Ad Absurdum
Jesse paces back and forth across the cement, back and forth, back and forth, over bits of alley garbage and puddles that have been hidden behind the shade of the building where the sun can't hope to dry them up, and the sun is long since gone anyway. It seems like he's been doing this forever, that it's only minutes until his shoes fall apart and he sets to work burning off the skin of his feet with this useless, endless pacing. He's trying to smoke a cigarette at the same time and the smoke trails around after him, blown apart each time he walks through it, and after another few seconds he rips the cigarette from his mouth and steps on it. Back and forth, back and forth, over and over.
Walt finally dares to speak again- the last time he did Jesse nearly had a fit in front of the building, and it's a miracle Walt was able to persuade him to move out of view and earshot of the bar patrons. "Jesse, come on, let's just go back inside and talk this through. Come finish your drink, calm down."
Jesse turns on him again, at least less loudly, less intensely, than before. "I don't want the fucking drink, dumbass, and I sure as Hell don't wanna calm down. How can you be cool with this?"
Walt rubs his temples. He isn't 'cool with it', necessarily, but he isn't a vigilante by any definition, and he didn't think Jesse was either. The way he looks now is a way Walt has never seen him, malignant and outraged, a walking coil of fury that appears to be seconds from bursting out, and Walt starts to worry that he might be serious. Or at least he thinks he is, and if he believes it long enough, he might even try to go through with what he has planned.
"How did you even find out about this?" Walt asks, partly just to distract him.
Jesse, thankfully, doesn't notice or care about the dodge of his question. "I told you I heard it from the kid's sister- God, I went over to her place the other day, just thinkin' we'd hang out, and she starts talking about maybe doing some crystal out of nowhere, I mean, I brought it up before but I didn't think she'd-"
"Wait, what are you talking about?" Walt interrupts. Talk of doing some crystal? Jesus, since when? Is that what Jesse was doing with the stolen product?
The raw, explosive anger is abruptly punctuated with a sliver of guilt. "She wanted me to get her some, but she's from that stupid group thing, and she has a kid... I mean, she has a kid and she was askin' for crystal. I kinda flipped on her a bit and then she said something about her brother..." Jesse stops here and begins pacing again and Walt starts a brief speculation. Some woman from the meetings - asking for crystal - a kid - her brother - some woman - crystal - with a kid - some...
"Were you sleeping with her?" The question slips out impetuously, without Walt meaning it to, sounding invasive and idiotic and pathetic.
"What does that-" Jesse pauses and looks over at him and Walt is surprised to see him smirk a little even when his eyes still look so infuriated. "Oh my God, don't tell me you're jealous, Mr. White."
They haven't really talked about it. Not at all, actually. But there have been small deviations in their old way of doing things. There have been touches, the kind that linger, there have been looks, there have been times when they shouldn't have been together but they were; but they haven't talked about it, and they've coasted along under everybody's radar so far. They work and Walt still has dinner with his family as normal, and apparently things are going as usual on Jesse's end too if he's got a woman from his support group as a bed-mate.
They haven't talked about it.
"I didn't mean it like that," Walt says quickly, and he's grateful when Jesse doesn't ask what he did mean it like, because he wouldn't have had an answer.
"It hasn't been like that with her for awhile," Jesse claims, and though his pacing starts again, it's not yet as fast and hateful as it was before. "I've just been going to her place sometimes after meetings. This last time, she was sorta acting like she wanted to do something and I just kinda blew her off, and maybe that's why she asked about the damn crystal, because, y'know, we don't even really know each other, so if we're not fucking what are we doing? May as well get high, right?" Jesse's voice starts to climb again, his footsteps get quicker, the scrap of composure he momentarily regained starts to melt away. "Maybe I shoulda just done it, then I wouldn't have ever heard about her brother or those scumbag assholes that killed Combo, and - and-" A low, guttural sound of absolute loathing overrides the rest of his words, his hands begin to ball in and out of fists, and Walt just watches, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do, wishing Jesse would calm down and keep this in some kind of perspective. But he thinks he can get away with it like he thinks he has gotten away with the stealing; he doesn't know that the only reason he's survived this long is because Walt has watched him like a hawk in the lab and pretended not to understand casual over-dinner advice to never make the same mistake twice. Jesse thinks he's put one past Gus and can do it again but Walt knows better, he knows that if Jesse goes through with this Gus will forget about getting Walt's blessing to have Jesse killed, because Gus will find out, somehow, he always does, and Gus isn't even the worst of it, he-
Jesse tugs on Walt's clothes. He's stopped in front of him, closer than Walt realized he had gotten, and his hands finally uncurl from those fists and begin pulling on Walt's shirt, his belt, and Walt's mind takes a second to catch up but when it finally does he jerks away. "Jesus Christ, what are you thinking?" Even as he says this heat has already started to build, and he doesn't stop Jesse from grabbing his shirt again. "Not here," he resists. "Jesse- stop it, not here, someone could-"
"I don't care," Jesse tells him, and there's no doubt that he means it. The back entrance of the bar is in plain view under the dim bulb above it, any minute someone could come from there and see them, but, God, it's been so long. Jesse's nails press into Walt in a way that's wonderfully familiar and he tries once more for a suggestion to go somewhere, fairly certain it's futile. "No, right here," Jesse asserts, he all but demands, and Walt wonders if it's the difference between Jesse killing a couple of guys and Jesse just letting it go. That makes it a type of coercion, Walt knows, and while that should rob the whole thing of much of its pleasure, it's just... it's been so long.
He briefly forgets about the possibility of being caught and backs Jesse against the wall, almost dauntlessly close to the door, and even before he kisses him Jesse's hands are back at his belt, fighting to get it open. Jesse's not wearing a belt so Walt's job is much easier, he doesn't even have to unzip the jeans to pull them down, and in all Jesse's haste to get them off he ends up kicking his shoes across the alley and one of them bangs into a garbage can. Walt freezes, Jesse doesn't, and he wins his battle with the belt and Walt can still feel the burning rage coming off of him like poison gas but now it's starting to ebb a little. Not much, but enough, and he pushes against Jesse just as he finishes getting his pants open.
"It'll be better this time, I promise," Walt says, he's not sure why, since they're in an alley and Jesse's not drunk so he can't pretend that he doesn't feel anything. "I can do something to... you know, make it easier."
Jesse looks like he could not give less of a shit and Walt actually thinks he's not going to say anything for a moment. Then he shrugs impatiently and mutters: "Go ahead."
Both sets of hands move to get rid of the boxer shorts and while Jesse's eyes are down he chances a peek at Walt and snorts laughter. "Tighty-whities," he says under his breath, which he then sucks in and holds as the first spit-slicked finger slides into him. He squeezes Walt's arm hard enough to hurt as the second goes in, sways a little and shuts his eyes, and when Walt shows signs of contemplating another he gathers enough air to say "Holy fuck, dude, don't flatter yourself."
They're so close to the parking lot that Walt can hear the cars when they start up and drive away, he can even sometimes hear the soft murmuring of unintelligible conversation on the other side of the building, and it'll be an earth-shattering wonder if no one catches them. But with Jesse leaning on him as Walt's fingers penetrate him the idea starts to seem not all that frightening and is instead much more exciting, dangerously so. As Walt imagines a bartender or server coming through the backdoor to toss out the leftover chicken wings and discovering them he feels an instant, maddening stiffness in his groin, and suddenly he's a lot less concerned with making it easier for Jesse, and he can't wait any longer, he wants him now.
Jesse lets out his breath in unison with the withdrawal of Walt's fingers but that's as much time as he gets to himself, because Walt is immediately pressed against him again, shimmying so his briefs and pants drop to his ankles. Then he shoves Jesse harder up against the wall, his feet leave the ground and Walt gets his legs up and around him, not wasting any time but he doesn't think Jesse minds, and he lets out all his breath when Walt thrusts his body upwards. Nails scrabble across his back, malice and animosity flowing through the touch until they're sure they've bitten into skin, at which point the nails become fingertips that grope along with an almost pitiful desperation. Anger broods underneath like an infection but it's becoming less as Walt's movements quicken; he's ignorant to what it actually feels like on the other end so he tries to go slow at first, but their position doesn't leave much allowance for that and Walt would have a hard enough time with it even if it did.
Jesse doesn't kiss him, he closes his eyes, keeps his head up against the wall, and with the way his throat moves Walt thinks it's taking an amazing effort for him to be even as quiet as he is. Walt himself is more silent than he intended himself to be and he supposes that even though there's something thrilling about the idea of being found out, they're still trying not to intentionally reveal themselves. They're obvious enough already, and the game's not quite as fun if the playing field's not fair.
Eventually he hears himself start to speak. "Jesse, promise me-" Breath. "-you won't do anything."
If he gets any response, the most he expects is an unsympathetic I'm not promising you shit, at the least a blunt No. He doesn't even think Jesse'll open his eyes for it. He does though, and his mouth, but he doesn't say anything for a second, he has to breathe. Then: "Make me." And all the immaturity, the flash of complete childish mirth in his eyes like the whole thing is just a big joke, it all makes it impossible to forget everything about Jesse that should grind Walt's desire into nonexistence- but, no, it does the opposite, and why does he want it and why does he like it and why does he want it?
The questions stop mattering - they never mattered, he guesses - as he leans in and kisses Jesse's lips and Jesse, against anticipation, kisses him back. His hands knot together behind Walt's neck and suddenly he's breathing faster, twisting a little, but not with discomfort, and the small noises that escape him stop sounding like they're composed entirely of pain and become entangled with something else, something that sends a warm rush through Walt's skin. And it enables him to put the rest of it out of his mind, which is just fine with him, that he doesn't have to remember a cold face dark with the need for a pointless revenge and a spoken oath to spill blood by any means, or even just that wired, uncontrolled pacing, like a wild animal in a cage, impatient with a lust for the kill. He can disregard those things just as expediently as he can disregard split hands and shattered glass. He supposes he'll never understand why Jesse's torment over this is so great, partly because it still doesn't make sense to him how Jesse of all people could want to murder anyone, but at least now it all takes on the unreal quality of a nightmare, because the person he's pressed against and inside of again couldn't have possibly said any of those things. No. He hears the cars less and the gasps for air more, letting the pleasure wash over him, and he doesn't think, he doesn't think, because it's just Jesse. It's just Jesse.
And, too soon, he can feel it ending and Walt tries to say something else but it falls apart in a heavy exhalation and everything in him starts to surge forward and he tenses up, shivers, explodes. He holds still for a moment while the world comes back into focus, then he pulls out but not away, not yet, Jesse's feet touch the ground again and Walt leans against him as they recover their breath. When Jesse does he starts to fidget and when Walt backs off he sees he's pulling on his t-shirt.
"Uh, could you go back into the bar and get some tissue or something?" he asks, almost in a whisper, looking off at nothing. Walt's eyebrows start to go up and when he doesn't reply right away Jesse looks over at him and glares. "Yeah, yeah, you know, I could see your ego from space right now. Just go get me some napkins or something already, wouldya?"
Walt does as he's asked. Now that it's over he can't have any delusions about why it even happened but he also can't pretend that he's not intrigued by Jesse's response this time. Again he wonders if maybe it was the prospect of being caught in the act, and when he thinks of that it occurs to him that, astoundingly, they weren't spotted. They got away with it... but the longer he thinks of it, stuffing tissues from the bathroom into his pockets, the less it confounds him. The more it seems to actually fit into the natural order.
..
A week is a long time.
Or so Walt told himself as he lay on his back looking up at his ceiling. It had been a quiet week, with tension humming through it in an unpleasant current, but it had been an uneventful week, and he was grateful for that at least. Jesse still seemed unhappy and constantly agitated, but he hadn't asked for ricin again, hadn't made any indication that he might still carry out his plan.
But if he does you know he'll tell you that he didn't promise you a damn thing.
Walt began picking at the corner of his bed sheet. Jesse hadn't promised him anything, but that was meant to be implicit, wasn't it? After all, Walt had sort of expected Jesse would leave while he was in the bar getting tissue, and he hadn't. He had stayed, and he had said he wouldn't do anything, but there were still no promises. And Jesse had already made it apparent that he didn't have any issues with lying to Walt.
But a week is a long time. If he was going to do anything he would have done it by now.
Soft murmuring from the other side of the bed broke Walt out of his deliberations. He rolled over to check if Jesse was waking up, but after another few seconds of incomprehensible gibberish he settled again, on his side with his back facing Walt. Walt reached out and touched the space between his shoulder blades, then let his hand drop. In his bed with him. A more perfect example of them being together when they shouldn't be, Walt doubted there existed one. But after last week, Jesse hadn't made any pretense of being coy with him, even as he remained bad-tempered throughout the day, and Walt figured he wouldn't be incorrect in suspecting that he was being employed as something of a stress reliever. As odd as it seemed to him, and as wrong as he knew it was, for some reason that prospect left him unruffled. He assumed it was mostly because he could tolerate being used if it meant it would keep Jesse from beating his own record for stupid ideas... not that he had put all his eggs in one basket. He had been to see Saul earlier in the week to ask about some of the man's services in case he should ever need them to stop Jesse from making a huge mistake, as a precautionary measure. He had tried not to let on that Jesse was the reason for the visit, but Saul had watched him mockingly the entire time, too razor sharp for his own annoying good, and at one point he had finally just come out and inquired if the meeting had anything to do with "that prickly young associate" of his.
"And what if it does?" Walt had said. Well, snapped was maybe a better way of putting it.
Saul didn't flinch, he smirked. "Jeez, testy. I'm just saying I really don't get why you go to so much trouble trying to cover for him."
"Then I suppose you should be glad it's not your business."
Saul looked confused but he didn't lose his composure for a second. "What's with you today? Am I missing something? Did you and the kid finally consummate the marriage?"
Walt's not sure how his face must have looked then, horrified or angered or maybe just blank. Either way Saul's eyebrows went up on his forehead and he muttered, "Joking."
So perhaps they hadn't been quite as far under the radar as Walt thought they were... or Saul had just made a strangely acute remark without realizing it. It was really hard to tell with all the space in his head being occupied by truckloads of new worries. That must have been part of why he didn't mind Jesse's suspicious new attachment to him, whether Jesse knew it or not, the stress relief was a two-way street. Not that Walt had ever wanted it to be that way. But if that's how it was going to be, for at least as long as it took Jesse to get over this nonsense with the dealers, then Walt would accept it. He would accept it because he had frighteningly little power over his own body and because he still loved the idea of the closeness, as much as it began to seem an illusion to him since the week before.
He reached out and touched Jesse's back again, running his hand over his shoulder, then slipping it under his arm. Yes, he still had the ability to delude himself.
