Chapter Eight
"This does not mean I don't love you
I do, that's forever,
Yes and for always…"
"Then let's do it." Walt whispers the words, not looking up at Jesse – what the hell is this sudden shyness, he wonders, it's a boggling thing, the great Heisenberg flushing like a kid with a crush, like he's the dorky lab geek fawning over Skyler again and who is Jesse, anyway? Even with his nice house and fancy clothes he's still the kid who'd throw paper airplanes in his class and thought Funyons had nutritional value.
"Do what?" Jesse presses. "If this is gonna happen – if this is what you really mean – I'm not gonna play fuck-buddy with you, Mr. White. I mean… we were teacher and student for a year, partners for a year… if we've only got a year, we better put a name on it and it better be something real. I don't want to have some murky fucked-up sexual thing going on. We've gotta be – something. Especially if Brock is ever gonna find out." Jesse's finger twitches. "And as much as we might try and hide he, he's gonna find out."
"So… okay. What do you want us to be?"
"A relationship. Lovers." The words seem weird to Walt, coming from Jesse's mouth. He keeps wondering when Jesse gained this new maturity – then the younger man will toss in a "like" or a "yo" and Walt will feel… familiar again.
"Okay… You – mean – public?" Jesse shakes his head.
"No. Not… right away, at least. This might be a bad idea. Maybe we'll… do stuff and decide we hate it. I don't want… the only person I'd want to know – if we're sure – is Brock. I'm not going to lie to him." Jesse swallows; there are much worse things Brock could find out about him.
"Do you want to go… figure this out?" Walt asks.
"If you really feel something."
"Do you?" Jesse pauses a long time, hands in his pockets.
"Yeah."
Jesse takes his hands out of his pockets and grips Walt's arm in his, silently leading him upstairs and into Jesse's bedroom.
Walt looks around, seeing the room – seeing Jesse, as he's become, for the first time.
He doesn't know if he's proud of nostalgic, wistful, as he stares at his former student, watching as Jesse strips off his shirt, looking at how the boy's lanky frame has filled out a little in a way that makes him look much less awkward.
Jesse reaches out and begins to unbutton Walt's shirt. He leans in, pressing his lips to Walt's again in a comforting, soft kiss with an odd undercurrent, one of being in control in a way he never used to be.
Walt doesn't want him to be so in control. He gently shoves Jesse back towards the bed, which is off to the left of the room, before pushing him down, pinning him and kissing him, now with vigor he didn't know he could still feel.
Jesse's eyes widen and he accepts eagerly, making Walt convinced that Jesse was telling the truth – the girls really must have been just friends. He opens his mouth, lets Walt search him with his tongue, letting out a little whimper of want.
Jesse reaches down and undoes Walt's wants, giving the man a small tinge of uncertainty for the first time since they began – Jesse probably will find Walt's current state of being decidedly unerotic, but Walt decides he doesn't care. Breaking the kiss, he helps Jesse pull off the khakis and turns to undo Jesse's jeans, gripping them and pulling before the younger man can think better of all this and call "stop".
"Do you have – something?" Walt asks quietly, and Jesse nods, turning his head slightly.
"Bathroom… medicine cabinet."
Walt scurries up, runs to Jesse's bathroom, and opens the cabinet quickly, convinced the moment will break and Jesse will change his mind, or the phone will ring with urgent business that Jesse needs to attend to in his new, better life, leaving him with no time for Walter White.
He grabs the tube as soon as he spots it, and he rushes back into the bedroom, where Jesse is lying comfortably on his back, his arms twisted behind his head as he smiles.
"Let's do this," Jesse urges, unknotting his hands before pulling off his boxers; he stops Walt dead in his tracks, and he looks over the younger man a moment, drinking in the tattoos, the scars, the curves and contours of his body.
It seems wrong, somehow, more wrong than the criminal partnership ever did, but maybe that's just because this Jesse is still new to him. He's kept his head shaved and it still projects that hard-won maturity, the one Walt was never quite ready to see.
Walt pulls off the rest of his clothes, a pair of boxers and shoes and socks he hadn't even realized he had kept on, and approaches Jesse in slow strides. The younger man's eyes flash with impatience – the younger Jesse would have beckoned, "Hurry up, bitch," but this one just says it with his eyes, with one penetrating look.
When Walt is close enough, Jesse grips his shoulders and pulls him in for a kiss, biting his lip and running his tongue over his teeth. Walt considers that it must have been as long for Jesse as it's been for him, but the thought's cut off as Jesse breaks the kiss and gestures to the little tube with clear want in his eyes.
"Fuck me," he whispers, and Walt can't take his eyes off his as he shakily pops the cap and lathers some of the gel on to his fingers.
"Are you sure, Jesse?" Walt asks, even as he reaches down and begins to tease one finger over Jesse's entrance.
"Yeah, but the next time, I'm on top," Jesse replies. Well, he's already planning a next time. That's a good sign, isn't it?, Walt thinks to himself, trying not to think too hard about the rest of that statement. He focuses instead on sliding in the first finger, receiving a little gasp and groan from Jesse "Yeah," Jesse repeats, closing his eyes, and Walt isn't sure whether it's appreciative of the situation, or a reminder of the demand that he's just made for "next time".
"That okay?" Walt whispers, and Jesse nods, keeping his eyes closed. He slides in a second finger and feels Jesse clench around him. He pauses and slows the intrusion, watching with a sort of wonder as the younger man relaxes his muscles and accepts him.
"Now, go for it now," Jesse whispers, "I'm about to lose my nerve if you don't." At that, Walt withdraws his fingers and squeezes more lube over his hand, before stroking his cock which by now – he's just noticing, somehow, distracted as he was by Jesse – is throbbing, rock hard.
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be!" Jesse exclaims, chuckling nervously – his words are cut off as Walt positions himself at Jesse's entrance and slides in, but even as Jesse groans out and grabs a hold of Walt's wrist, he's still chuckling. "Ow… Fuck, shit, ow," he murmurs. "That hurts like a bitch."
"Then why are you laughing?" Walt inquires, leaning in to nip at Jesse's neck.
"Fuck if I know," Jesse hisses back. As he releases his muscles slowly, Walt pushes up and further inside, the heat and tightness making him wonder vaguely why he has never tried this before – then again, he can't even conceive of having presented the idea to either Skyler or Gretchen without having something thrown at him.
Jesse opens his eyes and stares at Walt, cutting him out of whatever thought process he had been attempting to have.
"You're tight," Walt grunts instead.
"Y'think?" Jesse retorts. "You're pretty fucking big, there."
"Does it hurt? Walt inquires, thrusting slowly and, he hopes, gently, but control is hard won.
"Only a bit," Jesse replies, "I'll be fine. Ow f…" He's cut off as he gives a little squeak of pleasure. "Um, do that again, shit!"
"I will," Walt replies, feeling more power and pride than he has since he took out Gus three years ago. He thrusts again, and Jesse lets out a strangled gasp, squeezing his eyes tightly again.
"Fuck, yeah, Mr. White, do that for fucking ever," Jesse grunts, reaching out and grabbing the bedpost, as if to keep from flying off of it. Walt increases his thrusts, going faster and harder as he feels his climax rising. He finds that he wants nothing else in the world other than to fuck Jesse until he's speechless.
And he seems to be succeeding at that; Jesse has been reduced to grunts, squeaks and cries as he digs his fingers into Walt's wrists and then to claw at his back, and Walt's not saying much either, other than gasping Jesse's name until he feels it all become too much and he screams Jesse's name and cums with what feels like the power of a some kind of World War II artillery cannon.
He pulls out of Jesse and is ready to collapse from the effort when the younger man, still catching his breath, raises his head.
"Fucking touch me! Come on, goddamnit, you are not gonna leave me hanging…"
It's the old, impatient Jesse, still quite alive under all the maturity, and Walt chuckles in surprise and reaches out to grab Jesse's cock between his palms. A few strokes later, and the younger man releases with a gasp and a grunt, and Walt finds himself too tired to do much else other than wipe his hand off on the pants nearest to him on the bed – they're probably Jesse's, come to think of it, but oh well.
Jesse moves to lie on his side as he stares at the clock.
"We have two hours until I have to get up," he tells Walt. "I'm not moving unless I have to." He snuggles further into the bed and yawns. He's silent a long moment and Walt scoots closer, wondering if he's fallen asleep.
"Are you awake?"
"Yeah," Jesse replies, rolling over to look at him. "I was just thinking."
"About what?"
"About what you said that one time. About dying in a perfect moment." Walt sucks in his breath. That day with the fly, the day he'd almost said way too much. One of many times.
"What about it?"
"D'you still believe that? 'Cause if you died in your 'perfect moment', then we wouldn't have this one right now." Jesse looks at his and shrugs. "I don't think there's a perfect moment. There's just a bunch of moments and what you get done in them. Good or bad. If I died when I was twenty, Jane would still be alive. Her father would be, too. All those people on the planes. But if I died today…" He swallows. "Then Brock's got no one. So there's no perfect moment."
"I don't know," Walt replies, "I don't even really remember saying that. I say things, sometimes. They don't always mean something."
"I know you. Nothing you say means – nothing. There's always some point to it."
Walt shrugs.
"Well, okay, if you're gonna be inscrutable again."
"Inscrutable?" Walt asks with a snort.
"Well, yeah, Mr. White," Jesse retorts with a grin, "I can has an edumacation now! I can use big words!" He reaches out and shoves Walt playfully, before turning serious again. "All right, we should… talk. Set down ground rules for this, if it's gonna work."
"Okay, well, what do you suggest?" Walt asks, shifting to sit up and look at Jesse as he speaks.
"Rule one – Brock always comes first. If this ever isn't okay with him, it's over. You gotta treat Brock with respect. I love him, you gotta at least respect him." Jesse groans as he sits up as well, dragging a hand over his face. "Going off rule one, just as a coda or something, if Brock ever needs to come in here to sleep, you gotta get out and go sleep in the guest room. 'Cause that's a little too weird for me. And last rule, I don't care how you talk to me in private, but you can't call me an idiot or anything in front of Brock. I don't want him… absorbing that." Jesse pauses and thinks. "That's it, basically. You okay with all of that?"
"Yes," Walt replies.
"Any of your own?"
Walt crosses his fingers and places them in his lap.
"Don't make decisions for me. Don't browbeat me into decisions – don't…" he pauses. "If things get bad, don't remember me like…"
"Like vulnerable?" Jesse prompts. "That ship's sailed, Mr. White. We've both seen each other at our lowest. Okay, another rule – you can't run out if things get bad and your pride kicks you in the ass. But no, I won't make decisions for you. You're your own person."
"And one more thing, Jesse."
"Yeah?"
"If we do ever go… public, you need to start calling me Walt."
Jesse scratches his nose and considers it.
"Maybe."
