A/N: Well, I'm finally back with something new! I don't really know what to say about this without giving anything away, but I've wanted to explore something like this for a while, so I hope you all enjoy it.

Originally I just planned on this being a oneshot, but I'm kind of frustrated with how I ended it so if anyone is interested I can definitely continue (though hopefully this won't get as long as my first one lol)

Reviews are greatly appreciated! xo

"The only way I'm leaving is if you shoot me and we both know you're not going to do that."

"You wanna fucking bet?" Deb challenges, her jaw starting to tighten as she raises her gun.

"Yes, Debra. Yes I do." The slender blonde replies, her voice oozing its usual derisive sweetness. "We've had our share of differences, you and I. But I know that you're a good person, deep, deep down. Gunning down an unarmed woman in cold blood? What would your brother think?"

Deb shuts her eyes and is immediately flooded with images of fireworks and drunken comradery, of her gun aimed point blank at the unarmed woman crouched only a few feet away from her. She hears her cries, her final words. The words that Debra hasn't been able to shake since the night that she sacrificed one life so that she could save another.

But was that life really worth saving after all? She hates that she's been asking herself that question every night for months. She hates that she often fantasizes what would have happened if only she'd changed the trajectory of that bullet.

"Maybe I don't give a shit what my brother thinks." Deb says through gritted teeth.

"Well that's obviously not true." Hannah replies. "You love him. Maybe even as much as I do."

She wants to scream, to tell that bitch that she doesn't have even the slightest idea of what it really means to love Dexter Morgan. It's hard work and sacrifice and agonizing as all hell, and Hannah McKay doesn't know a thing about it.

But there's no way in hell that Deb is about to let her brother's poisonous ex-girlfriend think that she's even the slightest bit jealous. Jealous – of her? No, that's fucking ridiculous.

"Th-that's enough." Deb stutters. "Get down on the ground and put your hands up. I'm not kidding. Do it, or leave me with no other choice."

"How does it feel, knowing that your brother is still in love with me?" Hannah pesters on. "Knowing that he never gave up on me? That he'll always choose me? I can only hope that you'll find your own Dexter someday. Maybe then you'll finally be able to leave mine alone for more than twenty seconds."

"That's real fuckin' sweet of you, McKay. But I've already got my own Dexter, and that selfish piece of shit is more than enough for me at the moment. I sure as hell don't need another one." Deb replies.

Hannah stands there in silence, a ghost of a smile appearing across her soft features. She crosses her arms over her chest, and it's clear that the woman has no intention of backing down.

Jesus Christ, she must really love Dexter if she's willing to get taken into custody as she waits for him. Too bad Deb doesn't give a shit.

"You're fucking delusional." Deb states. "He turned you in. You went to prison because of him. Why the hell would you come back to a man that would turn on you like that? You keep spewing that true love bullshit, but if the so-called love of my life was responsible for me being put away, I don't think I could be so sympathetic."

"Forgiveness is very important in a loving relationship." Hannah says, smirking mischievously. "You know, Debra, I think you relate to me much more than you let on. You're asking me why I choose to stay with Dexter, but I could very well be asking the same of you. One minute you act like you despise him, and the next minute the two of you are joined at the hip. Why is that?"

"This isn't about me." Deb insists. "Whatever little mind game you're playing, I'm not falling for it. So stop trying to fuck with my head."

"I'm not playing any mind games, Lieutenant. I'm just asking a genuine question. One that you still haven't answered, might I add?" Hannah presses.

Deb places both hands tightly on the gun, hoping that somehow she'll scare the woman into submission. Maybe she can shoot her in the arm, let her know that she isn't fucking around this time…?

"Your borderline obsessive devotion to your brother will always prevent you from pulling that trigger, sweetie." Hannah says, as if she can read her fucking mind. "You know that if you do, Dexter could never forgive you. His pure, innocent baby sister murdering the love of his life? It would be the ultimate betrayal in his eyes. He'd never speak to you again, and as stubborn as he is when it comes to you, eventually he'd realize that he has to kill you. But go ahead. Shoot me. I dare you."

Deb won't ever admit it out loud, but she knows that the bitch is right.

She drops one hand to wipe her sweaty palm on the side of her jeans, leaving the other on the gun still shakily pointed at Hannah McKay.

She hears a low, mocking laugh erupt from the other woman and the pressure starts to build behind her eyelids until she is convinced that she's seeing red.

She tells herself that she can't do it, that she won't do it, that she isn't a murderer. But that isn't true anymore, is it? It hasn't been true for a while now.

But she can't do it. Not again.

She almost lost herself on New Year's, and she's only just getting back to a fraction of the person that she used to be.

Even if this particular murder would be justifiable in the eyes of many, she can't do it. She isn't some wannabe vigilante.

She isn't him.

"Don't cry, Debra." Hannah coos. "It's alright. It will all be over soon."

She hasn't even realized that she's started tearing up, too preoccupied with the sheer rage that threatens to consume her.

"Soon, you'll never have to see me again. If things go the way they're supposed to, you'll never see Dexter again, either. We'll be out of your lives forever. I know that's what you've been wanting for a while now." Hannah mocks. "It's for the best, really. Dexter will finally get a shot at being truly happy, and Harrison can grow up with an actual mother figure in his life. You understand how important that is for him, don't you Deb?"

"Keep my nephew's name out of your mouth." Deb orders, both hands held firmly on the gun as she aims it at the woman's head. "Now, only because I'm a nice fucking person, I'll give you one last chance to do as I fucking say."

"That's cute, Debra. The old menacing cop routine. Well, it was worth a shot I guess. But your nephew is coming with me. Your brother is, too. And then you'll know what it feels like to really be alone." Hannah taunts. "It's going to eat you up inside."

She doesn't want to let the irritating blonde's words get to her, after all, she's heard worse; but the satisfied smile tugging at the corners of her lips is what finally puts Debra over the edge.

Without so much as a second though, she pulls the trigger, firing once. The bullet lodges dead center in the other woman's skull, her body falling down to the carpet and leaving behind a glistening portrait of crimson spatter along the blue toned wall.

Deb sinks to her knees, carefully laying the gun down on the floor beside her. She turns to Hannah McKay, and the fact that her eyes are still open wide and fixed on her own in a challenging glare is nothing short of eerie.

She stares at the woman laying lifeless before her, waiting for the guilt to settle in. She isn't surprised when it doesn't.

How could it be? Hannah fucking McKay, the source of so many of her problems, is dead. Gone. By Deb's own hand. She tries to feel bad about it, but she doesn't even consider lying to herself for a second. She's done that for far too long now.

The sound of a key turning in the door startles her. She doesn't know how long she's been sitting there, just staring.

When the door swings open, she isn't sure why she doesn't turn around to see who's there.

Maybe it's because she already knows.

She hears a low gasp, followed by a "Deb, what are you doing here?"

The lack of surprise in his voice tells her that he hasn't taken in the entire scene – yet.

Deb turns to face him, using her body to temporarily obscure his view of the pale corpse hunched in the corner behind her. She doesn't know why she even bothers, though. This is one problem she can't hide from.

"Dex," She starts, unable bring herself to say much of anything else. "I…"

"Hannah?" He questions, his eyes darting back and forth around the room. "What happened, Deb? Where's Hannah?"

Deb crosses her arms self-consciously over her chest, unsure of the proper etiquette involved when it comes to explaining to your foster brother that you just shot his ex-girlfriend in the head.

"Deb, what did you do!?" Dexter shouts.

His hazel eyes tear into hers, searching for the answers that she knows he already has and is just too scared to admit.

He knows exactly what the fuck she's done, there's no point in making this any worse than it has to be.

Silently she gets up and stands directly in front of him, taking a few deep breaths as she prepares to face him head on.

Deb lightly kicks the gun across the floor so that it lands at his feet, stepping an inch or two to the side so he can finally see the gruesome scene for himself.

"Deb…" He whimpers. "No, you didn't. No. You – How could you?"

Suddenly, some kid comes barging in.

He looks like he's fresh out of his teens. Deb has never known her brother to be the type to spend his free time hanging around bratty looking twenty-somethings, but judging by the boy's lack of any reaction that isn't amusement at the dead body sitting only a few feet away from him, she's sure that the two of them get along just fine.

The fascinated look in the boy's eyes makes Deb's skin crawl, because it's all too familiar to her. That look takes her back to the long nights that she'd spent in Dexter's room as a kid. The long nights that she'd spent watching with childlike curiosity as her brother perused the anatomy and physiology books that he'd checked out of the local library two or three times over.

Of course, she'd had no way of knowing what that glimmer in his eyes meant. If only she had, though, then maybe things could have been different...

"Who the fuck are you?" She asks the kid, thinking that she'd rather talk to him than stand in uncomfortable silence as she waits for Dexter to do whatever it is he plans to do to her.

"Who the fuck are you?" He replies.

He eyes her with an odd look that she can't quite define. Admiration, maybe?

"Did you do this?" He continues.

"Leave her alone, Zach." Dexter chimes in shakily. "I think it'll be best for everyone if you be quiet and head back to the car."

"How can I be quiet and get back in the car? I'm going to have to make some noise, you know." Zach replies with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Is this your other girlfriend or something? You've got chicks fighting over you man, you're like a rock star!"

"I said SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET BACK IN THE FUCKING CAR!" Dexter snaps, turning to the boy with violence in his eyes. "Could you not be a complete fucking idiot for one minute, please? Is that possible?"

Zach looks as if he's about to open his mouth to say something else, but when Dexter walks over to him, gripping him up by his shirt collar and harshly whispering something in his ear, he quickly does an about face and hurries out of the door.

For a second Deb wonders what Dexter could have possibly said to the kid to make him high tail it out of the room as if his entire fucking life depended on it, but she just as quickly decides that she doesn't want to know.

Dexter bends over to pick up the gun off of the floor and shoves it in his back pocket. He stares at Hannah's lifeless form for a while, and his silence is what starts to scare her more than anything.

She feels sick knowing that her brother's lack of a reaction scares her even more than the fact that she still can't bring herself to feel guilty about actually pulling the trigger.

But her hands are already stained red with the blood of an innocent woman who didn't deserve what happened to her. Quite frankly, Deb doesn't have any space left within her to feel sorry for a toxic gardener whose idea of a fun way to pass the time was poisoning people and leaving them on the side of the fucking road.

"There is high velocity spatter on the wall, consistent with one gunshot to the head. It was a clean shot, and it looks like she was killed instantly. She didn't suffer." Dexter says, breaking down the facts in the same monotone voice that she'd grown accustomed to hearing him use at any run of the mill crime scene.

That worries her.

"Dexter, stop it." Deb whimpers, hesitantly inching closer to where her brother stands.

He doesn't seem affected by her closeness, so she chances placing a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Dexter aggressively shrugs Deb off, causing her to lose her footing and stumble backwards. He reaches out for her before she has the chance to fall on her ass, yanking her upright.

He grabs onto her wrists with practically bruising force and walks her backwards until she's pressed up against the wall.

He comes close, uncomfortably close, until Deb feels a new sort of tension in the air that she isn't so sure she's imagining.

His eyes are deeper now, darker than their usual warm shade of hazel, but she doesn't cower away from him. She may turn out to be royally fucking mistaken, but she doesn't think she has to. Dexter won't hurt her.

"What happened?" He asks through gritted teeth.

"I don't think that matters now, does it?" Deb responds, flinching when he releases one of her wrists to slam his palm up against the wall.

"Of course it fucking matters," He hisses. "You killed someone, Deb. Again. And not just any someone. Hannah."

"I know who the fuck she is...was" Deb retorts, dropping her gaze down to the floor so she won't have to see the hurt in Dexter's eyes.

The hurt that she is responsible for.

She wants to feel bad, and truly, a part of her does, but mostly she's just…angry. At him, at herself, at Hannah.

Was there ever any other way that this could have ended? It has always been either her or Hannah, and Deb made what she thought was the right choice. The choice that she thought Dexter would make. Maybe she was wrong.

"So you followed us here, is that it?" Dexter asks. "You came here, waited until Hannah was alone and unable to protect herself, and you ambushed her?"

"You really think that I would do something like that, Dexter? Do you even know me at all?" Deb fires back, an uncomfortable heat spreading across her body. "I'm not a fucking assassin. She left me with no other choice. I had to."

"I don't believe that." He hesitantly replies.

"Well good for you, but I don't care. Get the fuck out of my way." She says, trying to snatch her arm out of his grip.

Deb reaches out her free arm to try and shove Dexter away, but he grabs onto it and spins her around, bending the arm behind her back. He presses her up against him in an awkward position, restricting her from moving even slightly.

"Tell me everything that happened, Deb. Step by step, word for word." He orders.

She ignores him, not in the mood for an interrogation. She squirms in his arms, but his hold on her is too tight, leaving them both at a standstill.

He finally lets go of one of her arms and reaches down for something.

She isn't surprised when she feels the cool needle pressed against her flesh.

They say that before you die you see a white light, or loved ones that you've lost along the way, or some other profound shit.

Well, Deb doesn't see any of that.

No, all she sees is her brother, decked out in that ridiculous plastic apron and green Henley, glaring down at her. How fitting, really.

She fidgets a bit from side to side, not at all shocked when she realizes that she's bound tight with Dexter's signature plastic wrap.

Her mouth is free of duct tape, though, and she figures that that's a good sign. Well, she hopes it is, anyway.

Dexter refuses to take his eyes off of her, and it's starting to make her feel uncomfortable. She breaks their stare with a groan, her eyes darting across the room so she can finally take in her surroundings.

They're in the middle of her dining room. Well, her dining room covered in sheets of plastic wrap. She doesn't know how he managed to drag around an unconscious woman without any random people noticing, but she's stopped questioning how he does the things that he does long ago.

She looks to her left and sees two photos pinned to one of the plastic covered walls. One of the pictures is of Hannah McKay, the other of Maria LaGuerta. In the second picture, LaGuerta is decked out in her captain's uniform, beaming from ear to ear. It's a stark contrast from the scowl she wore on New Year's as Deb aimed her gun at her head.

She feels her skin grow sticky beneath its bindings as she tries to shake off the images of her former boss' final moments. But those images are quickly replaced with others. Others that she thinks are just as bad.

She sees him – Rudy, Brian, whoever the fuck he is – choking her, tying her up…looking down at her with that evil glint in his eye, the one that Dexter is watching her with right now.

It's kind of ironic that he was the one to save her then, because he's the one she needs protection from now.

"Talk." He says, his deep voice cutting through the silence like the metallic knife he holds in one gloved hand.

"Y-you didn't have to strip me, you know." Deb uneasily replies. "I could have gotten the message just the same with my clothes on."

"Dammit, Debra!" He shouts, slamming his free hand down on the table she lays on. "Don't fuck around with me, this is serious."

"Oh, is it serious?" She sarcastically asks. "Silly me, I thought you drugged me and dragged me here so we could catch up on some much needed brother-sister bonding time."

He tightens his fist around the knife, and for a second Deb thinks he may very well stab her right then and there, if only to get her to stop with her dumb ass attempt at stalling.

She still can't say that she's scared of him, though. The only time she has ever truly feared her brother was when she set foot in that church, and her reaction to that was more shock than anything.

But that glint in his eye? That darkness? It reminds her too much of Brian. She doesn't like it.

"You gonna fucking kill me? Well hurry up and get it over with, then." She says, trying her hardest to keep the hurt in her voice buried deep below the surface.

He looks upset, as if he even has that fucking right. Personally, Deb thinks that should be reserved for the person strapped naked to a kitchen counter.

Still, despite their current…predicament…she's not so sure that if she weren't tied down, she could even fight the urge to hold him. To comfort him. She would punch him square in the jaw afterwards, though. Of course.

But she can't do any of that now, so instead she matches his glare like only she can, daring him to make his next move.

She almost wishes that he would kill her. Surely it would be better than the waiting.

"I don't want to kill you, Deb." He says, his voice cracking as a few tears well up in his eyes.

"Mmm, so all of this is just for kicks then?" She snorts, using her eyes to gesture towards the mounds of plastic wrap he so dutifully canopied throughout her entire house.

"I needed to talk to you, and you're too stubborn to do it without any…assistance." Dexter replies.

"Assistance!? Dexter –"

"You hurt me, Deb!" He interrupts, his volume catching her off guard and actually managing to send a few shivers down her spine.

"I hurt you? I hurt you!?" She snaps. "And how many times have you hurt me? Rita? Lundy? LaGuerta? Are those names ringing any bells in your fucking reptile brain?"

"Don't you dare throw Rita's death in my face," He hisses, inching closer to Deb with an accusatory finger pointed in her face. "I didn't kill them, Deb. Any of them. You know that."

"Yeah? Well you might as well have, because it was all your fucking fault. All of it." She replies.

"That's enough. I'm not going to just stand here and let you blame me for every bad thing that's ever happened in our lives, Debra. I'm not perfect! But you know what? Neither are you!" He declares.

"Don't you think I fucking know that? Every day I look back on every bad choice I've ever made, and it makes me sick. I make me sick. So believe me, I don't need any of your lectures." Deb says.

Dexter opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it again, locking his eyes back on hers.

"Why did you have to do it, Dex?" Deb asks.

"Why did I have to do it? Deb, what are you talking about?" He asks.

He has that ridiculous wide-eyed look on his face. That look he gets whenever he's confused, and Deb almost laughs until she remembers why she's here. What she did. What he did.

"Stalk me. Harass me. Refuse to leave me alone. Kill Briggs two fucking feet away from me. Drag me out of that shithole that I would have been perfectly fine with rotting in. Why?" Deb whimpers. "You know, for a while I'd even managed to convince myself that I actually hated you. Why did you have to come barging back into my life like some twisted version of a white knight? Why couldn't you just leave things the way they were? The way they were meant to be?"

"Because that isn't how things were meant to be, Deb. I love you. I couldn't watch you ruin your life." He answers.

"I guess you'd rather just take it, then?" She sniffles. "Go ahead. It isn't like there's much of a life left anyway."

"Don't say that." He begs.

That glint in his eye, Brian's glint, has all but vanished; and if she didn't know any better, she'd think that Dexter actually meant what he said. But if that were true then she wouldn't still be bound to this table now would she?

He can tell her how much he loves her until he's blue in the face, but that didn't stop him from choosing Hannah over her before, and it sure as fuck won't stop him now. He's here to exact revenge on the person who took his true love away from him, even if that person is his sister.

Even if he is hers.

She doesn't think she'll try to stop him.

"I guess we're more alike than you thought, Dex." Deb says. "Turns out your pure, innocent little sister isn't so innocent after all."

"You're a good person, Deb." Dexter tells her, though Deb thinks he's saying it to convince himself more than anyone else.

"No I'm not. How could I be, after killing Hannah McKay, the sweetest fucking bitch on the entire fucking planet?" She teases.

"Oh? So you're ready to talk now I take it?" Dexter asks. "Why did you do it, Deb?"

"The real question is how did I manage not to do it for so long." She mumbles. "It wasn't…it wasn't fun for me, Dexter. But I warned her. I told her that refusing to comply meant forcing my hand. And once she started talking all that shit about you and Harrison…"

"What did she say about me and Harrison?" He interjects, leaning in closer to her.

"She was going on and on about how she would convince you and Harrison to abandon me and run away with her to God knows where. She said that she was going to be Harrison's new mom, and that it would eat me up inside. Normally I wouldn't let shit like that get to me, but she was laughing, and I just…I just snapped, Dex." She explains. "I just got tired of it. I'm so tired. But you can bet your ass that I'd pull that trigger again in a fucking heartbeat."

"We could never abandon you, Deb. You know that. Harrison loves you. I love you." Dexter says with a pained look in his eye.

"Yeah? Well you could've fooled me," Deb chuckles, trying (and failing) to mask the tears that start to fall. "The way you obsess over her like some lovesick teenager…I mean Jesus Christ, Dexter! The woman poisoned you and left you on the side of the road and you still can't get enough! And Harrison…he flipped his shit when he found out that Hannah was back. I don't think he's ever reacted to me like that before, and I'm his fucking aunt. I've been there for him, I've always been there for him. Even when no one else was."

Dexter starts to interrupt her, thinking that she's finished, but Deb promptly cuts him off so she can finish her rant.

"You know what, Dex? I am sorry. I didn't mean to rob you and Harrison of your only shot at happiness. I guess I'm finally starting to realize that everyone would be better off without me." She cries.

"Deb, I don't care what she tried to convince you of. I never planned to go anywhere with her. I only promised to get her somewhere safe. That was it. I would never abandon you." He claims. "I don't want to hear that shit again, okay?"

"But you would have, Dexter. Eventually. After all, you can't choose who you love, right? I know that more than anyone." She says, smiling weakly. "I just wish you knew how to pick 'em better, bro. I can't believe I'm saying this, but you…you deserve better."

"And who's better, Deb? You?" He asks, his visible skin starting to redden.

Deb tries to raise her hands to shield herself from his penetrating stare, cursing to herself when she remembers that her arms are bound to her side.

"Jesus, I didn't mean it like that." She sighs.

"Yes you did." He adamantly says. "Admit it, Debra."

"Are you asking me to admit that I'm jealous?" She laughs, meeting his gaze again. "That's not going to happen Dexter, because when it comes to Hannah McKay, I am the furthest fucking thing from jealous. Believe that."

He stares at her for a few silent moments, and then raises the knife. Just as he is about to bring it back down, Deb forces her eyes closed.

She's never been stabbed, so she doesn't know what to expect. She figures it can't feel any worse than a gun shot, so she braces herself for that.

The pain doesn't come.

Deb opens her eyes and is met with Dexter's piercing hazel ones. She hears the knife clank to the ground and watches as he removes his gloves and reaches down to her midsection, finally beginning to remove the layers of plastic that bind her.

With most of the plastic gone, his fingertips still linger on her stomach. She shudders, not only because of the odd coolness that comes with his flesh pressed against hers, but also because of the contrasting warmth of his breath washing over her.

He's close, too close, and the only cohesive thought running through her mind is that she needs to get away. Now.

She rises off of the counter, not even bothering to shield her naked body from the man before her. But before her feet even touch the ground, Dexter lightly nudges her shoulder and pushes her to the side to make room for him on the small countertop.

He sits down beside her and brushes a few stray strands of hair out of her face. She looks away self-consciously, feeling more than a bit confused by his newfound tenderness.

He grabs onto her chin, turning her face towards him. Debra can barely comprehend what's happening before Dexter is crushing his lips to hers.

It takes a few seconds for her to actually start to kiss him back. For her to even realize that this isn't all just some fucked up fantasy; that this is real.

And fuck, it's real alright.

All too soon, Dexter breaks the kiss. He rubs his thumb across his bottom lip, mumbling something low under his breath that she can barely even hear over the thundering of her heart.

"What the…what the fuck was that?" Deb asks, shakily crossing her legs to maintain whatever decency she possibly has left.

Dexter doesn't say a word, but he looks just as confused as she feels, and that's at least some consolation for her.

Deb gradually slides her hand up the length of his arm until she reaches his shoulder and rests it there.

He seems to take that move as some sort of signal. He suddenly gets off of the table for only a moment, removing his tight fitting shirt and revealing his bare chest to her.

Deb has seen him shirtless before of course, but this is different. This is uncharted territory for the both of them.

She takes a moment to drink him in, to admire his athletic figure. She's never really had much of a chance to really see him, scars and all. It's surreal to her.

Her eyes travel lower and his hands follow suit. He unzips his pants, hastily pulling them down and stepping out of them. His boxers immediately follow, and Deb sits there frozen, not knowing whether to look away or ogle him like a fucking creep.

He's hard, really fucking hard, and that confuses her, because this shouldn't even be happening. A few minutes ago he was holding a knife over her heart, and she actually thought he might kill her.

She never expected things to go from that to…this.

He climbs back onto the table; his palm slipping on what she can only assume is her own sweat. The fact that soon he could be slipping on their joint sweat both exhilarates and terrifies her.

"Spread your legs for me, Deb." He huskily instructs her.

It's the first thing he's said to her since things started to get weird, and she feels her heart start to race at the unexpected hoarseness in his voice.

She immediately lies down on her back and does as she's told, opening her legs wide for him. He settles in between her thighs, rubbing himself torturously along her folds.

His motions are slow and deliberate, and she's thankful that she has any dignity left at all; because if she didn't, she'd probably be begging him to stop the madness and just take her now.

But she isn't about to do that. Instead, she slightly lifts her back off of the slick surface, spreading her legs wider and hoping that he'll finally catch the hint and stop fucking around.

He does. Loud and clear.

Dexter grunts as he pushes into her, and Deb throws her head back, gasping at the sensation as he continues to drive himself deeper inside of her.

It's been a while since she's done this. The last time was months ago with Briggs, but she's wet enough for Dexter to slide into her with no problem at all. He fits perfectly inside of her, as if they were made for each other, the two matching pieces to one awfully fucked up puzzle.

He doesn't stop until she takes all of him, resting inside of her for a moment, not daring to move a muscle.

Dexter lowers his gaze to meet Deb's and she nods, giving him the permission that she's not even sure why he's seeking in the first place. Surely he has to know by now how much she wants this. How much she's always wanted this.

He pulls out and comes slamming back inside of her, setting a pace that's fast and rough and not nearly enough.

Deb wraps her legs around his waist, digging her heels in the curve just above his ass so he can bury himself deeper inside of her.

"Oh, fuck." Deb moans as he changes the angle ever so slightly, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves designed to drive her crazy.

He isn't loud, though she doesn't know why she would even expect him to be.

Maybe it's because his brother never was.

Before he drugged her, tied her down, and started waving a knife in her face, Deb always saw Dexter as the complete antithesis of Brian. It sends shivers down her spine to think about how wrong she might have been.

He fucks her hard and fast, just the way she likes it, as if he's been doing this all his life.

Soon, Deb feels his breathing starting to become more labored. He pulls out of her without warning, holding his cock in his hand. He touches himself a few more times before coming undone, releasing the remnants of their tryst on her lower belly with a guttural moan.

Deb bites down on her bottom lip and closes her eyes. She brings her hand down in between her legs, expertly slipping two fingers into her wetness so she can finish herself off.

Deb feels Dexter grab roughly onto her wrist and her eyes flutter open. She lifts her back off of the slippery countertop so she can better watch as he removes her fingers and grabs onto her legs. He drags her down to the edge of the counter and places his hands at both sides of her waist, lifting her up and off of the table.

Dexter drops one hand from her side and reaches in between his legs, giving himself a few quick strokes before sliding into her again.

He moves inside of her slowly, handling her with much more care than he previously had. But that all changes once he has her backed up against the wall.

His thrusts start to gradually become more intense, and no matter how much she wishes she could, Deb can't fight the urge to scream.

Dexter holds her up with one hand firmly gripping her ass, keeping the other planted on the wall to steady himself as he plunges wildly into her.

"Deb…" He moans, leaning in closer to nibble on her earlobe.

She tangles her fingers through his hair as the pressure starts to build, screaming louder as she feels his mouth traveling lower and lower until he bites down on the tender skin of her neck.

He pushes into her a few more times before they both find their release; him with a sweet moan and her with his name tumbling from her lips.

Dexter collapses to the floor, still clutching onto Deb's naked form. She lands on top of him and they stay like that for a while, splayed out on the plastic-covered floor as they simultaneously try to catch their breath.

Deb reaches out to touch Dexter's cheek, still in disbelief that any of this has even happened.

"Dexter…" She pants, untangling her limbs from his so she can get up and stand over him. "Jesus...W-what now?"

She feels their joint cum warm between her thighs, and any inkling she had that what just happened was anything short of reality quickly vanishes from her mind.

Dexter ignores her words and quickly rises from the floor, returning to the area where he'd haphazardly shed his clothes a while ago.

He pulls on his pants, not even bothering to search for his underwear. He tugs his shirt over his head next, going almost out of his way to avoid making any type of eye contact with her.

Dexter makes his way over to the front door in a blink, slamming it shut behind him without even so much as a mumbled goodbye.

Of course, that leaves Deb all alone to clean things up herself.

It's a mess. It's all a goddamn fucking mess…in more ways than one, now.