultimately led to the apprehension and conviction of the primary suspect, we recognize that the investigative process leading to that outcome was deeply flawed. The involvement of individuals with prior connections to the suspect, including law enforcement personnel who were themselves, at one point, considered persons of interest, has raised serious questions regarding the integrity and transparency of the operation.

We acknowledge that this overlap created conditions under which the objectivity of the investigation could reasonably be called into question. Although the final outcome aligned with the evidence, the path to that outcome was marred by procedural irregularities and possible breaches of protocol.

A full internal review is currently underway, and we are cooperating with independent oversight bodies to evaluate every stage of the operation. This review will include a detailed examination of internal communications, chain-of-command decisions, and the appropriateness of allowing certain individuals to remain involved in an active investigation where their impartiality may have been compromised.

We understand that public trust is built not only on results, but on the transparency and ethics of the process used to achieve them. To that end, we are taking immediate and decisive steps to reinforce safeguards within our field offices and investigative divisions. 

Our goal is to prevent any future erosion of the public’s confidence in our agency. We deeply regret the missteps that occurred during this investigation, and we are committed to restoring the integrity of our processes. The safety of our communities, and the credibility of the justice system, depends on our ability to hold ourselves accountable.

While justice was ultimately served in this case, we recognize that the means by which it was delivered must meet the highest possible standards. We owe the public and every victim–

James stares at the TV, eyes fixed on the face that’s talking on the screen. He doesn’t feel his arms or legs anymore from being stuck in the damned uncomfortable sofa for hours now. The room they’ve put him in is driving him crazy. It’s not like it’s a shitty room, it’s got a private bathroom, two sofas, a comfortable enough bed and even a fucking private bathroom with a shower. But it’s a rat cage, the four walls caving in on him already. 

The worst part is the man sitting on the opposite sofa. His every move is being watched carefully. The FBI agent they assigned to him, hasn’t left his side for a moment in the past two days. Turning to him he observes the quiet and unmoving man, not a single thing to distract him from the task. He’s used to seeing that look, knows it better than anyone. He’s been in his shoes before. It’s no use staring, so James squints his eyes away carefully, watching the bright optimistic poster right beside the door. It’s the same old poster that’s hanging in every corner at the station, untouched and neat at the common office’s space, almost torn up to pieces in the lower jail cells, those ones without even a full bed to sleep on. Here, the poster feels like it’s just decaying on its own. Ironic since…

‘Every day is a new beginning’

He could punch the poster right through the wall right now if there wasn’t a fucking FBI agent watching his every move. The last two days have been hell on earth. Can’t even take a piss without someone hanging on the other side of the door. That’s not the worst part though.

The picture of Dexter bleeding out on the ground of that storage unit is engraved into the back of his head, won’t stop repeating even now watching the screen and all the bullshit they’re saying about the case. He can only think of Dexter and the blood, and the motherfucker serial killer dying beside him… too fucking late. He’d been too slow. It had all been his fault. Everything . Dexter could’ve died and his fucking blood would’ve been in his hand. Hell, it literally was, so much blood pouring out of him. He thought that would’ve been it…

He still sees Kara sometimes, just as she was last time. Lifeless on the floor, eyes wide open like she was still trying to say something. Dead people don’t say shit though. He had loved her. Maybe not perfectly, maybe not in time, but enough that her absence still hurts like a phantom limb. His father, too. He’d watched him die, slowly on a machine. That moment had been almost euphoric. The end to all the suffering he’d put his family through. A relief tangled with guilt. He’d loved him too, in the end. He’d seen people he cared about die before. Too many. Too close. Right in front of him.

And every time, it took something from him he couldn’t get back.

There’s been deaths because of him too. The people he shot down on the job. The ones he killed when he was in Special Ops. He knows death more than any normal person should. He’s caused it many times. He could've made a huge mistake with his ex wife. He' s a violent person and that ain’t changing anytime soon.

This feels different. There’s no death yet, not as far as he knows, but he feels the loss nonetheless. He pushed Dexter into it and there is no excuse for it. It has been entirely his fault, no one else’s. Knowing Dexter he should’ve known something like this was about to happen, if he let the man alone for a single second.

He almost died in front of me. All because of me. Two seconds earlier. That’s all it would’ve taken. Two fucking seconds and maybe none of this would’ve happened. And the last thing they did together? They fought. Of course it was a fucking fight. A fight all because of his own inability to face his fucking fears. A fight because he is too scared of admitting what he is inside, of what he really wants now. 

And such irony it is, that he’d asked Dexter to actually be with him the day before it happened. To be a real thing, what they both have. Had. What a fucking irony he’d rather throw it all away for his fucking pride. He’d asked him to be with him and Dexter had agreed. He’d come to him, he’d had his trust to talk about things he knows hasn’t said to anyone else. He’d trusted him. But he’d shown him his worst. And Dexter had showed he truly didn’t give a fuck about him in return. He just cared about… He doesn’t even know what he cared about when they were together. Maybe he was just a convenient person to let it all out. Maybe he will never know.

That was how they work, in the end. Dexter doesn’t care for him, not the way he has started to care for him. It’s too close to love, he had to make Dexter bleed out because of him to realize, and now he’s fucked it up for real. I always fall for the impossible, don’t I?

Doakes exhales hard, like the air has been caught in his ribs for hours. He hadn’t cried, not yet. Not in front of them of all people, but the ache is there, behind his eyes, thick in his throat. He hasn’t felt the need to cry in a long fucking time. He clenches his fists just to keep still. Because if he moves, if he says one word out loud, the damn might break.

They will ask him soon, what happened, what led to the shooting. It’s been the stipulated time of holding, so it’s gonna be today, the audience. They will try to peel back the timeline, break it down into actions, motives, justifications. They will try to destroy him, that’s for sure. But none of them know what really matters to him, not that Miller had a knife, or that the gun was empty, but that he's almost lost Dexter. Hell, he could very well die from the injury in the hospital. Last he knew he was stable, on the verge of something worse, but stable. But he’s seen far too many injuries, it all could go wrong in a second. And now, fucking now of all times, Doakes has realized how much he still wants him to stay with him. 

He leans his head back against the sofa he’s sitting in, eyes closed. Breathing shallow.

He doesn’t pray, not really. Hasn’t since he was twelve and dragged into the church by his mother. But right now, he is close to getting down on his knees and begging to whoever that will listen.

“Just don’t die, Morgan,” he mutters to himself, very quietly and barely a whisper. “Don’t fucking dare to die on me…”

The agent turns a little, but the voice is inaudible. He makes sure of it.

.

It’s not long before there’s a knock on the door. The agent stands up and leaves the room. Maria enters, as dressed up as ever, looking impossibly determined. Her heels click loudly against the hard wooden floor. Doakes is not in the mood for lectures, so he doesn’t look up from the TV. The same statement is on repeat. It’s almost as if they are trying to make him break down. It’s impossible at this point, no matter how many times they want him to watch him before the questioning. Only if Dexter dies, that’s when I break.

Maria stands in front of him for a second before sitting down on the sofa the agent was sitting before. She takes a look around, unimpressed. The TV keeps on repeating the same channel, no room to escape the situation.

“They got you entertained huh?”

He snaps his eyes up to her, narrowing his eyes. If she thinks this is funny, she can go to hell. No matter how much he loves her, this feels like he’s walking on a live wire that could go off anytime soon. He’d appreciate not a fucking joke, thank you very much.

“They've got me fucking jailed.” he grumbles, frowning in the process. “Not that much fun in that.”

Maria purses her lips as if he’s being difficult. “It's protocol. And may I remind you, you agreed to this. Once we’re out of the meeting you’re free to go.”

“Fuck protocol. I’ve been in here for two days already.”

That seems to break the ice a little. Maria smirks, not quite laughing, but he gets it. He’s just feeling violent. He knows it’s not her fault. It’s your own fault, his mind whispers.

“Ever so subtle, you are.” she says, nodding to herself.

“Right.”

There’s a silence that stretches for a bit. It’s weird that Maria is out of words, but he guesses the situation’s weird per se.

“So what do you think?” She says after a moment, nods to the TV, the statement on repeat.

James scoffs. “Prior connections to the suspect? That’s fucking bullhit.”

With a swift move she stands up and turns off the damned screen. He sighs in relief, leans back as much as he can without falling off the thing. The fucking agent wouldn’t let him turn it off, so silence, real silence, is nice. Of course it doesn’t last long.

“What the fuck were you two thinking James?”

His blood runs cold, “Dexter had nothing to do with it. It was all me.”

Maria twists a smile with a brow raised. “You think the FBI is going to believe that? That they aren’t going to check cameras, phone records? They want to know everything.”

She pauses for a second, frowning. Like something is eating her inside up. There’s nothing good in that stop, James knows her and she’s debating whether to say something, nothing good probably.

“I fear they’ll know what you’ve got going on with Dexter too…”

For a minute the whole world stops. The implications are way too strong, and Maria is way too smart to not mean anything by it. His heart feels like jumping right out of his skin.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he mutters, trying to not let too much show on his face. Of course he fails miserably.

Maria looks hurt now. He’s seen her hurt before. He’s been the cause, countless times, especially when they were together. This feels like betrayal. “I think you know. And for the record, I don’t give a shit who you fuck, or if it’s men you want. I’d just thought you’d trust me with it. After all we’ve been through.”

“What the fuck are you trippin’ on ?! ” he yells, standing up all of the sudden. The room is starting to feel too fucking small, like the walls are caving out on him. Maria stares at him intensely, there’s nowhere to go.

“Don’t fucking test me James. I know there’s no Jane. There never was, was it?”

His fists curl up violently. Why does he get so fucking angry? María barely said anything, and it hit him like a fist to the gut. She takes a step back, cautious. She’s expecting something more, a lash out most likely, and then some yelling. She wouldn’t be wrong in assuming that. It’s been a pattern to him, hasn't it?

He feels cornered, like she accused him of something criminal. It’s not right. Dexter is on the verge of death for all he knows and the only thing he worries about is people knowing he likes men? It’s absurd.

And it’s not just with Maria. It was the same when he found out Dexter told Deb. That white-hot fury. That loss of control. It had felt like a betrayal. Why does it feel like such a goddamn violation for people to know?

It’s not like he’s never fucked men before, it’s not a first to him. Not at all. He has. More than a few. He’s not naive, he knows who he is, what he is. But this thing with Dexter, it’s not just the sex. It’s not just the impulse. It’s real and it's visible, he can’t hide that anymore. Worst of all, it’s intimate. Being with Dexter isn’t something he can hide behind a one-night stand. 

Now María knows. Deb knows. And maybe more will. Instead of feeling free, he feels exposed and disarmed. Like they can all see the soft part of him he spent decades convincing himself didn’t exist. Anger has always been easier than shame. If he yells loud enough maybe they won’t see the boy who learned early that being ‘that kind of man’ made you a target, made you something disgusting.

For him love is a liability, always has been, he’d always fallen too hard, too deep. That needing someone, especially needing a man , makes him feel like a thing to be picked apart. So yeah. He gets angry. That’s how it’s always been from the moment he was forced to confront his liken to men isn’t just some kind of pastime. And he thought he could separate that part of him. That he would never be one of those unnatural men, part of that… He gets furious for even hearing himself associated with that stand. Anything else would mean sitting in with the truth. And that’s the one thing he’s never been trained for.

So, there was never a Jane no. There was Dexter, Dexter, only him for the past two months. God, for the past year is he counts the obsession he had, the many times he harassed him on his fucking hell of a suspition. A suspicion that turned out wrong. An attraction that result in a fucking too intense of an attachment which might have been cut abruptly that last night. He couldn’t even say it to him.

He doesn’t care if he doesn’t feel the same anymore. He couldn’t either that night, not even when Dexter was bleeding out on the floor. It’s all he can see now, him covered in blood and almost dying in front of himself. He also sees the morning before all of that, the anger behind his eyes almost hateful at his accusations. Hell, he’s seeing the night before , he can see Dexter laying on his sheets after having sex, cheeks flushed and wide eyed looking like he’s the only thing that matters in the world. Dexter saying they aren’t anything. Dexter telling him he’s the only man he’s ever wanted. For a second, any fear or anger he had is subdued.

“James?” Maria is still waiting for an answer patiently. The voice comes out small, so unlike her… And looking at her from his couch, there’s a look he can’t decipher. He doesn’t want to decipher it. He already knows Maria is the only lifeline he’s got right now. He knows she won’t let him down. Hell, he wouldn’t judge someone by this, knows Maria wouldn’t judge him either. Maybe she’s mad at him. She’s got the right to be. God, she should absolutely be.

“What do you want me to say?” he whispers, falling back on the sofa. He puts his hands on his head, rubbing them against his face. It just makes him feel weak. He had learned that strength meant keeping that kind of shit locked down. His father had beaten it down deep, not that he ever knew. James would like to consider he’d be smart enough to not give that man any more reason to. Being vulnerable with a man? Loving a man? That’s destroying all the bricks he’s carefully put down to protect himself. It rewrites him. And that makes his skin crawl. The worst part, the really really bad part, it’s not because it’s wrong or because he doesn’t want it. He fucking asked Dexter for more. He wants more. But somewhere, deep down, he still believes he shouldn’t. That it makes him less of a man. A joke of a man. Even if he logically knows that’s bullshit.

Maria softens her tone, but he can feel anger mixed in there too. Her brow twitches slightly, not even looking at him. “Something so I can understand. Did what we had mean nothing to you?”

He can hear the small hurt on the end of her tone. They’ve known each other for years, he could recognize the slightest variation of meaning from a frown. Yet he’s never told him of this side of him. It never even crossed his mind once. Of course she’d think it was all a lie. Couldn't be further from the truth. He loved her, loved her a lot. Still does, just not the same. She’s one of the few people he truly trusts, with all his heart. For a moment he feels bad. He knows how this looks from the outside. She’s owed an explanation he’s not sure he can give right now. But he’ll try.

“I’ve only loved women. Men were just…” a beat goes through, the knot in his throat getting bigger and bigger, “Until now.”

He can’t say the words out loud, but he knows it’s true. What he feels for Dexter, after everything they’ve been through it’s too close to that. He’s felt like this before, always too fucking soon, too fucking intense, but never with a man.

Maria nods, seemingly taking in the words as if they burn. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, the wrong way to put it, but he knows she’s too smart to misunderstand him. “So you love him?”

Do I? 

He almost laughs. Scratch that, he actually laughs out loud. He’s not smiling though.

“I don’t fucking know. I’m so fucking ashamed of myself I can’t even– fuck. It wasn’t fucking relevant okay? When we were together. Yeah, I like men, I’ve always known. But it wasn’t… I did not cheat on you with them, if that’s what you’re wondering. I still love you, just not like– not now anyway but what we had was real. I loved you properly, Maria.”

When he looks up, it’s not as bad as he thought it’d be. Maria isn’t getting angry or disgusted. She’s just in deep thought, as if she’s assimilating his explanation. She’s good at assessing the truth after all. She’s good at taking the truth and accepting the gruesome things in life. The lies everyone lives with.

“Okay. For how long?” she asks after a moment. Of course, as quick as it went, the anger rises again, this time tamed and in a fucking ironic reply instead of violence.

“How long I’ve been a faggot, you mean?” he spits the words as if they’ll make it better.

Maria raises a brow, skeptic to this outburst.

“You’re putting words into my mouth. I’m trying to understand James. That’s all.”

James can’t really take it anymore. “I’d thought you’d be more interested in how we caught Miller,”

That seems to bring Maria right back into reality. She sobers up a little, fidgeting with one of her many bracelets. “I am. I am fucking trying to put this in perspective, but I can’t get over–”

That’s it. His mind is racing back and forth. He couldn’t care less about Miller, or the FBI on his back, just Dexter almost dying on him is enough to make it lose it. To put his own situation in perspective. But all Maria can see is the gay part. Which it’s not even a thing, since I still really like women. The fucking irony of it... 

“I fucking knew it. That’s why this has been a separate area of my life. This is why I’ve never told anyone. Now this is going to get out–”

“Let’s not get ahead. Even if they find out–”

He laughs again. Hell, this conversation is resulting to be much more amusing than he thought. It’s almost laughable that such a capable, intelligent woman wouldn’t be able the damage this would unleash on his persona. “You don’t think they are not going to use this against me? I can fucking see the headlines already…”

Maria smirks. It’s not a good timing to be smirking, in his own humble fucking opinion. If that even matters, that is. 

“I don’t think they will.”

She’s always gotta be two steps ahead, don’t she? 

“Why?” he asks carefully.

“Morgan– and I mean Debra, won’t let Lundy do that. And I want to believe he’s got more integrity than to use that against you.”

It’s a good point. But not solid enough. Even if Lundy won’t use it, he knows his whole team are some bunch of scum rats ready to pounce on him. So this is it. This is where his life gets the 360 turn he didn’t even see coming. He feels numb. For a second he wonders if this is what Dexter feels when he says he can’t feel nothing.

“Whatever. I don’t fucking care anymore. I’m out of here the second this ‘investigation’ concludes.” then, softer. He can’t help himself on the next part. “I just want him to be alright. Is, is he–”

It’s true. It feels weird admitting that outloud. But he’s been in this gilded cage for two days in a row, the case definitely closed and no news from the ginger fucking freak. He can’t let pride outweigh his need for knowledge. Maria takes pity on him right away. 

“He’s going to be fine. He awoke last morning. He’s going to live through this James. I can assure you that a hundred percent.”

A heavy breath overcomes him. It’s the best he’s felt in the past days, ever since he watched Dexter get stabbed in the fucking chest. He’s going to live. No matter what happens, he’s living. Maria must understand, since she gets up and sits beside him, rubbing a hand over his left arm, comforting. She always had that effect on him.

She's still rubbing his arm as she whispers into his ear, “You know Matthews is fighting for you right?” 

The change of subject is crude, but it brings him right back into the room. 

“Hah. I find it fucking hard to believe.” he says, pulling away from her. Maria, in turn, straightens her shirt as she states the facts. 

“Well he is. He hates the suited bastards way more than you do, I’m telling you that. He won't let them throw you under the bus like this. We will fight this.”

Maybe this is what she came here to talk about. It probably is.

“I don’t want to return Maria.” he says, putting his foot down. He knows he probably won't be able to, but he also knows how stubborn she is. With a nod, she stands up again, pacing back and forth across the room.

“We’ll see about that. Now hang on tight. We have to get through this meeting and you’ll be free to go.”

“I'd rather be dead than talk with the bastards. I’ll just sit there. If they want answers they can do their motherfucking job,” he spits out.

She throws him a hard look before turning to look at the narrow window of the holding cell. “You know, if you talk to them I can drive you to the hospital later. If you want, that is,”

Doakes snaps his head up to stare at Maria, who’s still got her back turned to him. His heart is racing just to the mention of actually seeing him.

“It’s been two days. I only know he is going to live through this because you told me. Of course I want to fucking see him.” he deflates, rubbing the back of his head back and forth, both hands on it. “They won’t let me see him anyway. I fucking know that, conflict of interests and shit. So don't rub it in, please.”

“Just talk to them James. I’m not as powerless as you think. And then you can see him.I   promise.”  

A wave of something comes over him. “He won't see me.” 

Don’t fucking act like I’m the one invested in this shit.

The words ring inside like a fucking broken record.

“Why wouldn’t he?” she asks, turning to him again like that of all things surprises him.

He sighs, defeated. This is about to sound pathetic, “We had a fight. The morning of. I was a fucking asshole to him. I said some things– don’t get me wrong, he said some shit too that– I don't fucking know. I think it's only me that…”

“We all say hurtful shit when we're angry,”

“No, Dexter is just… I don't think he could feel the same way about me. Even if he wanted to. I’m telling you Maria, that creep motherfucker was only using me, all this fucking time. Meant nothing to him. Said so himself.”

Maria shakes his head, “You're always assuming James. You take things for granted and then go and make the worse fucking decisions. That’s why you never told me right?” she doesn’t wait for an answer, “This isn’t as bad as you think. I get it’s a touchy subject and all but–”

“I can't handle people knowing Maria. Even you, this is– this makes me feel repulsed, all over. I can handle fucking men here and then with anyone knowing, but being in love with one? It makes me feel like a poof. A proper faggot, shit .”

Maria looks him up and down, frowning. “Who's talking now?”

“What?”

“You can be an asshole but you respect people. You wouldn’t say that to another person- Hell, you’ve got a list of fucked up shit I’ve heard you say, not this. This isn't you, so who is it? Your father?”

“Fuck Maria this isn't fucking therapy.” he complains, tired of the way she’s seeing through him so fucking spot on.

“You're braver than this. And look, I imagine this can't be easy. I don't have a fucking clue how it's like, I'm not going to pretend I do. But the James I know doesn't get small like you are now. It's an uncomfortable situation, I get that, but you of all people know how to pull through.”

“It's not a situation Maria, it's my fucking life.”

“Does he make you happy?”

His head is so blank he really can’t even process the question right.

“You don't have to answer now. But if he does, I think you should fight for it. You are what you are, but please, don't be a pussy.”

He laughs bitterly. Maybe Maria is right. She always is, after all.

“Come on now. We’ve got the FBI waiting for us.”

LETTER – FBI to Miami Metro (Confidential)

To: Captain Thomas Matthews, Miami Metro Police Department
CC: Special Agent Frank Lundy, FBI Behavioral Science Unit
From: Office of the Deputy Director, FBI Field Operations – Southeast Division
Subject: Re: Sergeant James Doakes – Departmental Integrity & Public Perception

CONFIDENTIAL – NOT FOR PUBLIC RELEASE

Captain Matthews,

As the federal agency supporting the aftermath of the recent operation, we commend your department’s cooperation throughout the investigation. However, in light of recent developments, we feel obligated to formally recommend that Sergeant James Doakes be relieved of active duty or assigned to administrative oversight pending the outcome of internal and federal reviews.

While the Bureau does not question Sergeant Doakes' personal integrity or courage, the fact remains that his unauthorized involvement in the Miller investigation — while he was still considered a suspect in a federal serial homicide case — has created complications regarding chain-of-command, public trust, and procedural legitimacy.

We understand public sentiment has momentarily swung in his favor. However, in the interest of safeguarding the department’s long-term credibility, we believe his continued presence on active homicide cases will draw unnecessary attention and cast doubt on every case he touches.

Additionally, the Bureau is aware of forensic specialist Dexter Morgan’s proximity to recent events. While his role appears to have been more limited and reactive in nature, his involvement still raises procedural questions, particularly regarding his personal association with Sergeant Doakes during an ongoing federal investigation. At this time, we are not recommending formal disciplinary action against Mr. Morgan. However, we urge Miami Metro to evaluate his casework for potential conflict of interest concerns moving forward, and to ensure clear boundaries are observed in future joint operations.

Please treat this communication as an urgent recommendation.

Sincerely,
Deputy Director Anita Pierce
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Southeast Division

“What the fuck is this shit?” Matthews slams the letter on the desk. 

Why he agreed to this meeting is beyond James. Not that he really had a choice, would’ve had to talk to someone, want it or not. But this, being in between the Miami PD and the FBI, stared at like he’s a fucking lab experiment, just makes him angry as hell. 

Whitaker, Lundy, and their whole team of other five people who surely will not speak a word the whole time they’re here, are sitting in a row like a little pathetic army. The infamous Miss Pierce, hasn’t even deigned to show up. On the other side of the table, Matthews and Maria are standing alone, but James knows they're sweating big time. 

“We are to discuss this now.” Whitaker says, in the monotone voice he’s never out of.

Lundy follows, cold as ever "Let me start by saying the FBI recognizes the urgency of this case, so thank you all for being here. However, the facts remain. Damian Miller was never a confirmed suspect. He was on a preliminary list of persons of interest, but no formal investigation was underway. Despite that, Sergeant Doakes, who was on unpaid leave at the time, took it upon himself to intervene without notifying command. That’s not just reckless, it’s unacceptable. So we have some questions, of course."

Whitaker almost doesn’t let Lundy finish, “Sergeant Doakes, why did you choose to investigate Miller independently, without informing command or the FBI?”

Sighing, James starts. Better to get this over soon. “Because I knew something was off about him. I wasn’t launching a case, I was following a gut instinct. And the moment I had something real, I called it in. Don’t you fucking forget that.”

“Do you acknowledge that your actions could have compromised an ongoing federal investigation?” Lundy scratches his nose nonchalantly as if James himself didn’t know it. It makes his blood boil.

“I acknowledge that if I hadn’t stepped in, the FBI wouldn’t even be here talking about this case. You didn’t have Miller on your radar. I did.”

Lundy squints his eyes like a fucking snake waiting to catch it’s prey.

“So you believed your leave permitted you to act in an investigative capacity?”

He has to laugh at that, he really does, “I wasn’t acting in any capacity. I wasn’t wearing a badge or using Miami Metro resources. I was a citizen with experience, following a hunch that turned out to be right.” he says, squinting his eyes as well. Two can play this game.

Lundy nods and his whole suited up army of rats start scribbling on their notebooks.

The questions follow. “Why was Dexter Morgan involved? What role did he play in your operation?”

Hearing Dexter’s name only makes him more protective of him. There’s a flash of the blood, of him losing conscience on him. He leans on the table and stares at Whitaker, trying to fulminate him with his eyes, “There was no ‘operation.’ Morgan followed

Miller on his own, we had had the same hunch since the beginning, he called me when things went sideways. I went to extract him. That’s the full story.”

“Did you consider that engaging with a suspect without backup could have endangered both you and Mr. Morgan?”

Doakes is getting more defensive as the interview goes on, "I wasn’t about to wait. As soon as Morgan called me I called the police immediately when I realized Miller was involved. Miller was dangerous. I got to the scene before the FBI and Miami Metro even arrived. He had already killed another victim before Morgan found him. I wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines and wait for y'all just because I was on leave."

Whitaker writes on his pad as the rest of the other motherfuckers in suits do. 

Laguerta cuts in, nodding,  "I support Sergeant Doakes on this. His swift response likely prevented more bloodshed. We have the trophy box from the last crime scene, bearing Miller’s prints. That ties him directly to the murders, even if the FBI hadn’t identified him as a serious suspect yet. What more do you need?"

Lundy raises an eyebrow at that, “Lieutenant, if you excuse us, we’re speaking to James Doakes right now and his part in this. Please don’t interrupt again.”

“ Sergeant Doakes.” she remarks, leaning back on the chair. James smirks. She’s not backing down from this.

Matthews clearing throat "I ain’t going to interrupt you much, but I’m going to say this. Miller’s involvement was established at the scene thanks to evidence collected by Miami Metro. While the FBI hadn’t pinned him down, that doesn’t lessen the fact that Doakes stopped a killer. And to clarify, Doakes used his registered personal weapon to kill Miller, perfectly legal. Miller’s own gun was unregistered."

Now the agents are very much listening to Matthews now. James and Maria exchange a look. Typical of men. Maria can’t say a word but the minute the Captain says something, all the attention is on him.

Lundy keeps going, skeptical "But the issue here is procedure. Unilateral action outside the chain of command undermines investigations. Doakes, Sergeant Doakes,” he says, with a fucking fake apologetic look to Maria “was on unpaid leave, a status that should have precluded him from operational involvement. Such breaches jeopardize the integrity of law enforcement work and put all parties at risk. Captain Matthews, were you aware that Sergeant Doakes was actively pursuing leads while on leave?”

Matthews throws his hands in the air, like he’s bored with the issue already. “Not formally, no. Sergeant Doakes didn’t report his movements to me. But knowing him, I’m not surprised he couldn’t let it go. He’s got a hell of a moral compass. I stand firmly behind Sergeant Doakes, the man risked his life to end a threat that our system had not yet fully addressed. Sometimes protocol has to bend when lives are at stake. We at Miami Metro support his judgment and bravery."

Lundy turns his eyes to James now. “So that justifies killing the suspect?”

He is quiet in his conviction. "Miller stabbed Morgan during the confrontation. It was a serious wound and it could’ve been fatal if I hadn’t intervened. My only regret is letting Morgan get involved and exposed to such danger. And not getting there soon enough."

Laguerta cuts in again, agreeing, "The timing here is critical too. Sergeant Doakes's call to the police was practically immediate after Morgan’s alert. Without that call, we might not have arrived in time. This kind of communication saved lives."

For a moment he really thinks the meeting is going to be over. The agents are silent, looking at each other as if there were no more to dig into. Maria’s got a fucking point they can’t ignore at all.

Lundy has to ruin that, of course, he opens his damned mouth leaning forward on the table, "I have to ask, what exactly is the nature of the relationship between Sergeant Doakes and Dexter Morgan? Their involvement seems unusually close. This raises concerns about potential bias and judgment, from the whole force even."

Doakes tenses up. "We’ve worked together before. I trust him even if I don’t show it around the station. We rely on each other when the system isn’t enough. And now we know it’s not enough, you bunch of–"

Matthews cuts in abruptly, "Dexter Morgan is Harry Morgan’s son, one of our finest detectives. There’s a familial bond there, yes, which is why he’s dear to all of us in the station. James has been here with us for over ten years already, so of course they know each other well as well. But more importantly, they’ve both proven themselves in the field. This isn’t about personal relationships undermining the process."

Whitaker, keeps on firm, "Regardless of relationships, the FBI has requested full access to all phone records between Sergeant Doakes and Morgan for the relevant dates. This is standard when chain of command breaches are suspected."

Matthews calm but firm, "We’ve complied fully. The records show no misconduct, only attempts to coordinate a dangerous situation and prevent further harm. You know that already. The evidence exonerates them on that front."

Whitaker is still stern, "The breach of procedure remains a serious concern. Bypassing the chain of command threatens departmental cohesion and undermines authority. We need the full transcripts."

Doakes punches the table as hard as he can. It’s a fucking joke now, all of it. "I did what needed to be done. But I won’t apologize for saving lives and stopping Miller."

Matthews puts a hand over his arm, stopping him from jumping over the table, "Miami Metro supports Sergeant Doakes. In extreme danger, he took initiative that few would. That deserves recognition, not punishment. Right, Lieutenant?"

"We all want justice. Thanks to Sergeant Doakes, we got it." Maria smiles at him, like it means shit to him. Justice is a fucking joke, that’s all he’s learned from this.

Whitaker reclines back reluctantly "This will be subject to thorough review. But insubordination on this scale sets a precedent. We cannot allow officers to operate outside protocols. Would you just agree to that, Sergeant?"

I’d very much agree to kicking the teeth out of your face right fucking now.

"Sometimes the system fails the people it’s supposed to protect. When that happens, you have to step in, even if it means stepping outside the lines. I stand by my actions."

Matthews speaks again, looking at Whitaker "If you want disciplinary action, convince Miami Metro. It won’t be easy. From where I stand, Doakes is a hero. He stopped a killer still free."

Maria adds her own thoughts to that, quickly as lightning. "And I remind you all Miller’s trophies were found at the last crime scene, prints all over. This wasn’t a guess. This was evidence."

Whitaker turns his notebook down, sighing, "I hear you. But FBI standards exist for a reason. We will proceed with an internal investigation. Miami Metro’s support is noted, but we will continue to monitor."

Doakes stands up, fed up with the bullshit they’re trying to put him through.

"I’m ready to accept consequences if necessary. But I will never regret acting to protect the innocent. If that’d be all, I’m leaving now."

When he takes a look around the table, Matthews looks proud at him for once in the time he’s been at Miami Metro. Lundy nods to the door, so he turns to leave, but hears Matthews words before he can exit the room, "And that is why this man deserves respect, not a reprimand."

Honestly, Doakes couldn’t care less about his former Captain’s approval. He’s not coming back to the job if he had a pistol to his head.

Maria has to finish some paperwork before going to the hospital. It’s been almost an hour and James can’t stand still for his life. The interviews, questioning, it’s all over for now. He should feel like he can breathe again, but he can’t. He can’t fucking breathe for his life. 

After this, it’s the hospital. It’s seeing the man he cares the most about bedbound. It’s the nerves of seeing Dexter finally, after the shitstorm that left him fucked . It’s the fear of getting rejected by the man who’s been his obsession for so fucking long. So he paces around the station, trying to evade the stare of everyone he passes through. They’re all watching him and for some reason he’s got no will to figure out what kind of look they have on. And so, he just walks around hoping to find a quiet spot. It’s not long before he reaches Lundy’s office. He stands just outside the frosted glass wall of his office, arms crossed, spine rigid. 

He’s not hiding, hell, he’s not the type, but he’s not making his presence known either. There’s a column just on the corner of the doorway that makes it as if he’s not there at all. The hallway is mostly empty here, so that’s something. From behind the column he’s reclining in he can make up some voices. He’s about to leave when he hears him loud and clear through the walls.

"Debra–"

Her voice is unmistakable. "I’ve been patient. I’ve kept my mouth shut. But if you think I’m gonna stand by while you treat my brother like some criminal–"

Doakes’s brow twitches. Her brother. She’s leading with that. He folds his arms tighter, tension creeping across his shoulders. Part of him wonders if she's speaking out to protect them– or just her brother. Probably this is just about Dexter. It always was for her.

"He was found at the scene of a murder, Debra."

"Yeah, because he followed a guy that you told me wasn’t worth a second look. Because he got there before we did. Because he did something. He could’ve died."

Doakes grits his teeth. Could’ve died? He still sees the blood. Dexter’s blood. And the way it looked spreading under him on concrete. That memory isn’t going anywhere.

"And that’s exactly the point. He shouldn’t have been there."

"Then where the hell were you? Where was the fucking cavalry?"

From behind the wall, Doakes can only see shadows, but he can picture the tension. Lundy, all measured and leaning back like the big-shot Fed he likes to play. Debra, burning. That fire of hers, it’s real. It always has been. He’s always admired that from her. But now it’s pointed straight at the Bureau, and she’s not taking any bullshit.

"I know this is personal. I understand your instinct to protect him. But you’re too close. You always have been."

Doakes blinks. Too close? It’s her fucking brother, they should be fucking close. At least Lundy hasn’t asked her about him and Dexter. He knows she knows. But she sure as hell isn’t saying it out loud. Maybe she’s thinking of protecting them. He should be grateful, but all he feels is disgust with himself.

"You think I don’t know that? Jesus, Frank, I used to think I couldn’t see straight when it came to Dexter. He’s my fucking brother you cunt! But this wasn’t about that. This isn’t blind loyalty. He wanted to be there. Doakes helped him into it, because he knew Dexter was smart enough to do what you guys couldn’t. Because your people kept missing the signs."

Doakes exhales through his nose. That’s not the part that surprises him, he figures she’d sell it like that. But the way she says “smart enough to help.” Not a dig. Not even forced. She knows Dexter like he does. Better, of course. It lands somewhere deeper than he expects. He used to think he knew Dexter, or at least he was beginning to do. Now he’s not so sure. Inside, he can imagine Lundy stiffening.

"Doakes broke every rule in the book. He brought in a civilian. Lied about it. Covered his tracks. That kind of behavior makes him radioactive."

"You want to talk about a liability? We got lucky. That Miller guy would have killed someone else, my brother, in case you didn’t know. But he didn’t. Because Doakes made the right call. Because he shot down the fucker while my brother bled on a warehouse floor doing what none of your agents had the guts to do."

Doakes’ jaw tightens. He hadn’t asked for this. For her to speak like that. But damn if it doesn’t hit somewhere raw. No one’s ever spoken like that for him, not since the Corps.

"You’re defending someone who tampered with a federal investigation."

"I’m defending someone who saved my life more than once. Who saved yours too, whether you want to admit it or not. And I’m defending a man who spent his whole goddamn career trying to do the right thing, even when none of you gave a shit. You think James Doakes was reckless? No, he was right. And he was alone. Until Dexter stepped in. That’s the only reason we’re not counting more bodies right now."

Doakes doesn’t flinch, but something in his chest shifts. He’s not used to being spoken for. Earlier it's been strange to be defended by Matthews. And now Debra. No, he’s not used to that. Especially not like that. From anyone. And certainly not like this.

There’s a pause.

"You really believe Dexter didn’t have a plan?"

"I don’t need to believe it. I know it. And you do too, if you’d take your damn badge out of your eyes long enough to see him as more than a potential criminal. James too."

Silence.

"I can’t protect him. Not officially. The Bureau won’t allow it."

"Then don’t. But don’t bury him either."

Doakes hears the door creak again. But she doesn’t leave yet.

"If you’re gonna be the guy who signs off on letting the feds destroy people for being better at this than them... then maybe I was wrong about you."

She walks out. Fast. Shoulders squared. Doakes steps back a half-inch as she steps out. She doesn’t look his way, can't see him from the angle, but he sees the color in her face. The fury. And a very hard conviction, the kind that makes her dangerous when cornered. She’s a goddamned good detective for that. She waits for a moment outside the door, as if she’s collecting her thoughts.

Inside, Lundy doesn’t move. Doakes sees him now through the glass, sitting quiet in his chair, the weight of everything sitting on his shoulders. Doakes watches his shadow sit with it for a few seconds. Then, finally, the man gets up and steps out into the hall. His voice is loud and clear now. 

"Debra. Wait."

She turns back. "What do you want now?"

Lundy "I didn’t want it to be like this, but I’m being reassigned. DC wants me back. I leave tomorrow."

He can’t see Debra’s expression from here, but he can tell it’s nothing good. "Figures."

Doakes keeps his back to the corner, out of view, listening. DC. So the bastard’s bailing on everything. Typical.

"This isn’t punishment. The Bureau thinks my position here is… compromised."

Debra speaks up again. "Say it. It’s because of me. Because of Dexter."

There’s no response.

"Right. You get to walk away. I get to stay and mop up everything you left behind."

"It’s not about walking away. It’s about the work. This isn’t over. Not really."

"No. You’re right. It’s not over. Because you’ve still got reports to file and names to clear before you can go solve all the world’s problems. And you better make sure one of them is James Doakes."

Doakes closes his eyes, just for a second. Her voice sharpens when she says it. Like it matters to her. Like he matters.

Lundy clears his throat before answering, "I’ll do what I can."

"You better. Because if you don’t, if you let them hang him out to dry, I swear to God I’ll make more noise than your Bureau knows how to handle."

Doakes doesn’t move. His throat is dry. He hadn’t expected her to go that far for him. Not like that. And not this hard.

Before she goes, she turns to Lundy again. There’s tears on her eyes, not falling yet, but he can see the shiny on the corners, "I used to think you were different."

She walks off.

Lundy stays standing in the hallway for a moment, watching her go. It’s not long before he gets inside the office again, a quiet click sealing the door.

And Doakes, still leaning against the cool concrete column, finally lets out the breath he’s been holding since her voice first cut through the door.

She knew the stakes. She knew what this meant. And she still stood in there and burned the place down for them. Hell. Maybe he isn’t alone after all.

Debra is already almost at the end of the hallway, jaw set, fingers twitching at her sides. She doesn’t notice James at first, not until she hears the faint shuffle of his boots following.

She stops, looks up. Her face twists into something halfway between a grimace and a sigh. There’s wetness on her cheeks too.

“Jesus Christ, how much of that did you hear?” she asks, in a shaky breath.

“Enough,” Doakes says. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But I figured someone oughta hear what was actually true for once. You did good, kid”

He watches her closely. She's holding it together, but only just. And he knows how that feels, when your pride's the only thing keeping you upright.

He hesitates, then adds, quieter this time, “Sorry it ended like that. With him.”

Her eyes flick toward the end of the hallway behind her, just for a second. She doesn’t ask what he means, doesn’t need to.

“I knew you two had something,” Doakes says. “Didn’t seem like bullshit, either.”

Debra lets out a rough breath. “Yeah, well. Guess it doesn’t matter now.”

Doakes nods, slow. “It still sucks.”

Something shifts in her face, not soft exactly, but less sharp. She fiddles with the buttons of her cuffs as she thinks.

“Yeah,” she says. “It does.”

She watches him for a beat, then steps toward him, voice lower now.

“I meant what I said there. About you. About Dexter.”

Doakes nods, his face tight. “You really believe he didn’t know what he was walking into?” he asks.

Debra looks away, jaw tightening. “I think he did. I think he wanted answers, same as you. And he trusted you to keep him safe.”

His heart drops for a second. Dexter trusted him to be there. And he let him down. If he hadn’t been so damned stubborn that morning–

“He shouldn’t have,”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Debra rolls her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. “You didn’t force him to go, did you?”

She makes it sound so easy. Doakes looks down. “No. I told him to stay out of it. He didn’t listen. But if I had–”

“Sounds like someone I know,” she mutters, and something like a smile touches her mouth, but it doesn’t last. “Look, don't be too hard on yourself. You were there. I’m so fucking glad you were,”

She punches his arm and for a moment everything is okay. He reaches out a hand to squeeze her shoulder lightly. Smiles for a second.

“See? It’s going to be alright. It better fucking be. Or I’m going to punch some motherfucker–”

“Okay, I get it, yeah?” Doakes says, putting his hands up. He exhales through his nose. “Still, the FBI's gonna keep pushin’. They want a clean ending with me as the bad guy, and they’re gonna get it. Won’t fucking get of my back.”

“They’ll get the truth,” Debra says. “And they won’t like it because it will make them look like incompetent assholes. Because you aren’t the bad guy in this. Fucking Miller was. That fucked up killer who actually murdered people.” 

James sighs. He knows she’s right, but for once he doesn’t care one bit how this ends. He just wants it to end. He can see how she hesitates for a moment before continuing. “He’s awake by now. At the hospital. I was gonna go. Want me to tell him something from you?”

James nods once. His heart is pouncing hard, but it’s time. “I’ll come with,”

She raises a brow. “You sure? They’re not exactly thrilled with you either. It’s swarmed with FBI assholes over there too, not sure they’ll let you in.”

“I’m not here for them,” he says. “I’m here for him. Plus, Maria moved some strings for that to happen.”

There’s a pause. Debra squints at him, just slightly.

“You really care about him, don’t you?”

Doakes meets her eyes without flinching. She already knows so… “I think I might love the fucking creep if he keeps up whatever he’s doing to me.”

Saying it out loud isn’t as scary as he thought.

Debra blinks, as if she doesn't know about them already. If he weren’t a cop, he’d buy it. “What?”

“Yeah.” he says, pursing his lips.

There’s a beat. Debra’s jaw drops slightly, and she lets out a breath somewhere between shock and something like a chuckle.

“Holy shit. I mean– I knew something was different, but... damn, James.”

Doakes shrugs, his voice even. “You don’t have to act surprised. I know he told you.”

Debra flushes. “Wait, you knew I knew?”

“Yeah.”

She exhales, shakes her head once, and then the corner of her mouth lifts. “Guess I’m worse at hiding things than I thought.”

“You’re not. I just knew already.”

They start walking. A few quiet steps in, Doakes glances sideways.

“I know you came by his place the morning of the shitshow. You called,”

Debra frowns. “Yeah. He wouldn’t answer the door. He said he wasn’t home. I figured he was with you.”

“I was still out cold when he answered, but I heard y'all," Doakes mutters. “I got pretty angry you’d told him. I… regret that. How I reacted.”

Debra lets out a dry snort. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

“Figured,” Doakes says, quieter now. “We fought after that. Not because you showed up– because I’d never told anyone. I didn’t want anyone knowing. I still don’t”

Debra watches him for a moment, arms crossed.

“He thought I was ashamed. Like I didn’t trust him to handle it. And maybe he’s right. I panicked. I’ve spent my whole damn career keeping things compartmentalized. Private. So he told me I didn’t fucking matter to him. So that’s it.”

Her voice is quiet now. “But it’s him, James. It’s just Dexter saying bullshit to hurt you. Trust me, I’ve been there many times. You don’t have to be ashamed about this, you know?”

“I know,” he says, and for once he sounds tired. “But when you’ve spent years thinking people will look at you differently, hell, treat you differently– it’s hard to switch that off.”

Debra’s expression softens, a beat of silence stretching between them.

“So you’re not sure he’ll want to see you? After all that…”

Doakes exhales, eyes down the hallway. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I’m going anyway.”

They walk in silence down the corridor, the noise of the station thinning behind them. Debra glances sideways.

“I saw him this morning. He was in a shitty state, I’m not going to lie. But he asked about you. So don’t freak out much if he says something stupid.”

James doesn’t answer right away. “He’s still breathing. That’s a start.”

A text from Maria tells him she’s waiting for him in the front. 'We're going now. Deb's here' he texts her back. With a nod, they head out the doors, into the night. Neither says anything more.

The heavy doors of Miami Metro thud shut behind them as Debra and Doakes step out into the dim parking lot. Fluorescent lights cast long shadows across the pavement. It’s almost eight, so the sun is starting to go down. Maria’s leaning against her car, arms folded, watching them approach.

She straightens when she sees them.

“I was starting to wonder if you two were climbing out the back window.”

Debra snorts. “Just the front door. After a front-row seat to federal gaslighting. He took the back row on that.”

Maria glances between them, reading their faces.

“Lundy didn’t budge?”

“Not much to budge from, I fucking forced him to let it alone, so he better listen,” Debra mutters. “He’s out of here anyway. Reassigned.”

Maria’s jaw tightens. “Convenient.”

James doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes are distant, jaw ticking. “They’re trying to wrap this up with a bow. Pretend Miller was a blip. Pretend I overstepped.”

“You did,” Maria says quietly, but without bite. “But you also saved lives.”

He looks at her. “That part doesn’t make it in the report.”

“No,” she agrees. “But it should.”

They stand in silence for a moment. Tension in the air, unspoken things still hanging. Then Maria steps toward her car, glancing over at Debra.

“You want a ride?”

Debra shakes her head. “Taking mine. I want to clear my head.”

Doakes gives her a small nod, comprehensive. “See you there.”

They part with nothing else said. Headlights flicker on, a new start it is.

In the car, James stares out the window as the city rolls by, but he isn’t really seeing it. His thoughts are thick and slow, circling the same question he can’t seem to answer. What now? For ten years, the department was his foundation. Not just a job, but an identity. A rhythm. A place where his instincts made sense and his discipline meant something. The weight of his badge had once anchored him. Now that weight is gone, and he’s not sure what’s holding him up anymore.

The truth is, it hasn’t felt right for a while. Maybe it started with Lundy, or maybe it started long before that, quiet compromises, orders that didn’t sit right, decisions that chipped away at the pride he used to feel. He tried to be what they wanted. To belong. But somewhere along the way, he lost sight of what he believed in.

He presses his palm against his thigh, grounding himself. The uniform is off, but the habit remains. Still braced. Still alert. But for what?

“What would you do then?” Maria’s voice cuts through the quiet, steady but gentle.

He turns to her, startled. “What do you mean?”

“You have to make a living, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, slower now.

“Have you thought of something yet?”

He leans his head back, resting it against the seat. She’s looking at him in that way she used to when they were still partners, tough, direct, but not unkind. It hits him, suddenly, that she’s giving him permission. That maybe he doesn’t need the department to have worth. The thought lands heavy in his chest. He’s free to move on, and that freedom feels just as terrifying as it does necessary. He wanted out. Now that he’s got the out… He doesn’t know what he’s feeling.

“I have a friend in private security,” she says. “They say six figures.”

There’s nothing smug in her expression, just quiet support.

“Thanks, Maria. I’m leaving the resignation letter first thing tomorrow.”

She nods, smiling. The rest of the ride unfolds in silence, but it’s not empty. The past is loosening its grip. Of the future, still unknown but slowly coming into view.

.

.

.

Miami Central Hospital. 2 days ago. 

4am

The world comes back slowly, distant beeping in the back.  He can’t feel anything; the hospital gown he finds himself in tells him just what he needs to know where he is. The only thing he’s aware of are ribs, his side, the sharp pain he breathes out when he tries to move. Everything else is numb. His mouth tastes like shit. The sterile air of the ICU is the only thing that tells him where he is. It's quiet, except for the hum of machines and the faint buzz of a television mounted high in the corner of the room. It curves a bit in the end, reflecting his figure in the corner where the faint light reflects. Feel like an outerbody experience for a moment.

He blinks up at the ceiling, white tiles, overhead night lights too bright.. He’s alive after all.

The TV flickers. The anchor’s voice is muted at first, then grows clear. It’s a bit difficult to hear anyway, the nurses must’ve left it on low volume for the night. It’s a local channel. The news. He tries to sit up straight, but it’s kind of impossible from the pain coming from his ribs. Still, he pays attention to what they’re saying.

“…former officer Damian Miller, gunned down late Tuesday night. Miami Metro Police are calling it a justifiable shooting but the FBI are still undergoing an internal investigation. Sources say Miller was the secondary suspect in the Bay Harbor Butcher case. Details are emerging of a possible attack on an unnamed civilian, whom Miller, now discovered as the Bay Harbor Butcher, allegedly attempted to murder before being shot and killed by a Miami Metro detective who was…”

Dexter’s heart pounds. He lets out a small breath. A smile curves his lips.

It worked.

He’s off the hook, officially. The image on screen switches to Miller’s booking photo. Then a shot of yellow tape stretched across the storage room, now filled with cops to the brim. In daylight it looks so small of a space… The long wooden box shown as evidence is not a strange sight. They are speculating about Miller’s motive for this one. The box proves it. Every single slide in there is evidence for every single body found. Dexter tunes it out. It’s no matter to him, no longer. The Bay Harbor Butcher was found. And it isn’t him.

He sinks back into the pillows, the morphine tugging at the edges of his consciousness. A heavy calm settles over him. He backtracks a little, trying to savor the last moments of his glorious win. Miller’s plan was seen through no matter the context of James and his relationship.The last thing he remembers is the kill room. The knife. The moment it all almost fell apart. But Doakes pulled the trigger. It has been the best outcome of all. Miller being proved the Butcher, Dexter being the wounded victim in the mess of it.

He imagines the scene from James perspective, feeling the morphine flowing through his unmoving limb; James bursting in, seeing Dexter covered in blood. Shooting Miller right in the head. A simple three way chain of actions. A murder to save a life. James had all the reasons to kill his copycat . It was perfect– It wasn't how I planned it, not exactly, but the outcome is better than anything I could have designed.

Miller is gone. The Bay Harbor Butcher is officially dead and buried, under someone else's name that is. He, Dexter Morgan, is a victim. A survivor. A hero, even, if he plays his cards right. From the corner of his eyes the picture of a true survivor emerges. They’d just known him. 

After an hour an a half of waiting in the dead hospital, the initial rush of morphines and numbness wear off. For now, it’s just him, the glow of the television, and the knowledge that he won. Oh, and the bitch ass pain of being stabbed. That’s a fun one.

He doesn’t even know how much time it’s passed. Probably should get the nurse to tell him.

He closes his eyes, lets the morphine swallow his pain. Sleep returns like a tide. And under the current, he thinks of what’s next.

Doakes is his now. Bound to him by guilt, by violence, by something neither of them are ready to name. Soon, Dexter will wake again. And when he does, he’ll have work to do. But tonight, in the clean white quiet of intensive care, he smiles to himself.

It’s done.

And he’s still here.

He’s won.

7pm

Dexter is bored. Dangerously bored. The ceiling tiles are starting to talk to him and he's used to being a crazy ghost seeing freak, as James would put it, but he’s never talked with inanimate objects. Not like this. And it’s only been a day. He's counted the fucking tiles already, eight rows, six across, one cracked in the corner where water must’ve once leaked through. The IV drip ticks like a metronome. 

It had been a little like this, since he woke up;

Once he woke up again to a teleshow, talking about the case, the nurse changed the channel as soon as she came in, ‘not good for your recovery, relieving all that. You may want to remember the good parts only,’ she said. As if I wasn’t already fucked up in the head.

A nurse enters every half an hour, takes vitals, chirps cheerfully, and leaves. They all smell like latex and strange sterilizing fragrance. It’s not even been an hour and no one is telling him anything. As far as he feels like, he just wants to go home. He wants to move out of this hospital bed and be on his way to organize his thoughts on how to make his kills better, on how to not repeat the same mistake again. The numbness of the drug he's got in his system doesn't let him think straight, either.

Instead, he's stuck in a stiff bed with a stiff smile for company. The nurses might be very helpful to make him pull through, but there’s the way they just won’t quit the mask that doesn't sit right with him. He knows all about masks. Ever since he’s been to a hospital he’s not trusted a nurse or doctor. There’s not much of a memory there, other than his first kill of course, but he’s got the general feeling. Nothing good to be there.

Another hour goes by fast. He can check on the clock on the wall, rusty with a tail that dances around every hour. As if this couldn’t get more depressing as it is.

No visitors either, so far. He’s learned that from the fifth nurse, the one that makes it as if he was in a state of life or death. A lot of blood, sure, but he’s awake now, and all things went according as he planned it. 

9pm

The nurse, a new one this shift, young, bright pink scrubs, impossibly sunny, comes in with a tablet and a smile too wide for this place. He hates her even more than the other ones right away. It’s been less than a day and he’s been probed by at least six different people. No one will tell him when it’s time to go though. It’s hell.

“Good news,” she says, scrolling casually. “All your tests look great. Vitals are stable. No signs of infection. Could make a quick recovery after all.”

Maybe this one isn’t as horrible after all…

Dexter nods, blinking slowly. “So… I can leave?”

“Oh! Not quite.” She laughs gently. “You're still under observation. You could have a severe hemorrhage at any sudden time. The doctor wants to keep you another forty-eight hours, just to be safe. You lost a lot of blood. They want to make sure your body’s really back online before they let you loose.”

Scratch that. Two more days of this bullshit. And she thinks a smile will make it all better…

“Loose, what a danger…” he echoes, deadpan, mostly talking to himself. If she knew what they're really letting loose… Of course they never will now.

The girl laughs, fiddling with the machine. “You’ve had two blood transfusions. Your system’s still catching up. So there’s still to prepare for the ‘danger’ ”

Dexter scoffs, “I feel fine.”

She gives him a look like he’s adorable. “That’s the morphine talking.”

She checks the monitors with practiced ease, then leans in to straighten his blanket. He hates every moment of it.

“Hang in there,” she says, “You’re lucky. Not many people come out of a situation like yours still breathing.”

She means well, so he smiles the appropriate smile. Lucky. Yes. That’s one word for it.

As soon as she leaves, the room feels even quieter than before. The clock on the wall stutters forward. The sun outside filters through beige curtains, bleaching everything in pale yellow.

He turns his head slowly, eyes dragging toward the muted TV screen in the corner. Infomercials, now, that's suitable entertainment instead of the news he desperately wants to see. Instead he gets a man in a suit yelling all about the three different kinds of knives that could change your kitchen life. Knives. His fingers twitch under the blanket. His Dark Passenger is still there, ruminating about the next kill.

Dexter closes his eyes. This waiting isn’t just dull, it’s dangerous. Too much time and his mind starts pacing. Wondering. Planning. Replaying every second of that night. The knife. The mistake. Miller lunging when he should’ve been out of choices. Dexter bleeding out on the plastic.

And then, Doakes. Pulling the trigger. Saving him.

That part, he replays often.

It’s not just the victory that’s satisfying, it’s the proof. James didn’t just help him. He chose him. Dexter smiles softly, eyes still closed.

Two more days, they said. Two more days in this cage of wires and white walls. Two more days to plan what happens next. He can wait. He has to wait until he knows what he’s dealing with. He hopes someone visits soon, with news preferably.

Even his father’s ghost would be better than this.

11pm

At night the fluorescent lights buzz overhead just as annoyingly as it did this morning when he woke up, low and steady like a headache that never quite breaks the surface. It’s not even that’s a main light, just a fucking night life, pointing right at his fucking eyes. And worst of all, the morphine is wearing off… Someone should’ve fucking turned that off. Can’t even fucking think.

Dexter lies still in the too-white bed, the thin blanket barely covering the weight in his chest. He wants to turn over, but he can’t ignore the pain at his side reminding him every time of his weakness. 

It’s strange how close it all came to ending. The mortality of all suddenly comes crashing in.

Miller’s face flickers in his memory like static, surprised, furious and afraid. A man, a fucking old man, cornered. A man who stabbed him through the gut when Dexter had already planned the entire finale, except for the fucking knife of course. He hadn't accounted for that part, he really hadn't. He'd underestimated the chaos of real people, of what happens when you try to choreograph violence to a script. Maybe that’s what Harry was trying to make him see.

That, he admits, might be the scariest part of all. For the first time in a long while, he wonders what Harry would say if he saw him now. He can even hear him, even if he’s not here.

Bleeding out on your own plastic. How poetic, Dexter.

He stares at the ceiling, his mouth dry, his throat raw from whatever they shoved down it in surgery. His body aches, heavy with weakness, and his mind is frayed with thoughts he can’t swat away. He knows Harry isn’t there, but he still speaks to him, no matter how angry he was the last time he saw him.

“You said to follow the Code,” Dexter murmurs to the empty room. “You said it would keep me safe.”

The Code was supposed to be clean. Don’t get caught. Don’t slip up. Never make it personal. But it was personal. This time, it was.

Miller was a threat as well as a solution. Not just to the cover Dexter has worked so carefully to maintain, but an excuse to keep Doakes alive. To the life he's built on the edge of normal. Letting Miller walk wasn’t an option, not if it meant Doakes taking his place. And now, now there’s a body, a narrative, a perfectly packaged scapegoat to feed the city’s hunger for a monster. The Bay Harbor Butcher mystery will be put to rest. Again. Miller’s dead. Dexter’s alive. He tries not to smile too much about it.

He glances at his IV, at the stitches pulled tight across his abdomen, at the soft, unrelenting beep of his pulse on the monitor. He’s running out of room to make mistakes. Next time, he might not get lucky. Next time, James might not be there to pull the trigger.

From now on, he tells himself, the Code has to be tighter. It’s no use how much Cleaner. No improvisation. No partners. Even James, especially James, can’t know the truth. Not all of it.

He closes his eyes. The world is watching too closely now.

I’ll need to be careful. Smarter. Slower, maybe. But never weaker. Never again this close to slipping.

6am, the next day.

The room smells like antiseptic and stale air. The hum of the machines is constant, dull, a low reminder that he's alive, barely. Dexter stares at the cracks in the ceiling, mentally tracing their paths like arteries. He counts them. Again. Anything to kill time.

The second morning is definitely worse than the first. Dexter lies motionless in the too-clean bed, tangled in stiff white sheets that feel more like restraints than comfort. The morphine has faded just enough to let the dull ache of his healing wound pulse with a slow rhythm, reminding him what happened. How close it came. How sloppy it was.

He stares at the ceiling again. Not to count this time. Just to avoid looking at himself in the reflective edge of the TV screen. Now that the light of morning is starting to fall into the room, the cracks on the plan he’d had are starting to show through.

Harry would be disappointed.

That thought has been creeping in like fog since the night everything fell apart. He’d planned everything. He was careful. Miller was supposed to be the perfect scapegoat, carrying just enough secrets to make the Bay Harbor Butcher mask fit. All Dexter needed was one clean kill room, one last stitch in the story. And it did work. It worked better than expected. Just not in the exact way he’d planned. The improvement, it was because of a mistake,not something he’d thought of in advance. Such a careless one. Is it wrong that I wish Dad had been there? Would’ve that made it better, more perfect?

It’s useless to think about it now. He did what he had to do. And it was great. Nothing could’ve been better. And his father, as well as he meant, couldn’t know the greatness of his plan if he had been there. He fiddles with the IV connected to his arm. It stings like a bitch, but it’s a distraction. The blade still feels like it’s inside him. When he reaches down over his hospital gown, the bandage he feels over the fabric confirms the gravity this wound had on him. He hates to admit it, the nurses were right. He could have been over. For good. If only Doakes had arrived just a minute later… But he didn’t. I knew he wouldn't. 

Dexter exhales sharply, shutting his eyes. His body aches, but it’s the fear that lingers deeper. Not fear of dying, that part he’d accepted. Maybe long ago. Not that he has a death wish, but death has been around him ever since he remembers. It was the vulnerability of it all. That moment on the floor when blood poured from him, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t fix it, control it, couldn’t hide.

Harry drilled that into him. Plan every detail. Have a way out. Protect his secret above all.

And still, he’d underestimated. Got cocky. He got lucky this time. Too lucky. That’s what scares him. If he’s going to keep doing this, if he’s going to survive, he has to evolve. The world is different now. And he’s got everything to make it right. This is just a moment of weakness. Of course I ended up winning. I always do.

He thinks of Doakes then. The way James looked at him, standing over his body before he lost conscience. He can’t quite name it yet. But it’s different to the way he pictured him last night. With all the memories coming in, no drugs to interfere with the logic of the situation, he can’t think of why he looked like that. It wasn’t anger, and that puzzles him.

A knock on the door startles him out of the picture in his mind. It’s another nurse. I could’ve been sleeping. There’s no respect for the sick anymore…

Of course it’s the pink one from yesterday. Not that it could be anyone else other than a nurse, anyway. They haven’t said when his first visitor is coming, but he knows it can’t be long. Not that it matters, except that he’s really tired of counting tiles and fake smiling to the nurses.

Deb would’ve already barged in cursing up a storm if she were cleared to visit. But it’s still pretty early in the morning, so he’ll just have to wait and see.

And Doakes… He doesn’t really want to think about him for now. The only thing he remembers other than him killing Miller, is the morning before. He’d hurt him. On purpose. Why, he would want to visit is not really a possibility. It’s for the best too. He’d hurt Rita. He’s hurt James. He deserves this and he's at peace with it. He’s just happy it all worked up in the end. It could’ve gone much more complicated than a little stabbing.

He shifts in the bed. Winces. Look down at the gauze taped across his ribs that shows over the thin hospital gown. A gentle reminder. There’s a small frame just under the TV, an embroidered picture of two little angels, trumpets and all. At the bottom, there’s an embroidered text, red letters, bright as hell for a textile work- 

Better days are coming.

He’s stared at that for more time than he should. It makes him laugh all, actually laugh, for the first time he’s been sitting in the damned hospital bed. He came this close to losing it all. No more second chances. No more margin for error. From now on, the mask has to be airtight. He’ll make them believe again, Deb, Maria, the precinct, everyone. But not the way Harry wanted. Not with a tight leash and a neat little list of rules. Dexter Morgan is going to survive. And he’s going to protect the life he’s building, messy and broken as it is. Whatever it takes. He can do anything now.

9am

Dexter’s still half-awake when he hears the commotion outside his room, quick steps, raised voices, a familiar bark of “I fucking know visitings start at five, I am next of kin, asshole!”

The steps come closer to the room. He’s memorized the hospital room already, as much as the tiles above him, so when the two revolting doors, painted in deep baby blue, open up to reveal her sister, it’s not much of a surprise that the same old creaking hits his brain like ten thousand nails. He winces a bit and stares at his sister, who just stands there for a moment, cup of take away coffee in hand, like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. It doesn’t last long though.

“Jesus Christ, finally,” Debra says, storming in like she owns the place. “You look like shit.”

Dexter gives her a crooked smile, still frowning from the headache. “Good morning to you too. Didn’t expect a visit so soon.”

Debra sits by the end of the bed, straightens the sheets a little as she crosses her legs. The right one over the left. Just like she always does. “So, what is your deal? No one will fucking tell me,” she asks, reaching for his leg, a concerned frown taking all of him in one look.

He shrugs, as much as he can. Debra looks radiant, as worried as she might be. It’s good to see her. He smiles at her softly, trying not to let his pain show through too much. 

“Yeah. They said two days, just to be sure. Blood loss, trauma, blah blah. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Damn right you’re not,” she mutters, then shakes her head. “You really know how to pick your moments, don’t you?”

They look at each other for a moment. Dexter just stares ahead. She’s not wrong about that. Deb must’ve caught some of that, since she’s on him again, trying to decipher how much of the situation affected him, “Shit, are you really alright?”

It’s no use lying to her. He’s not in the best condition at the moment, but couldn’t be happier at the conclusion to his literal hell on earth. She doesn’t have to know that much, of course.

“Not really. But I’ll be. I know it.”

Debra smiles, warmly. “I love you bro,”

“Me too…”

They smile at each other for a moment, Debra with that half smile nursing the cup between both of her hands. It’s alright to continue to play brother and sister with Deb, but the mask isn’t exactly in the right place, since he can’t take the not knowing any longer. He lets the question hang in the air. “So… what’s the fallout?”

She takes a long sip of her coffee before answering. “Miller’s body’s in autopsy. We’ve got people trying to spin it as a justified shooting. Doakes is going to give his statement.”

Dexter lifts an eyebrow. “They’re keeping him?” he expected that, of course, but he still has to look surprised, just for the drama of it.

“Yeah. It’s just procedure,” she says quickly. “He’s not under arrest or anything. But you know how it is when a cop kills someone, even if it’s in defense. Especially with how big this case is…”

She looks like she’s trying to be less sarcastic, but the confused fake look in his face makes her backtrack.

He nods slowly. “How is he?” It feels like an appropriate question to ask.

Deb looks away, tapping her thumbs against the lid of the cup. “I only saw him that night. He was already reporting the incident when I got there. Shaken. I’ve never seen him like that. Like... quiet.”

Dexter says nothing, but his fingers twitch slightly under the blanket. His ribs ache, but it’s the satisfaction underneath that distracts him. Everything is unraveling, beautifully.

“He asked about you, I hear.” Deb continues, “They won’t let him in, obviously. LaGuerta is trying to get clearance, trying to fast-track it.”

Dexter lets out a quiet breath. “Of course she is.”

Deb watches him carefully. “You wanna see him? When they let him out? Could be today…”

There’s a beat of silence. Dexter turns his head, gazes out the window at the flat, washed-out sky. His voice comes quiet.

“I don’t know.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. But he remembers the fight. Maybe he won’t want to see him. Not like that anyway. And he really doesn’t want another fight. Or for someone to remind him of the many ways he fucks up every relationship being a lifeless emotionless puppet.

“Dex…”

“I just– I need to think. About what I want. About what we are.”

Deb folds her arms, leaning back. “He saved your life. You know that, right?”

Dexter nods slowly. “I know.”

She sighs again. “Well, just… when you’re ready. Let me know. I’ll get you in the loop when they release him.”

She gets up, heading toward the machine, caressing the buttons without pressing, softly.

Deb softens. “He’s a mess.”

Dexter frowns. “Because he killed someone?”

“No. Well, yeah, that too, but mostly because it was you. You should’ve seen him. He was the one who carried you out, yelling for help like his damn lungs were on fire. Didn’t let the paramedics touch you at first. Wouldn’t even leave the back of the ambulance. We waited there looking at it go like a pair of fucking idiots.”

So, he still cares. Of course he does, he wouldn’t have answered his call if he didn’t. Still, it doesn’t mean anything will be good and right again. Not after he said what he said to him. It would be the most logical thing after all, not wanting to see him again. Not like that, anyway.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him scared before, Dex. Not until they told him you might not make it. I was scared to death myself. So whatever you’re feeling... just don’t shut him out, okay? Don’t shut me out.”

Dexter offers a hollow smile. “Yeah...”

The silence settles again, but this time it’s laced with anticipation. A new chapter is opening. And he’ll decide who gets to be in it. He’s pleased Doakes cares that much. That means he’s still in his control, no matter what kind of relationship they have from now on.

She stops short at the foot of the bed. Her face softens. She’s trying not to look at the IV, the bandage peeking through his gown, the bags under his eyes.

“I had to jump through five miles of bureaucratic bullshit to get in here. ‘Immediate family only,’ my ass. I am an immediate family and they didn’t want me to go in. You almost die and suddenly nobody thinks I should see you?”

“You’re very intimidating when you’re concerned, can’t believe the hell you’d make if I had actually died.” Dexter laughs.

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make jokes right now, I’ll cry and punch you.”

He nods slowly. “Noted.”

She gets away from the machine, drags a chair closer, sits with a sigh, arms crossed over her chest like a shield. He looks at the coffee in her hand, could spill over any second. “You scared the hell out of us.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Dexter says, quieter than he intends. He pauses. “I wasn’t… careful.”

“That’s not like you.”

“No. It’s not.”

She looks him over again. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened? What really happened?”

Dexter hesitates for a second. “Miller and I got into it. He figured out I was onto him, and I wasn’t prepared. I was angry. Sloppy.”

“You fought him?”

“I tried. He had the upper hand.”

Deb frowns. “So you called Doakes? Before getting the brilliant idea of confronting someone you suspected of killing people?”

Dexter’s eyes drift toward the window. “Doakes killed him. Saved my life, like you said. Just in time.”

There’s a silence between them. Not cold, just… complicated. He can tell she knows that’s not the full version. Hell, he didn’t even answer her question, he knows that.

“He doesn't want to be a cop anymore, Dex, I can sense it.” Deb says softly. “Internal Affairs is already frothing at the mouth. You know how this looks.”

“I do.”

“They’re bringing him in for questioning today.”

Dexter looks at her then, something unreadable flickering behind his tired eyes. “Don’t go too hard on him.”

“You know that’s not up to me.”

“He’s… He’s killed for me, Deb. It wasn’t like the other shootings he’s been involved in. I could tell before I lost it.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You two should cut the crap out and be with each other. Like for real"

Dexter exhales slowly. “It’s complicated. I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if he is. I just–”

“You’re scared,” Deb says, cutting to the bone. “Of being close to someone who knows the real you.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“I’m not saying he’s perfect,” she adds. “God knows, he’s still a pain in the ass. But I saw him after they pulled you out. He looked like someone tore his chest open. I’m telling you he really cares about you.”

Dexter blinks, throat tightening unexpectedly. It really worked up well.

“I’ll tell everyone you’re doing okay,” Deb says, standing. “But you better start acting like you want to live, Dexter. Because if you’re going to throw people away every time you get scared, then what the hell are we even doing here?” 

She leans down and kisses his forehead, awkwardly but earnestly. “Just be prepared because they’re gonna actually let people visit in the afternoon. Batista and Vince will be over here in a blink. And I know you hate people. Generally.”

She winks at his scowl. Deb does know him very well after all, even if she doesn’t know it all. He watches her go, the click of her boots fading down the sterile hallway. Then he stares at the wall again, alone with the hum of machines and the familiar voice in his head whispering.

She’s right. But you can’t let him see how deep it goes. Not yet.

5pm

When the doors creak open, Angel steps in first, holding a small paper bag and wearing that awkward smile he always gets when he’s trying not to show he’s worried. Behind him, Vince Masuka slips through, stripped shirt half-tucked. Of course they were right on time for visitation time, one could see they’ve been . Not that I’m complaining. Glad to see some more familiar faces after all the nurses.

“Hey, hermano,” Batista says gently, moving closer. “You look… well you look...”

Masuka makes a show of grimacing, finishing the sentence. “You look like a trainwreck. You’re lucky. Most people don’t walk away from being a human shish kebab.”

“Don’t fucking joke around, he could’ve died.”

Batista slaps Vince in his bald head, who doesn’t look one bit apologetic by the way, and Dexter gives a faint smile. It's the best he can manage. They pull up chairs without waiting for permission, not that he cares anyway. Angel places the bag on the tray table, pats it.

“Pastelitos. From that Cuban place you like. You can’t eat yet, I know, but… maybe you’ll want them later.”

Dexter nods, stomach rumbling at once. He can feel his mouth watering just at the smell. Cuban food. It has always been my favorite. I can’t fucking wait to eat solids again.

They chatter around for a while, about anything and nothing at the same time. The elephant in the room is still metaphorically hidden. He just watches them as they joke around, add a few comments there and then, ask mundane questions. He can see the way Batista keeps glancing at the IV drip. The way Masuka keeps his jokes going just a little too fast, like he’s trying to outrun the tension in the room. It’s not like they are any less nasty. They’re worse, worse than he thought they could be, if any.

And so, they talk. Light stuff, updates from the lab. Gossip. Grimy jokes from Vince. The rumours that someone broke the espresso machine again . The bowling team. Masuka jokes about wearing Doakes’ badge for a day, ‘just to keep it warm’. The room had taken a tense pause after that particular joke, but Angel had made a point to change the topic once he saw the uncomfortable look on Dexter at his mention.

It’s almost comforting , the illusion of normalcy. He missed that, not to have to think about how he’s going to survive, at least not right fucking now. An he fucking loves that he’s the guy again, that everyone loves and trusts. He can be that guy again thanks to himself and no one else. When Angel mentions him being a ‘ fucking hero to the community’ he can’t hide his smile. He really made it. Cheers for myself, I’m the hero now. Fuck you Miller. That’s what you get for being a weak copycat.

They run off safe topics after a while of chatter. When the silence creeps in too long, Batista stands, squeezes Dexter’s shoulder. It hurts like hell.

“Ah, sorry, man.” he says, putting his hand back quickly, “You scared the hell out of us, man. Don’t do that again.” He looks at his watch and sighs, “Probably should get going. You’ve got more visitors Dex, you’re a popular guy now.”

Masuka nods, uncharacteristically serious for just a moment. “Glad you’re still breathing, Morgster.” he says, with a pat to his shoulder that makes him wince, again. What’s with people and shoulders?

“Oops, sorry ‘bout that.”

Dexter watches them go, Batista walking slowly, Masuka fumbling with the door handle, trying not to look too long at the machines. The doors shut behind them, and the silence returns.

It’s not over. He can feel it, the pressure building again. But I won. The half smirk on his face doesn’t go until the next visitation.

7pm.

There’s been a bunch of people more, mostly cops from the station, the ones he gives donuts have been there to show their care statistically more. That’s a good fact to know. Giving out donuts does work after all. It’s nice, hearing how great he is, how much of a risk he took. What a hero I've become. A good citizen. And I'm going to be able to keep being a good citizen now, sweeping off the floors of Miami.

.

Rita visits too.

That’s a surprise.

She stands behind the closed doors for a long second, uncertain, fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of her purse. It’s a new purse, he thinks as he looks over her. The sunset light coming from the window paints her soft, golden. Ever so an angel, right? 

Dexter blinks, not sure if he’s dreaming. It would be a strange dream. He doesn’t even remember the last time they really talked. Well, he does, when he broke it down with her. 

“Hi,” she says finally as she steps into the room, smiling fully, like she’s actually happy to see him. She’s got her uniform pants on, probably coming straight from work. He can tell what his dad would think about it. Make the right choice son. The good one.

Dexter manages to lift his head slightly. “Hey.”

“I… I know this might be weird,” she says, stepping in. “Astor and Cody wanted to come. But I thought maybe I should come alone first. Just to see if you were– if you were okay. Heard what happened by your sister,”

He nods, slowly. Of course it was Deb who called her. “I’m still here.”

She gives a breathy, nervous laugh. “That’s a start.”

Rita takes the chair by his side and sets it a bit farther from the bed, careful. She glances at the IVs, the bandage. The bruises. Then at him. The silence is different now, quiet, but full of things neither of them knows how to say. Dexter isn’t sure if he should say anything at all.

“She told me it was… serious,” she says. “That they weren’t sure you’d make it for a while there.”

Dexter looks at her carefully. She doesn’t look angry. Just… worried. And tired.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. It’s the only thing he can think to say.

She nods, presses her lips together. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re the one who nearly died.”

“I meant… for everything.”

That gives her pause. She sets the purse down in her lap. “Dexter…”

He knows what she’s thinking. That this isn’t the time or place. But when is it ever? She deserves this, anyway. Even if he doesn’t feel one bit of the words that are coming out of him.

“I wasn’t always honest with you,” he continues, voice low. “I wasn’t good to you. Or the kids.”

“You tried,” she says, and he knows she means it. “You were trying. That matters.”

He nods, but he can’t quite meet her eyes. “I think about them a lot. Astor and Cody. What I missed.” That part is true. He always liked the innocence they carried. How easy it was with them.

“They miss you,” she says. “I told them you were hurt, but that you’re going to be okay. Cody said you’re like a superhero. That you’ll just bounce back.”

He huffs a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “That’s generous.”

“He still loves you,” she says. “They both do.”

He blinks a few times. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I didn’t either,” Rita admits. “But I heard what happened. And I needed to see for myself. I needed to know that… that you were really still here.”

Dexter swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “I am.”

“I don’t know what your life looks like now,” she says slowly. “And I’m not here to fix anything. I just wanted you to know that I’m glad you’re alive.”

There’s something final about the way she says it. Like this was goodbye and closure all at once. He nods, quiet. “Thank you,”

She rises, straightens her purse strap. He thinks she might hug him, but she doesn’t. Instead, she brushes a hand lightly against his shoulder. Just for a second.

“I’ll tell the kids you’re awake. If you want, we can call next week. No pressure.”

“I’d like that,” he says. He misses them too, he realizes that now.

She smiles, small, but real, and heads for the exit. Stops, just for a moment.

“Take care of yourself, Dexter.”

He lies there for a long while after, eyes on the ceiling. So many lives tied to him. Some frayed. Rita stands by the doors, purse over her shoulder, ready to leave. But she doesn’t. The visit has been soft so far but he can tell there’s something more.

Then, she hesitates. She turns around, her fingers tighten on the strap.

“There’s something else,” she says, eyes not quite meeting his. Dexter looks at her, already feeling his body tense. He knows that voice. The preamble to news you’d rather keep to yourself. Rita had always known how to keep her secrets.

“I’ve been seeing Paul again.”

The words drop like stones. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t blink. Just lets the statement hang in the air between them. She’s saying it calmly, too calmly. Like it’s been rehearsed. Like she’s trying to convince herself.

“He’s been clean,” she continues. “For months now. He’s in therapy, he sees the kids– supervised at first, but now… they want him around. They’re happy.”

Dexter’s jaw tightens. He stares straight ahead for a moment before answering.

“And you think that’s safe? It’s only been two months Rita. Two months since us.”

“So what, you’re jealous? You have no right to be if that’s–”

He scoffs, “I’m not jealous. I just think it’s not the best idea.” And that’s putting it lightly.

Her expression tightens slightly. “I think… people change.”

His voice stays low, careful. Too careful. “He changed the last time, too. Until he didn’t.”

“It’s not like before.”

But Dexter doesn’t believe that. Not for a second. He remembers the bruises. The terrified phone calls. The empty apologies. Paul is a parasite. He doesn’t change. He just retreats, waits, and comes back more charming than before.

He looks away, out the window. The sky’s already turning to dusk, dull, colorless.

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for them,” she says, more softly now.

He nods once. Not agreement. Just acknowledgement. She really believes that, and it’s dangerous. A protective wave comes over him. He may not be with Rita anymore, but that Paul guy just means trouble. He can sense it in his bones. And then… she smiles.

Small. Gentle. Not for defense or performance. Just real.

“You’re still important to them, you know,” she says. “Even if this is how it is now.”

He looks at her again, and something in him softens. Just a little. That’s the thing. Whatever he feels about Paul, about her choice, it doesn’t erase what they had. Or how much she tried to love him, even when he couldn’t give her everything she needed.

“I’m glad you came,” he says quietly.

Her eyes shine a little then. She steps forward again, slow, careful, and brushes a strand of hair off his forehead like she used to. The touch is light. Friendly.

She leans down and kisses his cheek. No romance in it. No longing. Just something kind.

They don’t say anything after that. Then she straightens, offers a last look, and turns to go.

That’s a problem I’ll have to take care of once I’m up and running. Not gonna let that scumbag ruin her life.

.

.

.

Rita exits the hospital room, purse tight against her side. She nearly bumps into James. 

“Oh– sorry,” she says, startled. “Oh, hey. How are you?”

She probably recognizes him from the news. There’s that lightness to her, something pure. He can’t know for his life how Dexter got to have her. He just shrugs and steps aside so she can go. She’s already leaving, but he has to ask. “He okay?”

She nods, turning back. “Yeah. Tired. But… better.”

He studies her for a beat. He knows he shouldn't ask, for his own sake, but… “You two good?”

A pause. He’d been watching them from the small windows of the door. He doesn’t need confirmation, but it still stings to hear it.

“We’re… figuring things out.”

She gives a small smile, polite but unfinished. Then she walks off, heels soft against the tile.

James watches her go, his jaw tight. There’s a knot in his stomach that just won’t go away.

Then he steps into the room.

.

.

.

The door opens again, quieter this time. Doakes steps inside, slower than usual. There’s no swagger in his walk, no pride at all. Just a rigid tension he carries in his shoulders, like he hasn’t unclenched since the moment it all went down. So typical of him… 

Dexter watches him cross the room until he’s hanging over him. He notes the way Doakes keeps his hands in his pockets, the deliberate stillness in his face. Controlled and contained. Dangerous in its own way. Still his stomach jumps a little, just from seeing him. 

It’s not what he expected him to be like. Maybe angrier. Maybe prouder. He should be proud of taking down The Bay Harbor Butcher, it was his catch, officially of course, so he should feel good about it. But he can’t see it anywhere on his face. If anything he looks depressed.

“You’re awake,” Doakes says, nonchalantly. Like he didn’t know already… He doesn't get any closer.

Dexter gives a small nod. “Unfortunately.” There’s no humor in it. Not right now.

Doakes stays standing, staring at him. Then his voice drops, low, barely under control.

“You went in alone.”

Of course he’s the one who would start with the obvious thing. It’s annoying, going back to that, but at least he’s the only one who isn’t tiptoeing around him. It feels nice not having to put on the friendly mask for him. Still, Dexter doesn't respond. He can tell Doakes has much more to say.

“You knew he was dangerous. You still walked in without backup. Without me.” Dexter stays silent. Doakes steps closer, jaw clenched. “You could’ve waited for me. Why didn’t you?”

He thinks about it for a moment. Because you needed to see me like that to be believable. Because I needed you to kill Miller. Because– Of course he can’t tell him about the plan he had from the start. But James needs answers.

“I did what needed to be done. I thought I could take him by myself”

“No, what you did,” Doakes snaps, voice rising, “was to go and do whatever the fuck you wanted. Set up your little trap, get yourself stabbed through the gut, and I got there just in time to find you choking on your own blood.”

Dexter’s eyes flicker, annoyed. But he says nothing.

“He would’ve killed you.” Doakes’ voice drops again. “You realize that, right? If I hadn’t shown up–”

“I know.” he cuts him off.

“I had to kill him,” Doakes growls. “He had the knife, and you were seconds from flatlining.”

It’s like he is talking to himself. Debating what else he could do. If someone asked him, he is exactly what he needed to be done. Kill the guy and save his life. He’s kind of proud of James for that too. Dexter nods, quiet. “I know. You were perfect.”

Doakes turns, pacing once before getting closer to the bed. From here he can smell the days of being caged on him. He probably doesn’t smell the best either, so he doesn’t comment on it. “You should’ve told me. Before.”

“You were still pissed at me.” he reminds him.

“Yeah, and that got us to you bleeding out in a warehouse like a goddamn martyr.”

Dexter shifts slightly in the bed, grimacing. Doakes notices, the flare of concern flashes across his face before he forces it back down. He pulls a chair close and sits. Arms braced on his knees. Twitching hands.

Then, something cracks “She was here. Rita.”

Dexter says nothing. He probably saw them, if he was staring through the small square windows of the doors. And I’m the creep…

“She was holding your hand. Talking to you like you belonged to her again.”

Still nothing. He really doesn’t know where Doakes wants to go with this, or what he wants him to say.

“You two back together?”

Ah, so that’s it. He can see the jealousy now, in his squinted eyes and frown. Such a trivial matter. And so convenient to me. 

Dexter meets his gaze, trying to make him ease up on the matter. “No.”

“She looked like she wanted to be.” he says, narrowing his eyes.

“She needed closure.”

Doakes stares at him. “And what did you need?”

Dexter doesn’t answer.

Doakes exhales through his nose, leans back. “She’s good for you. Safe. Predictable.”

For a moment, Dexter is confused. It angers, a little, that James is so easy to give him up. That he claims he knows him so well, yet he’s just accepting this like it’s his destiny. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Isn’t it?” there’s sadness in his voice too. Like he thinks Dexter is just out of reach now, forever.

Dexter’s voice stays steady. “You think I let her back in.”

“I think,” Doakes says slowly, looking away. “that maybe I don’t fit anymore. You said so that morning.”

Dexter watches him carefully. Debra was right. No matter what he said in that fight, James will still want him. And now he’s regretting everything. So he has to change that, fast. “You do fit in. If you want to.” for a moment he knows he should stop there, but his mouth won’t shut up “I didn’t mean half the shit I said that morning, you know? I told you, I hurt people. That’s my fucking superpower, I guess.”

He doesn’t know why he says all that, but he does. It’s so goddamned easy to just say what he thinks with James… Doakes shakes his head, laughing once but not amused. “Maybe. I’m a fuck up too, if that counts. You nearly died. Because of me.”

He almost smiles, full on. It almost slips out. He really cares. I can still use him. He’s still mine.

“It wasn’t your fault.” he says instead, rolling his eyes. It really wasn’t. It was his own for not checking for a fucking knife.

Doakes frowns, “It was. I could’ve got in sooner. I should’ve known you always do the opposite of what I tell you to do.”

“I knew what I was walking into.” Dexter looks away. “Maybe I thought… I didn’t know what I was thinking, okay?.”

Silence stretches, tight between them. He reaches to take his left hand. It’s heavy, and big, and exactly how he’s known it these few past months. James smiles at him, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles.

“I’m leaving the force.” he says then, out of the blue.

Dexter’s eyes snap back to him. “What?” It’s not like it’s a surprise but…

Doakes nods once. “I’ll put in the paperwork tomorrow.”

“Why?”

Doakes shrugs. “You know why.”

I know why. I’m the best at knowing why. That doesn't mean I like it.

Dexter watches him. Reads the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion in his shoulders. There’s more to it, something he won’t say out loud. He’s too tired to try and examine it further.

“Then what?” Dexter asks quietly. “What happens after that?”

Doakes hesitates. Then meets his eyes. “I don’t know.” Another beat goes by, “I figured you wouldn’t care.”

Dexter’s voice is low. “I care.”

It’s not really a lie. He cares where Doakes is, if he gets away completely, if he just stays around and they will go back to the old dynamics. He worries that maybe he won’t be able to see him more often if he leaves. That he won’t be his anymore. And that’s a strange thing to care about. Something shifts.

Doakes looks at him, really looks. The silence grows warmer now, heavier.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he murmurs. “You just– laid there, bleeding, eyes wide open, like it didn’t even matter if you made it or not.”

Dexter’s voice softens. “It mattered.”

James laughs, “You’re still full of shit. I could see you. I see you. You were just pleased we caught the fucker, I could see that.”

Dexter almost smiles. It hurts, but he does it anyway. Doakes stands from the chair, letting his hand go, and slowly walks to the side of the bed.

“I thought I lost you,” he says, voice rough. Dexter looks up, blinking twice.

“You didn’t.” I don’t fucking know how many times I’ve said this today. And why does this one feel the most important?

Doakes leans in, clenching on the railings of the hospital bed, close enough to feel the heat between them. Close enough Dexter can smell sweat and coffee and whatever cologne Doakes still insists on wearing even after everything.

“They wouldn’t let me see you,” Doakes says again, putting a hand on his hair. The way he brushes it back feels familiar. Warm even. The pieces are falling back right where they should be.

“You’re seeing me now.” he tells him, not looking away once. Maybe I didn’t hurt him yet. Or maybe he’s okay with my lack of feelings. Whatever it is, I want him by my side, is that selfish? I deserve this after all. I did a beautiful job with Miller.

His words hang in the air for a second. Then Doakes moves, fast and deliberately. One hand cups the side of Dexter’s jaw, the other braced on the railing of the bed, grounding him. Dexter lets him.

Their mouths meet like carefully, all tension and release and things they haven’t said. Doakes kisses him softly, with ease not to press too much on the bandages, but with purpose. Like he’s making sure Dexter is really there. That he really wants this. If he had any normal feelings, it’d be a sweet thing. Romantic even, just like in the movies.

Dexter kisses back, slower but just as deep. He wants him to show him the way it’s gonna be from now on, he wants to show him James will be his from now on but.... There’s no calculation in it after a while of kissing. No plans or anything floating around. He just enjoys the mouth moving over his own. Just breath and heat and something fragile between them trying not to crack. He missed this. Not thinking, just feeling another person care for him like this. It makes him wish he could be the same. And he feels pride, that even if he almost fucked it up, he gets to keep this. 

Doakes pulls back first, lips hovering close. Breathing uneven.

Dexter doesn’t speak at first. Just keeps his eyes on him.

“So, that means you’re going to take care of me when I get out of here?” he jokes.

James smiles, finally, wide and proud.

“Damned right I am. You’re gonna get sick of me by the end.”

Dexter presses his lips tightly, trying to smile. He can tell James is serious about it.

I’m gonna have to figure out how to have my own space after this. Telling James to take care of me might’ve been not one of my brightest ideas. I’ll figure it out anyway. I always do. I won this, after all.