November fades into December, and the warm-hued leaves begin to fall from the trees as a steady blanket of snow covers the ground. Jesse's never experienced winter like this, never had to stamp snow off of his boots when he comes home or scrape ice off of the windshield. The coldest he's ever been were those awful nights in the compound, shivering and alone. Spending a frigid night cuddled up to Mr. White in the RV comes a close second.

He hates that he thinks so much about Mr. White now. Because, yeah, Jesse kind of misses him, and he feels shitty about that when he's got a happy home life and an awesome boyfriend. But Mr. White was familiar in a way Jesse knew how to deal with. At some point, Jesse learned to brush off all the insults and the mistreatment and try to get to the creamy, nougat-y center of Mr. White's Problem of the Week. But Saul is all compliments and soft touches and gentleness, and fuck if Jesse knows how to handle that. Saul never yells at him or berates him, doesn't shove Jesse around or insist on getting his way. When Saul says he loves Jesse, it sounds absolutely true. Better than true.

So it's only natural that Jesse would find himself awake every couple of nights thinking about Mr. White. He's sitting on the porch looking out into the backyard, knees drawn up to his chest as he puffs on a cigarette. He can see into Buck and Billy Ray's yard, and Bark Lee's food bowls are gone. His doghouse looks empty, and the tattered rope that usually tethers him there lies on the ground. He must have been brought inside so he'd stay warm.

From behind him, Jesse hears the porch door slide open. "What're you doin' out here, kid?" Saul asks in a sleepy voice.

Jesse raises the hand holding the cigarette. But he knows Saul's smart enough to see through his lie.

"You have another nightmare?" Saul sits beside him on the bench, wrapped up in a throw to shield himself from the cold.

Jesse shakes his head and taps the ash from his cigarette. His wet, red eyes probably aren't doing him any favors.

Saul snuggles closer to siphon some of Jesse's body heat or offer some of his own. "If you don't wanna talk about it, I won't push you. But sometimes talking about stuff makes it easier to deal with."

Jesse wipes his face with his free hand. "You'll hate me..."

"Not even possible," Saul says, his breath a visible plume of air in the cold. And it sounds sincere enough that Jesse believes him, or maybe he just wants to talk about this before it eats him up.

"I've been thinkin' about him a lot lately..." Because nothing says "I'm so happy we're together" like "I kind of miss my abusive ex-partner who screwed me over time and time again."

Saul just nods like he understands. "Nothin' wrong with that."

"It feels wrong though," Jesse says, rubbing his hand over his head. "Why do I miss him at all?"

"He was an important part of your life, Jesse."

Jesse looks at Saul through blurry eyes. "Y'know I was probably the last person he saw before he died?" His throat goes tight from choking back sobs. Saul wraps an arm around his shoulders and tucks Jesse up against him. "Sometimes I feel like he wasn't that bad... Y'know? Like, he did the best he could with me."

Saul fixes him with a look that Jesse wants to shrink away from, because it feels like Saul can see into his fucking soul. "You don't think you deserve to be loved." It comes out like a statement, an observation, and Saul watches Jesse with a pained gaze. "That's why you miss him, isn't it?"

Jesse opens his mouth, closes it, devoid of words.

"He was cruel and a piece of shit, but that's what you're used to, right? You don't know how to handle someone treating you like you're important."

Jesse stretches out the silence by taking another drag off of the cigarette. Yeah, Saul's pretty much hit the nail on the head here. They're growing closer as each day passes, and it scares the fuck out of Jesse.

"What if he was right though?" Jesse asks. "What if I'm not important?"

Saul lowers his mouth to Jesse's ear and says, "Then let's be wrong together."

The sound of an engine growing closer makes Jesse perk up. It's not particularly loud, but four a.m. isn't exactly the peak traffic hour through their sleepy little street. Jesse listens as the sound ebbs, fades down the other side of the street. His paranoia kicks in and floods his brain with a million possibilities, none of them comforting.

Saul picks up on his distress. "What's up?"

Jesse shakes his head dismissively, puffs on the cigarette. "Nothin', I'm just not used to hearin' cars at this time of night."

"You're usually in bed at this time of night," Saul reminds him, but it's just a gentle observation, not a lecture or scolding.

The car probably belongs some drunk who turned down the wrong street. Jesse knows this, but it doesn't keep his skin from prickling with a chill that has nothing to do with the weather.

Saul lifts an eyebrow. "Be honest: you thought that was him, didn't you?"

"Shut up, no, I didn't," Jesse snaps, except for a brief moment he totally did. Because it would be just like Mr. White to fake his own death and silently stalk Jesse. Jesse's not sure how that would actually work, but Mr. White's pulled off seemingly-impossible schemes before.

Saul hugs him tighter. "C'mon, kid, we live next to two gun-toting rednecks. We're safe."

Out of context, that sentence sounds very dubious. Jesse relaxes a little and melts into Saul's embrace. "I know Mr. White's not really alive."

"Do you?"

Jesse frowns. "Okay, I'm, like, ninety percent sure he's not."

"That's a pretty large margin for error."

"You met the dude, right? He could totally pull some Houdini shit like that." Jesse takes one final drag and stubs out the cigarette into a nearby ashtray.

"How? The cops already knew Walter White was Heisenberg; he couldn't pin the blame on some other sucker. And he couldn't possibly have bribed everyone involved—police, news media, the Feds—to broadcast false news of his death. They take him into custody, it's over. You got nothin' to worry about, kid. 'Cept maybe frostbite." He pokes at Jesse's bare feet with his own foot before standing up. "C'mon, let's go back inside while I can still feel my feet."

Jesse casts a quick glance over his shoulder before following Saul into the house.

Jesse loves spending time in Saul's bedroom, probably because it reminds him of hanging out with Badger, Combo, and Skinny Pete, sinking low in beanbag chairs and getting high. A gigantic lava lamp—yes, Saul actually owns one—sits on the bureau across from the bed and casts a neon glow against the walls.

There's a pair of tall, glass speakers filled with water on the nightstand by the bed. Jesse watches the multicolored lights reflect off the dancing water to the beat of the music.

"How come you don't have a record player?" Jesse asks, entranced by the light and water show.

"I do. It's just in the closet, buried under other junk I saved from my golden days."

"Does it still work?"

"Beats me. I don't have any records to test on it."

Jesse gives him a wide-eyed look. "Seriously?"

"Well, I used to, until my brother threw them away."

"What a dick."

"To be fair, he only did it because I slashed his tires—just three of them so it wouldn't be covered by insurance. That car was his pride and joy."

Jesse laughs. "No way!"

"I don't even remember what the fight was about," Saul says. "But the day after, I come home and all my records are gone and he's standing there laughing at me." Saul glances off wistfully. "I had every Zeppelin LP too."

"You slashed his tires," Jesse reminds him, because that seems like a pretty pertinent point.

"He deserved it. Probably."

Jesse breathes out laughter and rolls over, leaning against the warmth of Saul's form. He gets distracted staring at a black light version of The Beatles' Sergeant Pepper's album cover hanging on the wall. "Do you and Austin Powers have the same interior decorator?"

Saul chortles. "You're not the first person to ask me that."

"God, I hope not."

"The first was actually Mike."

"Our Mike?"

"Yeah, we go way back."

Jesse's glad that the Saul he fell in love with isn't an entirely new persona sculpted for his new life in Omaha. That, even amidst all the fuckery taking place in Albuquerque, Saul still came home to black lights and tie-dye and psychedelic patterns.

"Of course, when he saw my place I had a water bed," Saul says, off-handedly.

Jesse can't help but crack up at that. "And he was still friends with you?"

"In a very loose sense of the word." Saul glances off into the distance. "I miss that bed." Then he looks at Jesse. "Y'know, Christmas is comin' up—"

"Yo, you are not gettin' a water bed. I gotta draw the line somewhere."

"You say that because you've never had sex on one."

Jesse gives him flat eyes. "Nobody's had sex on a water bed."

Saul sticks out a hand as if offering a handshake. "Hi, I'm Nobody."

Jesse just stares at him. "Okay, one: wow, awesome Dad Joke. Two: no, you fuckin' didn't."

Saul just smirks and pushes a hand underneath Jesse's t-shirt, skimming over the valley of his spine. "Would you have sex with me on a water bed?"

Jesse tries very hard not to smile, but Saul's fingers over his skin and the thought of having sex with him at all makes that impossible. "No," he says, his mouth fighting a smile at the edges.

Saul grins. "You so would."

"Shut up," Jesse giggles, hiding his face behind his hands. "No, I wouldn't."

"You're thinking about it, at least."

Blood pools beneath his cheeks. "I think about havin' sex with you all the time." Yeah, that wasn't embarrassing at all. He's amazed he could maintain eye contact for more than two seconds.

A teasing smile grows on Saul's lips. "Really? Then why are we not doing it now?"

"It takes two, yo."

Saul watches him for a moment, then he moves in and covers Jesse's mouth with his own. Jesse makes a satisfied noise around the kiss, reaching up to thread a hand through Saul's hair. Saul kisses him harder and slips a finger beneath the elastic of Jesse's shorts. The warm digit against his hip makes Jesse groan, and Saul's tugging the shorts down Jesse's legs. Jesse figures if he's going to be naked Saul ought to lose his shirt at least. Saul lets him drag the material over his head, and Jesse doesn't fight when it's his turn to strip, discarding his own t-shirt somewhere on the floor.

Saul's hands roam and explore Jesse's body, palming curves and angles and making him sigh as his dick swells with want. Then Saul's mouth chases the paths his fingers traced, and his tongue glides and swirls over nipples and around Jesse's navel. Jesse grunts, fisting a hand in Saul's hair as Saul mouths kisses over the inside of his thighs. His hips writhe under the affection, twisting and pleading for Saul's mouth elsewhere. And Saul grants him that, at least momentarily. He takes the head of Jesse's cock between his lips, tongue flicking out to taste the beads of pre-cum at the tip. Jesse melts under the heat of his mouth.

"Jesus—fuck," Jesse stutters out, nails dragging over the back of Saul's head. Through half-lidded eyes, he watches the glow of the lava lamp travel lazily along the walls. He slides his hands over Saul's back and pushes at the waistband of his pants. "I want you." He licks his lips. "So fuckin' bad."

Saul stops, lifts his head to look at Jesse, because this is new for both of them. He opens his mouth like he's about to say something but thinks better of it. He crawls up Jesse's body, kissing him hungrily. Jesse shoves Saul's pants off of his hips, because all he can think about is Saul fucking into him hard and deep. Saul rifles through the nightstand drawer for the bottle of lube, snaps open the cap and gets a thick, clear glob in his palm. Jesse watches Saul's hand glide over his dick and coat himself in the oil. Then Saul pushes two slippery fingers into Jesse, just enough to ease him open and make the breath catch in his throat.

Jesse hooks his legs around Saul's hips, because there's no way to misinterpret that. Saul's hand stops pushing inside of him, catches his leg right beneath the knee, and then he's easing his way inside. Jesse's mouth opens in a gasp of surprise, and he adjusts his hips to make the slide easier. It doesn't hurt, but he's only ever had Saul's fingers inside of him, so the size difference is pretty jarring. He presses his heels against Saul's ass to push him deeper.

"Is it—is it okay?" Saul asks around a gulp of breath.

"Yeah, totally," Jesse huffs out. He links his hands around the back of Saul's neck and tips his head up to kiss him. Saul rolls his hips in slow pulses that make Jesse drop his head back onto the pillow, because Saul's dick tags his prostate with every thrust, and, fuck, that's so good it's obscene. Saul stretches over him, kisses the bristly line of his chin. Jesse digs his fingers into Saul's hair, draws his knees back a bit to make the shove of their hips a little deeper.

Jesse really wants this to last longer, but the way his body feels like an impossibly taut wire tells him he's going to come pretty soon. It's not his fault Saul's grinding ceaselessly inside of him, the head of his dick nudging against his sweet spot. He brings Saul's mouth to his own, kissing him hungrily around open-mouthed gasps and moans. He trails over his jaw, teeth catching Saul's earlobe. Jesse starts murmuring soft praises and panting at Saul's ear, and Saul's breathing hot into the bend of Jesse's shoulder, so he doesn't notice the shift in their sexcapade soundtrack until Jesse starts giggling.

Saul stops, pushes up on his arms and looks at Jesse. "What? Why are you laughing? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, dude, this song is perfect." At some point, the music floating out of the speakers transitioned into AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long," and Jesse can't stop laughing. "You totally planned this, didn't you?"

"Maybe my phone wants to help us get laid."

Jesse laughs again and pulls Saul's mouth down to his own, shoving his hips into the way Saul's rocking between his legs. Each thrust makes his nerves go tight, and he shakes, grips at Saul's back as the pressure builds and blazes. He feels his body open around Saul's cock, allowing him to drive in deeper. Jesse gasps as the thread of his orgasm begins to unravel, and when Saul murmurs, "Come for me, Pretty Boy," low and breathy at his ear, Jesse does.

Jesse's shoving a handful of fries into his mouth when Maggie asks, "You know what you're gettin' for Christmas?"

He shakes his head, sort of shrugs with his mouth full. "I 'unno," he mumbles. Outside the break room, Duane's wiping grease off of his hands while he talks to the owner of the car he'd just been working on.

Jesse swallows, says, "I never really thought about it. I mean, I got everything I want." He gives zero fucks about how cheesy that sounds, because it's true. He has a nice, normal life—well, relatively—and someone who loves him. What more could he want?

Maggie smiles in that way when she's charmed by something Jesse says but doesn't want to show it. "What about Saul? What're you gettin' him?"

That gets him talking. "I got a couple ideas. He's into all that hippie shit, so I thought maybe I could get him one of those weird-ass lights from Spencer's or somethin'."

Maggie smirks. "Y'know they got sex toys there?"

Jesse laughs. "Yeah, we don't need any of that." Sex with Saul is, hands down, the best sex Jesse's ever been involved in. It's got nothing to do with size or technique—though Jesse's not complaining. As unsexy as it sounds, it's all about trust; Jesse's never been able to let go the way he does with Saul. Vibrators and edible underwear can't hold a candle to pure, unadulterated trust.

Yeah, Jesse's vanilla as hell.

"I'm free this weekend if you need a shopping buddy," Maggie offers.

Jesse smiles. It's been a while since he's spent time with anyone other than Saul or Buck and Billy Ray. This will be nice for a change. "Sure. That'd be cool."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse spies a car rolling into the garage. Maggie slides her chair away from the table and stands up. "Great! Text me with deets—if your crappy, prehistoric phone can send texts," she jokes before pushing the break room door open.

Jesse really needs a new phone. Maybe he should drop hints around Saul, see if an iPhone magically appears under their non-existent Christmas tree this year.

He watches the activity outside the window while he finishes his lunch. Through the tinted glass, he sees a man step out of the car that just pulled into the bay, and, holy shit, no. That's the bearded guy who tried to sell to him.

No. No fucking way.

Jesse's still wearing his hoodie from when he'd braved the bite of winter to grab his lunch, so he subtly draws the hood over his head to block Beardy's view of his face. Sure, the glass is tinted and he'd have to be intently focused on Jesse to recognize him, but Jesse's not taking any chances. Duane and Maggie don't need to know about that little, uh, altercation.

Could Beardy and his crew be following Jesse? Does Jack Welker's gang have connections in Nebraska and Beardy is, what, keeping an eye on Jesse?

Let's not get completely paranoid here.

An innocent explanation is still possible. Beardy's car is kind of crappy, nothing too new or high-end, so it's not like he's spending his drug money on a fancy new ride. His clothes are pretty basic too. Maybe he's new to the drug game. Like Saul had said, Blue Sky probably has a slew of copycats. This guy could be one of them.

Jesse hides in the break room until Beardy's gone; he gets an hour off the clock and he's going to use it, goddamn it. Later that evening, Jesse sneaks onto the computer and accesses the service records. The records require a password, so Jesse types in the administrator code he'd seen Maggie or Duane type in on occasion. The folder opens. Jesse sorts the files by date so the newest ones are on top. He clicks through until he finds what he's looking for: Beardy's Ford Taurus.

He glances around to make sure he's not being watched. He knows this level of paranoia is ridiculous, that no one's going to cast suspicion on his computer usage; Duane and Maggie use the computer all the time on slow days to watch Youtube videos or check Facebook. But that doesn't make him feel any less jittery.

Beardy's real name is Brad Donovan, and the file lists more information about Brad's car, obviously, than Brad himself. But Jesse has a name and a phone number now, which is more than he had ten seconds ago.

On a hunch, Jesse plugs the name Brad Donovan into Facebook and hits something approaching pay dirt. There's a couple Brad Donovans in the Facebook directory, but only one with a profile picture that Jesse recognizes. The profile is public, which Jesse figured it would be. Most people Brad's age are all too eager to share with the world; Jesse envies that brand of naiveté.

He clicks on the "about" page. Brad currently attends the University of Nebraska Omaha, majoring in film production. His minor is—get this—criminal justice. Jesse snorts a laugh under his breath. None of the pictures in Brad's photo albums appear particularly incriminating, although some of the shots include Glasses, the other dealer Jesse "met" briefly. Hmm. Curious and curiouser.

Quite a few pictures feature a chubby, goofy-looking Siamese cat that Jesse surmises must belong to Brad. So the guy's a cat lover. Interesting, in a who-cares sort of way. Frequent co-stars in the photo albums are a tall Chinese girl with long, pastel pink hair, a short Hispanic girl, a lanky white guy with scruffy facial hair and a dumb-looking hat, and, of course, Glasses. Jesse wonders how they know Brad, if they're involved in his student film or just casual friends. Is one of the girls his girlfriend?

The better question is: who cares? None of this is Jesse's business anyway. Brad Donovan is a nondescript, normal college student. Who just so happens to be slinging meth in his spare time. Yeah, right, sure. That makes sense.

Then again, hadn't Duane's brother Shawn been the same way? And look what happened to him.

Saul would tell Jesse to forget about this and not to entangle himself in this kind of crap again. "This isn't your problem," Saul would say, because he's the epitome of sensitivity. And maybe he's got a point. But Jesse can't shake the feeling that there's something meaningful in running into this guy twice.

Jesse closes the browser tab and clears the cache before helping Duane and Maggie close the shop.

On Saturday evening, the first thing Jesse notices when he comes through the front door trailing cold air is the smell of pumpkin and apple spice. Then he notices the decorations. There's a Christmas tree in the living room draped in multi-colored lights with various ornaments dangling from its branches. Glittering tinsel wraps around the kitchen island, and a string of white lights lines the archway above the hall.

Jesse knows now that Saul had everything to do with the tacky decorating at his strip-mall office. Lord Almighty.

"So this is"—he searches for a neutral word—"festive." Jesse kicks the snow off of his shoes, shrugs out of his oversized hoodie and tosses it over the couch.

"While you were out buying presents, I thought I'd decorate," Saul says. "Speaking of presents, don't you dare come into this house empty-handed."

Jesse rolls his eyes. The presents are safely locked away in the trunk of his car, but telling Saul that would spoil the surprise. Jesse ignores him and moves closer. "Did you actually go buy all this crap?"

Saul shakes his head. "I just went next door. You wouldn't believe all the Christmas stuff Buck and Billy Ray keep around. They've actually got one of those singing fish with a Santa hat, and—don't give me that look, I didn't bring it over here."

Jesse breathes a sigh of relief. "So what's with the smell? You make another pie?"

"Close. Muffins. I might even say they're better than the blueberry." Saul pushes a tray of muffins across the counter at Jesse, who raises a dubious eyebrow at the four empty spaces in the pan.

"Did Buck and Billy Ray say that?"

"I'm offended you think I'd let them sample my cooking before you."

Jesse isn't fazed by the flattery. "So where's the rest of 'em?"

"Currently working their way through my small intestine. Or is it the large intestine? I always get those confused."

"You ate four muffins?" Jesse asks, like he's only half-certain he heard correctly. He lays a hand atop one particularly large pastry. "Dude, these are still warm. Did you even bother takin' off the paper before you shoved 'em in your mouth?"

Saul gives him a look.

Jesse just laughs, because this is the cutest thing he's ever seen that isn't Bark Lee's paws twitching in his sleep. "Do you always go balls-out around Christmas?"

"It's been a while since I've had somebody to share it with," Saul says, trying too hard to act like it's nothing. "And you decorated for Halloween, so it's my turn now."

Jesse grins and lays his hands on Saul's chest, moving in for a kiss. Saul kisses him back with unreserved affection, fits his hand along the curve of Jesse's cheek and feathers his thumb over the scars there. Jesse makes a happy sound against Saul's mouth, and Saul pushes his free hand under Jesse's t-shirt and skims over his stomach.

"You gonna give me any hints about my presents?" Saul asks around a kiss.

"Hell no. Where's the fun in that?"

"You got me the water bed, didn't you? It's okay, I'll pretend to be surprised."

Jesse breaks away a bit to affix him with a skeptical look. "I don't think they even make those anymore."

"So you have looked?"

Jesse shakes his head with a smile and kisses him again. "You're ridiculous."

"All I'm saying is sex is seriously improved when you bring a water bed into the equation."

"Our sex is pretty damn awesome."

Saul spreads his hands as if making a point.

Jesse grabs at the edges of Saul's pants and tugs him closer. "So why fix what ain't broke?" Saul mouths kisses along the curve of Jesse's neck, and Jesse hums satisfaction. "This isn't gonna make me tell you, by the way."

"Damn it," Saul grumbles around a huff of amusement over Jesse's throat.

Jesse can't help but be entertained by Saul's childlike anticipation. He links his hands at the small of Saul's back. "Just lemme surprise you, alright? It'll be great. I promise."

"Sounds fair. But you have to let me give you one of your gifts early."

Jesse is completely down for opening presents, even if he knows it's partially a bribe on Saul's part. Whatever. Free (early) presents. He's not going to complain. "Hell yeah, give it to me."

Saul smirks. "Hey, that could be the name of our sex tape."

Jesse fights a smile and pulls at Saul's t-shirt. "C'mon, I wanna see it."

"And there's the prequel."

Jesse swats at Saul's chest with a playful hand. "Gimme my present or I'm takin' yours back. It's not too late for store credit."

Saul watches him with a kindly, adoring gaze that makes Jesse feel stripped bare; he doesn't think he'll ever get used to that. "Well, I was thinking, since we're, y'know, boyfriends, and you spend pretty much all your time with me anyway, maybe you'd, uh, want to...put your stuff in my room?"

Jesse's mouth opens around a sound of stunned surprise. "You want me to move in with you?" The way Saul blushes at the question is just adorable.

"Technically, you already live with me, but, hey, we can take it one step further, right? Maybe we could turn your old room into something useful like a home office or a game room. Whatever, that's—that's just future speculation. We'll figure it out, if that's what you want, of course."

A grin spreads across Jesse's lips. "You are so fuckin' cute when you're nervous." Saul blushes impossibly redder. "'Course I'll move in with you." Jesse hugs him closer. "You know you're probably gonna have to compromise on some of your décor."

"That's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for you, kid," Saul cajoles him, curling a hand around the back of Jesse's head.

Saul wakes Jesse up on Christmas morning with soft kisses to the back of his neck, which eventually devolves into Jesse sucking Saul's cock. He can't help it; he loves it. He loves the way Saul shifts and moans under his lips, the slight dig of his fingers over Jesse's scalp, the raspy huffs of breath Saul makes when he's close. Jesse even loves the taste of Saul when he comes, salty and thick in his mouth. This is something he can do for Saul, something he's good at, and Saul gives him the best kind of praise.

Jesse's licking cum off of his lips when Saul crushes their mouths together and kisses him in hungry pecks. Jesse moans sweetly, enjoying the open-mouthed affection. Saul murmurs, "I love you," over and over between kisses.

"You just love me 'cause I blow you," Jesse says.

"It's not a downside," Saul answers before kissing the smirky line of Jesse's mouth.

Jesse lays his hands on Saul's shoulders, rising up on his knees to look down at him. Saul gives him a lazy smile, spent and sated, trying to catch his breath after his orgasm wrecked him and left him dry. If there's any downside to Jesse's sex life, it's Saul's recuperation period. But Saul's got hands and a mouth, which he often puts to good use, so Jesse's not too put out about the wait time. He settles his hips on Saul's torso, grinds against him and feels the friction ripple through his nerves like a shockwave. Jesse grunts, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, and shifts his hips to find a new angle.

Saul grabs onto Jesse's hips with one hand and stops his needy rutting. "Be patient, kid. I'll get you off." His free hand digs in the nightstand drawer, finds the bottle of lube. He gets two fingers sufficiently slick and slides his hand under Jesse's hips. Saul pushes his way in, and Jesse whines, shaking out a breath as he drops down and sinks upon Saul's fingers. He can't help but shove forward, and each thrust grinds his balls into the heel of Saul's hand. It's all heady and overwhelming as fuck, and he can't stop.

"Oh God—ah—shit," Jesse moans, his head tipped back as his hips rock and tilt into Saul's hand. That's when Saul starts moving his hand, pushing and sliding so perfectly that it steals the words from Jesse's tongue.

Jesse still doesn't know how to handle the way Saul looks at him when they're together like this, watching him with intense eyes that make Jesse feel more naked than he's ever been with anyone else. Because Saul's not blinded by lust here. He sees everything: the way Jesse's thighs quake when he rises up and sinks down again, the crease of brow when Saul's wet fingers fill him up, Jesse's cock hard and tight against his belly, the wet trails of pre-cum on his skin. Saul watches it all with appreciation of the way Jesse's body responds to him, like he's worshipful.

Jesse gasps and rocks into Saul's touch, and Saul takes him apart, easy and unhurried. "Yeah, just like that, Jesse," he coos, squeezing Jesse's balls in his palm.

Jesse chokes on Saul's name in his throat and feels himself open a little around his fingers. Saul could slide another one in, but he doesn't, just ghosts his fingertips over Jesse's prostate until every muscle's pulled impossibly tight. Jesse's breath hitches. He can feel himself coming, he's so close, so wide open—

"That's it," Saul coaxes, stroking deep and lavish with his fingers, "give it up for me, Pretty Boy."

Jesse's orgasm leaves him in wet stripes across his belly and a low moan in his throat. His hips thrash against Saul's hand, greedy for every ripple of pleasure he can wring out. Jesse whimpers out praises cut through with Saul's name as his whole body shakes, feeling like he's being pulled apart. He can't stop his hips from grinding into Saul's hand, but that's okay, because Saul's edging his fingers out with care, letting Jesse take what he needs.

"You're so good at this," Saul says softly, skimming his free hand up the hot length of Jesse's thigh. His thumb traces over the dip of his hip bone. Jesse flushes under the gentle touch. "You're perfect."

Pleasure blooms in Jesse's gut despite his orgasm. He feels like he could come again from Saul's praise alone. "Good at what?" Jesse slides a hand along Saul's arm. "Havin' orgasms?"

"Hey, it's an art."

Jesse climbs his way off of Saul on shaky legs. "I need a shower," he grumbles, like he's irritated about this particular fact, but cum-smeared and well-fucked isn't a bad way to start the day.

Saul's there to right him when he stumbles a bit. "Oh, what'd'ya know, I need one too." He lays his hands over Jesse's hips and guides him into the shower stall.

Jesse doesn't mind when Saul shoves him against the wet tile and grinds ceaselessly against him, his swollen dick rutting against the curve of Jesse's ass. Jesse doesn't even raise complaint when Saul comes in a splatter over his backside, because it's been ages since he was actually happy on Christmas.

Eventually, they make their way downstairs where Bark Lee's waiting by the Christmas tree with an irritated look on his face. "You think he knows it's Christmas?" Jesse wonders aloud. "God, he's like a little kid."

"You didn't open anything, did you?" Saul asks the pup. Bark Lee just hunkers down on all fours and settles his chin on his front paws. Saul huffs exasperation and glances at Jesse. "Look at him. He knows what he did."

Jesse grins. "No, oh my God, that's so cute! He wants to open presents!" He tugs on Saul's t-shirt to pull him in the direction of the tree. "How can you deny that adorable little face anything?"

"Guess I can't." Saul's giving Jesse that warm gaze of admiration again, and Jesse doesn't think he'll ever feel comfortable enough in his own skin not to blush and glance away beneath it.

Outside, a thick blanket of snow covers the backyard and buries nearly everything under a cloud of fluffy white. Jesse stares out the clear glass doors to the porch, mesmerized. He's not used to seeing this much snow at once; winter in Albuquerque rarely resulted in much snowfall, and trips out of state to visit relatives were even rarer.

Saul snakes his arms around Jesse's waist, feathers kisses over the back of his neck. Jesse hums a contented sound. "You act like you've never seen snow before," Saul teases, slipping a hand under Jesse's t-shirt. His fingers drag across Jesse's stomach in a way that feels like it's going somewhere, and Jesse has to cover Saul's hand with his own and push it away.

"So you're not into the idea of goin' at it against this window?" Saul asks, like he's genuinely surprised.

Jesse thinks facing Saul might improve their current situation. "Gonna have to say 'hell no' to that one. 'Cause that'd be the one time somebody sees us."

Saul lifts an eyebrow. "I never would have associated Jesse Pinkman with the word 'shy.'"

"When it comes to strangers seein' my junk? Hell yeah." Saul's mouth does a frowny thing, and Jesse laughs. "Are you tryin' to distract me from the presents 'cause you think your gifts for me are hella lame or somethin'?"

Saul does that nervous chuckle Jesse knows so well. "What? No, c'mon, that's—that's silly. Why would I—"

Jesse takes Saul's hands in his own and immediately shuts him up. "This is the first Christmas in years where I've actually had presents to open. I don't care if you got me socks, dude." Jesse can't even remember his last normal holiday, let alone excitement on Christmas morning. He needs this normalcy, and he wants to share it with Saul.

Saul's brow creases, as if Jesse's tragic streak of lackluster Christmases pains him somehow. "Don't worry, kid. It's not socks." He drops down beside Bark Lee and hands Jesse a present from under the tree.

Jesse turns the package over in his hands, like he can tell what's in the box through touch alone. He decides "fuck that" and tears open the paper. Underneath the wrapping is a fancy, sleek new cell phone. He might actually gasp aloud. "Way better than socks," Jesse says, stunned into near-silence. This couldn't possibly have been cheap.

There's no way Jesse's gifts for Saul aren't going to seem ridiculously lame in comparison.

"I thought you could use a phone that doesn't look like you're some sort of 90's time traveler," Saul jokes. "And we can send each other pictures." He smirks in a sleazy sort of way.

"Of course you'd find a way to use technology to be gross," Jesse says, shaking his head.

"There's also GPS so you'll never get lost again," Saul adds. He smiles warmly and reaches under the tree again, withdraws a thick envelope with Jesse's name written on the front. "Here's part two."

Jesse's eyes widen. "There's more?" How can there be more? As if he hasn't already been disgustingly upstaged.

"Of course."

Jesse takes the envelope in shaky hands, almost afraid of what he might find in it. He slips a finger under the tape, opens the flap. Inside the envelope are hundred-dollar bills. Twenty of them, to be exact. Jesse's mouth goes dry. He thinks about making a joke, but the gift of speech seems to have abandoned him.

"You mentioned you wanted to, uh, pimp your ride, as it were, so I thought I'd make a little contribution to making your car look ridiculous." Saul's watching Jesse's face, and it must not be very comforting, because he adds, "But, if you changed your mind, you can use the money for whatever. An Xbox, a home theater..." He shrugs, looking aggrieved by Jesse's silence.

"You gave me two thousand dollars?"

The corner of Saul's mouth pulls into a half-smile. "Yeah?"

Jesse wets his lips and gathers the nerve to look at him. "Where'd you get this? You didn't..." He doesn't say the words, but he doesn't need to.

Saul reads him loud and clear. "What? No, c'mon, kid, give me some credit. I know a guy."

That so doesn't ease Jesse's mind.

"You know there are people who, for a small fee, take your money and put it in stocks, right? I didn't have to sell my body or whatever outlandish explanation you had in mind."

"You'd make an awesome prostitute though," Jesse says, trying to be reassuring. "I'd pay money to sleep with you."

"This is the weirdest conversation we've had in a while. But...thanks, I guess?"

Jesse's run out of ways to stall for time. He sorts through the bills in his hands. "You're too good to me."

"No such thing." Saul smiles.

Jesse glances away, his face heating up under Saul's gaze. "Thank you." He wonders if there's time to distract Saul long enough to buy him something expensive. Shit, there's probably no stores open today. He's so screwed.

"I'd be happy with socks too, y'know," Saul says, his mouth a warm line of love and honesty, and Jesse gets it. How many holidays did Saul spend alone before he met Jesse? Maybe Jesse doesn't need to get him anything expensive or fancy; his gut instinct told him Saul would be happy with something that showed Jesse put thought into choosing a gift.

Jesse digs his present out from beneath the tree. "I wish I could'a got you more, but I don't..." He trails off, rubs the back of his neck. "I don't have as much money as you."

"Despite my gifts to you, I'm really not superficial." Saul chuckles weakly. "I just do what I can with what I've got."

"Me too," Jesse offers, hopeful as he hands Saul the neatly-wrapped box. He holds his breath while Saul tugs at the paper. What if he hates it? What if he thinks the whole idea is stupid and regrets his own gifts to Jesse?

But Saul doesn't do any of that. He grins when he rips off the wrapping paper and sees what's inside. "This is because I told you about my record collection, isn't it?"

Jesse smiles despite himself. "Yeah, a little bit."

Inside the box are five LPs in near-mint condition: "Houses of the Holy," "Physical Graffiti," and "IV" by Led Zeppelin, AC/DC's "Back in Black," and The Doors' self-titled debut. Jesse had picked them up at a thrift store when he'd gone shopping with Maggie. The whole lot only cost him about ten bucks, because sometimes people drop valuable albums at junky resale shops instead of selling them on eBay for a pretty penny.

"They didn't have all the Zeppelin ones, but I thought you'd appreciate some variety, y'know? But, oh my God, I had to sort through so many shitty albums to find these." Jesse spent about thirty minutes with Maggie sorting through the massive dump of records, laughing at obscure and ridiculous releases. All entirely worth it, because he managed to pick up some albums for Buck and Billy Ray too.

Saul's watching him with that "you've charmed the fuck out of me" look Jesse knows so well. "You're amazing, kid. Y'know that?"

Jesse huffs a self-deprecating sound. "Dude, you gave me two-thousand dollars."

"So? I could give anybody money or a new phone and they'd be happy. You actually put thought into this."

Jesse hadn't thought of it that way before, but he still feels embarrassingly inadequate. At least Saul's happy though, which was the whole point of their little gift exchange, so Jesse tries not to think about it too hard.

They spend the afternoon in the Papasan in Saul's bedroom, sprawled against each other and burning through the six-packs of craft beers Buck and Billy Ray gifted them before leaving for Lincoln. Saul's record player is fully functional and currently spinning through Zeppelin's "Going to California." Jesse's got the apple pie Saul made last night in his lap, which means Saul has to reach into Jesse's lap each time he wants a bite of delicious apple goodness. Which Jesse may or may not have done on purpose.

"Not a bad way to spend Christmas, huh?" Jesse asks around a mouthful of pie.

"It's definitely not the worst I've had."

Jesse wants to poke at that, but he's not going to risk dredging up bad memories. He relaxes into the couch cushion, using Saul's shoulder as a pillow. "How come this couch smells like pot?" That's been bothering him for a while. "You get the thing from some stoner off Craigslist?"

Saul shakes his head. "Yet another artifact from my, uh, golden days."

Jesse stares at him in disbelief as a laugh bubbles past his lips. "No way!" He'd suspected Saul of being a pot-head in his youth—how else would you explain the décor?—but this is an actual admission. Jesse's never going to stop finding this absolutely hilarious.

"Why are you so surprised? Everybody smoked pot in the seventies."

"You always seemed way too dorky to ever blaze one. I dunno, it just doesn't fit. Saul Goodman smoking pot?"

Saul reaches over and nabs a forkful of pie. "Saul Goodman probably wouldn't. But Jimmy McGill? Absolutely."

"And what about Saul McGill?"

Saul does something with his eyebrows that Jesse finds stupidly attractive. "Are you tryin' to tell me you're holding right now?"

"What if I was? Like, totally hypothetical? Would you light up for old times' sake?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Saul says with a shrug.

Jesse snorts a laugh. "You so would. Wish you'd'a told me this earlier. Could'a set you up with a nice stash."

"Because nothing says 'Merry Christmas' like a bag of weed."

Jesse smiles despite himself and spears off another bite of apple pie. "I feel like I oughta know this already, but what's your favorite Zeppelin song?"

"Would you ask a parent who their favorite child is?" Saul answers with offense. "How do you expect me to choose?"

Jesse wrinkles his nose. "It's 'Stairway to Heaven,' isn't it? God, you're a cliché."

"'Stairway to Heaven' is vastly overrated."

"So 'Kashmir' then?"

Saul actually rolls his eyes. "If you're gonna make me choose, I guess I'd say 'Ramble On.' Or 'Over the Hills and Far Away.' But, man, that's tough. I'd have an easier time picking which internal organ I could live without."

"You ever wish you were interested in the music I like?"

"No."

Jesse has no idea why he's laughing so hard at that. "Jesus, I think I'm gettin' a contact high off this fuckin' couch." He takes a deep breath, lets the aroma fill his lungs.

"Really? I didn't notice; you laugh at everything I say anyway."

"Fuck you," Jesse says affectionately, but he's not disproving Saul's point. It takes him a moment or two to stop giggling. "Hold up, have you, like, never Febreze'd this couch before?"

"'Course I have, but the smell's just kinda seeped into the cushion by this point."

"So either you smoked a shit-ton of pot back in the day—"

"I don't think that's a legitimate form of measurement."

"—Or you've been sneakin' a joint or two since you moved here."

"If this is your oh-so-subtle way of asking if I have any pot, the answer is no."

"'Cause you smoked it all." Jesse cannot stop smiling.

"Why would I do that and not offer you any?"

"I dunno, you're a dick?"

"You just talked your way out of any recreational substances I may or may not acquire in the future, Pretty Boy."

Jesse settles against Saul's shoulder and wonders what he did to deserve this degree of good fortune.