Breaking Bad Fic: The Ritual
Fandom: Breaking Bad
Title: The Ritual
Author:readishmael
Pairing: Walt/Jesse (established)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~2,800
Spoilers: Vaguely through the end of season three.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not for profit. No copyright infringement is intended. Breaking Bad belongs to Vince Gilligan, AMC, and Sony Television.
Warnings: Serious emotional abuse; physical abuse; Daddy!kink (with undertones of sexual abuse).
A/N: Thanks to my first round beta sydpenguinbunny and my second round beta mspotamus. Also thanks, as always, to my girls at the clubhouse, for early feedback and everything else.
Summary: Walt and Jesse make up after a fight, in incredibly disturbing fashion.
Almost three weeks since the last time-he always kept track.
Sure, there had been little jabs since then, the predictable insults, and Mr. White apparently used up all his patience on the chemistry and never had any left over for Jesse, but he barely heard any of that anymore. He'd throw a couple insults back and everything would be fine. In the right mood, it was almost fun.
Yesterday had been something else-hands clamped down on his shoulders so hard he thought his collarbones might snap, pinning him against the wall and then shaking him so he hit his head, and Mr. White yelling, not just insulting him now, but accusing him of deliberately fucking things up for them. Telling him he wasn't worth it.
It meaning everything; it meaning anything.
He'd pretty much just stood there and taken it this time. He didn't even shove Mr. White away from him like he normally did any time he touched him out of anger, whether he was hurting him or not. He'd simply been too surprised; for the first time in a long time, Mr. White's anger had caught him completely off-guard.
He and Badger and Skinny Pete were trying to look into Gus's operation. He'd thought it would do some good, that maybe they'd get some kind of leverage or something, or make it so they didn't need Gus anymore, or that at least they'd be able to understand how powerful the guy really was. He'd only been trying to help, and they were being careful. He hadn't told Mr. White because it hadn't paid off yet, is all. But Mr. White had caught him sneaking off to talk on the phone when Badger had called yesterday, and the whole thing had come out.
For a second, Jesse had actually dared hope that once Mr. White got over the fact that Jesse hadn't talked to him first, he'd be pleased that Jesse had taken the initiative. He was always talking about how Jesse needed to pull his own weight, and needed to accept that sometimes that meant taking risks or doing things he didn't like.
Instead of getting any credit, though, he'd found himself backed against the wall, voicing apology after apology, pleading with Mr. White to calm down, and to let him go.
Mr. White had sent him home with a demand that he think about how much trouble he might have caused, and to stay put until he came to see him.
So now he was waiting. And he was pissed.
And Mr. White was at the door.
He smiled briefly at the thought of just not letting him in, but he knew it would be a pointless gesture-the asshole would probably just break the damn window to let himself in, and then yell at Jesse for making him do it-so he answered the door without a word. When Mr. White pushed his way inside without waiting for an invitation, Jesse closed the door, leaned back against the wall, and crossed his arms. He tried to fix his eyes defiantly on Mr. White's face, but faltered. He told himself that looking slightly above and to the left of him, as he'd noticed himself doing more and more recently, would be a better move...not because he was scared, he silently insisted, but because he was too angry to look at Mr. White without doing something stupid.
“I talked to your friends,” Mr. White opened, “and told them to end your little investigation.”
“Oh.”
“I asked them about what they've been doing. I don't think they got close enough to anything for there to be any problems.”
“Or close enough to find anything useful,” Jesse added. He'd meant it as an objection to Mr. White's assumption that the only possible outcome for Jesse's plan was failure, but Mr. White just nodded and looked vaguely pleased. Jesse experienced a sickly stirring of confused, conflicting feelings in response, and it made him even more furious.
“Right; you understand,” the oblivious old fuck went on. “I knew you would. So, it's fine. Everything's fine. And I'm not mad anymore. Let's just move on.”
Jesse snorted and shook his head, and off Mr. White's questioning look, he spoke up: “Oh, right, you're not mad; I guess that means everything's cool. I mean, I'm just the guy who got slammed against the wall, why would I be mad? And who the fuck cares how I feel, anyway? Right?”
He watched the flash of pique flare up in Mr. White's eyes, and couldn't feel the satisfaction he'd wanted. He held his breath until it faded.
“No, you're right, Jesse,” Mr. White started, and he sounded so fucking condescending that Jesse thought for a second he was being sarcastic instead of just lying his ass off. “That's what I came here to tell you. You're right. I overreacted.”
Jesse waited. Sometimes he gave in before the actual apology came, because sometimes Mr. White would get annoyed and either lay into him again or bail instead of giving one at all, and it wasn't worth risking that, but this time he wanted to hear it. He leaned back against the wall for support and made himself meet Mr. White's expectant gaze with his own.
Mr. White sighed, dropped his eyes, and then looked back up at him. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”
“No?” He allowed himself to sound skeptical but not antagonistic.
“No. Okay?” He put his arms out. “Come on. Come here.”
Jesse shifted his weight to step toward him before his brain caught up and he held himself back. Not this time. He crossed his arms more tightly over his chest and gnawed at the insides of his cheeks, and turned it into a mantra while Mr. White softened his tone even more and called him son. Not this time not this time not this time.
“Hey, come on, sweetheart, I'm sorry,” Mr. White went on, and it was the sweetheart and the wave of aching nostalgia it caused (nostalgia tied to his mom, and that was just fucking creepy-and of course Mr. White knew, it's why he knew it would work, and that was even creepier) more than the sorry that got Jesse moving. He closed the distance between them and let Mr. White pull him into a tight hug. He stroked Jesse's hair and murmured to him.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten so angry, but, God, Jesse, you have to listen, alright? I'm doing everything I can to keep us safe-both of us, you and me-and we have to be careful. I'm trying to do what's best for you, for us, and I need you on my side. Okay?”
Instead of reminding Mr. White that he'd only been trying to help-what was the point?-Jesse just nodded. It didn't matter that Mr. White had just made himself right and Jesse wrong, and it didn't matter that it was going to happen again. What mattered was that Mr. White was telling the truth: he cared about Jesse, and sometimes that meant he acted like a dick, but sometimes it also meant this, Mr. White holding him and scrubbing his goatee comfortingly against the side of Jesse's face and telling him how much he needed him. And Jesse really had been angry, had been right to be angry, but this was worth it.
It was.
“I don't know what I'd do if anything ever happened to you. You know how important you are to me, right? How much I've risked and done to keep you safe? What I've actually thrown away for you, where Gus is concerned? You understand, right?”
Jesse nodded again. Mr. White wasn't being fair; he knew that-Jesse had risked and suffered his fair share in return. But he wasn't wrong.
“Good. That's good. You're a good boy, Jesse.”
Jesse sighed, and Mr. White pulled away from the hug but stayed close, rubbed his hands up and down Jesse's arms.
“You know I'm just trying to look out for you, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” This was part of it, the agreement and affirmation. Withholding it was usually a bad idea, but that wasn't why he gave it so easily.
“And you trust me, don't you?”
“Sure.”
“Good.” His hands stopped at Jesse's shoulders, gave them a brief squeeze and a pat, and then came up to cup Jesse's face. “Look at me. I am sorry, but everything's okay now. I'm going to make you feel better, and it's all going to be fine.”
Jesse's eyes fluttered shut at this promise, and when he opened them again, Mr. White was giving him a knowing smirk that he didn't like very much. He took a step back, forcing Mr. White to drop his hands.
“You don't have to,” he said, with only slightly more conviction that he actually felt. He knew he was only giving Mr. White an opening to act magnanimous, but he insisted to himself that he shouldn't let it be this easy. Last time, Mr. White had half-jokingly accused him of deliberately pissing him off just so he could enjoy making up later (it would explain, he'd said, some of his more impossible-to-believe stupidity), and he'd flushed with anger and shame and refused to respond.
“I want to. And you want me to. I know you do.” He went to the futon and sat down. “Come on, Jesse, come sit down.”
Jesse did, and Mr. White scooted closer to him, wrapped one arm around his waist and laid the other on his thigh.
“Relax, Jesse. Let me take care of you.” He glided his fingers along the inside of Jesse's thigh until Jesse shifted and spread his legs a little. Mr. White smiled and hummed his approval, and brought his hand up to cup Jesse through his pants. Jesse felt his cock twitch, and he shivered.
“Shh, that's okay, Jesse. Come here.” He pulled at Jesse's waist, and Jesse did what he knew was expected, shifting himself over onto Mr. White's lap.
“Good, that's nice, huh? I've got you. I'm just gonna pull your pants down a little, okay?”
Jesse moaned, and immediately lifted his hips to cooperate as Mr. White slid his pants and his underwear down just a couple inches. His breathing stuttered and he swallowed hard.
“Yeah, you like that, huh? I know you do. Like it just like this.”
Jesse pressed back against Mr. White's chest and whimpered. Something about this position-sitting on Mr. White's lap, pants down and shirt up only enough to expose his cock to Mr. White's eyes and hands-had always made this whole experience, this stupid, empty fucking ritual, almost unbearably intense. It was something simultaneously comforting and almost stunningly illicit, and it had taken him months to realize what it was: it made him feel like a kid.
He didn't have the slightest clue why that should appeal to him, but he made his peace pretty quickly with the fact that it turned him on so much. What was harder to accept was the way it magnified the already overwhelming (and completely ridiculous) sense of being loved, and cared for, and chosen.
He'd tried to get some control over these emotions by pushing the sense of himself as a child from his mind, but the more he struggled to banish it, the more Mr. White's behavior brought it back. The stream of babble that had once been nothing but little words of praise and encouragement interspersed with repeated reminders of devotion and sacrifice had evolved over repeated encounters, until it had become this.
“That's it, Jesse, there you go, just trust me, let me take care of you, make you feel good.” He slid the hot, sweaty weight of his palm slowly up and down over Jesse's growing erection. “Such a good boy, Jesse, so sweet.”
Jesse shuddered, and Mr. White wrapped his arm more snugly around Jesse's waist and kissed him wetly on the cheek, causing Jesse to flush. His hand continued its slow, lazy movements, and Jesse groaned, shut his eyes, and tipped his head back against Mr. White's shoulder. Mr. White chuckled, and the smugness that Jesse heard there did nothing to curb his pleasure; they were too far along.
“Feels good, doesn't it? Yeah, I know what you like, son, know how to make you feel good. Such a good boy, Jesse, so sweet for me.” He mouthed along Jesse's jaw, nipped at his ear. “God, look at you, look, so hard. So eager. It's okay, Jesse, it's okay, don't worry, I'm going to take care of you, gonna make you come, wanna hear all those sweet little noises you make for me.”
Finally he wrapped his fingers around Jesse's length and started to stroke him. Jesse whined and shifted, and Mr. White squeezed his waist and his cock at the same time.
“No, stay still, Jesse, let me do it.” He pulled Jesse more firmly against him, so Jesse could feel his erection pressing against his ass. He exhaled sharply through his nose, and Mr. White responded by rocking up into him, grinding against him and forcing Jesse to thrust up into his grip.
“You feel what you do to me? So good, Jesse, you're doing so good, such a good boy.”
He sped his strokes, and pressed the other hand harder into Jesse's stomach. Jesse panted and fought to keep himself still, and Mr. White rewarded the effort by pushing up against him again and curling his fingers more tightly around his cock, forcing Jesse to fuck into his fist.
“Fuck, Mr. White, oh fuck, please,” he choked out desperately, and Mr. White shushed him and worked faster.
“Shh, Jesse, come on, almost there, you're doing so good, good boy, sweet boy, come on, son, come on--” He continued while Jesse talked over him, just a random series of fuck and shit and please, and finally Mr. White said it, “Come on, Jesse, I love you, love you so much,” and Jesse came with a rough gasp, spilling over Mr. White's hand and onto his T-shirt.
Mr. White wiped his hand on Jesse's already soiled shirt and hugged him tight, rocked him as he shivered and gulped in air, and kept talking to him: I love you, Jesse, love you, you have to remember that. Jesse murmured back I know, I know and kept his eyes shut and thought, This is worth it. It wasn't exactly a happy thought, but it echoed and resounded until his whole head was filled with it. This is worth it.
Mr. White shifted Jesse on his lap so he could undo his own pants, and while he took care of himself, Jesse just leaned back heavily against his chest and welcomed his drowsiness. Nothing further was required from him. There was no place in this for reciprocation. When Mr. White was done and recovered, they'd take a few minutes to get cleaned up, Mr. White would reiterate a couple more times that he was looking out for Jesse and needed his cooperation, and then it would all be over. Back to normal.
Until the next time Jesse needed a reminder.
Mr. White finished and let Jesse go. They used some tissues to wipe themselves off and fixed their pants, and Jesse changed his shirt while Mr. White washed his hands. Then Jesse walked Mr. White to the door.
“We have to stick together, Jesse.”
“Yeah.”
“We're partners.”
“Yeah.”
“We can't afford to be making mistakes or taking any unnecessary risks right now.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Good. We're fine, alright? Everything's fine.”
Jesse nodded, and Mr. White frowned. Jesse's heart lurched, thinking Mr. White wanted something more from him, something different from how this usually went, and he strained to think of what it might be, but Mr. White just reached out and laid his hand against Jesse's cheek.
“You know I mean it, right?”
“Mean what?” Once it was out, he wished he'd just said yes, and his heart rate jumped. He felt an itch in his palms, and he curled his hands into fists, and then uncurled them before Mr. White noticed.
“That I love you.”
“Yeah. I know.” He could have said it back, but it wasn't what Mr. White needed to hear.
“And that I'm sorry.”
“I know.”
Mr. White's frown deepened, and Jesse, in something close to panic, stepped forward on instinct and hugged him. When he pulled back, Mr. White was smiling, and Jesse's heart began to settle back into a normal rhythm.
It was worth it, and everything was fine.
Once the door was closed with Mr. White on the other side of it, Jesse sighed, put his forehead against the door, and reset the timer in his head.