Dexter:

Always the consume host, the Passenger had prepared everything down to the little details. That was where the joy was, the satisfaction that brought the greatest release.

It had.

It did.

It would.

Why was he even questioning it? Nervous after so many moonlit waltzes? Wasn't he the professional? Was it natural to still get stage fright, this late in the game, so close to final curtain? To feel that something in his stomach, that ache, some nervous anxiety? Some need to impress his date? How odd...

He stared down at the prone body. Everything was perfect. The rubber sheets, the plastic painters' drop cloths. Every open surface of the barren basement room was sheathed with sheer plastic. No muss, no fuss.

The remodeling for this building had stalled out with a bankrupt contractor. One of the recently departed state developments commissioner's cronies. Ironic, and while the development minister's office was awash in semi-scandalous paperwork and an unfulfilled contract... the building was more or less abandoned. Quiet, unpatrolled, undisturbed. The Passenger's favorite. And since someday these government offices would be reoccupied, the power bill continued to be paid. Much easier for some of Dexter's newer, non-power-cell operated toys.

The laser cutter was one. Better than ordinary electric bone saw. Neat, precise dismemberment and such nice sweet cauterization. Less of that horrid dripping wet stuff. They weren't commercially available yet, reserved for large-scale packing houses and industrial application. Expensive, but very, very refined.

He also had his personal com unit back-linked to his work com. This was special tonight, since his guest was still an enigma. Were he to admit it, Dexter had... rushed this job. Hadn't done his homework, as it were. Had proof, the code was satisfied, several times over. But he didn't know who his special guest was, not really.

He could wait. Take the traditional blood slide, slip a drop in the DNA database at work... but that was like telling the Passenger he could open his Christmas present on New Year's day. Perhaps not the best analogy, considering the dark side was rather impatient to begin the ripping and tearing frenzy of wrapping removal... but, he wasn't quite done packaging the rather impressive present yet anyway.

It was like being caught two inches short of the wrapping paper seam. Dexter had underestimated a bit on how much packing wrap he needed to dress this guest. Minor miscalculation, he was muscular and not overly bulked up, but he was solid, and displaced more mass than Dexter had anticipated, even undressed. He was just... dense. Beautiful, bald and... dense.

The lack of body hair was another pleasant surprise for the Passenger. In the early days, Dexter had been finicky about removing hair, fingernails, broken bits of slough-able DNA. Part of the preparation. His Adonis was marble smooth, obviously having his own personal ritual with blade and body. It was delicious really, how it made the olive skin gleam. The Passenger was giggling like a smitten schoolgirl again. All these adjectives... admiration, artistic, poetic... when had the Passenger become such a connoisseur of the human form? It was positively... Greek of him.

Dexter paused in his binding. That was a new thought. Was it possible the Passenger was... gay? Not just happy, but... batting on his own side of the fence? Now that was a bit discombobulating. Not something he'd ever discussed with Harry growing up.

Dexter had always considered himself asexual, being mostly outside the radius of human emotion and empathy. Teenage imperatives to drown in hormones and mating rituals had been hellishly horrid for young-adult Dexter. Struggling to train the Dark Passenger to sit, stay and heel, hard enough. Harry was all about 'faking' human interaction. Being normal. And while certain religions and cultures still handled homosexuality with kid gloves, it wasn't in the major mean of ye average intergalactic citizen. Harry had never asked... Dexter never could tell. It hadn't occurred to him. But the blatant admiration and coy kittenishness of the other tonight... perhaps...?

No. It had no place in this arena. This was sacred space. This was where ceremony and order were law. That was where the joy, the satisfaction was. There would be time to dissect the disaffecting way the Passenger was behaving later, after. This was not a psycho-sexual experience. Dexter was definitely damaged, but not in that way. Adonis had a date with justice, a metal-edged trial and execution. He had murdered. Multiple times. He was subject to the code. Reservation, confirmation, arrival. And he had impeccable credentials.

The beep from the bench behind him told him the DNA database had done its duty, and after a half-hour of scanning the different state, local, planetary, inter-system and other galactic criminal databases, it had found a match. Twenty-five minutes wasn't bad really, considering he'd had to reduce the siphoned bandwith connection to keep his activity below the radar. He left tall, dark and drugged and turned his attention to the database findings. And if he'd had a teacup, he would have dropped it on the floor. And steady, sure, unflappable Dexter was not the teacup dropping type.

Riddick, Richard B.

Oh, my, my my... now that was a thought. Surely not. Why hadn't it kicked back Jack the Ripper? Ted Bundy? Serburn "Slash" Stevens? This had to be a joke. This guy couldn't be... It was like BTK or the Unibomber, Zodiac or Spacecowboy Q. Dormant, uncatchable. Presumed dead. Stories... they reached even the inner planets, like old cowboy frontier tales. Notorious outlaws, inhuman anti-heroes that grizzled mercs and triple max slam guards told the new guy stories about. This was not... he had not found... his dream date wasn't... it didn't...

This was prom-date-vid-star-lottery-winner dream stuff. Living legend. Dexter's super star no-restrictions on time and space wish list. He'd have to check the database again. May as well get the scalpel wet.

He put on the gloves, smoothed the rubber apron. Grabbed the silver instrument and eye dropper from the tray. This was the ritual. This was the trophy. The blood for the slide, and another drop for the DNA tester.

He hovered a moment, staring down at his drugged playmate. Pretty, so pretty. Seemed a shame to mar his face. But... rules were rules, and rituals were rituals. He pressed the sharp blade into the smooth flesh of the cheek.

Riddick's eyes shot open, and for a moment Dexter had the perfect view of twin moons reflected in his eyes. Glorious, luminous, gibbous. Like the giant globe that lit his Passenger-perfect world had come to rest in his adversary's optic nerves. A moment suspended, stretched, like a slight ripple in an undisturbed pond... and then the pain registered, and the face before him twisted; eyes narrowed to slits.

"What the fuck?" Riddick strained against his bonds, wincing at the lights. Dexter paused, almost backing up a step as the other fought against the crinkling, screeching stretch-wrap. "You a fuckin' doctor? Don't look like a merc..." The ear-splitting noise of plastic wrap sliding along itself filled the room. Oh shit.. Dexter thought, not done... like Little Chino...

Riddick sat up, still fighting the drugs in his system. Didn't look like a med bay, and this dude didn't look like a doctor... He ripped at the plastic encasing his legs, was off the table in a second. He'd been in some weird situations, trussed up a hundred different ways, but naked, in plastic? That was a new one. Fucking morbid.

Dexter's mouth moved, still reeling from that stare. Took him a minute to cognitively recover. Eyeshine. His victim - Riddick - had the eyeshine. He'd heard of it, another myth about the wild-frontier outer planets. Something miners got, or settlers on sunless dark-sider planets. But that was like... amputation or adding a third limb - nightmare stories, not fact, and not staring him in the face.

To see in the dark... what a thought. It was so beautiful... the moon in his eyes. And oh shit, right in his face!

Riddick pushed him against the wall, Dexter's own killing blade from the tray against his neck. He'd hesitated. But the other hadn't run like Chino. No... he was in his face - and growling.

"I asked you a question."

"What?" Dexter's face was blank. Not exactly afraid, just confused. Interesting.

"Are you a doctor? A merc, what?"

"Oh." Dexter took a second to understand, lost in the gravel snarl and the press of steel against his vein. His heart was racing, and the Passenger was very amused by this. Which didn't help. "No. I'm not a doctor. And I'm not a mercenary."

"Then what is this shit?" Riddick was still adjusting. The room smelled antiseptic, but musty. His memory was still thinking prison med ward, or military transport ship. How he'd gotten here... still fuzzy, but this man, his smell... he growled again, low in his throat. Why didn't he smell fear on this guy? Why did he smell familiar? He'd been in his hotel room... "You fuckin' nab me for someone? What's the bounty?" He pressed the tip of the knife against the skin.

Dexter blinked. "Just for me. For this." For some reason, honesty seemed best. He'd had this conversation before, but usually the other was upside down, on the table.

"Been a long time since someone got the drop on me," Riddick's eyes narrowed. "Still haven't told me what this shit is about. "

"I was going to kill you."

"A lot of people wanna do that. You gotta be more specific."

"You kill people." Riddick smirked.

"A lot of people kill people. And you're doing the same thing. Twisted circle, ain't it?"
"I have a code."

"So what, I don't? You saw who I was taking out."

"You were doing it for money."

"And what are you doing it for?"

"Because... it's who I am." Riddick narrowed his eyes, smiled bitterly, relaxing a little.

"Ever consider that's what I'm doing too? Everyone I've killed deserved it. Believe me, no one is innocent." He turned, and walked over to the table then. Deliberately showing his back, placing Dexter's blade down next to him as he ran his hands over the neat pile of his belongings. Fucker was anal. Had folded everything. Even brought his shirt. His shivs were on display in an organized line above his clothes. He grabbed his arm sheath first, strapping it over his left forearm.

Dexter stared at the naked man a few steps away. He'd let him go. Just... walked away. Daring him to attack, reclaim him as victim. The Dark Passenger's instinct fluttered hot in his belly. This was a challenge, and an insult. Riddick stood there, naked as sin, ignoring him. Dexter's eyes flicked to the medical tray, to his blades, the bone saw, the scissors, the scalpel.

"Don't." The words came before he even took a step. "You lost. I'm the bigger evil here. You got the drop on me once. It won't happen again." Riddick was holding up one of his blades to the light, still not making a move for his clothing. Arrogant. Uncaring. He picked up his boots, dropped them on the floor next to him. Dexter felt his muscles tighten. The Passenger saw red. This was not how this was supposed to go. And this other was making a mess.

Riddick switched off the light on the table, shoving aside the plastic bags and neatly laid tools. The adrenaline rush of the pain, the fight/flight kick back to consciousness was fading, and he was still mildly groggy. It irritated him. Didn't show it, but he felt off. He'd woken up panicked, the beast roaring, that was new too. It was that fucking smell. Still messing with him. Too used to mercs and beatings and chains. That was predictable, familiar. He hated the military, hated the slams, but they were a system he was used to. This was a psycho. A very attractive, very deadly, unpredictable adversary. And if he admitted it, the sharp bile of fear was in his throat. He'd almost been taken down, utterly unconscious. The animal side was furious, it was like dying in cryo- fucking euthanized. Not a warrior's death, a blaze of blood and glory- his Furyan side screaming in shame.

Riddick waited. He'd given doc-boy the opportunity to walk away - not that the beast would let him out alive if he retreated. The other was silent, waiting like him, and it charged the air. The beast coiled...

Dexter could see the slight ripple go through Riddick's muscles. He was still moving, touching things, but his movements were too precise, deliberately casual. The tension in the silent room had ratcheted up 200% in the last 10 seconds. And Dexter could barely hold the Passenger back from the red-hazed madness of slashing out. And he was losing the battle of wills. It wanted to carve, to gut, to cut. It was its right. It had been good. It had waited. The arrogance of the other was unbearable. It wanted release - now.

Dexter didn't remember moving, reaching for the silver on the tray, but he was suddenly bent over the table Riddick had occupied, face pressed against the rubber sheet.

"Told you not to try it." The baritone snarl was hot in his ear. Steel on his neck again, different knife this time, one of Riddick's serrated hunting blades. Dex had admired it briefly, considered keeping it for another day. The Passenger wasn't interested in this idle thought, it surged, trying to break the hold of the body over it. Its growl was met with another deeper one.

"You're a quick fucker, I'll give you that." Riddick taunted as he ran the blade back from his ear along the hairline, slicing shallow, drawing blood. This close to his neck, the pulse pounding, tendons bunched, Riddick had to couch the animal reflex to bite the exposed flesh there, lick the beading red line. His breath hitched. Remembering his earlier fantasy. He wanted to see more skin. A double flick and the apron straps around Dexter's neck dropped. Dexter made a surprised noise and Riddick chuckled, snaking fingers under his shirt collar.

"You're overdressed for this fight, doc." He let the words drip slow as he slid the cold blade flat against Dexter's skin, tearing the gray fabric slowly, stretched threads parting reluctantly one at a time. Riddick smelled his adversary's temperature rise, sweat beading with frustration, anger, confusion. That musky scent of the challenged alpha was thickening. The beast in him bared fangs in an anticipatory grin. The sweet tang of the blood in the air made him salivate, and Dexter's exposed shoulder was too much to resist now. He ran his tongue, teeth over the shallow red trail, bit down, forcing more of the copper salt into his mouth.

Dexter went rigid under him. The feel of Riddick's mouth on him was erotic, and humiliating. He'd expected the bite, the tear of flesh after he'd exposed his neck - this mass-murderer's exploits were inhuman myth. He was a blood drinker, a cannibal, a dismembering demon.

The cut of the knife, the smell of his own blood had panicked Dexter, sent him dropping into darkness, stopped fighting the Passenger's insistent roar. But that laving tongue... sent signals north and south along different nerveways. Was this twisted fuck teasing him before he killed him? Returning the humiliation for his own exposed near-death? All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears, and that strange growling purr from his captor. His hips pressed hard against Dexter's back.

"Thought you worked clean," Dexter muttered, trying to ignore the insistent warmth spreading through his body. He was searching for a weakness in the other, something to give him a second to throw him off. The mouth on his shoulder stopped, he felt teeth grind behind them. Riddick was grinning again.

"Appealing to my vanity? I ain't like you, Doc. I don't have a stick up my ass about my M.O. I'm an opportunist. I use what's at hand. Play it by ear." He growled again, and sank teeth into the soft flesh of Dexter's ear, making him hiss.

"Stop. Fucking. Calling. Me. Doc. It's Dexter." Irritation, embarrassment at his enjoyment had made him angry again, cut through the paralyzing fear. Riddick ignored him.

"You know I killed a man once with a metal cup? Hmm... but I prefer knives," he flicked the blade over in his hand, for Dexter to see, then brought it over his shoulder again, tracing down his back, to the apron tie, hooked it and flicked. Grabbed the loose fabric and pulled it away from Dexter's waist. Brought the blade down along his side, around by his exposed abdomen, stomach. Scratched the edge along his skin as he flipped it, so the hooked tip was facing down. "They're versatile. But I'm good at using tools..." he was crooning again, and that soft, deadly tone made Dexter shiver, more than the metal against his flesh. Riddick snagged the blade on his pants, pulling it out a bit, catching the button hole. So deadly precise, and so close to...

Dexter blushed now. Why couldn't he just gut him and be done with it? This was hellish...what did he hope to accomplish doing this to him? The Passenger was strangely silent, gauging... no longer sure. Riddick suddenly set the knife down on the table, splayed fingers spread over it.

"Tools," he repeated, fingers sliding back. "Whatever comes to hand." And he plunged his hand roughly down the front of Dexter's open pants, growling appreciatively at the growing mound of flesh that met his fingers. Dexter made a strangled cry, horrified at the exposure of his obvious arousal. His hips thrust reflexively against the groping hand shoving back confining fabric, freeing his erection. But he fought it mentally, still reeling at his easy seduction.

Riddick felt his own desire charge maddeningly. He relaxed his hold on Dexter's neck, just enough to force him to straighten in his arms, flush and rigid against his heating body. The taunt flesh in his stroking hand felt good, warm and wanting. Another thick wave of desire slipped along his nerves, and the beast hummed deep, audibly. The General was pressing hard against the other man - Dexter's- ass and lower back. He still tasted of fear, confusion... but the sweet note of thickening need was growing more pungent.

"Dexter," his name, hissed against his back, a dark caress that circled him like the rough insistent fingers over his manhood. He arched, thrust against the teasing fingers, eyes closing as his head lolled to the side. The Passenger was pushing hard on him to just accept this, let the sensations rule. It felt so new, intense and pleasurable, wanting. That was so novel... craving, desiring, something, someone, sexual...

Riddick saw the exposed neck, the soft white flesh, cut and vulnerable, and clamped down on it again. Blood, flesh, sweat... hot and pressed to his tongue, Dexter moving with him, bending into the bite, surrendering, offering, languid and yielding suddenly. Riddick gripped his manhood tighter, rubbing his thumb lightly over the head of Dexter's penis, earning him another groan.

"Don't tell me you never had someone do this for you, Doc? No pretty girlfriend to jack you off? Get kinky in the shower or hot tub? Stand in front of the mirror naked and let someone else's hand work you over like this? Hot guy like you can't have lacked for company... bet the ladies just threw themselves at you..."

"Not... not like... this," Dexter was having trouble keeping coherent. Rita... never had the interest, the aggression, the confidence, to work him like this... and never so rough. Large hands... sure and masculine, knowing exactly what was good... where, how to touch... And the occasional brush over his balls, sweeping press of fingers under his scrotum and then back to work his shaft... nowhere near as brutal as the teeth on his shoulder, neck... the press of thick smooth muscle against his sweaty skin... the press of something else, hot and insistent, frighteningly hard against his lower back.

"I don't... I'm not..." Dexter choked out the words.

"What? Gay?" Riddick laughed now, moving his mouth to the other's ear again. "Neither am I, doc, but I don't think either of us plays by society's rules, now do we?"

"I... never... with a man... I," Dexter was stuttering, lost in the sweet circling pleasure, languid building of tension... something he usually only felt after killing - a slick, snaking rush of a well executed... execution. Shit, even his vocabulary was failing him.

"Mmm... so you've never had any anal play? Girl stick her finger up your ass while you pounded her senseless?" Riddick slid his restraining hand over Dexter's pectorals, pinching his nipple, earning him another hiss. Shit, this was like dealin' with a virgin... but it was so much fun. This guy was wound so tight his nerves responded to the slightest touch.

He slid calloused fingers over Dexter's tight abs, grunting appreciatively again at the other's tight frame - fucker was well built, if lean, and the reddish trails of body hair were so soft. He continued the caress, sliding around to his hip, finally yanking down the pants with a predatory snarl. Dexter stiffened, surprised, and Riddick bit his left shoulder this time, alpha display, as he rubbed himself hard against the tight ass cheeks he'd exposed.

The bite, the thrust - Dexter's hands came down on the table again, over the knife laid out there. The hand on his cock tightened, and Riddick chuckled, licked back up to his left ear. "Gonna cut me now doc? Suppose it's only fair. " He lifted his left wrist, held his hand out, while he lazily continued to stroke Dexter's dick. "You wanna drink my blood, doc? It's quite a rush... I usually like to mix it with some schnapps myself - cuts down on the bitterness."

Dexter shivered, fingers still tenting the knife. Riddick was sucking on his neck again, rubbing his cock against Dexter's buttocks, utterly unconcerned. He didn't know how deep Dexter's aversion to the red stuff ran... how disordered bleeding messed with him. For Riddick, it was a turn on, but not for him. He shook his head.

"Not... my style," he muttered, shoving the knife off the table, out of reach. The gravity of what he'd done hit him a second later, when Riddick's outstretched hand clamped hard on his neck, nearly choking him.

"You're mine then!" Riddick growled, claiming his surrender. He scraped teeth from one shoulder around to the other, leaving a trail of welts and bloodied bruises. It was a violent marking, dancing Dexter's nerves back and forth over the edges of pleasure-pain. "Don't move." The command was harsh, guttural, and delivered with a tightening throttle around his windpipe. Dexter stiffened - as much from the threat as the sudden cold rush of air across his skin. He bit his tongue against the momentary solitude, the removal of the stifling heat of Riddick's solid mass sliding against damp skin. The sweat, the blood, sudden ice in exposure. The Passenger wailed, denied again. Dexter' shoulder's hunched, he straightened.

"I said 'don't move', " the snarl in his ear was harsh as the wall of heat encased him again, shoving him back against the table. Cool hand on his dick again, slick with something... and then a finger pushed hard into his rectum, making his cry out. "Woulda been easier if you listened, but you don't take direction well, do you, doc?"

It hurt, the sudden thrust, cold and invasive. Dexter couldn't think as he reflexively clenched down on the digit. He couldn't move, balanced delicately between Riddick's hands, too dangerous... and the strange, violent helplessness snapped another synapse in his brain, turning liquid and hot as the discomfort faded to acceptance and his muscles relaxed.

Riddick smiled against his shoulder, feeling him relax. Good thing the anal-retentive fucker had brought everything from his room, the lube should help him get the goddamn stick outta doc-boy's ass, and make room for something better. He growled, biting down again on Dexter's shoulder as he moved his finger slowly, matching thrusting movements with his other hand over Dexter's penis.

A few quick movements and he added a second finger, pushing past the resistant ring of muscles deeper... increasing the friction. He could feel Dexter giving in, the unfamiliar sensations of invasion sparking something deeper, an aching want... mixing with the rising pleasure of the slippery fist pumping his cock. Giving over to the back-n-forth rhythm Riddick had trapped him in, the see-saw of erotic tension coiling around him like a rising snake. His orgasm was building in the back of his brain and he suddenly didn't care if Riddick shoved his whole damn fist up his ass because it felt that good right now and he...

Riddick felt him seize up inside, the beast in him demanding its own satisfaction as it smelled, felt the utter surrender of the adversary in his arms. Glory, triumph, watching, feeling Dexter succumb to the explosion of dopamine, the spring uncoiled, the muscular convulsions as he finally screamed in release. Beautiful violence, utterly uncontrolled - the kind Riddick loved more than anything. Orchestrated at his command. Fucking fantastic - and almost as good as getting off himself. Almost.

"Not done yet, doc," he purred softly as Dexter panted limply under him. He shifted slightly, moving hands over Dexter's hips, massaging him gently, pressing his own throbbing cock against the soft relaxed cheeks of Dexter's ass. It would still be tight as hell, even with Dex relaxed like this, but so much easier to enjoy with him not fighting. Wear a fucking enemy down and then snake up under his defenses... Worked in battle, worked in bed.

"Don't..." Dexter could still barely breath. So far gone... the stars hadn't faded. His heart was slamming in his chest, his limbs felt like jelly. Waves of pleasure still lapping behind his eyes. Speaking was hard.

"Don't what?" Riddick growled darkly, warningly. His grip became rough, bruisingly tight as his anger rose. Fucker think he could say no at this point? Still gonna fight what was his to take? He was gonna have this one way or another, and if he'd misjudged this fucker... Dexter's hands moved over his, nails biting as he gripped the meat of his palms.

"Don't... call me 'doc', dammit." Dexter hissed. Riddick made a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt.

"I'll fuckin' call you 'Mary' if I want, Dexter," he snarled as he shoved into him, hard, sudden, deep. Dexter groaned, bucking reflexively. The pressure was brutal, but he paused, waiting for Dexter to relax before he moved again. Tight, really tight, but that's what he liked about ass-fucking. The friction and the tightness, fighting the clamp of the ringed muscles, the dragging pressure. The General never lasted long when he backdoored it, but oh, that invasive pounding felt good. Guys were better for it since the prostate meant they'd get off directly too, gave him something to focus on, push for, hold on and work a little more. Cuz then they'd tighten up too, milk him if they came together, and since his little Mary was an ass virgin anyway, he had that pride thing of getting Dex off too.

Riddick wanted to just pound him, but he kept his thrusts slow, even. Dexter had relaxed, as much as he could. It was unexpectedly smooth and hot, still hurt, but in that same twinned, pleasurable way that being bit on the shoulder did. Fear and need, paradoxically coexisting in a place where there was usually... nothing. Emptiness. Hardly empty now... he'd been forced to accept this, but now wanted it, needed it, to continue. Invasion, broken open... the Passenger was drinking this all in greedily, masochistically - the sadist sated. Left Dexter in a very strange, but not unpleasant place.

"Bite me," Dexter said, suddenly, dreamily.

"What?" Riddick was concentrating on keeping it even, leashing the beast.

"Bite me again," Dexter squirmed a bit, clenching down, making Riddick hiss. "I need to feel your teeth again. Just do it, please." Riddick growled, eyes focusing on the slick muscles at Dexter's collar, sweaty, red, already a mass of bites and bruises. The right side, the crusted welt of the knifemark suddenly reawakened that primal bloodlust and he lunged, latched on - the animal side snapping its chain.

Dexter moaned, and arched back, the pain hot and demanding on his shoulder. But it was his knife-edge, that dark dance with pleasure... the hot sparks of violent enjoyment at the base of his spine structurally changing the chemical agony... the ache of want as Riddick's pounding became faster, frantic and unchecked. And he liked it, wanted it, needed it.

Riddick was utterly lost in sensation. His dream, his conquest, his absurd fantasy made real. The other letting him take him unleashed, unfettered... wanting the violence, the blood, asking for it. Let the beast, the Furyan in him rule unchecked. Merciless and primal, only a man could take this, match him, free him this way. Building to an ultimate climax, and he was close - pushing deeper, harder, balls slapping loudly as he reamed his partner's ass.

"Fuck, Dexter..." he couldn't even come up with something foully endearing to call him. He couldn't think period, reduced to guttural moans between clenched teeth as he rode higher, feeling, hearing Dexter suddenly pushing for his own release. The blood, the sweat, the semen - the pheromonal perfume mixing smells and textures in his mind, Riddick felt the tension compress between his brain and spine and then... explode.

For a few breathless seconds, he could see normal colors - whites, reds, orange-browns, yellows... the side of the spectrum he hadn't seen in decades.... then his eyes rolled, blown back by the sweet, hot pleasure that drown his other senses. Collapsing, spent, on Dexter's back, only able to feel the pound of blood in his heart, and the equally rabbiting heartbeat underneath his bulk.

Dexter was lost himself in release... his second, he could barely comprehend that. Never twice, never so quickly, so intensely... such a foreign thing, pleasure... filling that deep empty place inside. La petite mort, the French called it - the little death. A sudden insight for the Dark Defender. Pleasure in death, another way, one cut at a time... perhaps another way to sate the Passenger. Violent, bloody, messy... society would still not be thrilled with his esthetic choices, but... here was a new game to play, and a new partner to play it with.

Love? No, never something so simple and cliche. But understanding, respect... something gleaming like silver, steel-sharp and violent, reflecting light between them. Connoisseurs of the blade, mutual admiration... and the moon forever smiling on its servants: the Scalpel and the Shiv.

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meh, needs editing... but since ppl have tagged it for updates, I feel compelled to post what I have. *blush* thank you. Hard to do the boys credibly, and I obsess... I was going to put quotes from "Dexter" in here, but I'm still sorting them out. Thank you for reading, this is my first slash... so whatever.

If you liked it, thank you. If you don't - write something better - seriously! I'd love read it!