Fic: Kill me and I’ll be alright too
He watches her sleep, so peacefully. It’s difficult to imagine that this woman killed another human being just few hours ago. “Fucking go, Dex!” she had screamed at him and he backed away scared, it wasn’t his best moment but then, finally faced with the truth of who his sister really is, Dexter felt very small. And there, backed in the corner, he watched his sister kill Maria LaGuerta in cold-blood.
She told him to go after that too, but he couldn’t, his feet were frozen into the ground. “At least make yourself useful,” she had said and threw a plastic bag at him. It took him just seconds to realize what she wanted from him. Dexter had connected the dots in his head, realized who his sister really was and did as he was asked. It was similar to collecting evidence, even if he was doing the opposite. She hasn’t said much since then, just let him confirm all his suspicions when she put all those plastic bags into her car and drove to the harbour.
He helped her load them onto his ship and watched her open a secret compartment with cleaning products and wipe everything around clean. Maybe he was still in shock but he watched her transfixed doing all those things she used to make fun of him for. She even bloody checked the ship with the UV light.
Then it was his turn to drive them home, to his flat and she dragged him into his bedroom, laid down and snuggled close when he did the same. She felt asleep immediately and was sleeping ever since. Dexter couldn’t, managed to untangle himself from her and went to check on Harrison, then came back and continued to observe her. Debra, his little sister, who was the Bay Harbour Butcher. It was still difficult to wrap his mind around.
But many things started to make sense, why LaGuerta had suspected him to be the killer, why the men that killed her mother disappeared without a trace and even, why the Trinity killer chose Rita as his victim. He supposes he should blame Deb now, hate her for the horrible way his wife died, but he can’t. He never could.
For years Dexter thought he was the weird one. He was the one adopted, the one without friends and love for science and even now, knowing what she did, he still feels the need to defend her. He always did and now he takes a deep breath, and maybe finally lets himself admit that his feelings for his adopted sister always went a little too far. He had tried not to notice, to ignore but Harry had seen it and told him it was a sin, something he could go to hell for and Dexter had tried to stop.
He never could but had one girlfriend after another but only married Rita because it was Deb who had chosen her for him. He learnt to love her in time, was overjoyed when she gave birth to Harrison and maybe for a moment forgot what a freak he was. But then Rita died and Deb was there helping him to make out of the bloody mess a new life. She was there always when he needed her and he realized he would never stop thinking those thoughts. He tried to forget with Lumen but she had figured him out and left.
Deb stirs for a moment, mumbles something but goes back to sleep and Dexter holds his breath the entire time. He’s afraid she’ll know, that she’ll connect the dots the same way he did because he helped her clean up after a murder without a blink, because of the way he stared at her when she was dropping body parts into the ocean. She’ll know and she’ll hate him for it because brothers don’t dream about fucking their sisters even when they’re adopted.
“Dex, if you keep thinking so much, your brain will burn up.” Her voice startles him, he jumps from the bed but she’s quicker, catches his arm and makes him sit down. Her eyes don’t look tired, she must have been up for a while then and he feels his stomach drop. Deb must have felt him staring then.
“Sorry,” he apologizes for no reason, or for no reason known to her yet and looks everywhere but not at her. She pushed the blankets away and her dress is hiked up, and he doesn’t want to stare at her legs but he does. And then he feels herself burning up.
Deb watches him carefully, her face a mask of stone. “You have nothing to apologize for but I do. I’m sorry, Dexter, I didn’t want to pull you into my shit,” she sounds like she’s talking about a bad break-up and he knows he earned himself a right to ask her few questions.
“How long?” It’s the first one, not as important as “why” but he’s willing to wait. Deb bites in her lip and looks away briefly. She looks so innocent, so pure and he has to remind herself what he saw. Imagines all the cases that ended unsolved and then he remembers LaGuerta screaming at him through glass door.
“You killed him, you killed James.”
As it seems, it was his sister. Or?
She only looks at him when she has an answer. “Since I was 19. There always was too much anger inside me and I wasn’t sure how to level it, and then dad talked about all those murderers who walk free,” she isn’t apologizing, she’s stating facts.
“So you killed one, and then another and then...,” he stops, waiting for her to continue.
Deb nods first. “Then it wasn’t about anger anymore, I got addicted to the chase, the adrenalin. I had killed a man three times my size and I was so proud because he was a fucking pig who touched little girls.”
Dexter unravels the story in his head, thinks about all those times Harry had abandoned her to spend time with him, how she had tried to make him notice her and he wants to ask about him next. He doesn’t because Deb is suddenly on her knees slowly approaching him. He knows he’s losing a game he doesn’t even know they’re playing. Maybe it’s “who is the more fucked up one” and he would gladly raise his hand then.
She stops when their knees touch. “Do you hate me, Dexter?” she asks and sounds small, very small but he suspects it might be a trick. Deb doesn’t feel small, she feels strong and powerful and she could probably kill him sooner than he would notice she’s moving. But she isn’t, she frozen to the spot and waits.
She doesn’t have to wait too long because he’s shaking his head. “No, Deb, no, I could never hate you. Never.” He says it a little too forcefully and she looks at him curiously, tilts her head to one side and continues to stare at him. It’s unnerving. She’s looking for something, she seems confused.
“But why?” she asks after a while. “By now you must have figured out that Trinity killed Rita because of me, why wouldn’t you hate me because of it?” She sounds curious, like she really wants to know an answer to that, and Dexter briefly remembers his criminology lessons. The answer they give him isn’t a final one so he chooses to answer.
“You’re my sister and I love you. You didn’t kill Rita, Trinity did,” he tries it with the simplest logic, hopes she won’t push him, won’t ask him if he really loved his wife because his answer might not be persuasive enough. He reaches and holds her hand for a while for emphasis.
“So you can so easily forgive?” her question means thousands other things too and he remembers who she killed tonight. Deb might not have loved Maria LaGuerta, but she used to admire, set her on a pedestal she herself wanted to reach one day. She killed her because she thought he was the Bay Harbour Butches. She killed her because of him and when he figures it out, he looks at her with surprise written all over her face.
“Some things can be easily forgiven,” he hears himself whisper and tries to analyse what he meant by that, but he doesn’t have a chance because Deb launches herself at him. Her arms go around his neck and she buries her face into them. She isn’t crying, just holding him and only after a while he does the same.
Some things can’t, he continues in his head when he feels himself falling into abyss. The hug goes on for too long and he can feel every soft curve of her body, the smell of her shampoo is making him dizzy. She briefly turns her head and accidentally brushes her lips on the skin under his chin, it sets him whole on fire and he can’t help, he sucks in a breath.
Dexter’s sure she must have heard him and now she’s going to pull herself away from him and call him a creep, he expects it so much that he prepares for an invisible blow. Dexter closes his eyes and waits for something, anything to happen. But then he feels her lips again on the same spot and then higher and higher and when he thinks it might not be accidental anymore, he opens his eyes.
Deb’s face is right in front of his and Dexter suddenly can’t breath. It gets worse when she leans in, she takes all the air from his lungs and he finds himself trembling in her embrace. She kisses him softly at first, one small kiss after another, like she’s testing his reaction and he tries to control himself. He isn’t able to manage it for long, and soon he grasps her head in his hands and pushes them together. They clash and the kisses aren’t soft anymore, they’re bruising each other, their teeth are crashing together and Dexter feels like he just learnt to fly.
It’s taking over him, the feeling, and he pushes them to the bed. He’s hard already; years of wanting and wondering already prepared him. And he hopes she won’t stop him, oh God, how he wishes she wouldn’t because he wouldn’t be able to take this back. She must feel how desperate he is.
She holds onto his head, devours his mouth the exact same way he does hers and for a second he wonders if she imagined them like this too, but then he stops because he finally manages to free one of his hands and reaches down to hike her dress up. He always admired her legs, long and firm and he enjoys the weight of her thigh in his hand and caresses it while he slides his mouth from her lips to her neck, and he can die now and he would die happy, and Deb is moaning his name.
It pushes him even more far, his name in that throaty voice, it’s all happening too fast but Dexter can’t think straight, spreads her legs with one hand while opening his fly with other and Deb is holding onto his shoulders. He doesn’t have time to take off of her underwear, he just pushes it out of the way and buries herself in her.
She gasps a little too loudly and he goes still for a moment.
As a teenager he used to wank while watching her in the bath, he would imagine her legs around him, her breasts pushing at his chest and now it’s all happening and he cannot believe it. He would soon wake up in his bed with his hand down his shorts and it would be simply a dream. But it feels too real now, he really does feel her legs pulling him in, her hands still holding onto his shoulders and when she whispers his name, he finally opens his eyes.
“Hard, Dex, fuck me hard, bruise me, hurt me,” she hisses into his face and he finally starts to move, slowly at first, tries to get into rhythm with her, then faster and harder and he feels he’s too close but she isn’t. He pushes one finger against her clit and it takes few more thrust to feel her go limp beneath him. He isn’t very close behind and falls next to her trying to catch his breath.
They remain completely silent, like they were both ignoring it, like that way it could go away and they would be brother and sister again. And Dexter realizes that it’s gone now. He still loves her and he still would like to fuck her on daily basis but the infatuation is gone. Maybe it was never there in the first place.
“What comes next?” she asks propping herself on one elbow. “What comes after a murder that resulted into fucking your brother?” She looks serious, like she expects him to know everything and yes, he’s the one with titles and college degrees but Deb knew how to navigate herself through the day while killing douchebags during the night. She knows, she knows more than he ever will.
“I don’t know,” he answers and reaches up to caress her cheek. She doesn’t react to it, simply continues to stare at him, maybe figuring out if he isn’t lying.
But she has an idea, something comes to her mind and her entire face lightens up. She jumps from the bed, pulls the dress over her head and goes into his closet. She comes back with a pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts and Dexter watches as she dresses.
“Maybe we can make breakfast,” Deb says triumphantly when she finishes and Dexter stares. Yes, maybe they can, he’s feeling hungry too.