It's a slow day at the police station, so Jesse's pretty easy to find. He's gnawing his fingernails in an interrogation room when Saul barges his way inside. "What'd you say to them?"

Relief washes over Jesse's face like a wave crashing into the shore. "Oh, thank God, you're here," he cries, springing out of the chair and rushing toward Saul. Jesse squeezes Saul tight in his arms, and Saul hates himself for the brief flicker of anger he feels toward Jesse for potentially fucking up their bright, big future together.

Saul manages to detach from Jesse's embrace and performs a careful search of the room for any sort of listening devices. "First things first: what did you say to the cops?"

"Nothing. Jesus."

"Good, let's keep it that way. Now, what the hell happened? What did you—" Saul cuts that one off before it stabs deep. He takes a breath to calm himself. He can't come in and start accusing Jesse; that's not why he's here. Jesse's staring at Saul with an imploring, hopeful gaze, and his eyes are red and watery in a way that looks like he's been crying.

Saul starts over, sits in the chair on the other side of the table. "I'm not mad at you. I just want to understand. Tell me what happened."

Jesse heaves a sigh, rubs his tattooed hand over his face while he starts pacing like a caged tiger. "I didn't do anything. There were these two dudes—"

"What'd they look like?"

"One was a little shorter than me. White guy, dark hair with a receding hairline. But he looked kinda young to be losin' his hair. He had, like, 70's glasses and a beard. The other was about my height. Black guy, maybe two-ten, Buddy Holly glasses. Couple'a nerds."

Saul rubs his chin. That's not too specific, but not too vague as to be anybody with a pulse. One point in the honest column. "Okay, keep going."

"I walked by 'em. They stopped me, asked if I wanted to buy some crystal. I asked 'em where they got it, if they cooked it themselves, that sort of thing. I guess that scared 'em and made 'em think I was a cop, 'cause the taller guy took the bag of meth—he had a couple 'teenths wrapped up in a bandana—and just dropped it in front of me before he ran away. Then the other guy went after him. I picked it up to see what was inside, then the cops showed up."

Saul swallows thickly. He doesn't want to ask this, afraid of what the answer might be, but he has to know. "Look, I'm not—I'm not gonna leave you, but you gotta be honest with me, okay? If you were out there looking to buy, that's something I need to know."

Jesse stops pacing, frozen in place by the accusation. "I wasn't, I swear."

Saul's seen a lot of criminals in his lifetime. He's seen guilt manifested on people's faces, seen innocence bursting from clients' every pore. So Saul thinks he's gotten pretty good at recognizing when someone's been falsely accused and when someone's just begging for sympathy.

He's even seen Jesse in various states of sobriety and guilt. Right now, when he looks at Jesse, all he can see is pure and utter heartbreak that Saul could ever doubt him. Devastation. Unfaltering love. But no traces of shame, regret, or deceit. This isn't a case of someone fucking up and realizing their mistake too late; this is someone with a story no one will ever believe, because Jesse got reamed by too many coincidences at once.

"Okay, I trust you, kid." Christ, does Saul feel like an asshole now for ever thinking Jesse had gone back to his old ways. He stands up and moves closer, taking Jesse's hands in his own to quell the way they're shaking. "I'm on your side. The cops, however, probably aren't gonna buy the mysterious strangers story, unless you can lead them to 'em."

Jesse sniffles. "They got my prints. They're gonna find out who I really am... It's all over."

Saul squeezes Jesse's hands. "No. I won't let anything happen to you without a fight."

"What can you even do? There's nothing I can bargain with! I'm the only one left!" he sobs out in a voice that sounds impossibly feeble.

Saul holds his breath. Jesse's prints are probably all over that compound. A case built on the defense of involuntary acts or forced enslavement would be a crapshoot at best, because everyone involved is dead; Jesse's the only one left to take the fall.

Christ, it's like Walt planned it that way. He saved Jesse, played the hero one last time, but made certain Jesse's life post-Heisenberg would be full of paranoia and fear.

Saul hates him though he's already dead.

"I will find you a way through this, Jesse. That's what I do, remember?"

Jesse nods, but he doesn't look like Saul's words comfort him at all. He rakes a hand over his shaved head. Saul pulls him in for a hug, because Jesse needs all the reassurance he can get right now. Saul feels Jesse shake a little as he sobs into his shoulder, and Saul's heart breaks anew.

The door to the interrogation room swings open. Saul immediately lets go of Jesse and steps away, putting distance between them. An officer sticks his head inside the room and looks at Jesse. "You're free to go, sir. Sorry for the trouble."

Jesse whirls his head to look at him, eyes wide in disbelief. "What?"

Saul has to echo that thought out loud.

"Just a big misunderstanding, it seems. Glad we got that all worked out without you havin' to spend the night in lock-up." The officer holds the door for them as they leave.

What the actual fuck is going on? Did—holy shit, did Buck and Billy Ray seriously bribe the police?

Saul leads Jesse out of the room and into the lobby where Buck and Billy Ray are making a fuss over Bark Lee. Saul looks at Jesse. "What—did he get arrested too?"

"He just sorta...jumped in with me."

Bark Lee sees Jesse and trots over to him, his tail wagging. Jesse kneels down and rubs the dog's head. "Sorry about that, buddy. Bet you were scared, huh?" He looks up at Buck and Billy Ray. "How come they let me go? You guys say something?"

Buck shrugs. "Money talks."

Jesse gasps out loud. "You bribed the cops?" he hisses.

"I didn't say that."

He's not denying it either, Saul thinks.

"But sometimes when you got a lot of money, people tend to be a bit more pliable when you ask for somethin'," Buck says.

Yeah, he totally bribed the police.

Saul's more confused now than ever. These cops don't strike him as small-town yokels able to be bought if the price is right. But, apparently, wave enough money in someone's face and they'll look the other way. What a world.

Bark Lee sits between Saul and Jesse in the back seat of the truck, which Saul's a little miffed by, if he's honest. He wants to be near Jesse, to offer him a shoulder of comfort and reassurance. But instead they sit silent while the truck's speakers blare Rush—entirely out of spite, Saul guesses.

But, hey, he's not gonna look a gift-horse in the mouth, as the saying goes. If Buck and Billy Ray paid off the cops, he should be kissing the ground they walk on, because had the police matched those prints to Jesse Pinkman's, their idyllic little life here would be over.

Something to be grateful for this Thanksgiving.

Buck and Billy Ray drop them off at the house. Saul unlocks the door for Jesse, trying to be a gentleman. Jesse shuffles in, his head hung low, completely unappreciative of Saul's chivalry.

Saul clears his throat, unsure if words will help or hurt at this juncture. "So, you, uh, you want dinner?"

"I'm not hungry," Jesse mumbles, taking the stairs.

"You sure? Well, when you are, just let me know." He watches Jesse sulk to the guest bedroom and shut himself inside.

Jesse doesn't come down for dinner.

In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, Saul makes an effort to be warmer and more loving with Jesse, a feat that's reasonably difficult when Jesse won't even sleep in the same bed with him. But Saul does his best, making special breakfasts for Jesse in the morning, touching him more frequently. Maybe he lets an "I love you" slip once or twice more than he normally would, because Saul hears the quiet sobs on the other side of the guest bedroom door each night.

But he's not going to fuck this up, not when Jesse's so precariously fragile here. Saul's not a big fan of confrontation; he is, however, very fond of problems sorting themselves out. So he figures giving Jesse some space will help and eventually the kid'll want to talk to him again. Give the chagrin time to fade. A couple days and it won't even be a thing anymore, right?

Except it totally is a thing, even on the eve before Thanksgiving. Saul's next door having a drink with Buck and Billy Ray before the two head out of town bright and early in the morning. Bark Lee's already situated at Saul's place, and the pup's made himself at home in Jesse's bedroom, as if he senses Jesse's abysmal mood and wants offer the comfort of his presence. Saul casts glances out the living room window every now and then, wonders if Jesse's healing or hurting.

"You and Aaron still spendin' the holidays together?" Billy Ray asks, snapping Saul from his quiet reverie.

"Oh, uh, yeah."

Buck lifts an eyebrow in a way that makes Saul feel kind of interrogated. "How's he doin'? He alright?"

Saul shrugs lamely. "He's really quiet. He's sorta been staying in his room most of the time. I thought about givin' him space until he feels like talkin' to me again, but..." Saul sighs and rubs a hand over his arm.

Buck gives a disdainful snort. "Is that why you've been divorced three times? You can't just let 'im wallow like that."

Yeah, Saul's strategy sounds really awful phrased that way.

"He said you helped him get outta some rough times before," Buck continues. "Maybe he thinks he let you down."

Saul shakes his head. "No, no way."

"Then you gotta let 'im know that," Billy Ray says. "That boy loves you, and I think he's mighty worried you're disappointed in 'im.

Of course Jesse would see it that way. Christ, Saul's an idiot. He's never been good at confrontation, but it's a skill he's got to learn to keep this relationship afloat; Saul can't depend on Jesse to solve their problems.

When Saul gets home, Jesse's already sequestered himself in the guest room again. So Saul nudges Bark Lee aside and curls up beside Jesse while he sleeps.

Jesse doesn't notice Saul's presence there until the morning. He wakes up, groans, and mumbles something unpleasant that Saul can't make out but still feels insulted by.

Saul chooses to ignore Jesse's grumpiness. "Mornin', Pretty Boy."

Jesse sighs, like he wants to be mad but can't in the face of Saul's pet names.

Saul slinks an arm around Jesse's waist and hugs him closer. "Talk to me, kid. I can't help if I don't know what's wrong."

Jesse doesn't say anything, but Saul can tell he's frowning pretty intensely. It's a gift.

"I'm not mad at you," Saul reminds him, because Jesse needs to hear that. "That little incident the other day? Forgotten. It didn't change anything, especially the way I feel about you. I'm sorry if I ever made you think I didn't trust you."

Saul waits what feels like a silent eternity waiting for Jesse to say something, anything. When he does, his voice is cracked and weary. "Someone's out there cookin' my recipe..."

"That's not on you." Saul kisses the slope of Jesse's neck. "And, hey, how do you know it's your recipe anyway? Who's to say these guys aren't puttin' blue food coloring into their product and passing it off as Blue Sky?"

Jesse stiffens a bit in his arms. "I never really thought about that."

"Your meth was, what, ninety-percent pure?"

"Ninety-six point two." Of course he'd know the exact figure.

"Close enough. But somethin' tells me those aren't beginner numbers, and I got a hunch whoever's cooking this new batch is some wannabe with zero drug manufacturing experience."

Jesse turns over to face Saul. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely. Every famous criminal gets their own gaggle of copycats. They're probably just regular ol' meth cooks lookin' to ride the wave of fame from the Heisenberg case." Saul holds Jesse closer, lets him tuck his chin into the crevice between Saul's neck and shoulder. "I wouldn't lose sleep over it."

"'Course you wouldn't," Jesse murmurs with a slight smile.

"Duh, I got more important things to worry about. Like are you gonna help me today or not? I could use an extra set of hands in the kitchen."

"What's in it for me?"

"Well, I'm making an amazing apple pie you get to share, as well as all the other food. But the pie is pretty noteworthy."

Jesse smirks. "Another ribbon winner?"

"I hear an unfair amount of mockery in your voice."

"'Cause it's just weird. I mean, I never imagined you bein' all down-home, makin' pies and muffins for the county fair."

"Yeah, well, I never imagined bein' in bed with you. Life's full of surprises." Saul gives him a lilt of a smile.

"You're so different than before though. Like, did I ever really know you back then, or are you someone totally new now?"

"Maybe if you'd'a hung out with me outside of work, you would've learned somethin'." In retrospect, that laser tag place would have been the perfect business for Jesse to invest in. Had Saul offered him that instead of the nail salon, who knows where they'd be now?

Jesse shakes his head. "Mr. White would'a never let you get too close."

Yeah, that would have been bad. Maybe it's for the best they finally connected after the dust settled and Walter White is no more. "Well, he's not here now, so I can get as close as I want." Saul kisses Jesse's forehead and snuggles him in close. He hopes that didn't sound as insensitive to Jesse as it did to his own ears. Because Jesse loved Walter White, in his own weird, fucked-up way. And maybe that comment came off as Saul gloating that Walt's gone. Which, okay, he's gloating a little, because Walt was a douchebag.

But Jesse doesn't seem to hear it that way, just wraps his arms tighter around Saul and nuzzles into his chest. "You still want me?"

"'Course I do. I never stopped."

Jesse curls his fingers over Saul's back. "You swear?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"You're too good to me," Jesse sighs out. Neither one of them move to get out of bed, content to breathe the other in and just exist in this perfect little space that's theirs and no one else's. Saul nestles his nose in the material of Jesse's t-shirt. But it doesn't smell like Jesse...

"Did you borrow one of my shirts?"

Jesse remains suspiciously silent.

Saul nudges Jesse's shoulder so he can see the front of the shirt. "You totally did!" He laughs, because this is adorable as hell. "Or you saw the light and became a Zeppelin fan."

Jesse blushes and tugs the blankets over his shirt to hide the evidence of his pilfering. "Not like you were wearin' it."

"Does this mean I can borrow your clothes?"

"If you can fit in 'em."

"And if not, well, you remember the Hulk."

Jesse laughs a throaty sound. "You're so fuckin' weird."

Saul smiles, presses another kiss to Jesse's forehead before sliding his legs over the side of the bed. "C'mon, kid, dinner's not gonna cook itself."

"How come we're makin' all this food if it's just us?" Jesse asks, staring into the over-stuffed fridge.

"Because that's what people do on Thanksgiving," Saul says. "Plus we won't have to cook for, like, a whole week."

"You just wanna be lazy for the rest of the month, huh?"

"Lazy has such negative connotations. I prefer labor-saving. And the less time we spend in the kitchen, the more time we can spend doing other things." He moves closer, edges a hand underneath Jesse's t-shirt. "Sexy things."

Jesse wets his mouth, flicks his gaze to where Saul's touching the jut of his hip bone. "Oh yeah?"

Saul's dying to get inside of him, though he doesn't want to push for something Jesse's not ready for. It ought to happen naturally, a mutual need. Their current blowjob, handjob, and occasional dry-humping arrangement is pretty solid, but Saul's always looking for ways to improve their sex life.

"See, there's more than just apple pie in this for you."

Jesse wrinkles his nose with a grin. "Are you seriously bribin' me with sex?"

"Yes, and it seems to be working." Saul tosses a glance down where Jesse's hard against his thigh.

Jesse backs away sheepishly and pulls the refrigerator door open. His cheeks are an adorable shade of pink. "So, uh, what happened to the turkey?"

"We're doin' chicken this year, remember? You gave me permission to do whatever the hell I wanted with dinner—granted you may not have been in the best state of mind to do so."

"No, that's cool," Jesse says, scratching the back of his head. "I'm down with whatever." He glances into the fridge again for a silent moment, then asks, "Were you gonna do anything special with it?"

Saul hears the subtext there. "What'd you have in mind?"

Jesse looks shocked to even be asked, like he doesn't think he's allowed to ask for things that he wants. "Well, my aunt used to make this pretty bomb chicken. She taught me the recipe, and I thought maybe..." He trails off with a shrug.

"Yeah, we can do that," Saul says. "This is your Thanksgiving as much as it is mine, you know that, right?" Rhetorical question, but he wants Jesse to know it's okay to want things for himself.

Jesse nods, gives him a smile that makes Saul a little weak in the knees.

They start with the apple pie first, because the forty-minute cook time will give them a window in which to prep the rest of the food. Peeling, coring, and slicing apples is tedious as hell, so Saul plugs his phone into the docked speakers for something to listen to. Jesse pretends to be exasperated by Saul's taste in music, but every now and then Saul catches him mouthing along with the words when he thinks no one's looking.

"Did you always cook for the holidays? Or did you leave that up to your wife?" Jesse asks, working the knife under the skin of an apple.

"When I was married, we'd usually spend a day or two with her folks. So it was kind of a big family thing where they'd have the food ready before we showed up."

The corner of Jesse's mouth pulls into a smirk. "Dodged that bullet, huh?"

"Hey, I wouldn't be opposed to givin' your parents the Thanksgiving disaster they always dreamed of." The idea that they'll never see their families again is too awful to comprehend, so of course Saul cracks jokes about it.

"They would totally freak. I got a boyfriend now."

Saul slides his free hand into Jesse's t-shirt, caressing the slope of his neck. "A boyfriend they've had the pleasure of meeting under—let's call them unfortunate—circumstances."

"What about your people? How come you don't really talk about who you used to be?"

"I guess the past just isn't something I think about a lot. The way I see it, you gotta spend your life in the present or else you're just wasting time trying to recapture something like lightning in a bottle."

"Wow, that was deep," Jesse teases. "You should write poems."

Saul watches Jesse's tattooed hand work the knife inside and around the apple. It's kind of erotic, in a weird, deeply disturbing way.

"So you don't think about your family at all?" Jesse prods.

"Sometimes."

"You wanna tell me about them?"

"What'd'ya wanna know?"

Jesse shrugs like he's never considered it before. "Anything, I guess."

"Well, I've got a brother who's a lawyer too. Guess there's an argumentative streak in the family."

"A brother, huh? How come I'm just now hearin' about this?"

"It's not like we talk much—or at all, now." Saul tries to disguise the bitterness laced in his words.

"Was he a dick?"

Saul will never tire of Jesse's bluntness. "He could be a hell of a pain in the ass, for sure. But we kinda drifted apart after I became Saul Goodman."

Jesse nods, but he doesn't ask more questions about Saul's past, like he thinks the subject is utterly forbidden.

He treads the topic again after the pie's in the oven and they're working on the stuffing. "Are you ever gonna tell me what your real name is?"

"That's confidential information, Jesse."

Jesse scoffs. "It's somethin' hella dorky, isn't it? That's why you don't wanna tell me." Saul can hear the teasing smile in his voice. "Somethin' like Leopold or Augustine."

Saul laughs. "My parents weren't that pretentious."

"So what is it? C'mon, baby, tell me. I won't laugh, I swear."

It's like Jesse knows Saul can't say no when he calls him "baby" in that whisky-soaked drawl that feels like the drag of stubble against his skin.

"It's not fair for you to know mine if I can't know yours," Jesse says.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you, kid? Life's not fair. If it was, you think we'd be here?" The words tumble out of his mouth like a car crash. He wishes he could claw them back, because it sounds like he's regretting the life they've managed to build together. Which, no, God no. The only part he regrets is that it had to happen this way, that they could only come together through the loss of everyone around them.

So Saul distracts Jesse from that verbal trainwreck by taking a deep breath and saying, "My real name's Jimmy McGill."

He hears Jesse make a noise that sounds an awful lot like a laugh.

"Hey, you promised no laughing!"

"I didn't laugh! I just...blew more air out of my nose than usual." Jesse's voice cracks with a smile. He squints his eyes, tilts his head, like he's seeing Saul in an entirely new light now. "You still look like a Saul to me."

"Now you know my secret shame. You know how this works, right? You gotta tell me something embarrassing about yourself to even the score."

Jesse turns his whole body so he can lay his free hand over Saul's heart, as if trying to heal it. "I would'a fell in love with you no matter if your name was Saul or Jimmy or even somethin' dorky like Augustine."

Jesse loves him; God, every time he says it, the words wallop Saul's heart like it's the very first time. He can't help but move in and cover Jesse's mouth with his own, body pinning Jesse's against the kitchen counter. Jesse giggles around the kiss. "Ay yo, c'mon, I'm tryin' to cook."

Saul gives him space, reluctant to deprive himself of even one moment of kissing Jesse. Jesse turns back to the stovetop and stirs the vegetables in the pan. The air smells like crisp, freshly-cooked bacon, but all Saul can focus on are the freckles on the slope of Jesse's shoulder. He drops his head to kiss that perfect angle, and Jesse chuckles.

"Ticklish?"

"No, I just thought of somethin'. Jimmy's short for James, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So if you put our names together we'd be Jesse James." Jesse laughs an angel's laugh.

"Maybe it's for the best I'm somebody else," Saul says, a murmur at the shell of Jesse's ear.

They spend the afternoon on the couch, though neither of them eat very much, their mouths too busy roaming over the other's skin. Jesse's sitting in Saul's lap, his head tipped back as Saul's mouth follows the curve of his throat. Saul pushes his hands under Jesse's shirt, gets Jesse's hot, feverish skin under his palms. His thumb tweaks a nipple, and Saul feels Jesse's purr of contentment echo in his bones. Jesse's fingers drag over Saul's back before one hand pushes into his hair. Saul fits his hand to the curve of Jesse's hip, and Jesse grinds into his thigh. Jesse's already hard; Saul wants him so badly it throbs in his pulse, desire settling over his brain like a steamy fog.

Jesse dips his head down to kiss Saul, his fingers twisting in Saul's shirt to pull him closer. He groans a sound of want into Saul's mouth that melts over his tongue. Saul thinks about reaching into his boxers and jerking him off, but Bark Lee hops onto the couch and sits in the empty space beside them.

Saul glares at the dog. "Do you mind?"

Bark Lee tilts his head but does not surrender the couch.

Jesse looks over at him. "Dude, c'mon, we're havin' a moment here."

Saul's never been cockblocked by a dog before. This is an entirely new level of humiliation.

"Go on. Shoo."

Bark Lee just hunkers down and gets comfortable. Ridiculous.

Saul huffs an annoyed sigh and looks at Jesse. "Upstairs?"

Jesse wets his mouth and says, "Upstairs."

Saul barely gets him into the bedroom before he's pulling Jesse's shirt over his head. Jesse drags Saul to the bed, brings him down on top of him as he drops onto the mattress. Saul kisses his mouth, frantic and hungry, before dipping down to lick at the hollow of Jesse's throat, his teeth dragging over the bones jutting out below. He sucks at Jesse's nipple, teasing the nub with his teeth. Jesse gasps and arches into Saul's mouth. Saul lays a hand over Jesse's chest to keep him still, his fingers dragging through the sparse fuzz there.

Saul kisses his way down Jesse's body, sucking bruises into the lattice of his ribs, tongue swirling lazily around his navel. Jesse writhes and squirms underneath it all, making irresistable sounds as his fingers go tight in Saul's hair. Saul nips at the dip of muscle over Jesse's hip that stops abruptly at the edge of his boxers. He hooks his fingers in the elastic and tugs the shorts over Jesse's narrow hips. Jesse wriggles his way out, and Saul has to pause for a moment to appreciate his perfect body.

Jesse's legs shift over the sheets, like he's suddenly shy under Saul's gaze. Saul catches one of his legs beneath the knee and follows the taut line of his inner thigh with his mouth. Jesse trembles, lips spilling praises into the air. "Jesse," Saul murmurs, breathing hot over Jesse's skin.

Jesse makes a sound of acknowledgement.

"I wanna try something"—Jesse pants out a breath—"but if you don't like it just tell me to stop, okay?" He rolls his hips, desperate for Saul's mouth there. But Saul's got something else in mind. He finds the lube in the nightstand drawer, gets his fingers slick. Jesse watches him with slightly parted lips and a gleam of intrigue in his eyes, like this is something he's wanted but was afraid to ask for.

Saul eases a finger in and watches Jesse's face to see how he reacts to the intrusion. Jesse breathes out in a shudder, nudges his hips into Saul's hand like he wants more. Saul pushes in deeper and earns a quiet noise from Jesse. He can feel Jesse's body fluttering open around his finger, inviting him to turn one digit into two. Saul just pulls back and pushes in again at a different angle. This time Jesse moans out loud, his hands gripping the pillow behind him. His legs squirm until Saul hooks an arm around one of his thighs to hold him still. Jesse's breathing's gone loose and quick, his hips twisting in need. Saul strokes inside of him, slow and easy, watching how Jesse's brow knits and his teeth bite at his lower lip each time Saul pushes in. He's making quiet little gasping sounds, quick inhales of breath that make his chest hitch.

"Right there," Jesse coaches, his voice shaking around the words. Saul jabs in, trying to find the spot that needs his touch the most. Jesse purrs in contentment and sinks his hips into the way Saul's stroking and pressing, moans spilling from his lips. He reaches down and curls a tattooed hand around Saul's arm as if guiding him into a proper rhythm. His cock's tight against his belly, flushed red with blood at the head. There's a smear of pre-cum over his stomach; Saul wants to dip down and taste how Jesse's body responds to him.

But that train of thought's cut off entirely when Jesse angles his hips up and moans, "That's it—there—yes," in a cracked little voice; Saul can't help but respond to that by slipping another finger in alongside the first. Jesse claws at the pillow, his fingers digging in around Saul's arm. He's trying to make words, but they won't come out around breathy noises of want and choked gasps of Saul's name. Jesse draws his knee back, and Saul feels him open around his fingers, just enough to where he could add another. But Saul just glances down at where they're connected, the flushed pink of his opening. He squeezes his thighs together, because he's harder than he's ever been, and none of this is making it easier.

Jesse comes with a stutter-shout, like his orgasm's taken him by surprise. He writhes in the sheets, tight around Saul's fingers as he shoots stripes of messy white over his belly. His hips jerk through the aftershocks, and Saul rides them through with him until his fingers are forced out. Jesse looks utterly fucking wrecked—in a good way—and Saul's pretty sure Jesse's ruined him for any other sexual partner he could ever have.

Jesse runs his tongue over his lower lip, his open mouth breathing hot and jagged. He slides his hand up Saul's arm. "I'll take care of you. C'mere." He tries to tug Saul closer, and Saul climbs over his body, knees on either side of Jesse's hips. Jesse shoves his shaky hands into Saul's pants and pushes his boxers and pajamas down in one go. Then he's pulling Saul's shirt over his head, and Jesse's got his fingers wrapped around his poor, swollen dick. Saul crawls in closer to cover Jesse's mouth with his own, and Jesse tips his head up into the kiss, hungry for all the affection Saul can give him.

Jesse's kind of clumsy with the handjobs at this angle, but he'll get better with practice. He tugs and strokes like he's never handled a dick before, like one wrong move will wrench the thing clean off. His thumb rubs over the head, and Saul twists his hips into the way Jesse's jerking him. Saul's so close he could probably blow his load from someone just looking at his cock, so Jesse's lack of expertise doesn't matter much. It doesn't take long at all until he's coming between them in quick bursts, gasping Jesse's name around sloppy kisses that Jesse's happy to return in kind. Jesse kisses with no reserve, just open-mouthed affection. He's still breathing hard from his own orgasm, and Saul doesn't know why the heat of Jesse's breath over his mouth turns him on so much.

Jesse gives a shaky laugh. "God, that was awesome..." He pushes his fingers through Saul's hair, his other hand still tugging at Saul's flagging cock. Saul can feel Jesse's thighs quaking at his sides. "You're awesome."

Saul wants to be flattered by that, but Jesse's always pretty agreeable after an orgasm. "You're not too bad yourself."

Jesse just smiles and hugs Saul to his chest, sighing contented puffs into his hair. "I'll never understand how you got three women to divorce you."

"Stick around long enough and you will," Saul says with a humorless smirk against Jesse's skin.

Jesse makes a dissatisfied noise and skims his hands over Saul's back. "Bullshit. Remember how you told me 'you're gonna find somebody who loves everything about you'? Well, so are you. And you already have."

"When'd you become such a sap?" Saul chuckles. His brain chooses that moment to recall in painful clarity every time he'd suggested to Walt that Jesse ought to be "dealt with." If Walt had ever gone through with it... Saul squeezes his eyes shut, holds Jesse tight in his arms. How easily he could have lost the obnoxious, endearing kid who would later become the center of his world.

Saul's never put much stock in destiny or fate, but maybe there's a reason Jesse dodged so many bullets to end up with him here.

Jesse moves to sit up, and Saul crawls off of him to give him space. There's a tacky slide from the jizzapalooza between them when their bodies break apart. Jesse glances down at his cum-smeared belly, and his mouth twists into a small line of contemplation. "Shower time?"

The kid seems to always know how to chase away the clouds.

Once Saul gets him under the hot spray of water, he locks Jesse's back against the line of his body, mouthing kisses over the slope of his neck, the speckles on his shoulders and the tattoo between his shoulder blades. He guides a hand between Jesse's legs, and Jesse gasps, "Oh—God," when Saul rubs two fingers over the spot where they'd been knuckle-deep before. The heel of his hand rolls against Jesse's balls with every stroke and press, and as Jesse shudders and shakes Saul can feel him growing harder under his palm.

Jesse tilts his head back, panting moans and groans into the air. He opens a little, and Saul can't help but push a finger inside of him, just enough to get Jesse shoving his hips into Saul's hand and moaning obscenities. He's gone impossibly tight, and Saul has to reach down with his other hand and play with Jesse's dick, jerking him off lazily. Technique doesn't matter here; Jesse's got a hair-trigger that's so much fun to set off.

Jesse comes with a grunt behind clenched teeth that dissolves into a needy moan. Saul keeps stroking him until he's spent, and Jesse's body shakes like his knees might give out beneath him. Saul holds him steady, rubs him through the aftershocks, and when Jesse slumps against him Saul murmurs, "I love you," at the shell of Jesse's ear, because he can be a sap too.