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Dexter barely had time to react. One second, he was standing in Isaak Sirko’s safe house, and the next, a sharp pain exploded against the back of his head. His vision went white, then black.
By the time he came back to reality, his wrists were tied behind his back, head throbbing like a drum. He blinked, disoriented, trying to piece together what had happened. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of dust and damp concrete.
And then he heard a groan from his left side.
“Ah,” Isaak’s voice suddenly broke the silence of the room. "Kidnapped together. How romantic.”
Dexter turned his head, Isaak was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, his own wrists tied in a similar fashion to his own. His shirt was stained, probably from whatever struggle he’d put up before they dragged them here. Even in this moment, Isaak looked composed. Annoyed, but composed.
Dexter exhaled. “Well, this is new.”
Isaak’s mouth curved into something that might have been amusement, if not for the underlying tension in his eyes.
Dexter shifted against the ropes. “I’d ask if you have a plan, but I have a feeling we’re both equally screwed.”
Isaak tilted his head back against the cold wall. “Koshka Brotherhood, Dexter,” he murmured. “I should’ve expected it. They’re trying to make an example of me.”
Dexter glanced around, scanning for exits as he always did. “And I’m just an added bonus?”
Isaak let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Oh no, Dexter. You made enemies too. They’ll enjoy making you suffer.”
A beat of silence stretched between them. Dexter let that sink in.
“You seem calm,” he noted.
Isaak smirked. “Would you prefer I scream and beg?”
“Not exactly your style.”
“Indeed,” Isaak shifted slightly. “You know, I always wondered… what would it take to break you? To make you feel fear?”
Dexter met his gaze. “I’m never afraid.”
Isaak gave him a long, considering look. “Well, you should be.”
Another silence.
Dexter exhaled, glancing towards the door. They probably don't have much time before their kidnappers return. If Isaak was right, their suffering would be drawn out, enjoyed. Dexter didn’t fear the pain, but a sense of awareness settled in him. He needed to get out of this. Alive and unharmed.
But then, another thought settled in. Harrison.
“Something on your mind?” Isaak’s voice cut through the silence.
Dexter hesitated before answering. “My son.”
Isaak’s expression shifted slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Harrison,” he mused out loud. “I remember. You spoke about him once.”
Dexter swallowed, remembering the moment, knowing it was a warning toward Isaak back then, to never, ever touch his son. “If I die here, he’ll have no one.”
Isaak considered that. “You don’t strike me as the sentimental type.”
Dexter’s jaw tightened. “I’m not. But he’s different.”
Isaak studied him for a long moment and then nodded. “I understand.”
Dexter raised a brow, curious. “Do you?”
Isaak’s lips curled into something softer, thoughtful, almost. “Yes. When you care about someone, truly care, it changes you. Even if you try to deny it.”
Dexter looked away. The truth in that statement was unsettling.
“Tell me,” Isaak continued. “What’s it like?”
Dexter frowned. “What?”
“Fatherhood.”
For a moment, Dexter wasn’t sure how to answer. He had spent so much time trying to fit the role, trying to play the part of a good father that he rarely let himself think about what it meant. But here, with Isaak watching him with something like genuine curiosity, he found himself answering honestly.
“It’s complicated,” he admitted. “At first, it felt like a performance. Like I was just mimicking what I thought a father should be. But over time…” He exhaled. “I don’t know. Something changed.”
Isaak nodded, his expression unreadable. “True love has a way of doing that.”
Dexter stared at him. “Is that what this is? Love? Real love?”
Isaak’s smirk returned, teasing but not cruel. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s just another thing you’re trying to suppress.”
Dexter’s stomach tightened. The conversation had taken a turn now, one he wasn’t sure how to handle. Because he knew what exactly Isaak meant. What he was hinting at.
A long pause. Then-
“Do you find me attractive?” Isaak asked suddenly, a smile tugging at his lips.
Dexter, surprisingly, didn’t even falter. “Yes.”
Isaak blinked, clearly surprised by the immediate answer, then, his smile widened. “Wow, no hesitation at all.”
Dexter felt his face heat slightly, but he held Isaak’s gaze. “You asked.”
Isaak chuckled, shaking his head. “I did.” He tilted his head, considering Dexter’s answer. “And yet, I wonder… was that honesty or survival instinct?”
Dexter narrowed his eyes. “What’s the difference?”
Isaak leaned forward slightly, voice dropping at a lower volume. “One is admitting you want and feel something. The other is saying what you think will keep you alive.”
Dexter’s pulse quickened. “Maybe it’s both.”
Isaak’s gaze darkened, something shifting in the space between them. The air felt heavier. Charged.
“If this is our last night on Earth…” Isaak murmured. “Wouldn’t it be a shame to waste it?”
Dexter swallowed hard. He should have seen this coming. The tension, the way their words had slowly peeled away at something neither of them wanted to acknowledge. The attraction had always been there, buried beneath the hate, the rivalry, bloodshed and circumstances.
But here, in this room, with death looming over them-
He didn’t want to waste it.
Isaak was the one to close the space between them. Cautiously shifting towards Dexter, moving right in front of him and then- their lips met. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was hunger and desperation, the kind that came with knowing this might be the only chance they’d ever have.
Dexter didn’t resist. He didn’t want to. For once, he let himself feel.
Dexter should have stopped whatever this was. He knew that.
But the way Isaak kissed him- fierce, consuming, like he was trying to claim something before it was too late- made stopping feel impossible.
Isaak bit his bottom lip, pulling him closer despite the restraints, their breaths mingling in the dimly lit room. Dexter felt the scrape of Isaak’s stubble against his skin, the heat of his body pressing into him, and something deep inside him cracked. He wasn’t thinking about the Koshka Brotherhood, about escape, about anything except the way Isaak felt against him.
Dexter shifted, hands still bound behind his back, his body pressed flush to Isaak’s. The ropes dug into his wrists, but he barely registered the discomfort. Isaak exhaled against his mouth, amusement laced in his voice.
“Struggling already?”
Dexter’s breath was uneven. “Not exactly.”
Isaak hummed, tilting his head. “You surprise me, Dexter. I always assumed you’d be more… restrained.”
“Turns out I don’t have much to lose right now,” Dexter admitted.
Isaak’s eyes darkened. “No, I suppose we don’t.”
And that was it. The last of the hesitation burned away as Isaak surged forward again, kissing him harder, deeper. It was messy, desperate. Dexter tilted his head to give Isaak more access, and Isaak took it, his lips trailing from Dexter’s mouth to his jaw, to his throat. Dexter shivered. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything so intense, so real.
The rope at Isaak’s wrists snapped then, under the pressure and want Isaak felt. Dexter barely had time to register the movement before Isaak’s now free hands grabbed his waist, dragging him onto his lap.
Dexter groaned, his own tied hands still in place. “Not fair.”
Isaak smirked against his throat. “Life isn’t fair.” He reached behind Dexter, fingers working quickly. A sharp tug and then the grip on Dexter’s hands loosened. “Better?”
Dexter flexed his wrists, barely managing a nod before Isaak pulled him back into another searing kiss.
It escalated quickly. Hands, mouths, heated gasps against skin. The room was freezing, but Dexter didn’t feel the cold anymore. They didn’t speak, there was no need to. Everything was laid bare in the way Isaak’s hands dragged over his back, the way Dexter dug his nails into Isaak’s shoulders, the way their bodies moved together in a frantic rhythm of want and need.
This wasn’t about love. Not yet.
And for once, Dexter allowed himself to just be.
Afterwards, they lay next to each other on the floor, breathless, exhausted. The room was still dark, still cold, but the weight of everything felt different now.
Dexter stared at the ceiling, his pulse slowly evening out. “That was… unexpected.”
Isaak huffed a quiet laugh beside him. “For you, maybe.”
Dexter turned his head. Isaak was looking at him, his expression unreadable. “You planned this?”
Isaak smirked. “Hardly. But I won’t pretend I haven’t thought about it.”
Dexter blinked. “You thought about this?”
Isaak turned onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Oh, don’t act so surprised, Dexter. You’re intelligent, precise, and frustratingly intriguing. It was only a matter of time before I wanted to know how you’d feel beneath me.”
Dexter’s stomach flipped. He hated how much he liked the way Isaak said that. What it made him feel.
Before he could form a response, the sound of footsteps echoed from outside the door. The reality of their situation came crashing back.
Isaak’s body tensed beside him.
“Time’s up,” Dexter murmured. Isaak sat up then, quickly adjusting himself, his expression returning to his neutral, disinterested state. They both knew what had to be done. They were untied, adrenaline still flooding through their veins. It all just needed a moment of surprise. So they moved in sync.
The door burst open and three armed men flooded the room.
It was all a blur to Dexter. The fight, the surprisingly good cooperation he and Isaak managed to do. There had been gunfire, shouting, the sharp scent of blood in the air. Isaak and Dexter both fought their way out, instincts kicking in like second nature.
They escaped together and now, hours later, they sat in Isaak’s safe house, right where they were taken off from.
Dexter stared at his drink, fingers tapping absently against the glass. “So…”
Isaak exhaled, swirling the whiskey in his hand. “So.”
Neither of them said anything for a long moment.
Dexter finally glanced over. “We should probably talk about it.”
Isaak took a slow sip. “Do you really want to talk about it?”
Dexter opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Did he? He wasn’t sure.
Isaak smirked at his hesitation. “You’re overthinking again.”
Dexter frowned. “And you’re avoiding the subject.”
Isaak leaned back in his chair, studying him. “Fine. Let’s talk about it. We were kidnapped. We thought we might die. Well, honestly, now that I’m thinking about it, I think I was sure we were going to be okay. But we sought comfort in the only way we could. So I blew you, you definitely loved it and,” His gaze flickered, expression back to neutral, “and now we’re here. Alive. And I wonder…”
Dexter swallowed. “Wonder what?”
“If you regret it.”
The question lingered in the air. Dexter wasn’t sure how to answer. Regret wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t as if he’d planned this, as if he had ever thought about Isaak like that before-… well that’s a lie, he did think about it, once. But now, after everything-
“I don’t regret it,” he admitted.
Isaak’s gaze softened slightly, relief washing over his face. “No?”
Dexter exhaled. “I don’t know what it means, but I don’t regret it.”
Isaak nodded slowly, as if considering the answer. Then, he smirked. “So. You do find me attractive.”
Dexter rolled his eyes. “You already knew that.”
Isaak chuckled, setting his drink down. He stood, walking toward the window, looking out. “You don’t have to overthink this, Dexter.”
Dexter watched him carefully. “And what if I want to?”
Isaak turned, arching a brow. “Then I’d say you’re already thinking about this far more than I expected.”
Dexter clenches his jaw. He hated that Isaak was right.
But then Isaak crossed the room, stopping just a breath away. He reached out, fingers ghosting along Dexter’s wrist before gripping it lightly.
“You should stay and sleep,” Isaak murmured.
Dexter’s pulse jumped.
Isaak smirked. “Or, if you’d rather, we could continue what we started.”
Dexter inhaled sharply. He should leave. He should walk away before it all gets any deeper. But he didn’t move. And Isaak’s smirk only widened.
Yes, Dexter should leave. He should walk out of Isaak’s place, go back to his quiet, controlled life, and bury this night beneath all the other things he refuses to think about.
But he doesn’t.
Isaak’s fingers are still lightly wrapped around Dexter’s wrist, his touch warm against it. It isn’t a forceful grip. Isaak isn’t trying to stop him. If Dexter wants to leave, Isaak will let him.
That’s the problem.
Dexter really doesn’t want to. No.
The rational part of his brain screamed at him to break this moment apart before it could solidify into something real. He wasn’t supposed to have moments like this. And yet, here he was, with Isaak, heart beating too fast, thoughts tangled in something he didn’t quite understand.
Isaak’s gaze flickered over his face, reading him too easily. “Stay,” he murmured. “Unless, of course, you’re afraid.”
Dexter exhaled slowly, meeting his eyes. “You think I’m scared of you?”
Isaak snorted. “No, I think you’re scared of yourself.”
Dexter clenched his jaw, but he didn’t pull away.
Isaak took that as an answer. He lifted his free hand, ghosting his fingers along the side of Dexter’s face, his touch both gentle and cautious. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he said, voice quieter now. “You just have to stay.”
Dexter swallowed hard. He could feel the weight of the past few hours pressing against him, the adrenaline, the uncertainty, the hunger still lingering beneath his skin. Isaak’s touch made it worse. Or better. He wasn’t sure which was right.
For once, he let instinct take over.
Instead of answering, he reached up, gripping Isaak’s collar, and pulled him in.
Isaak barely had time to smile triumphantly before their mouths met again, slower this time. There was no panic, no desperation, just something steady, something real. Isaak responded instantly, his hands sliding over Dexter’s back, pulling him impossibly closer.
The part of Dexter that usually analyzed everything, the one that calculated risk, predicted outcomes and ensured self-preservation, was now silent.
Isaak’s mouth was insistent, pushing past whatever hesitation Dexter might have left. There was no hesitation on Isaak’s part, no uncertainty. He knew exactly what he wanted, and that confidence burned through Dexter like wildfire.
So this time, when they fell into each other, it wasn’t about survival. It was about Dexter and the things he felt, the things he knew he was about to truly awaken and shake within him. And for now, that was completely, utterly fine and manageable.