Born Free 1/1 (Dexter)
Title: Born Free
Pairing: Dexter/Brian
Rating: T or M (uncertain)
Word count: 1213
Summary: They are born free, and shall remain free. Together.
Note: Rated for what could be gore-ish, and for adorable incestuous luffs. Also, my first Dexter fic, so please be gentle.
It feels...strange. Brian's hand is coldwarmcold as it grabs his, and Dexter feels something flutter in his chest.
"You can be yourself with me. Your real, genuine self. It takes the breath away, doesn't it?" His eyes are dull, but bright. Happy? Accepting.
Dexter looks off to the side. He and Biney are in the next room. Biney is sitting behind him, arms around him, cheek resting on his shoulder. Biney loves him. Does Brian?
Dexter looks back at him, his brother, and reaches a hand up. He grabs at Brian's fingers, the fluttering in his chest getting more frantic.
Brian looks away, swallowing hard, face actually seeming emotional for a second. He slowly slides the knife over, slipping it underneath their connected hands, curling his fingers so Dexter's hand is gripping its handle. Yes, it does take the breath away. Yes, Brian loves him.
"I think we're ready for Debra."
She's all wrapped up, plastic keeping her down on the table. Her arms are straight at her sides, eyes closed, her face slack. Brian drugged her; she never looks so still, ever. She's naked -just like all of Dexter's own victims usually are- and he can't help but stare. Not out of any desire other than the one to maim; but he can't, no. She's Harry's daughter, his sister, Deb. His fingers twitch.
"I've prepared her just the way you like," and he sounds oh so proud, knowing his brother so, "This time we'll do it together."
Dexter moves towards the table, limbs slow in acting. He doesn't know what to do, how to act. He can't kill her. Wants. Twitches. More strange flutters in his chest, and something must be wrong, because Dexter thinks he's feeling.
"Does it have to be Deb?" Dexter knows Brian was expecting that. Maybe that's why he asked?
"It's the only way." Brian sounds so sure, so much like Biney, and they both know it's true.
"But she's my-" He can't say it. It's not right. Their own brand of blasphemous.
"Fake sister, I know. Tell me something. Your victims...are they all killers?" 'Like us' goes unsaid.
"Yes."
"Harry teach you that?" His voice is steady, normal. Dexter knows he's angry, though. Angry that Harry got to him first. Dexter sees the appeal.
"He taught me a code...to survive." Survival? It feels like only eating tofu; he's never satisfied. It burns inside him. Brian feels it.
"Like a..an absurd avenger?" Brian sounds vaguely amused.
"That's not why I kill."
"And why do you kill, Dex? WHY?" Brian grabs his shoulders tight, staring deep into his eyes, mouth agape. Dexter drops the knife, feels it slide out of his grip. He doesn't hear it land, no clatter, no ring.
Debra's shoulder is bloody. Her eyes open slowly. After a moment, she looks over. A distressed sound escapes her, like a puppy that needs to go oh so badly. She's wiggling.
"C'mon baby brother, tell me why. Why do you kill? Why do you plunge your knife deep into people's chests, saw their limbs off? Wrap 'em up and throw off your boat? WHY?" He sounds excited, hands tightening on Dexter's shoulders. Dexter's shaking. Debra is screaming, muffled by the duct tape. She looks confused, something like fear and hope furrowing her brow. She wants him to deny.
Dexter grabs at Brian's forearms, shoving, pushing him backwards. Brian's lower back is pressed hard into the edge of the table, his back touching almost flat to the tops of Debra's legs. Dexter pins his hands to his chest, leaning close. Their noses brush.
"Because I love it." His voice is an almost purr and Brian shivers, eyes brightening. Debra shivers too, her eyes wide. She's crying, fear clear in her gaze.
"You need to embrace who you are now." Brian lifts a hand, cupping Dexter's cheek. Dexter's eyes close, and he breathes in deep. Brian smells like freedom. He's definitely feeling something. His heart pounds.
"I do. I will." Dexter stands up straight and Brian follows, letting his hand slip from his brother's face. He reaches for the knife, bringing it to rest between them. He takes Dexter's hand, slipping the handle between his fingers and curling them, cradling his baby brother's -his life's- hand in his.
"Together?"
"Together."
The knife swings down in a beautiful arc, piercing the thick layer of plastic before slicing through Debra's skin, her flesh. Blood pools beneath the plastic as they let go of the knife, watch her accusing eyes. They were a little off; she's not dying very fast, but she will.
Brian looks down at Debra's hand and makes a displeased sound, face scrunched up. He jerks the knife out of her chest and brings it down sharply over the base of her fingers, hears her give a weak scream. He drops the knife onto the surface, taking Dexter's left hand from the edge of the table. With his free hand, Brian carefully picks up one of the fingers and slides the metal band off.
He pushes Dexter back slightly, dropping to one knee. His lips quirk up into a smirk as he slips it onto his brother's ring finger, watching the diamond gleam. There's blood on it. Dexter finds himself staring, not sure how to react. The fluttering is getting worse, feels like his heart is about to explode.
"I made sure it would fit you, Dexter. Debra has manly hands, she didn't notice how big it was." Brian is smiling now, but Dexter looks blank. His eyebrows furrow. Sirens blare in the distance.
"Dexter?" Brian feels nervous. He starts moving towards the door, feels a tear streak down his cheek. This? He never thought it would happen, never thought his Dearly Desired Dexter would reject him. He throws the door open, but just as he's about to make his way to the tunnel, a hand grabs his wrist. Dexter tugs at him until they're facing one another, foreheads pressed together. He grins.
"Biney."
--
The sun is just peaking over the horizon, casting a soft orange glow over Miami's towering buildings, its beauty doing nothing to betray the horrors that seem to cluster within the city.
The car is silver, its roof folded up, the windows down. The trunk is very spacious despite the car's size; the bodies of the rich couple whose neck's they snapped fit quite nicely in it, just a little snug. The radio is on; they're already broadcasting information about Brian Moser and Dexter Morgan, two wanted serial killers. Obviously they've found both their DNA on the knife. Intentional.
Brian changes the station. They listen to the end of the playing song, uninterested. The next one that comes on, though, feels like fate for some reason. They really must be insane.
"Hiya Barbie." Brian smirks.
"Hi Ken." Dexter's eyebrow quirks up.
"You wanna go for a ride?"
"Sure Ken."
Dexter leans over the armrest and plants a kiss on Brian's cheek. He lets his lips linger, humming his approval when his brother turns his head and connects their lips.
The fluttering is back. Yeah, Dexter had indeed been feeling the night before. Now he's almost sure he knows what that was. He clasps their hands together as Brian guns it.
Their own brand of love.
Pairing: Dexter/Brian
Rating: T or M (uncertain)
Word count: 1213
Summary: They are born free, and shall remain free. Together.
Note: Rated for what could be gore-ish, and for adorable incestuous luffs. Also, my first Dexter fic, so please be gentle.
It feels...strange. Brian's hand is coldwarmcold as it grabs his, and Dexter feels something flutter in his chest.
"You can be yourself with me. Your real, genuine self. It takes the breath away, doesn't it?" His eyes are dull, but bright. Happy? Accepting.
Dexter looks off to the side. He and Biney are in the next room. Biney is sitting behind him, arms around him, cheek resting on his shoulder. Biney loves him. Does Brian?
Dexter looks back at him, his brother, and reaches a hand up. He grabs at Brian's fingers, the fluttering in his chest getting more frantic.
Brian looks away, swallowing hard, face actually seeming emotional for a second. He slowly slides the knife over, slipping it underneath their connected hands, curling his fingers so Dexter's hand is gripping its handle. Yes, it does take the breath away. Yes, Brian loves him.
"I think we're ready for Debra."
She's all wrapped up, plastic keeping her down on the table. Her arms are straight at her sides, eyes closed, her face slack. Brian drugged her; she never looks so still, ever. She's naked -just like all of Dexter's own victims usually are- and he can't help but stare. Not out of any desire other than the one to maim; but he can't, no. She's Harry's daughter, his sister, Deb. His fingers twitch.
"I've prepared her just the way you like," and he sounds oh so proud, knowing his brother so, "This time we'll do it together."
Dexter moves towards the table, limbs slow in acting. He doesn't know what to do, how to act. He can't kill her. Wants. Twitches. More strange flutters in his chest, and something must be wrong, because Dexter thinks he's feeling.
"Does it have to be Deb?" Dexter knows Brian was expecting that. Maybe that's why he asked?
"It's the only way." Brian sounds so sure, so much like Biney, and they both know it's true.
"But she's my-" He can't say it. It's not right. Their own brand of blasphemous.
"Fake sister, I know. Tell me something. Your victims...are they all killers?" 'Like us' goes unsaid.
"Yes."
"Harry teach you that?" His voice is steady, normal. Dexter knows he's angry, though. Angry that Harry got to him first. Dexter sees the appeal.
"He taught me a code...to survive." Survival? It feels like only eating tofu; he's never satisfied. It burns inside him. Brian feels it.
"Like a..an absurd avenger?" Brian sounds vaguely amused.
"That's not why I kill."
"And why do you kill, Dex? WHY?" Brian grabs his shoulders tight, staring deep into his eyes, mouth agape. Dexter drops the knife, feels it slide out of his grip. He doesn't hear it land, no clatter, no ring.
Debra's shoulder is bloody. Her eyes open slowly. After a moment, she looks over. A distressed sound escapes her, like a puppy that needs to go oh so badly. She's wiggling.
"C'mon baby brother, tell me why. Why do you kill? Why do you plunge your knife deep into people's chests, saw their limbs off? Wrap 'em up and throw off your boat? WHY?" He sounds excited, hands tightening on Dexter's shoulders. Dexter's shaking. Debra is screaming, muffled by the duct tape. She looks confused, something like fear and hope furrowing her brow. She wants him to deny.
Dexter grabs at Brian's forearms, shoving, pushing him backwards. Brian's lower back is pressed hard into the edge of the table, his back touching almost flat to the tops of Debra's legs. Dexter pins his hands to his chest, leaning close. Their noses brush.
"Because I love it." His voice is an almost purr and Brian shivers, eyes brightening. Debra shivers too, her eyes wide. She's crying, fear clear in her gaze.
"You need to embrace who you are now." Brian lifts a hand, cupping Dexter's cheek. Dexter's eyes close, and he breathes in deep. Brian smells like freedom. He's definitely feeling something. His heart pounds.
"I do. I will." Dexter stands up straight and Brian follows, letting his hand slip from his brother's face. He reaches for the knife, bringing it to rest between them. He takes Dexter's hand, slipping the handle between his fingers and curling them, cradling his baby brother's -his life's- hand in his.
"Together?"
"Together."
The knife swings down in a beautiful arc, piercing the thick layer of plastic before slicing through Debra's skin, her flesh. Blood pools beneath the plastic as they let go of the knife, watch her accusing eyes. They were a little off; she's not dying very fast, but she will.
Brian looks down at Debra's hand and makes a displeased sound, face scrunched up. He jerks the knife out of her chest and brings it down sharply over the base of her fingers, hears her give a weak scream. He drops the knife onto the surface, taking Dexter's left hand from the edge of the table. With his free hand, Brian carefully picks up one of the fingers and slides the metal band off.
He pushes Dexter back slightly, dropping to one knee. His lips quirk up into a smirk as he slips it onto his brother's ring finger, watching the diamond gleam. There's blood on it. Dexter finds himself staring, not sure how to react. The fluttering is getting worse, feels like his heart is about to explode.
"I made sure it would fit you, Dexter. Debra has manly hands, she didn't notice how big it was." Brian is smiling now, but Dexter looks blank. His eyebrows furrow. Sirens blare in the distance.
"Dexter?" Brian feels nervous. He starts moving towards the door, feels a tear streak down his cheek. This? He never thought it would happen, never thought his Dearly Desired Dexter would reject him. He throws the door open, but just as he's about to make his way to the tunnel, a hand grabs his wrist. Dexter tugs at him until they're facing one another, foreheads pressed together. He grins.
"Biney."
--
The sun is just peaking over the horizon, casting a soft orange glow over Miami's towering buildings, its beauty doing nothing to betray the horrors that seem to cluster within the city.
The car is silver, its roof folded up, the windows down. The trunk is very spacious despite the car's size; the bodies of the rich couple whose neck's they snapped fit quite nicely in it, just a little snug. The radio is on; they're already broadcasting information about Brian Moser and Dexter Morgan, two wanted serial killers. Obviously they've found both their DNA on the knife. Intentional.
Brian changes the station. They listen to the end of the playing song, uninterested. The next one that comes on, though, feels like fate for some reason. They really must be insane.
"Hiya Barbie." Brian smirks.
"Hi Ken." Dexter's eyebrow quirks up.
"You wanna go for a ride?"
"Sure Ken."
Dexter leans over the armrest and plants a kiss on Brian's cheek. He lets his lips linger, humming his approval when his brother turns his head and connects their lips.
The fluttering is back. Yeah, Dexter had indeed been feeling the night before. Now he's almost sure he knows what that was. He clasps their hands together as Brian guns it.
Their own brand of love.