hooloovoo_too (hooloovoo_too) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2008-07-24 21:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | a: hooloovoo_too, f: dexter, july 20, p: dexter/rita |
Strengthened by Use, Dexter (Dexter/Rita)
Title: Strengthened by Use
Author/Artist: hooloovoo_too
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word count: 575
Summary: Rita celebrates her anniversary.
Prompt: Dexter - Dexter/Rita - detachment - an abstract fascination
A/N: Sorry this is a day late!
We’re eating pizza on the couch when Rita says that today was her anniversary with Paul.
“I think about him when I’m in the kitchen,” she says. The pizza crust cracks and sauce drips onto the cushions. When she swipes it up with a finger it leaves a spray pattern like blood -- drip drip drip. “He pushed me down once in there and I hit my head on the counter.”
It’s going to stain the couch.
She’s watching me with the expression that means I’m supposed to say something appropriate, but I’m not sure what she wants. I could say, “He can’t hurt you, I framed him to send him away for life,” but I don’t think it will make the situation better.
“Astor and Cody seemed to take it well,” I say. To distract Rita from her own problems, talk to her about the kids.
She nods. “I don’t think they knew when the anniversary was,” she says, and shifts to the other end of the couch so she can put her feet up in my lap. She likes it when I rub her feet, so I take her socks off.
Touching Rita always makes me feel a little like Leonardo da Vinci exploring anatomy: here’s a bone, here’s a bone, here’s a tendon; if I press it I can make her toes flex. “Do you want to forget him?” I ask, because I’m genuinely curious. I may be a killer, but I generally don’t hold grudges. It always amazes me when sweet, gentle Rita does.
She shakes her head then stops and looks down the couch at me. “Keep doing that,” she says. She figured out a while ago that if there’s something she wants, especially when it comes to touching her, it works out best just to tell me.
“Okay,” I say and work my hands up her calves to squeeze the muscles there. In medical school, we had anatomy books with diagrams to show the major muscle groups. I test my memory: extensor digitorum brevis, extensor digitorum longus, gastrocnemius. You have to feel a little deeper for the soleus line, but it’s there. I picture the pages of Grey’s laid on top of Rita’s body. She has textbook feet. It’s rarer than you'd think, not so many people do.
“I don’t want to forget him,” she says. “He was important to me.” I work my way up to the big groups in her thighs (rectus femoris, tensor faciae lata). When I’m cleaning up a kill, I cut above them; there’s less resistance and it keeps the knives sharper.
She’s quiet for a long time, and I make her turn over so I can get to her back. I’m halfway up her spine before she says, “Whenever I’m convinced that I just can’t raise the kids alone, I think about Paul. I remember that I kicked him out, and then whatever seems so hard about the kids, I think that it can’t be any harder than that. Dexter,” and she turns over again beneath me, so that I’m straddling her stomach. She has a pizza stain on her shirt.
“I don’t really want to remember him tonight,” she says, and pulls me down to kiss me (the tongue has three main muscle groups: genioglossus, geniohyoid, and intrinsic interior). I kiss her back, because I understand what it’s like to want to remember someone, and not really want to see him again.