#thexter

[godowninyourflames-blog]

goodbye.

            Dexter wouldn’t say that there was no love left in the relationship because he still loved Theo. But now he knew that love was much more malleable than he once believed. He looked at his parents’ love as a steel grip of comfort and stability, as an unwavering silent proclamation of care— and he had tried to emulate that sort of adoration in his own relationship, never realizing that his love would never be like that of his mothers’. Because Dexter could only love in a way that Dexter could love— nothing less, nothing more.

             Falling in love had been as natural as breathing and as quiet as a whisper. One day, Dexter realized that saying “I love you” had slipped carefully into his morning routine, between his first cup of coffee and brushing his teeth. Hidden amongst a flurry of activity and a breath to calm daily anxieties, Dexter had flipped on a switch of generous but selfish love.

            And just as easily as he fell in love, he fell out of it. Rocketed from the warmth of Theo’s embrace and the softness of his kiss, Dexter spent nights nursing a cup of coffee, alone and cold on the couch— no longer in love but struggling to accept it.

            He was not out of love; he still had the capacity and the desire to love Theo as he once did. To crave his touch and his smile like in the beginning, when everything was new and exciting and safe. But the rockiness beneath him held hidden shards of glass, and every time he tried to step safely back onto solid ground, Dexter’s feet would be sliced to ribbons, leaving a bloody trail of sadness and heartache behind him.

            Theo and Dexter created a perfect dance of shame and longing. Each good night they shared was accompanied with a heavy dosage of guilt, and by the end of the evening, it would be so thick in their veins that their time together was no longer good— each resenting what the other had become, what the relationship had fallen into. Each bad time left an aftertaste of longing on their lips, and they would both nestle into the memories of the truly better times, the times without the shame.

            They were no longer happy together, but they were not happy when they were apart. Dexter was typically relieved to be separated from the weight of his fear and his guilt, but relief and happiness were not interchangeable: even when Dexter was quite alone and safe, he was never satisfied with what he had— or, more importantly, what he had left.

            Dexter began to relish the moments after Theo’s blinding anger— when the shattered glass would skitter to a halt, when his balled fist would be frozen and shaking in mid-air, when there was a moment of realization in his expression that he was wrong and scared and sorry. Dexter would latch onto the apology etched across his boyfriend’s face like it was buoying him to the surface of the fear he was drowning in. That apology meant Theo still cared. It was the only confirmation Dexter needed.

            But the sorrow soon dissipated into hateful guilt. Theo started feeling sorry for himself instead of sorry for what he had done, and that was when Dexter finally realized that loving Theo had nothing to do with being in love with him and that the relationship had been over for months without his knowing it.

            Dexter wanted it all back: he would take broken dishware and black eyes and sleepless nights on the couch just to see that apology in Theo’s eyes. Dexter needed, more than anything, to prove to himself that he was perhaps not loved but lovable.

            The times when Theo forgot his anger and guilt were like shots of cocaine for an addict. Dexter would receive a compliment or a gentle touch of approval, and he would spend nights red-eyed and wrist-wringing searching for his next fix. Weeks would pass between these episodes of simple acceptance, and Dexter would wait patiently every time. He was so addicted to the validation of his worth that he would have taken a hundred beatings a day just to have that brief reminder of why they fell in love in the first place.

            Dexter didn’t realize that he had fully entangled his worth as a person with Theo’s validation until Alec Pinault smiled at him.

            It was this simple reminder that people thought he deserved pretty and nice things, even when he forgot to make the morning coffee or was caught in a lie or got in the way of a blinding fit of rage.

            This changed his life.

            Alec didn’t ask for more than Dexter could give. When Dexter was struggling down the steps of his old apartment and old life with a broken arm and a box of broken memories, Alec took it in his hands and carried the burden away.

            Theo was in rehabilitation, and there were lines that Alec was not allowed to cross, but he crossed them anyway because he believed that Dexter was worth the risk. He believed that Dexter was worth something. He offered time and space, and Dexter needed both of these things, despite sorely craving Alec’s love and attention.

But Dexter knew he would always be a selfish lover if he never learned how to love himself first. He dodged any outing that resembled a date or a conversation that felt too serious. It took him far too long to realize that separating from the man was absolutely counterproductive: the person who taught Dexter to love himself the best was Alec Pinault.

Falling in love again was slow and excruciating, like trying to scale a mountain in a pair of high heels. He fell in love with Alec’s smile and the way that his chest moved when he breathed. He fell in love with Alec’s morning breath and the way that he always burnt his toast. He fell in love with tiny little pieces of Alec’s being, but he could never consume himself with Alec’s heart— because he was still so attached to someone else’s.

The goodbye he sent to Theo was short and painful. He promised support and good wishes during his recovery and nothing more. He wanted to tell Theo that he loved him and missed him and that he was so, so proud of him for taking this step, but he would never be able to fully fall in love with the right man when he had the wrong one latched onto his heart like a parasite.

 He wrote, “I love you, Theo, but I don’t love myself when I’m with you. And it’s not fair to either of us to live like that.”

Alec was in the last period of that letter. He was in between the lines and in every stroke of Dexter’s pen. Alec was the promise that Theo could never fulfill. He made everything complicated and confusing, and he also gave Dexter a sense of self-worth that he had never felt before: if someone like Alexander Pinault could love him, Dexter could not have been that bad of a guy.

One day, Dexter realized that saying “I love you” had slipped ecstatically into his morning routine, right after his eyes opened up and before any other words rose to his lips. It was with the rush of excitement to be alive and the unerring gratefulness that he had found such a person in his life that Dexter switched on a love that was honest and his.

Dexter wouldn’t say that there was no love left in the relationship because he still loved Theo. But now he knew that love was much more malleable than he once believed. He had loved Theo Atwood, but he was in love with Alec Pinault— and that made a world of difference.

[godowninyourflames-blog]

i'd never let you go.

The movie theater a few blocks from the campus had international movie screenings for three dollars on Sunday nights, and Alec had wanted to go. Dexter, who needed a dose of home like a diabetic needed a shot of insulin, had readily tucked a jacket over his small frame and rushed to meet the man. They ended up seeing a French film instead of the sold-out Spanish one, (“See, Spanish movies are more popular because they’re better.”) but Dexter didn’t mind.

Alec had this habit of stopping Dexter’s heart with smiles and kind words and e-mails sent at 3 AM. Dexter could be deeply engrossed in his notebook, and Alec brushing his leg with a swinging foot could toss him into an internal battle that took a good part of an hour to wrangle back.

Even more than Dexter not knowing a word of French, Alec’s penchant for clinging tightly to his side whenever something Dexter figured was supposed to be upsetting had Dexter lost in a swirl of beautiful language and flashing people and the heat of the man beside him. It was smothering— in a good way, in the best way, but it left him sweating and worrying and excited in the most breathless sense of the word.

Dexter spent the car ride trying to pretend that he captured a moment of the movie while Alec chattered—awfully more than usual, not that Dexter was complaining. When they stopped in front of Dexter’s building, Alec paused and offered a guarded smile. “Let me walk you up!” he exclaimed.

They stood at the doorstep almost toe-to-toe, hands tucked in pockets, flushes rising to their cheeks. After a few moments of fidgeting, Alec looked up, patted a heavy hand on Dexter’s shoulder, and said, “Well, see you tomorrow, mon ami. Thanks for coming!”

Dexter was too dizzy from the touch to answer, so he nodded in reply and waited until Alec’s car pulled from the curb to step inside.

As he clambered up the stairs, he unwound the scarf from his neck, rubbing carefully at the fading bruises there. His footfalls were heavy; they echoed off the thick wooden walls as the steps creaked under him. Dexter gripped tightly onto the banister, crunching chipped paint beneath his palm. The weight of Alec’s touch still felt warm on his shoulder, leaving him breathless as he pulled up the courage tucked away under his chest.

He simultaneously pulled at the buttons on his coat while jamming the key in the door and toeing it open. A yawn thick on his lips, he ordered his things and sunk onto the couch, rubbing at the tenderness around his ribs. It had been a week or so since he and Theo had shared a bed— the aftereffect of a nasty fight that ended with bruises and tears and bleeding knuckles. A blanket was already folded and waiting for him at the end of the sofa.

Dexter groaned and rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. The small apartment seemed so much smaller when trying to avoid the only other living inhabitant. Dexter felt no room to breathe in the last few months and realized with a sharp jolt of guilt that the only times he didn’t feel smothered were the times he spent with Alec.

The front door opened with a loud crack of sound, the knob denting in the dry wall. Dexter leapt from the couch with a gasp, suddenly very aware of the fact that he had no way to protect himself from an intruder. His jaw twitched, ready to call out for Theo’s help, when his eyes adjusted to the brightness from the hallway. Theo stood in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes glowing in the dimness of the apartment.

“Theo?” Dexter asked breathlessly. “I thought you were already home!”

“Where were you?” His words were clipped and clear; the edge of anger in them likened them to alcohol but the clarity said otherwise. “I got home, and you weren’t here.”

“I was at the library,” Dexter stammered. His lying had only become habitual when it came to Theo. Never before had it been so easy for Dexter to falsify his actions, but months of trying to remain steadfastly honest had resulted in too many problems for Dexter not to change himself. If the relationship lasted any longer, Dexter would have to pick through flesh and bone to find the remnants of his old self tucked inside his body. “I-I left you a note.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Theo growled around gritted teeth. He took a shaking step forward. Dexter took one back. “And I went to the library, and you weren’t there.” Dexter swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. He knocked into the coffee table with a yelp of surprise, started to tremble as Theo advanced. “So where the hell were you?”

With a deep breath, Dexter allowed a numbness to settle around him. His heartbeat quickened, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his skin, but he trapped the panic deep within his core and held up a shield of passivity that he had worked so hard to perfect.

“I said, where the hell were you?” Theo crossed the room with inhuman strides and gripped Dexter’s shoulders in a vice-like grip. Any of the residual comfort of Alec’s touch dissipated; there was no warmth, only cold pain.

“I went to Maxine’s,” Dexter said. “We were planning to surprise you—” He was stopped by an abrupt shake that brought sharp tears to his eyes. His breaths were more labored now, and the trembling became harder to control.

“Stop lying to me!” Even Theo’s eyes seemed to shine with tears. He looked almost deranged, like he was trying hard to hold on to something that he lost a long, long time ago.

“I’m not lying,” Dexter tried.

Theo released his boyfriend with a small shove of annoyance. Dexter stumbled back and hugged himself tight, wavering from foot-to-foot in anticipation. Fight or flight was never an option; Dexter was too small to fight and too alone to fly. In every sense of the word, he was trapped.

“Why won’t you just tell me where you were?” Theo asked, voice low, agitated, and terrified. Dexter had no answer. In the silence that followed, Theo growled in rage and hurled the coffee table onto its side, breaking glass and scattering books about the floor in a flutter of flapping pages. “Just tell me where you were!”

“I was at the movies!” Dexter exclaimed, voice wavering around his fearful tears. Theo froze, the weight of the words heavy on his shoulders. He looked towards Dexter for further explanation. “I was at the movies… with Alec Pinault.”

The tension was tangible and strangling. Theo’s trembling was comparable to his boyfriend’s. Dexter started taking careful, silent footsteps backwards.

“Nothing happened,” he felt compelled to explain. “Theo, it was just a movie. Nothing more.” Theo’s breathing was thick and audible, even from the other side of the room. Dexter bit his lip, unable to pull back the tears that trailed over his sharp cheekbones. “I shouldn’t have lied. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again, I swear.” Another lie, but they were lies to keep Theo happy— a state that was so fragile these days.

Theo started forward with balled fists, and Dexter, helpless, clamped his eyes shut and pictured Alec’s smile one more time before he was lost in a tangle of cuss words and flying fists and apologies.

It wasn’t until they heard a bone crack that Theo backed away. Dexter curled in on himself, a mess of blood and tears, clutching his arm close to his body. “What was that?” Theo snapped. His voice slowly softened. “Dexter?”

“My arm, Theo,” Dexter sobbed.

Theo swore and, trembling, tossed his cell phone to his boyfriend. “Call a cab to get you to the hospital.”

“Theo—” “Tell them you got mugged or something. You can charge me for the bill. I don’t care.” He sounded partially apologetic and partially terrified. He wiped bloodied knuckles on his shirt in absolute horror before he tore out of the apartment, leaving a mess in his wake.

It was half past seven in the morning when the cast was set, and a taxi dropped Dexter off at campus. He was swollen in places he didn’t know could swell, aching in spots he didn’t know could ache. He limped up to the classroom, eyes cast downward, trying to ignore the obvious stares that followed him down the halls. He slumped outside the doorway, drained of energy and will. Students brushed past him in attempt to get him to raise his head and show off the black and blue patterns splashed across his face.

“Dexter?”

His heart stuttered, and he slowly lifted his chin to look Alec in the eyes. Dexter had waited for exactly this reason, but now he couldn’t remember why he had thought seeing Alec would help him. He opened his mouth to speak but instead let go of a heavy breath and slid his lips into a crooked half-smile.

Watching the smile fall from Alec’s face hurt than any of the bruises on Dexter’s body. He straightened himself up with a grunt and stumbled forward. Alec placed gentle hands on Dexter’s shoulders to keep him upright.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, blue eyes scanning every inch of Dexter’s body, categorizing limps and slings and bruises with horror.

“It’s a long story,” Dexter said hoarsely, fresh bruises around his neck choking his vocal chords. “Listen, I’m going to miss the next couple of classes, but I wanted to make sure you could take some notes for me? I’ll pay you back somehow, I sw—”

“You don’t have to pay me back,” Alec interrupted, brow knit. “Jesus, are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine.”

It would be years and years of work, but with Alec’s help, he really would be.

[godowninyourflames-blog]

why dexter couldn't speak during sex.

            It’s universally accepted that saying another person’s name in the middle of sex is a social faux pas. Dexter Atticus-Reyes, as inexperienced as he was, knew this as well as even the most proficient of lovers that calling out “Alec Pinault” while in bed with Theo Atwood was an absolutely horrible mistake to make.

            But mistakes happen, and Dexter was not immune to them.

            It was a bizarre fantasy; Dexter didn’t often think of other men while Theo’s tongue was exploring his mouth. But it was months into this very dark period of Theo’s life where his temper was short and his explosions were large, and Dexter felt a bit heavier than usual. His life seemed to be wrapped around these unexpected fits of rage— how to avoid them, what to do when one happened, how to clean up the mess afterwards. It was exhausting and terrifying, and that afternoon, Dexter had somehow found solace in Alexander Pinault.

            Alec and Dexter were by no means the closest of friends, but they often ran in the same social circle. Dexter always felt something so light and friendly about the other man, something that was enticing and intriguing and altogether absolutely astounding. He was funny and carefree, and perhaps he had a string of men following him around that was longer than the Mississippi River, but Dexter found Alec to be quite good company.

            They shared a general education class— an introductory level English composition course, and Alec’s bright smile had lifted a bit of a weight off Dexter’s chest that afternoon. When he asked how Dexter was doing, Alec had seemed entirely genuine, and Dexter was not immune to the way that that action had made him feel.

            So when Theo’s hungry lips were pressed to Dexter’s neck and greedy hands started to snake up the thin fabric of his tee shirt, Dexter had leaned his head back and muttered, “Jesus Christ, Alec,” without much of a thought.

            Until the man above him went rigid for a moment and suddenly started trembling with rage. Dexter scrambled into a sitting position. “Wait, Theo, I didn’t mean that—!”

            “What the fuck, Dexter?” Theo growled.

Dexter gulped back a wave of nausea and reached over a gentle hand to caress the man’s face. “I didn’t mean that, I swear,” he stuttered, trying to quell the fear and to look his boyfriend in the eyes. “I’m sor—”

Smack, crash, crumble.

Dexter was knocked back by a heavy fist. Stars popped behind his eyes as he pressed a trembling hand to his cheek. “Theo—” His voice was watered down and wavering with stinging tears as he struggled to upright himself again. He was pushed back and pinned in an awkward slouch against the headboard, choking back a sob as he grappled to shield himself from an onslaught of violent berating.

“Shut up, Dexter!” Theo shouted. Dexter attempted to curl in on himself, gasping around gut-wrenching cries. “Where’s Alec now, huh?” Theo shouted, breaking Dexter’s glasses under his fist. Dexter swore and clamped his eyes shut, trying to shake the broken bits of glass from his face. “Where’s Alec?”

“I don’t know,” Dexter sobbed. “Theo, stop. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

There was a buzz from the front of the apartment that caused a heavy silence to befall them. Dexter sucked in a few deep breaths, taking advantage of Theo’s stillness by shifting to cover his face. The buzz rang again, and Theo growled in annoyance. He pressed a hand to Dexter’s face, pushing against him to roll off the mattress. “Stop fucking crying,” he muttered as he started towards the front of the house.

As soon as Theo’s footsteps padded down the hall, Dexter scrambled out of bed and darted into the bathroom where he knew he could safely lock the door. He heard quiet chatter down the hall.

“…Is everything all right?” asked the sweet voice of their next-door neighbor, a university student at the local community college. “I heard screaming.”

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine, thanks,” Theo said in a voice that was far too kind to be his own. “We’re just watching a movie. We’ll turn it down. Sorry to disturb you.”

“Well...” She sounded a bit unsure. “I just wanted to make sure you two were okay in there.”

“We are. Thanks for the concern.” Theo snapped the door shut and collapsed on the couch, fury subsided and interest in Dexter completely dissipated. Dexter slept on the bathroom floor, using the last of the first aid kit to fix up any wounds. The nice next-door neighbor saw him the next day and gasped when she saw his scarred and bruised face.

“What happened to you?” she asked nervously.

“We watched a movie,” Dexter said bitterly before slamming the apartment door behind him.

[godowninyourflames-blog]

why dex will forever shake when he sees handcuffs

            “Oh, Theo, you’ve got to be joking,” Dexter demanded, watching nervously as the man pulled a box out from under the bed and held up a pair of shiny new handcuffs. “You don’t actually want to use those?”

            “Hell yeah, I’m serious!” Theo said with a laugh. He held up a second pair. “These too.” He clambered onto the bed, clad in only his boxers and a smile. Dexter bit his lip, staring at the cuffs like they were something volatile and explosive. They pierced that safe bubble of comfort around him, and he squirmed away when Theo reached out his hands.

            “I don’t know,” Dexter said nervously, wringing his wrists in subconscious anticipation. “I don’t think I’m ready for something like that.”

            Theo sat back, looking disappointed, placing the manacles in his lap. He bit his lip, embarrassed. “No, I get it. It’s too much.” He stretched over and rooted around blindly on the floor for the box.

            “It’s not you!” Dexter promised, sliding forward and taking Theo’s hands in his own. “Really, it’s… I’m just more of a… vanilla sex kind of person.”

            Theo shook his head, quivered the corners of his lips into a smile. With a gentle squeeze of his hands, he said, “I understand. I just thought we could try it.” He sounded tired, disappointed, upset. Dexter bit his lip, feeling guilt gnawing at his insides, crawling up into his heart like an angry disease. Theo’s week had been a long series of “ups”— a chain reaction of one good moment to the other, leaving both men very content with full nights of sleep and never hoarse voices and no broken dishes on the apartment floor. After last week’s fight that left Dexter with a black eye and Theo with a heart full of regret, he had promised Dexter that he would cut back on the alcohol, and he dumped the gin down the drain.

            This had been the first time in a long while that Dexter had agreed to sex without using it just to appease his boyfriend. This had been a very honest acceptance, and the butterflies of excitement had slowly died into some of fear when Theo pulled out his box of toys. It had felt well within Dexter’s rights to refuse in a way that wouldn’t break that chain reaction of happiness. But even though Theo hadn’t flipped on his anger, Dexter could feel the hurt surrounding the man.

            Theo snapped the lid back on the box.

            “No, wait,” Dexter blurted. Theo looked up, a glint of hope in his eyes. Dexter took a deep, calming breath and nodded. “We can… we can try.” Theo dove in for a hungry kiss and pulled out the handcuffs once more. The sound of clinking metal twisted knots in Dexter’s stomach, and he didn’t know if they were of nerves or excitement.

            The handcuffs were clicked into place, and Dexter wiggled into an awkward sitting position, arms spread out wide. He gave them a good tug, and the manacles clacked against the headboard. Before Dexter could calm the fluttering of his heart, Theo pinned Dexter’s hips to the mattress between his knees and greedily peppered kisses up his neck. Dexter’s hands clenched into fists as he groaned quietly. He felt the man smile against his skin.

            Dexter felt the pinch of metal against his wrists, but every once and a while, the pleasure from Theo’s lips and touches caused him to forget, and he tried to pull his arms forward to gather the man close. Each time he heard the manacles shake against the headboard, Theo seemed more and more satisfied, and the kisses got greedier.

            He nipped playfully at the skin, ran his fingers up Dexter’s torso. He pressed his hips against his boyfriend’s, and Dexter yanked his arms forward instinctively to try to gather the man tighter against him. Theo’s fingertips pressed deeper into Dexter’s skin. The nipping turned to rough snaps. Suddenly, fingertips turned into nails, and raw, red scratches were cut up his sides. Dexter winced. “Theo…” he tried, lifting his chin as the man sucked on the skin below his jaw.

            The kisses went from hunger to insatiable starvation. Theo gripped Dexter’s wrists securely in his own as he pressed a rough kiss to Dexter’s lips, tongue greedily parting them. Dexter groaned against it, both in natural pleasure and a bit of fear. As Theo held Dexter’s wrists, he squeezed the handcuffs tightly closed. Dexter gasped, and Theo pulled away, a smile on his face. His hand snaked into Dexter’s boxers, and Dexter felt his entire body quiver.

            “Theo, wait,” he mumbled as the man sucked at the skin in the crook of his neck. Theo’s hands started moving faster, harder. “Theo, wait!” Dexter’s mind flashed dangerously as Theo continued rubbing and kissing. He tried to push the man away but suddenly found the handcuffs to be a major hindrance. Dexter pulled up his knee, hitting Theo hard in the abdomen. “I said stop!” he shouted.

            Theo let out a grunt of pain and immediately reacted in defense, hands darting up and fingers clasping around Dexter’s throat. Dexter felt his heart pound in his ribcage as he struggled to breathe.

            “Theo, you’re hurting me,” he gasped, pulling desperately at the handcuffs to try to push the man away. Their eyes connected, and Theo immediately let go. He looked to his hands in horror, watching as they shook tremendously. He backed off Dexter, standing at the end of the bed. “Hey, it’s okay,” Dexter said hoarsely, tugging his arms forward. “Just let me out of this. It’s fine.”

            Theo darted out of the room, and Dexter yelled after him. Only when he heard Theo gather up his coat and slam the front door shut did Dexter go quiet.

            “Shit,” he muttered, looking from one wrist to the other. The skin was scratched and bruised. His right wrist sustained a cut that was slowly dropping beads of blood onto the sheets. He was able to glance down and see the raw scratches running down his chest and over his hips.

            He was left nearly spread eagle on the bed for an hour, caught between crying and trying to keep his cool. When Theo returned, he released his boyfriend wordlessly and went to sleep on the couch.

            The next time they spoke was two days later when he broke Dexter’s arm and shortly after ended up in a rehabilitation center in Boston.