Just Before Dawn
"So, what are you doing after… work, today?" Walt asks Gale as he leans against the chair, sitting on his hands and gazing over at his enthusiastic, if a bit docile, new assistant.
"Just going back to my apartment," Gale replies, "Un-unless you were asking to, uh, make plans, in which case… that'd be great."
"Plans, sound great," Walt echoes. He's been alone since Skyler left, other than his attempts to return to the house, and he could use the company in his quiet condo. "Why don't you come over to my place and we could…" What could they do? Discuss some more chemistry? Watch a movie? Play Scrabble? "Do something."
"Sounds good," Gale replies, nervousness evident in his voice; it was obvious that neither of them quite knew what that "something" could be.
They take off their protective suits, place them in the lockers and shut the doors simultaneously, gazing over at one another in silence before grabbing their things and climbing up the spiral staircase, Walt in the lead.
"It's really great working with you," Gale says as he pulls out his electronic key and uses it to open his car door. He climbs inside, then opens the door for Walt. The other man hesitates a moment, before he climbs in, buckles his seatbelt and pulls the door shut.
"I live over on Central," Walt tells him. "I only moved in recently."
"Oh?" Gale inquires with interest. "Are you new to the Albuquerque area?" Walt makes a dismissive motion with his hand. He doesn't want to talk to Gale about Skyler; he'd rather dive headfirst into one of the barrels in the lab.
"I'm originally from California," he offers instead. A few moments later, Gale had pulled into the driveway of Walt's condo and they've both unbuckled their seatbelts. Walt unlocks the door and climbs out, trying to think about anything other than what is going to happen once they get past the door. He's seen the way Gale has been looking at him, like he'd gladly lick Walt's boot if Walt asked him to do it. He likes it; he needs it, especially given the ongoing Jesse disaster that has been brewing recently.
He tries not to focus on the fact that his cock has begun to get hard at the sound of Jesse's name ringing in his head.
Walt walks up to his door and fumbles for the key, slipping it mechanically into the hole and turning it, hearing the familiar click as he pushes forward, lets himself and lets Gale in.
"Take a seat," he instructs. "Can I get you anything? A drink?"
"I don't really drink," Gale replies, then sees the look on Walt's face and corrects, "Well, sure I'll have one."
Walt glides over to his refrigerator and takes out a 12-pack of Heineken. As he does, he finds himself wishing he had been able to get some more weed, from Jesse… No, no, he isn't going to think about Jesse.
Resolutely not thinking about Jesse, Walt crosses his living room and places the 12-pack on the table, pulling a beer from the package and popping the cap before offering a second to Gale.
The other man takes it and, as he does, the two lock eyes a moment, a silent question answered.
They both know what they are here to do – but neither one is willing to break the tension right away, to initiate.
But Walt is impatient.
"Gale," he begins. "Let's cut to the chase. Do you…" He cuts off. He doesn't want to talk, he wants to forget. Wants to forget Jesse.
So he doesn't continue what he was going to say; instead, he simply grips Gale's shoulders and pulls him in, crushes his lips against the other man's. Gale tastes sweet and bitter, of coffee and tea, a bit dry and strangely soft. Gale doesn't pull away, but he freezes a moment – must be in shock – before he relaxes against Walt's chest.
Walt leads Gale over to the bed, one step, then two, a slow waltz – so close that Walt can hear Gale's heart bellowing against his ear, thump-thump –
Walt places Gale on the bed, lying on his back, and kisses him anew, not wanting to give either of them time to breath or think.
Gale's wearing a button-down gray shirt, and Walt finally comes up for air long enough to unbutton it; he pulls it off and reaches back to "match him", to strip off his own shirt. He doesn't stare, doesn't linger on Gale's body but confines his work instead, unbuttons Gale's pants and pulls them off as well, followed by boxers before again doing the same to himself. He wads all the clothes into a ball, indistinguishable whose is whose, before climbing off the bed and walking to the bathroom.
Gale lies back, meanwhile, turning his head to try and keep Walt in view. He can't, and he sighs as he hears the click of the medicine cabinet before Walt's return. All Gale can look at is him, he can't avert his eyes, he wants to take a photograph in his head and mark it up, label it, file it away to pull out on a rainy day, on days he's ready to give up.
Walt closes his eyes, then opens them again.
"Flip over," he instructs, "It'll be easier." Gale nods, curling up on his side and breathing in as he hears the cap pop, can hear Walt slather the gunk on his fingers.
Walt doesn't give a warning, simply slides his first finger in, and Gale swallows, adjusts, doesn't speak, he can tell Walt doesn't want him to speak so he won't – he'll mirror the other man perfectly, be the absolute match, a covalent bond.
Two now, and Gale still doesn't make a sound. Walt closes his eyes again, thinks – doesn't think, of Jesse, of how tight Gale is, how much tighter Jesse would be – stop, don't think of Gale or Jesse, or Skyler, think of nothing at all, just feel, mechanical, a key into a lock.
With that, Walt lubes up his key, forces it – not quite, maybe – slow, a bit of resistance, turn – into the lock, perfect fit (perfect match, Gale thinks). Gale moans out, squinches his eyes and curls against the bed, bites down hard enough on his lips to draw blood.
Walt thrusts, wraps his arms around Gale and holds him tight – that time in the crack den, holding Jesse, no – thrusts harder, can't hear Gale cry out, won't. Won't think of Skyler, her soft hair, her little moans and grunts and how she used to fall into his touch and tell him that she loved him, adored him –
He can feel it rising deep within, like a tub around to overflow – the barrels in the lab, his lab, all hid – he cums hard, bites his lip to not have to worry about crying Jesse's name out instead of Gale's. He rolls off the other man, grabs a side of the blanket and pulls it over himself.
Gale watches and catches his breath, tentatively taking the other side and rolling over, trying to find Walt's eyes to see if the other man will have him stay.
But Walt's eyes have turned to the wall, wishing it were his own. He doesn't look at the man beside him, wishing he were another (which other?).
So Gale closes his own eyes, breathes in Walt's scent – he smells like a meth lab, but just a little, and sweat and a slight metallic mist of blood – and curls up.
They're a perfect match.