Fic: Recalescence
Title: Recalescence
Pairing: Walt/Jesse
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters and ideas belong to Vince Gilligan, Sony, and AMC.
Summary: Walt takes the partnership to another level. Jesse doesn't know how to feel about it.
He feels the eyes on him before he speaks. He is leaning against his side door smoking a cigarette. Enjoying the sun on his skin. the red behind his eyelids making the world feel like a womb. the way it did once with Jane's needle in his arm only less sedation and more sedition. His body is fully alive and painfully so. I can feel you staring at me, he says. Perv much? What? comes the familliar growl, is that not allowed? Am I not allowed to look at you? Not like that he wants to say but doesn't. How can he know how Mr. White is looking at him. Not on my front porch you're not he says instead, the implication still clear, as it always has been but now maybe for a different reason. Something about us two doesn't compute. Would not make sense to prying eyes. Or make only too sinister a kind of sense . These two together could only be up to no good.
Then by all means invite me in, he says. Something in his tone slick and loose and unmistakably seductive. Go in, says Jesse, still not opening his eyes, just let me finish my smoke. Make yourself at home. You will anyway he does not add. You do look good though, comes the voice again, he lingers, making Jesse increasingly uncomfortable with every passing second. A sight for sore eyes he says. Jesse unconsciously puts his hands in the pockets of his oversized hoodie, streaching it out even further in front of his jeans, as if it were possible to tell in all these layers the secret stirrings in his nether regions. He inhales deeply as he hears the latch engage, feeling a heaviness in his chest that probably has nothing to do with the cigarettes he's been chain smoking. He's pretty sure he knows what's coming, and he's right. As soon as he steps through the door Mr. White is on him, taking up his space like a vaccuum, leaning in to kiss his neck, his ear, finally his lips. Opening them with his tongue, jacking teeth wide, coming in without invitation, making himself at home. His tongue tastes sweet and smoky, heady, dizzying. Good bourbon on the rocks. more than a little from the smell of it. Are you drunk, he asks, when he manages to pull away. Is that what this is about?
No, this is about, shh listen to me, this is about how beautiful you looked just there with the sunlight on your hair. Something in his chest clenches, embarassing how sweet these words sound to him. Mr . white runs a finger gently down the side of his cheek, then weaves his fingers into the hair at the back of Jesse's neck. Not quite pulling but with the promise of it in the firmness of his grasp. I never realized how blonde it was before, he whispers into jesses lips looking almost mesmerized by this force suddenly expanding and contracting between them. Yeah well, you've got a thing for blonde's i've noticed, he says, flicking his eyes downward again. Mr. white uses his hair to raise his face, and stares directly into his eyes. I have a thing for you boy, he says( very slowy, very clearly prounoucing every syllable the way he once punched out the word Heisenberg. it should sound stupid but doesn't). Jesse begins to tremble. Its not fear exactly. But its not not either. Mr. white runs a finger gently down his chest, to his stomach, coming to rest on leather and metal, feeling the cold hard buckle of his belt, sensing the hot hard shape of his cock straining below. Half hard the instant he'd felt the eyes on him. Completely so the minute Mr. White had stepped into his space. What, you're asking permission now? he taunts, with more bravado than he actually feels. The words come out a bit trembly and they both can hear it. Jesse, Mr. White says sweetly, you wound me. why do you always see the worst in me? Becaue you save the best for your family he thinks but doesn't say. Yes he says instead. Yes its ok, its...oh god.....You shouldn't drink and drive you know. its dangerous. he laughs guillessly. Mr White rolls his eyes then fixes him a steely gaze. Eyes say are you kidding me? Lips say you should talk. Lips say i had a couple. Not enough to impair my judgement. My reaction times are at their peak. And suddenly they are scuffling, then apart, then circling each other like buzzards. They are dancing like jackals, wolfish smiles fixed on one another. Suddenly they are partners again, in this together, with all intentions known. The spinning so sweet in its inevidability. Swooping in close on easy prey. They kiss again, the most mutual of widenings. Soul sucking kiss of tongues twisting and teeth clacking, fingers digging into crooks of elbows, holding themselves apart for one moment on the sweet precipice of disaster. Paused on the brink before diving in headlong. The smoky choking sweetness of it as addictive and dead ending as the crystal blue persuasion they manufacture. The dissolution of an empire unraveling one piece of hastily shed clothing at a time.
Because nothing will be the same again after this. Things were going to combust spectacularly anyway in their time but this will accelerate the process. Now the betrayals will cut deeper. Something like love is on the table now, and deeper than his craving for any drug is Jesse's gaping cavernous love void. The dog will come again, and again to lay at his master's feet even when kicked if alternately he is stroked and fed and praised. But not forever. Every creature has their breaking point.
Its the first time but it dosen't feel like it. There's a strange sort of muscle memory to it that Jesse can't quite explain. Maybe just a metaphor made physical. The dominance. The supplication. The need. The surrender. Lardosis, he'd heard it on a nature program. The arching of the back, instinctual and old as time. Even brain heavy mammals like humans couldn't escape it. They did it to show capitulation. Submission. The need to be dominated. He'd found himself doing it as soon as the kiss began. Even before, hands in pockets, leaning uncomfortably, his hiding device more revealing than if he'd just kept still.
Why couldn't he ever just keep still? Always running and raging. Always diving into a tailspin. Never able to stop and think. Or wait. Or analyze the consequences. But that was what Mr. White was for. Jesse wondered if it must follow that Mr. White had analyzed the consequences of this action too. If this was all part of the grand plan. If so what purpose did it serve? How was he being used this time?
He had been. Thouroughly used. His body ached in places he had not previously been aware of. It wasn't an ache like after a beating, or after a hangover, or like the spasms that had racked his body when coming off heroin. It was sort of a sweet ache. Fascinating like the throbbing socket of a recently pulled tooth. Palpable relief in the emptiness, and a shrinking, a pressure diminishing by degrees.The hole in his mouth had been impossible to stop worrying with his tongue, impossible to leave it be to do its thing and resolve on its own. And he coulndn't stop worrying this hole either. Counld't stop running his fingers across all the places he'd been touched. There will be no sleeping tonight. Only endless track miles of mind loops asking the same questions over and over and over but finding no answers. He remembers the track at his old high school where student and teacher had first encountered eachother. He remembers almost nothing about that man, so subsumed has he become by the intervening years of intimacy. Short hand. Near death expereinces. Mutual life savings. Knock down drag out fights. Renewed partnership. Comissioned murders. And now this.He was tender at the start and at some moments in the middle. Every time Mr. White had touched his cheek Jesse had felt like crying. He doesn't know what to do with this. He wishes he weren't sober. But he knows where that path leads, and to face whatever is happening here he will need all his wits about him. His eyes were so kind, his movements so liquid and sweet, and he had been so grateful at the end. It had hurt but only a little bit, only at the start. Then it had been good. So good. Better than he'd wanted it to be. At one point he had become incoherent with the pleasure of it. At one point he might have said some words he wished he could take back. One of those words might have been love.
Pairing: Walt/Jesse
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters and ideas belong to Vince Gilligan, Sony, and AMC.
Summary: Walt takes the partnership to another level. Jesse doesn't know how to feel about it.
He feels the eyes on him before he speaks. He is leaning against his side door smoking a cigarette. Enjoying the sun on his skin. the red behind his eyelids making the world feel like a womb. the way it did once with Jane's needle in his arm only less sedation and more sedition. His body is fully alive and painfully so. I can feel you staring at me, he says. Perv much? What? comes the familliar growl, is that not allowed? Am I not allowed to look at you? Not like that he wants to say but doesn't. How can he know how Mr. White is looking at him. Not on my front porch you're not he says instead, the implication still clear, as it always has been but now maybe for a different reason. Something about us two doesn't compute. Would not make sense to prying eyes. Or make only too sinister a kind of sense . These two together could only be up to no good.
Then by all means invite me in, he says. Something in his tone slick and loose and unmistakably seductive. Go in, says Jesse, still not opening his eyes, just let me finish my smoke. Make yourself at home. You will anyway he does not add. You do look good though, comes the voice again, he lingers, making Jesse increasingly uncomfortable with every passing second. A sight for sore eyes he says. Jesse unconsciously puts his hands in the pockets of his oversized hoodie, streaching it out even further in front of his jeans, as if it were possible to tell in all these layers the secret stirrings in his nether regions. He inhales deeply as he hears the latch engage, feeling a heaviness in his chest that probably has nothing to do with the cigarettes he's been chain smoking. He's pretty sure he knows what's coming, and he's right. As soon as he steps through the door Mr. White is on him, taking up his space like a vaccuum, leaning in to kiss his neck, his ear, finally his lips. Opening them with his tongue, jacking teeth wide, coming in without invitation, making himself at home. His tongue tastes sweet and smoky, heady, dizzying. Good bourbon on the rocks. more than a little from the smell of it. Are you drunk, he asks, when he manages to pull away. Is that what this is about?
No, this is about, shh listen to me, this is about how beautiful you looked just there with the sunlight on your hair. Something in his chest clenches, embarassing how sweet these words sound to him. Mr . white runs a finger gently down the side of his cheek, then weaves his fingers into the hair at the back of Jesse's neck. Not quite pulling but with the promise of it in the firmness of his grasp. I never realized how blonde it was before, he whispers into jesses lips looking almost mesmerized by this force suddenly expanding and contracting between them. Yeah well, you've got a thing for blonde's i've noticed, he says, flicking his eyes downward again. Mr. white uses his hair to raise his face, and stares directly into his eyes. I have a thing for you boy, he says( very slowy, very clearly prounoucing every syllable the way he once punched out the word Heisenberg. it should sound stupid but doesn't). Jesse begins to tremble. Its not fear exactly. But its not not either. Mr. white runs a finger gently down his chest, to his stomach, coming to rest on leather and metal, feeling the cold hard buckle of his belt, sensing the hot hard shape of his cock straining below. Half hard the instant he'd felt the eyes on him. Completely so the minute Mr. White had stepped into his space. What, you're asking permission now? he taunts, with more bravado than he actually feels. The words come out a bit trembly and they both can hear it. Jesse, Mr. White says sweetly, you wound me. why do you always see the worst in me? Becaue you save the best for your family he thinks but doesn't say. Yes he says instead. Yes its ok, its...oh god.....You shouldn't drink and drive you know. its dangerous. he laughs guillessly. Mr White rolls his eyes then fixes him a steely gaze. Eyes say are you kidding me? Lips say you should talk. Lips say i had a couple. Not enough to impair my judgement. My reaction times are at their peak. And suddenly they are scuffling, then apart, then circling each other like buzzards. They are dancing like jackals, wolfish smiles fixed on one another. Suddenly they are partners again, in this together, with all intentions known. The spinning so sweet in its inevidability. Swooping in close on easy prey. They kiss again, the most mutual of widenings. Soul sucking kiss of tongues twisting and teeth clacking, fingers digging into crooks of elbows, holding themselves apart for one moment on the sweet precipice of disaster. Paused on the brink before diving in headlong. The smoky choking sweetness of it as addictive and dead ending as the crystal blue persuasion they manufacture. The dissolution of an empire unraveling one piece of hastily shed clothing at a time.
Because nothing will be the same again after this. Things were going to combust spectacularly anyway in their time but this will accelerate the process. Now the betrayals will cut deeper. Something like love is on the table now, and deeper than his craving for any drug is Jesse's gaping cavernous love void. The dog will come again, and again to lay at his master's feet even when kicked if alternately he is stroked and fed and praised. But not forever. Every creature has their breaking point.
Its the first time but it dosen't feel like it. There's a strange sort of muscle memory to it that Jesse can't quite explain. Maybe just a metaphor made physical. The dominance. The supplication. The need. The surrender. Lardosis, he'd heard it on a nature program. The arching of the back, instinctual and old as time. Even brain heavy mammals like humans couldn't escape it. They did it to show capitulation. Submission. The need to be dominated. He'd found himself doing it as soon as the kiss began. Even before, hands in pockets, leaning uncomfortably, his hiding device more revealing than if he'd just kept still.
Why couldn't he ever just keep still? Always running and raging. Always diving into a tailspin. Never able to stop and think. Or wait. Or analyze the consequences. But that was what Mr. White was for. Jesse wondered if it must follow that Mr. White had analyzed the consequences of this action too. If this was all part of the grand plan. If so what purpose did it serve? How was he being used this time?
He had been. Thouroughly used. His body ached in places he had not previously been aware of. It wasn't an ache like after a beating, or after a hangover, or like the spasms that had racked his body when coming off heroin. It was sort of a sweet ache. Fascinating like the throbbing socket of a recently pulled tooth. Palpable relief in the emptiness, and a shrinking, a pressure diminishing by degrees.The hole in his mouth had been impossible to stop worrying with his tongue, impossible to leave it be to do its thing and resolve on its own. And he coulndn't stop worrying this hole either. Counld't stop running his fingers across all the places he'd been touched. There will be no sleeping tonight. Only endless track miles of mind loops asking the same questions over and over and over but finding no answers. He remembers the track at his old high school where student and teacher had first encountered eachother. He remembers almost nothing about that man, so subsumed has he become by the intervening years of intimacy. Short hand. Near death expereinces. Mutual life savings. Knock down drag out fights. Renewed partnership. Comissioned murders. And now this.He was tender at the start and at some moments in the middle. Every time Mr. White had touched his cheek Jesse had felt like crying. He doesn't know what to do with this. He wishes he weren't sober. But he knows where that path leads, and to face whatever is happening here he will need all his wits about him. His eyes were so kind, his movements so liquid and sweet, and he had been so grateful at the end. It had hurt but only a little bit, only at the start. Then it had been good. So good. Better than he'd wanted it to be. At one point he had become incoherent with the pleasure of it. At one point he might have said some words he wished he could take back. One of those words might have been love.