Chapter Text
“Jesus Dexter, don’t you know how to knock?” Deb yelps
He’s at a loss for words from what he’s just seen: his sister with one hand buried under the covers, the other grasping a breast, her face screwed up in pleasure.
“Were you just masturbating?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that?”
He opens his mouth to try and defend himself but, before he can get a word out, she’s tossing a pillow at him, the gesture accentuated by a shrieked “Get the fuck out!”
…
Harry’s working an overnight shift, so the two of them don’t eat dinner together. Deb stays holed up in her room and Dexter’s somewhat grateful for that. He’s worried he’s upset her, and he really doesn’t know how he can make it better.
Around midnight, he bumps into her in the kitchen. The moment they accidentally touch, she jumps back like she’s just touched a hot stove, before immediately blushing and turning her head. When he actually calls out her name, about to try and give his best attempt at reassuring her, Deb buries her face in her hands.
“Oh god, just go away.”
He doesn’t know what to do. He just wants things to go back to normal. She looks so tense…
It’s been a few months since he’s seen her with a boyfriend and she’s never been shy about how much she likes sex.
An idea pops into his head.
“Want some help?” he blurts out without thinking about it.
Immediately he regrets it because why the fuck did he just say that?
“You’re joking, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” he shrugs, trying to play it off. “Just my shitty attempt at humor, I guess.”
He catches a glance of an unreadable expression on Deb’s face—a mixture of shock, disgust, and something else he can’t decipher—before she looks pointedly towards the ground. Surprisingly, though, doesn’t tell him to fuck off. She does mumble a few words under her breath that Dexter can’t quite make out. He thinks maybe she includes his name in there somewhere.
It almost seems like she’s considering his offer and it catches them both off guard.
Before either can say anything else, though, she’s running to her room and slamming the door behind her.
…
Dexter spends the next half hour watching some crappy 70s slasher flick on TV. Usually, he loves this kind of shit.
But tonight, he’s distracted. Tonight, all he can think about is that image of Deb in her bedroom.
He wonders what she’s doing now and, despite his better instincts, he gets off the couch and creeps down the hallway to check. This time he knocks—three soft taps. When he gets no answer, he slowly turns the knob. Just to make sure she’s OK, he tells himself. No other reason.
She must’ve heard the knocking because she’s already looking up at him the instant he opens the door. His eyes are still adjusting to the dark but it doesn’t seem like she’s scowling. That’s a good sign.
“Deb, I’m sorry. Really.”
There’s a pause and he’s worried—really worried—that this is going to end very badly for one or both of them. That she might even tell Harry about what he said.
At the very least, Dexter expects a scathing remark. Some witty retort to send him shrinking back to his bedroom with his tail between his legs. What he gets instead makes his jaw drop.
“Did you mean what you said earlier? About helping me?”
His gapes at her.
“I, uh…”
He’s not prepared with a response. He came in here to apologize for that. It was just something he said. He’s not sure he’s ready to follow through.
But Deb’s got this sad, pleading look on her face. Like she really does want him to do this for her. And even though Dexter’s not sure exactly what he’s agreeing to, he’s never been very good at turning her down when she asks for his assistance.
“If you want my help, sure,” he says in a hushed voice.
The needy expression is replaced by the beginnings of a familiar smile.
“Come over here, then.”
Dexter walks slowly towards her bed, feeling almost like he’s being guided by a string. As soon as he’s at the edge, she grabs his hand and pulls, guiding him until he’s resting on the pillows beside her. Quickly, she’s climbing into his lap and maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that she’s wearing nothing other than an oversized T-shirt but he still gasps at the feel of her hot and wet against him. Deb gently cradles his face and then she’s kissing him in a way that his sister definitely should not be kissing him. And he’s kissing her back, frantically. It’s sloppy—Deb’s had boyfriends but he’s never done this before so he tries to follow her lead—but she seems to like it nonetheless.
Her hands move up and tangle in his hair so she can maneuver his head to her neck. Dexter takes the hint and starts kissing there, instead, loving the way he can feel her pulse underneath his lips and the vibrations of the soft moans coming from her throat. Her breathing gets heavier as they continue, and she starts making these little squirming motions on top of him. Like maybe she’s uncomfortable or something.
“Is this alright?”
He feels foolish for even having to ask but she doesn’t mock him for it.
“Yeah, I just…”
Instead of finishing the sentence, she grabs his shoulders to flip them over. He keeps mouthing at Deb’s neck and he finds himself instinctively rolling his hips against hers.
She circles a hand around one of his wrists and guides it down to the juncture of her thighs.
Oh. Oh.
He starts rubbing there, his movements clumsy and unsure. Her hand covers his, urging him to go a little faster, press a little harder.
“Fingers, Dex.”
He looks at her, puzzled. Isn’t that what he’s doing now?
She gives him one of her classic eye rolls and huffs.
“Put one inside me, idiot.”
He nods dumbly and does as instructed.
She’s slick and tight inside and he immediately wonders what she would feel like around his cock.
Her hips grind down against his hand until the digit is buried all the way inside her. Feeling emboldened, he adds another. Deb whines and she bucks against him.
Just as he’s about to ask if this is OK for her, she gives him a response.
“Fuck yeah, that’s good. Now curl them up.”
He does as told and this time the noise she lets out is closer to a squeal. The rocking of her hips starts to speed up so he decides to add a little more pressure, maybe giving her some of that friction she seems to be searching for.
From the way she reacts, it must be the right decision. Her body starts shaking and then, suddenly, she’s stiffening beneath him, her walls pulsing around his fingers. Seconds later, she pushes his hand away and sags into the mattress, a faraway expression on her face.
“Deb?” he asks quietly.
“Hmm?”
“Are you OK?”