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serene_quillTitle: Destruction and Duct Tape
Fandom: Dexter
Pairing: Dexter/Doakes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1100
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing
Warnings: duct tape bondage, a little cracky, not beta'ed
Summary: Valentine fic for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
skitty_kitty who asked for Dexter/Doakes, “their love is so duct tapey!” and “you must include the phrase "Surprise, motherf^cker!"” Set somewhere nebulous S1-S2
Someone had been not just hit by Cupid’s arrow, but brutally butchered, stabbed multiple times, and the golden arrow was still jammed firmly in their little glitter loving heart. While I’m all for a good carnage usually, this would unfortunately be a metaphoric slaying. The normally cool hearted LeGuarda had allowed red tin foil, lace and glitter to take over the detective pool, and there are few holidays quite as annoying to a serial killer as Valentine’s Day.
I claim it’s the greeting card faux holiday annoyance, but in reality, it’s the expectations. Valentine’s is hard work for a sociopath. It’s not that I can’t nail the gestures—as usual two dozen white roses will arrive at Rita’s in the morning, chocolates mid-day, and something soft and squishy that evening. Last year it was a fuzzy red monkey. She’s particularly enjoys the soft and squishy part of the gift. In return, she cooks, sexy lingerie, and the whole romantic evening.
It’s the expected emotion of it that I find exhausting. Romance involves putting your heart out there, and somehow, I don’t think people are expecting them to be gory and still beating when you offer it.
This year’s particularly bad. The only one who hasn’t fallen victim to this serial killer of skepticism, this mass murderer of cynicism is Doakes. He regards the whole affair with a contemptuous eye, going so far as to rip limb from limb the little cupid that some schmuck was foolish enough to place on his desk. I’ve never enjoyed Valentine’s more than watching that.
“What are you looking at?” Doakes growls at me, and I grin.
“My new partner in crime,” I reply, gesturing to the room. “I mean, there’s decorating and then there’s just so far over the line you’ll team up with me to end it.”
“Keep wallkin’, freak show,” Doakes advises me in a sharp bark, and I chuckle unrepentantly.
“When you’re ready,” I answer, heading for my lab. Nothing like some nice blood spatter analysis to make you forget about the glitter slowly inching its way toward your door.
*-*
“I think even Jesus would make a deal with you now,” Doakes greets me two days later as a heart shaped red disco ball is being raised. The idea of whether it would still be called a disco ball despite its lack of spherical shape had been perplexing me for several minutes so it took my brain a second to catch up.
“You ready to go special ops on this place?” I joke eagerly. “Seek and destroy?”
“You got a plan smart ass?” Doakes asks, rolling his eyes.
“Just meet me here at 11,” I reply, looking around. Given the hours everyone was keeping that week, the detective pool would be empty.
At 11 promptly, Doakes arrives, dressed in head to toe black, carrying half a dozen knives, his gun, and a roll of duct tape. “Okay, the gun I can see being useful, but duct tape?” I ask, flourishing my heavy duty black trash bag. “And could you be any more conspicuous?”
“What do you know about it, lab rat?” Doakes snaps, giving me a warning look.
Oh, you have no idea, Sgt. Doakes, I muse as I nod toward the Cupid window clings. “I’ll start ground level, you can have the honor of taking out the high wire,” I say as I point up as the hideous mirrored contraption.
The destruction of the holiday cheer is surprisingly efficient, and before long, two trash bags full of bits of glitter and glass are all that remain. “Here,” Doakes hands me a cigar, puffing at his own as he surveys the cleaned up room.
“To a job well done, eh?” I remark, sitting down in one of the rolling chairs and lighting the Cuban with an expert hand.
“You didn’t strike me as the type to go all out warfare on the Hallmark holiday,” Doakes observes, and for some reason, the truth, or as close to it as I ever allow myself, slides out of my mouth.
“Well, I go through the whole motions of it for Rita, she loves it, but I’ve never really gotten the point,” I sigh, shrugging.
“Well, for you, the point is supposed to be gettin’ laid,” Doakes replies dryly, and I give him a roll of the eyes pointed look. “Not so much in the sack then?”
“Not sure that’s your concern,” I hedge, a little baffled by the sudden companionable side of Doakes. The man’s version of talking to me usually involves looking like he’s about to drive my head through a desk, after all.
“Mm hmm, thought so,” Doakes smirks at me, and I notice him fingering the duct tape. “So you’re hard up and maybe in need of a hand, huh?”
He can’t mean what I think he means.
Doakes stands up, walking over, subtly straddling me in his stance. “Well, freak show? You want this?”
“Uh,” is all I can so eloquently manage, frowning when Doakes tears some duct tape, quickly using it to strap one of my wrists to the chair. I start to reach to undo it, but just as quickly, he has hold of my other wrist.
“Not doing this without you strapped down, creep,” Doakes says gruffly, and I have to admit, my interest is peaked enough to let him continued till I’m truly strapped to the chair. I’m not overly concerned as I have a pocket knife in my pocket and my right wrist is still loose enough that I can break the tape and cut myself free. Doakes uses an awful lot of tape, but finally, he’s finished, standing back and admiring his handiwork for a moment.
I wait, looking at Doakes expectantly, who gives me a grin, setting the bags of destroyed decorations at my feet. “What are you doing?”
“Letting you take the fall, Sideshow,” Doakes replies with a grin. “Surprise, mother fucker! Have a nice night.”
“You go to all the trouble of offering me a blow job just so you can tape me up and try to make people think you caught me in the act?” I call after him, a smirking silence followed by the ding of the elevator my only reply.
I smile to myself, tearing an arm free, not quite the lab weakling Doakes assumes me to be, and cut myself loose. Then, I contemplate the bags of decoration.
Scooping out a handful of glass, lace and glitter, I grind it into the carpet by Doakes desk and leave a few torn limbs of cupid in his desk drawer. Then on my way out, I whistle one of those catchy little love tunes from the radio as I dump the bags in the dumpster on my way to my car.
“Yeah, surprise, mother fucker,” I mutter as I head for the car. Love… and payback… is a bitch.
Fandom: Dexter
Pairing: Dexter/Doakes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1100
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing
Warnings: duct tape bondage, a little cracky, not beta'ed
Summary: Valentine fic for
skitty_kitty who asked for Dexter/Doakes, “their love is so duct tapey!” and “you must include the phrase "Surprise, motherf^cker!"” Set somewhere nebulous S1-S2Someone had been not just hit by Cupid’s arrow, but brutally butchered, stabbed multiple times, and the golden arrow was still jammed firmly in their little glitter loving heart. While I’m all for a good carnage usually, this would unfortunately be a metaphoric slaying. The normally cool hearted LeGuarda had allowed red tin foil, lace and glitter to take over the detective pool, and there are few holidays quite as annoying to a serial killer as Valentine’s Day.
I claim it’s the greeting card faux holiday annoyance, but in reality, it’s the expectations. Valentine’s is hard work for a sociopath. It’s not that I can’t nail the gestures—as usual two dozen white roses will arrive at Rita’s in the morning, chocolates mid-day, and something soft and squishy that evening. Last year it was a fuzzy red monkey. She’s particularly enjoys the soft and squishy part of the gift. In return, she cooks, sexy lingerie, and the whole romantic evening.
It’s the expected emotion of it that I find exhausting. Romance involves putting your heart out there, and somehow, I don’t think people are expecting them to be gory and still beating when you offer it.
This year’s particularly bad. The only one who hasn’t fallen victim to this serial killer of skepticism, this mass murderer of cynicism is Doakes. He regards the whole affair with a contemptuous eye, going so far as to rip limb from limb the little cupid that some schmuck was foolish enough to place on his desk. I’ve never enjoyed Valentine’s more than watching that.
“What are you looking at?” Doakes growls at me, and I grin.
“My new partner in crime,” I reply, gesturing to the room. “I mean, there’s decorating and then there’s just so far over the line you’ll team up with me to end it.”
“Keep wallkin’, freak show,” Doakes advises me in a sharp bark, and I chuckle unrepentantly.
“When you’re ready,” I answer, heading for my lab. Nothing like some nice blood spatter analysis to make you forget about the glitter slowly inching its way toward your door.
*-*
“I think even Jesus would make a deal with you now,” Doakes greets me two days later as a heart shaped red disco ball is being raised. The idea of whether it would still be called a disco ball despite its lack of spherical shape had been perplexing me for several minutes so it took my brain a second to catch up.
“You ready to go special ops on this place?” I joke eagerly. “Seek and destroy?”
“You got a plan smart ass?” Doakes asks, rolling his eyes.
“Just meet me here at 11,” I reply, looking around. Given the hours everyone was keeping that week, the detective pool would be empty.
At 11 promptly, Doakes arrives, dressed in head to toe black, carrying half a dozen knives, his gun, and a roll of duct tape. “Okay, the gun I can see being useful, but duct tape?” I ask, flourishing my heavy duty black trash bag. “And could you be any more conspicuous?”
“What do you know about it, lab rat?” Doakes snaps, giving me a warning look.
Oh, you have no idea, Sgt. Doakes, I muse as I nod toward the Cupid window clings. “I’ll start ground level, you can have the honor of taking out the high wire,” I say as I point up as the hideous mirrored contraption.
The destruction of the holiday cheer is surprisingly efficient, and before long, two trash bags full of bits of glitter and glass are all that remain. “Here,” Doakes hands me a cigar, puffing at his own as he surveys the cleaned up room.
“To a job well done, eh?” I remark, sitting down in one of the rolling chairs and lighting the Cuban with an expert hand.
“You didn’t strike me as the type to go all out warfare on the Hallmark holiday,” Doakes observes, and for some reason, the truth, or as close to it as I ever allow myself, slides out of my mouth.
“Well, I go through the whole motions of it for Rita, she loves it, but I’ve never really gotten the point,” I sigh, shrugging.
“Well, for you, the point is supposed to be gettin’ laid,” Doakes replies dryly, and I give him a roll of the eyes pointed look. “Not so much in the sack then?”
“Not sure that’s your concern,” I hedge, a little baffled by the sudden companionable side of Doakes. The man’s version of talking to me usually involves looking like he’s about to drive my head through a desk, after all.
“Mm hmm, thought so,” Doakes smirks at me, and I notice him fingering the duct tape. “So you’re hard up and maybe in need of a hand, huh?”
He can’t mean what I think he means.
Doakes stands up, walking over, subtly straddling me in his stance. “Well, freak show? You want this?”
“Uh,” is all I can so eloquently manage, frowning when Doakes tears some duct tape, quickly using it to strap one of my wrists to the chair. I start to reach to undo it, but just as quickly, he has hold of my other wrist.
“Not doing this without you strapped down, creep,” Doakes says gruffly, and I have to admit, my interest is peaked enough to let him continued till I’m truly strapped to the chair. I’m not overly concerned as I have a pocket knife in my pocket and my right wrist is still loose enough that I can break the tape and cut myself free. Doakes uses an awful lot of tape, but finally, he’s finished, standing back and admiring his handiwork for a moment.
I wait, looking at Doakes expectantly, who gives me a grin, setting the bags of destroyed decorations at my feet. “What are you doing?”
“Letting you take the fall, Sideshow,” Doakes replies with a grin. “Surprise, mother fucker! Have a nice night.”
“You go to all the trouble of offering me a blow job just so you can tape me up and try to make people think you caught me in the act?” I call after him, a smirking silence followed by the ding of the elevator my only reply.
I smile to myself, tearing an arm free, not quite the lab weakling Doakes assumes me to be, and cut myself loose. Then, I contemplate the bags of decoration.
Scooping out a handful of glass, lace and glitter, I grind it into the carpet by Doakes desk and leave a few torn limbs of cupid in his desk drawer. Then on my way out, I whistle one of those catchy little love tunes from the radio as I dump the bags in the dumpster on my way to my car.
“Yeah, surprise, mother fucker,” I mutter as I head for the car. Love… and payback… is a bitch.
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