DON’T GET HIM WRONG, he’s into choking—it’s one of the more vanilla things he enjoys in bed, and he’s only into it as long as he’s the hand locking around the rabbiting pulse of his conquest’s throat—but this is not what he had in mind. in the dark, dexter’s wolfish grin looks eerily similar the grim reaper’s scythe, cracking his cheeks from ear to ear, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders if dex is getting off on this. if the blue sheen of teddy’s lips is anything to go by, he’s certainly not enjoying it. his chest cries out for air, and his nails are punishingly clawing into dexter’s grip, and holy fuck, this mother fucker really loves ambushing teddy in parking lots. must be a kink. with the last ounce of breath, and the last brain cell left alive in his head, he cracks the butt of his beretta against the other’s temple, and dexter’s grip subtly loosens. it’s teddy’s cue to wrench away, and he heaves in a sharp breath of sweet, sweet air, then another, then another. “ i’m literally—just trying— ” goddamn, his windpipe is really struggling, “ to get fucking—mcdonald’s. ” teddy’s not the type to run from a fight, but the call of a mcchicken is too much like a siren’s. he beelines it to his car, grazes dexter who jumps out of the way just a little too quickly as teddy peels out of the parking lot. fuck it, he’ll just use the drive-thru.
