The Barbie and The Ken
Fandom: Bible Gen, Christian Testament, Dexter x-over Pairing: Lucifer/Michael Premise: A serial killer who only targets terrible people makes a deal with a handsome detective
“I know it’s you, Barbie.”
Lou begins with his hands clasped atop his desk and his ass parked in his seat. The backdrop that occupies them is a classic 1940s style office with scuffed, hardwood floors and unexciting, white walls. The only thing that made it interesting to the man sitting across from him was all the delicate art of classics like The Fallen Angel and The Fall of the Rebel Angels hung up and around the room. “I know you’re the one going around slaughtering useless scum around the city.”
And the man across from him with long, silken, blonde hair with his classic blue eyes will mimic Lou’s action, crosses one leg over the other before clasping his hands upon his knee. It’s then that he’d adjust his face in what he assumes mimics concern, brows furrowing, lips curling into a frown. “I beg your pardon? I come here to see if you’ve found my girlfriend’s body and this is what you come back at me with?”
I guess you’re incapable of finding her, then. “I’m going to report you and your whole precinct over to the next district if you don’t give me an answer soon.”
Lou says nothing for a moment, a long moment, just drums his fingers atop the glass panel that protects his desk before scooting the chair back with a distinct grinding noise of wood to wood. Then, he pulls open a small drawer real slow, stands up even slower, before dangling in front of the man’s eyes the backside of a single piece of paper.
“You can go ahead and do that if you’d like, Barbie, I understand we’ve failed to produce any meaningful results in finding her. But um, I’m sure the next district over won’t care to look for shit once they realize you have no girlfriend at all.”
Lou now walks around his desk, leans against the front so the distance between him and the man are just about nonexistent, gives the blonde just enough room for their knees not to clack together by a breath. It’s then and only then that he presents the front of the paper for the man to see as daylight floods through the massive glass window behind the detective. It was his birth certificate fresh from a monastery states and states away.
“Michael Ryan. This is you, isn’t it? Some rich brat from Long Island who got shipped over to the nearby psych ward some odd years ago . . .yes, I think if you ask me, I prefer that name to Matthew for certain.”
And the man now known as Michael stares for a good, long second at the birth certificate, his certificate, knows he’s been caught yet won’t concede just because this wicked little detective has one piece of evidence as he feigns confusion. Lou sees this, the game, and decides he quite fucking likes it as he goes on to say this:
“You came to report your girlfriend went missing about a couple months ago when told me you both go to the University of Santa Barbara and live on campus, yet when I did a little looky-look into your records, I’m informed that you’re a stock broker who lives alone in Los Angeles. Seems strange to me that you’d feel the need to lie about who you are if you have nothing to hide.”
Doesn’t it, Barbie? “Everybody in town’s been calling you that because we keep finding a bunch of chopped up body parts scattered around like rat shit. I’d say that’s a fitting enough nickname as it is, but the whole blonde hair, blue eyes schtick really does it for me.”
Michael sighs through his nose, plucks his hat from where he let it dangle off the chair before bringing its wide brim to his face. He would cover it for a moment with closed eyes, then peels it back to reveal the wicked glint in his eyes with a cruel smirk to match it.
“And if it is me, what exactly are you going to do about it, huh? All that wit of yours is meaningless considering your precinct’s budget is nonexistent and your staff are thin. By the time you even think about sending a warrant out for my arrest, I’ll have left the country already.”
Lou’s brow twitches, lips curling upward in a smirk that rivaled his own. There was quite the gleam in that lilac gaze; the delicate framing of his long, shaggy hair only enhanced what a delicate beaut he was in Michael’s eyes. “You most certainly can and will, of that I’m certain. But I’d like to think that you have some goodwill in that heart of yours considering I’ve seen you hack up four bodies already and haven’t once sent the deputies to the real locations.”
What is this, a test? Michael raises both brows with the smirk never leaving him, a chuckle once trapped in his throat now escaping him. “Then I consider you a terrible detective for letting all those poor souls go unanswered, because I’m certain their loved ones would love to know what in the Hell happened to them.”
Lou resists the urge to laugh, sets the paper down something delicate on the desk but will not concede his position in front of the blonde. “That would be true if any of your victims had next of kin who gave a shit. Since your little killing spree started, I’ve not had a single person come in to ask what happened.”
That’s quite impressive if you ask me. “Most killers of your creed get caught because they get sloppy. Not you, though. You are so meticulous, it’s a wonder I caught you at all!”
Michael smiles with pride, real pride, drums his fingers now against his knee and feels the knuckles tap against Lou’s leg. “Whatever you want of me, Mr. Morningstar, I should prefer it that you tell me now because otherwise, I’ll have to add you to my roster to keep that mouth of yours shut.”
Lou says nothing for a moment again, a long moment, can’t help but match the smile with pride of his own. “I want to make a deal with you.”
A deal, huh? No other cock sucking cop would ever get Michael to make a fucking deal without it raising his hackles, yet it were with that pretty face and clever wit that he could not help but listen. “You have my attention for exactly one minute before I leave and plot your execution."
Lou laughs for real this time, shakes his head some with closed eyes before returning to those bruising blues he too finds quite lovely.
“It's real simple, I promise! In exchange for letting you continue to wipe out vagrants and cunts uncontested, you come and start working for me as my understudy. I can’t keep sicking my men on false leads and they’re going to catch you eventually if your killing spree doesn't corroborate with a good story.”
Working with me, I can cover for you. “All you have to do is come with me to your crime scenes so you can help me improve my alibis and falsify the evidence. It’ll also cover your ass so that as the bodies pile up, they won’t be able to trace it back to you.”
Michael makes a smug face for certain, nose wrinkling with his eyes glimmering sharper than the knives he uses to do his job. It’s then that he’ll rise to his feet for good, plopping the hat down where he once sat so he can get a closer look at this so-called ‘Lou’; considering the absolute lack of distance as it were, the blonde can’t help but press into him some, rests his hands in between the brunette’s on the desk.
“Helping me get away with what I’m doing gives me the impression you have a terrible set of morals, Mr. Morningstar.”
Lou smiles like somebody told him he won a million dollars, does not flinch or break the contact Michael put upon him. It has the effect of endearing the blonde; for once in his life, he did not see this body before him as one to cut into, but to keep close to him instead.
“I’d like to think that improved crime rates in the city thanks to your work gives me an improved set of morals, Mr. Ryan.”
Oh, that’ll do Michael just fine. It’s such that a genuine smile flits across his lips, eyes darting back and forth between Lou’s lovely lilac gaze and those pouty little lips. If this birdie here doesn’t mind it, he’d then rest one of his hands on the detective’s hip with a hum. “Not even afraid I’ll slice and dice you up once you’ve bored me?”
Lou just lilts his head, refuses to break away from those bruising blue eyes as their noses damn near brush. He didn’t protest the hand upon his hip at all, quite likes it himself as he gets a little tipsy off that sweet cologne that he's inhaling.
“I promise you, Michael, that you will never bore of me.”
And those were the right choice of words, for Michael jerks himself away from Lou like none of that just happened with a smug smirk plastered on his face. Now that the deal was struck, all he would do is pluck his hat off of the chair and his suitcase from the floor before moving towards the door. “So be it. I’ll start in three days time and lay low until then, sound good to you?”
No, Lou counters as he strolls back to his seat, also pretends like none of that just happened. “You start tomorrow and you go kill some son of a bitch tonight so we can keep the pressure on the precinct. The faster you strike, the harder it is for any of my men to figure it out.”
Not his preference, but Michael likes the way this one thinks, gives a curt nod as he slips his hat back onto his head.
“As you’ll have me, then. See you in the morning. . .Ken.”
Lou laces his fingers back together, though he will rest his chin upon them this time around.
“Sure will, Barbie. You sure will.”
