Your Manipulation

by EminemsDurag

Summary:

Walter shows up at Jesse’s apartment, but it’s not just about stolen meth, it’s about control. Manipulative as ever, Walt pushes Jesse into a twisted, emotional entanglement, blurring more than one line.

Notes:

Hello, I hope you enjoy this breaking bad fanfic!

Chapter 1: Blurred lines

Jesse sat alone in his messy apartment, getting high off his ass. The place was a disaster, pizza boxes piled up, clothes strewn everywhere, and the faint smell of burnt chemicals hanging in the air. He had his pipe in one hand, lazily taking a hit while the TV flickered with some crappy sitcom he wasn’t really watching. The laugh track was grating, but it was better than the silence.

He had stolen a little product again. Just a bit. Nothing Walter would notice. He figured the old man had enough on his plate without worrying about a few missing grams. It wasn’t like Walter kept track of every little thing, right? Jesse took another hit, feeling the warm buzz crawl over him. Walter had bigger things to deal with, being a kingpin, his family, cancer, and all that fifty-year-old man bullshit. Hell, the guy was juggling so much, it was kind of a miracle he hadn’t cracked already.

Jesse’s eyes glazed over as he thought about Walter. The man had been on his mind a lot lately. It didn’t help that they spent so much time together, in that stupid RV or the lab, side by side, cooking meth like it was their life’s work. And in some messed-up way, it was. But lately, Jesse had noticed something else between them, something that wasn’t just about the meth, or the business, or even the lies.

It was the way Walter looked at him, like he was seeing Jesse for the first time, really seeing him. Not as some screw-up kid who couldn’t get his life together, but as something more. Like Jesse mattered to him in ways that didn’t have to do with the meth or the money. It was confusing as hell, and Jesse wasn’t even sure if he was imagining it half the time. But then there’d be these moments, quiet moments, where Walter’s gaze would linger just a little too long, his voice would soften just a bit, and Jesse would feel it, that pull.

_______________

Then, suddenly, a knock came at his door. Jesse groaned, his body heavy from the high, but he managed to stumble up from the couch, half-tripping over the clutter scattered across the floor. His vision blurred for a second, and he had to blink hard to focus. Whoever it was, they sure as hell weren’t supposed to be there. When he pulled the door open, his heart nearly stopped. Standing in front of him, looming like some grim shadow, was none other than Walter White.

Jesse froze, his brain struggling to process the sight of Walter at his doorstep, in the middle of the night, with that serious, determined look on his face. “W-What are you doing here?” Jesse slurred, barely able to string the words together, his confusion mixing with panic. His hair was a wild mess, sticking up in all directions from where he'd been laying on the couch, and he realized too late that he was still wearing that ridiculous orange Halloween T-shirt he'd grabbed on impulse from a thrift store. The one with the stupid jack-o’-lantern face on it. Great. Perfect timing.

Walter’s eyes scanned him up and down, his stern expression unchanging, but Jesse could feel the judgment burning beneath the surface. Typical Walter. Always looking at him like he was some idiot kid. But tonight, there was something different in Walter’s eyes. Jesse’s stomach twisted.

“Jesse,” Walter said, his voice low and almost dangerously calm, “is that the product?” He pointed to the coffee table inside Jesse’s apartment, where, sure enough, the remnants of the meth Jesse had swiped were scattered across the surface next to his pipe.

Jesse’s breath hitched, his mind scrambling for an excuse, any excuse. “Uh, no, man, it’s, uh—” He laughed awkwardly, trying to brush it off like it was no big deal, but even he could hear how stupid he sounded. “It’s not—It’s just a little bit. No biggie, right?”

Walter didn’t even blink. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, brushing past Jesse like he owned the place. “No biggie?” he repeated, his voice hardening. Jesse flinched as Walter’s presence seemed to fill the entire room. It always felt like that when Walter was around, like there was no air left for anyone else.

Jesse swallowed, his mouth dry as hell, and closed the door behind them. “Mr. White, I was gonna pay it back, alright? It’s just… you got so much of it, I didn’t think you’d even notice.”

Walter turned, his face unreadable.“I notice everything, Jesse,” he said quietly, almost too quiet. And that was worse. The quiet, the calm. It was more unsettling than if Walter had just yelled at him. “You think I wouldn’t notice if you stole from me?”

Jesse’s heart pounded in his chest. He hated this. Hated how small Walter could make him feel with just a few words. “I’m sorry, alright?” Jesse snapped, frustration creeping into his voice. He didn’t need this right now. He didn’t need Walter barging in here, playing the disappointed dad routine again. “I just needed to take the edge off. I wasn’t gonna sell it or anything, I just—”

“You just needed to take the edge off,” Walter interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer. “That’s your excuse for stealing from me? For taking what’s mine?”

Jesse felt his throat tighten. The words caught there, stuck.

Walter’s voice softened, but it didn’t lose that edge of steel. “You think I don’t care about you, Jesse?” He took another step forward, closing the distance between them. Jesse could feel the heat from his body now, could smell the faint scent of chemicals and cologne that clung to Walter’s clothes. “You think I’d just let you spiral out like this and do nothing?”

Jesse’s breath hitched again. His heart was racing, and he didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t the confrontation he expected. He thought Walter would be pissed, call him a liability like he had before. But this? This felt different.

Walter’s voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper now. “I’ve tried to protect you, Jesse. I’ve tried to keep you from falling apart. But every time I think you’re getting better, you—” He broke off, his jaw tightening. Jesse could see the frustration there, but also… something else. Concern. Fear, maybe. It was so unlike Walter, the way his voice cracked ever so slightly.

“Yo man, I didn’t ask for your protection,” Jesse mumbled, his defenses crumbling under the weight of the conversation. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No, you didn’t,” Walter said, stepping even closer now, their faces just inches apart. Jesse could feel the intensity radiating off him, the way Walter’s eyes seemed to be searching for something deep inside him. “But you’ve got it, whether you like it or not.”

Jesse’s breath caught in his throat. His head was swimming, partly from the drugs, partly from the closeness of Walter. His mind flashed back to all those times Walter had stood too close, had touched him just a little too long. It made sense now. Too much sense.

“Mr White, I—” Jesse started, but before he could say anything more, Walter reached out, grabbing him by the collar of his stupid Halloween shirt, pulling him close. Jesse’s eyes widened in shock as Walter’s lips crashed against his, rough and desperate.

For a moment, Jesse froze, his brain short-circuiting from the suddenness of it all. But then, like a switch flipping, he gave in. His hands gripped Walter’s arms, holding on tight as the kiss deepened, messy and uncoordinated. Walter was kissing him like it was the last thing he’d ever do, like he’d been holding back for so long and couldn’t stop himself anymore.

Jesse’s mind was spinning, the high mixing with the heat of the kiss, making everything feel unreal. But it wasn’t. It was real. Walter’s hands were real, gripping his shirt, tugging him closer. The smell of his skin, the roughness of his beard against Jesse’s lips, it was all real.

Walter pulled back for a second, his breath ragged, his eyes wild with something Jesse had never seen before. Desire. Fear. Maybe both. “Jesse,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I can’t—”

“Mr. White… You’re the one who started this. Don’t bitch out.” Jesse’s voice was rough, a mix of defiance and desperation, as he grabbed Walter by the collar and kissed him again, hard and urgent. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mind racing in that hazy space between the high and the chaos of what was happening. He didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t. Not when Walter had already crossed the line, pulled him into something he’d never imagined could even happen between them.

Walter barely moved at first, his hands hovering in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them. But Jesse could feel the tension in him, the way Walter’s whole body trembled, caught between resisting and giving in. It pissed Jesse off. Typical Walter. Always hesitating, always calculating his next move like it was a goddamn chess game, even when they were in the middle of this. This thing they had no business being in.

Jesse pulled back just enough to look at him, his breath ragged, his eyes still bloodshot from the high. “Why are you even here, huh?” His voice was sharp now, angry, but there was something vulnerable beneath it. “Was it about the crystal? That’s why you showed up? To lecture me, to yell at me again? Jesus, man, what the hell is this?” He gestured between the two of them, frustration bubbling to the surface. "You come here, you kiss me, and now you’re just standing there like you didn’t mean it. Like you don’t want this. So what is it, huh?”

Walter’s face was a storm of conflicting emotions, anger, guilt, fear. Jesse could see it, buried beneath all the masks Walter wore, the layers of control he tried so hard to keep.

“I don’t know why I’m here, Jesse,” Walter said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicked away, like he couldn’t stand to look at Jesse for too long, couldn’t handle the weight of whatever this was between them. “I—I shouldn’t be. But I couldn’t—” He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. “I couldn’t stay away.”

Jesse stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind spinning as he tried to make sense of what Walter was saying. He could feel the anger rising in him again, that familiar rage that came whenever Walter tried to act like everything was fine, like he wasn’t the one who had turned Jesse’s life upside down.

“Stay away?” Jesse spat, his voice thick with bitterness. “You can’t stay away because you need me, Mr. White. That’s what this is, right? You need me to cook for you, to help you build your stupid empire. But that’s it, isn’t it? That’s all I am to you. Just a tool. A way to make your product.”

Walter’s eyes snapped back to Jesse’s, and for a moment, something raw and painful flashed across his face. “That’s not true,” he said quietly, and Jesse could hear the strain in his voice, the desperation he was trying so hard to hide. “You’re more than that.”

“Then what the hell am I, huh?” Jesse demanded, his voice rising. “What am I to you, Mr. White? Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like I’m anything more than your sidekick half the time. You use me. You control me. You—” He broke off, his throat tight. The anger, the pain, it all came rushing out. “You ruin everything I touch.”

Walter’s expression twisted, his guilt finally bubbling to the surface. “You think I don’t know that?” he shot back, his voice low. “You think I don’t see what this has done to you? To both of us?”

Jesse blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness of Walter’s words. He hadn’t expected that. For a moment, the anger drained out of him, leaving only confusion and hurt.

“Then why do you keep doing it, man?” Jesse asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Why do you keep pushing me? Pushing us? If you know what this is doing to me, why don’t you stop?”

Walter’s jaw clenched, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Because I can’t,” he admitted, the words heavy with something Jesse had never heard from him before. Regret. “I tried, Jesse. I tried to walk away. But I can’t. I can’t stop.”

Jesse stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process what Walter was admitting. The man who had controlled every aspect of Jesse’s life for the past few years, who had manipulated and lied and destroyed so much, was standing here, telling Jesse he couldn’t walk away. That he didn’t want to. It made Jesse’s head spin.

“You’re a real piece of work, Mr. White,” Jesse said finally, shaking his head. “You know that? You keep screwing with my life, and now you’re telling me you—what? You actually give a shit about me? You expect me to believe that?”

Walter didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes was enough. Jesse could see the truth there, buried beneath all the bullshit. Walter did care. He cared in his own messed-up, twisted way, but he cared. 

Jesse let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair, tugging at it like he was trying to pull himself back to reality. “This is so fucked up,” he muttered, pacing a few steps before turning back to Walter. “I don’t even know what the hell we’re doing here, man. Like, what is this? What are we?”

Walter stepped forward, his face set in that determined way Jesse knew too well. “We’re partners, Jesse,” he said, his voice steady now. “That’s what we’ve always been. And we—we’re more than that.” He hesitated, the words seeming to stick in his throat. “I’ve hurt you. I know that. And I can’t take it back. But I—”

“Stop,” Jesse cut him off, holding up a hand. “Just stop, okay? I don’t want your apologies, man. I don’t want any of this.” He gestured between them, his voice cracking with emotion. “I just—I don’t know how to be around you anymore. I don’t know how to do this.”

Walter’s face softened, his eyes full of something that almost looked like understanding. “Neither do I, Jesse,” he admitted quietly. “But we don’t have to figure it out all at once. We’ll figure it out together.”

Jesse let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. He didn’t know if he believed Walter, didn’t know if he could trust him. But standing there, in that small, cluttered apartment, with Walter looking at him like he actually meant it.

Jesse shook his head, stepping back, trying to keep some distance between them. “Whatever, man,” he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I don’t know what this is, but I can’t keep doing this back and forth with you. You wanna be here? Fine. You wanna kiss me and act like it means something? Fine. But I’m not your puppet anymore, alright?”

Walter didn’t move, but there was something in his eyes that shifted, a flicker of something deeper. “I never wanted you to be my puppet, Jesse,” he said softly. “I wanted you to be my partner. My equal.”

Jesse let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it.” He turned away, running a hand through his hair again. “I don’t know what the hell we are, Mr. White. But I know one thing, we’re way past just business.”

Walter nodded slowly, the weight of Jesse’s words hanging between them like a storm waiting to break. Neither of them knew what came next.

Chapter 2: Points of Authority

Summary:

Walter meets Jesse’s demands but somehow still keeps him hanging by a thread. Exactly how he wants him.

Notes:

Here is chapter two after months? Lmao. My bad, guys. I just felt in the mood. I've been struggling to write this for like three days.

Jesse walked back over to the couch, grabbing the lighter that lay discarded next to his pipe. He sat down and began crushing more crystal with the flat side of the lighter, methodically grinding it into smaller shards on the glass table. His movements were slow, detached, like muscle memory. The crystal cracked apart under the pressure, scattering tiny blue fragments across the surface.

Walter stood nearby, watching with a tight jaw and a sick feeling in his chest. Jesse swiped his hand across the table, scooping most of the shards into his pipe. A few slipped through his fingers and fell onto the hardwood.

“Jesse, stop,” Walter muttered, stepping forward in a sudden burst of urgency. He reached out and snatched the pipe from Jesse’s hand. A few bits of crystal spilled onto the floor in the struggle.

“What? What is it, Mr. White, huh? What now?” Jesse snapped, eyes still red from the high, voice thick with anger and confusion. 

Walter didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, holding the pipe, his hands trembling. Then, quietly, he said, “Stop doing this to yourself. I love you.”

Jesse stared at him, stunned. The words didn’t sound real, especially not coming from Walter. His mind scrambled to figure out if this was just another manipulation tactic, another play in whatever sick emotional game Walter always seemed to be winning.

"You love me?” Jesse repeated, his voice barely audible, like the phrase itself didn’t make sense coming out of his mouth.

Walter sat down beside him on the couch. There was a long silence, and then he leaned in, slowly, carefully, and kissed Jesse. It wasn’t hesitant or forced. It was intense, full of something Walter had never allowed himself to show before.

Jesse didn’t pull away. He let himself sink into it for a second, overwhelmed by the heat of it, the confusion, the longing that had been building for far too long. His thoughts were a mess, spinning between suspicion and need, pain and something close to hope.

When they broke apart, Jesse looked at him, breathing hard. “If you mean that… then you better not just walk away tomorrow like none of this happened.”

Walt didn’t answer right away. He looked down at the pipe still clutched in his hand, then back at Jesse. “I’m not walking away. Not from you.”

Jesse didn’t know if he believed him. But for the first time in a long time, he wanted to.

Jesse was overwhelmed, hit hard by the sudden flood of emotion ripping through him all at once. Anger, confusion, need, doubt, it all churned in his chest, too fast to untangle. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t stop himself.

“Do you mean that?” he demanded, his voice low and rough as he surged forward, grabbing hold of Walter’s shirt.

He climbed into Walter’s lap, straddling him on the couch, his knees pressed against either side of Walter’s thighs. His hands clutched the older man’s shoulders, eyes locked onto his like he was trying to dig the truth out of them. His breathing was erratic, chest rising and falling fast. He was shaking; he didn’t know if it was the drugs, the adrenaline, or just the fact that Walter had said “I love you” like it actually meant something.

Walter didn’t push him off. Didn’t flinch. He just looked up at Jesse with that same unreadable stare.

“You said you love me,” Jesse pressed, his voice cracking. “So don’t lie to me right now. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

Walter’s hands came to rest on Jesse’s waist, tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he replied quietly. There was something fragile in the way he said it.

Jesse’s expression twisted. He didn’t know what to believe. Walter had lied so many times, lied to him, used him, destroyed parts of him without ever flinching. 

“Then fucking show me,” Jesse whispered, his face inches from Walter’s. “Show me it’s not just some manipulation tactic. That it’s not just you trying to control me again.”

Walter exhaled slowly, his hands moving up Jesse’s back, steadying him. “It’s not about control,” he said. “Not now. Not anymore.”

Jesse leaned in, kissed him again, harder this time, like he was trying to anchor himself. He could feel Walt’s hands gripping tighter now, pulling him closer.

And Jesse, shattered and wired and unsure of everything, let himself fall into it. Because even if it was a mistake, even if it all burned down again tomorrow, this was the only moment that felt like it belonged to him.

Walter kissed him back, hard. There was no hesitation now, no pause, no room for doubt. He bit at Jesse’s lower lip with a kind of controlled hunger, not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point: he was still the one in charge. Still the one who set the pace, the tone, the boundaries, even now. Even after Walter had apologized and said, “I love you.”

Jesse didn’t fight it. He never really did. Not with Walter. Not when Walter got like this, fierce, focused, pulling Jesse into his orbit like gravity itself.

Walter’s hands clamped down on Jesse’s waist, firm and possessive. He dragged him down, flush against him, until their hips aligned, their groins pressed together through layers of fabric. Jesse gasped, the friction sharp, sending a shock through his system that cut through the fog in his brain. His high made everything feel a little floaty, a little off-kilter.

Walter leaned in, his mouth trailing down Jesse’s jawline until it found his neck. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask, he just began nipping at the skin. Jesse tilted his head back, giving him more access, breath hitching as Walt’s teeth grazed a sensitive spot just below his ear.

For a man his age, buttoned-up, calculated, always two steps ahead, Walter was surprisingly good at this. Focused, attentive. He knew exactly what he was doing, what Jesse liked, and he gave it with a strange kind of intensity, like this was another formula, another experiment he had mastered.

Jesse felt himself melting into it, his hands tangled in the fabric of Walt’s shirt, clutching at him, like he wasn't sure what he wanted. Everything was moving fast, too fast, but Jesse didn’t want it to stop.

All he could focus on was the way Walt’s mouth moved against his skin, the way his fingers dug into his sides, the way his own body was already reacting, hot, aching, desperate for more.

“Jesus,” Jesse muttered under his breath, half a groan. “You act like you’ve been planning this.”

Walter pulled back just enough to look at him, his eyes burning with something unreadable. “You have no idea.”

And Jesse believed him. It was fucked up. It was complicated. It was probably going to end in disaster. 

Jesse tugged his shirt over his head in one swift, clumsy motion, tossing it aside without a second thought. His skin was warm, flushed from the high and the heat between them. For a second, he just sat there, bare-chested, straddling Walt, his breathing uneven, his heart hammering like a warning he didn’t want to hear.

He gave Walter full access, laid bare in more ways than one. Vulnerable, exposed. And not just physically.

Walt’s eyes raked over him. His gaze was almost analytical, like he was studying Jesse the way he studied a chemical reaction, trying to understand every angle, every possible outcome. But there was something else in that look, too. Hunger. Regret. Maybe even awe.

Walt’s hands slid up Jesse’s sides, calloused palms against sensitive skin. He moved like he was taking his time, mapping every inch with quiet, simmering purpose. Jesse’s breath caught in his throat when Walt’s thumbs brushed over his ribs, lingering there, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch him like this.

“You sure?” Walt asked, voice low, rough, almost gruff with restraint.

Jesse scoffed, trying to play it cool but failing. “Little late for that question, don’t you think?” he said, but there was a crack in his voice, something that gave him away.

Walt didn’t press. He didn’t need to. His hands did the talking, sliding down Jesse’s torso, fingers tracing faint scars, fading bruises, marks from a life both of them had helped shape. Jesse leaned into the touch, letting his eyes flutter shut for just a moment. It was too much, almost. 

Jesse opened his eyes again and looked at Walt, really looked at him. The older man’s expression had softened, just slightly.

He leaned down, their foreheads nearly touching now. “If you’re gonna take, then take,” Jesse whispered. “But don’t leave me hanging this time. Don’t pretend this never happened.”

Walt looked at him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. “I won’t,” he said.

But Jesse had been lied to before. And he knew promises from Walter were rarely what they seemed.

Jesse leaned in closer, his breath warm against Walt’s ear, lips just barely brushing the skin. His voice came out as a whisper, hoarse, low, trembling with need and recklessness.

“Come on. Flip me over and fuck me.”

Walter froze beneath him, as if the sentence had struck a nerve deep in his core. His hands were still on Jesse’s waist, fingers tightening instinctively, his breath catching in his throat. His mind, always calculating, always two steps ahead, seemed to stall. Because there it was: the moment they’d both been circling around for far too long. 

Jesse pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. His pupils were blown wide from the high, red-rimmed and intense. But behind the heat, there was something fragile. A flicker of fear. Of trust. Like part of him wasn’t sure if Walt would take him up on it or just walk away and leave him shattered.

“Jesse…” Walt started, voice low, almost cautious. But Jesse didn’t let him finish.

“Don’t think,” he said, quieter now, barely audible. “Just do it. If you’re gonna love me, then stop acting like you’re scared of it.”

Walter swallowed hard, his hand sliding up Jesse’s back, fingers splaying across bare skin. He didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. Instead, he shifted his weight, guiding Jesse off his lap and onto the couch, the air between them burning with anticipation. Jesse let himself be moved, every nerve lit up, his body aching for more.

Walter reached up with his free hand, the one not gripping Jesse’s back, and carefully removed his glasses. He set them on the dirty coffee table, grounding himself in the moment, like any sudden movement might break whatever spell had overtaken the room.

Then, the hand on Jesse’s back fell away. Walt lowered himself to the floor, getting on his knees in front of the couch. Jesse lay sprawled out, half-undressed, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast. His pupils were blown wide from the high and the heat, but his gaze was locked on Walt, watching every move.

Walter placed his hands on Jesse’s thighs and began to caress them, slow, methodical strokes that trailed along the inside and outside of his legs, his thumbs pressing gently. Jesse twitched beneath the touch, nerves alight, breath catching in his throat as Walt’s fingers inched closer to where he wanted them.

Then, without a word, Walter hooked his fingers into the waistband of Jesse’s pants and slid them down, dragging the fabric over his hips, his thighs, until they were bunched around his ankles. Jesse let out a low breath, head tipping back against the couch as he shifted to give Walt more space.

Walter leaned in and began kissing his thighs, first soft, then firmer, open-mouthed, leaving warm, damp trails across his skin. He didn’t rush. He took his time, savoring each inch.

As he kissed higher, he looked up at Jesse, eyes locked, intense, unreadable. The kind of look that made Jesse feel completely exposed, like Walt could see every thought flickering through his mind. 

Walt’s hand slid up and cupped Jesse’s groin through the thin fabric of his briefs, rubbing circles that made Jesse groan low in his throat. The contact sent a jolt through him, his hips lifting slightly off the couch in a desperate, involuntary response.

Jesse looked down at him, his eyes glassy, but sharp with hunger, heat. “Jesus, Mr. White…”

His voice was barely more than a breath, raspy, cracked, somewhere between a groan and a confession. Walter didn’t respond. His mouth kept moving upward, laying kiss after kiss along Jesse’s inner thighs, closer and closer, until the tension in Jesse’s body coiled so tight it bordered on unbearable.

Walter’s hand never stopped working him through the fabric, slow and firm, until finally, without ceremony, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Jesse’s briefs and tugged them down. Jesse sucked in a sharp breath as the last layer of clothing was peeled away, leaving him fully exposed, laid out on the couch like an offering.

“Mr. White…” Jesse muttered, swallowing hard, his voice shaky with want. “I like this. I do. But you know what I really want…”

Walter paused, his gaze flicking up. His hand stilled for a moment, resting against Jesse’s thigh as he met his eyes.

“Be patient, Jesse,” he said, stern but calm. His voice had that low, controlled edge Jesse knew too well, the voice he used when he was taking charge, when everything was happening exactly the way he wanted.

Jesse huffed, frustrated, hips shifting under Walt’s grip. “You say that like I’m not losing my goddamn mind down here.”

Walt didn’t smirk, didn’t gloat, but there was something in the flicker of his eyes that said he liked it. That he enjoyed the way Jesse squirmed, the way he was unraveling beneath him. He leaned back in, his breath hot against Jesse’s skin, dragging his lips slowly, along Jesse’s hip bone. His hand returned to its rhythm, rubbing slow circles, teasing him without mercy.

Jesse groaned, tossing his head back against the couch cushions, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge. “Fuck, man… you’re torturing me.”

“I’m giving you exactly what you asked for,” Walter replied calmly, mouth brushing Jesse’s skin with every word. “You told me not to pretend. Not to walk away. That this meant something.”

“It does,” Jesse whispered, eyes fluttering open again. “That’s why I want all of it. You. Not just teasing.”

Walter stilled. For just a second, Jesse saw the hesitation in his face, then it was gone. “I am giving you all of me,” Walter said quietly. “Whether you realize it or not.”

Then he dipped lower again, and wrapped his hand around Jesse’s cock, hard and flushed, aching with anticipation. Jesse jolted slightly at the touch, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. But before he could say anything, Walter leaned in and took him into his mouth.

Jesse’s eyes widened. “Holy shit,” he breathed, his voice breaking into a groan.

It was clumsy at first. Walt was clearly inexperienced, his rhythm unsure, his jaw tense with unfamiliar effort. Jesse could feel the difference immediately. The lack of practice. The moments of hesitation. But somehow, that made it hotter. Because this was Walter White. Mr. Control. Mr. Ego. On his knees, fumbling through something intimate and raw, not for dominance or leverage, but for him. Or so Jesse thought.

Walter had never done this before. Jesse could tell. Hell, Walt could tell. He was usually on the receiving end, not dropping to his knees for someone like Jesse Pinkman. He didn’t know what instinct had overtaken him, what snapped in his brain and made him want to do this. But once he started, he didn’t stop.

And he wasn’t trying to be perfect. He was trying to keep Jesse exactly where he wanted him: panting, writhing, begging.

Jesse’s hands gripped the couch cushions, his head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut. His hips twitched reflexively with every pull of Walt’s mouth, every awkward stroke of his tongue. “Jesus, man…” he choked out. “This is… fuck, this is crazy…”

Walter glanced up briefly, locking eyes with Jesse as he adjusted his angle. His tongue moved with more purpose now, less hesitation, more confidence with every second that passed. Walt might not have had experience, but he learned fast. Always had.

Jesse whimpered. He fucking whimpered, like he couldn’t hold anything in anymore. The sound cracked in the back of his throat, raw, involuntary, and Walt felt it like a jolt straight to his core.

For a brief moment, Walter paused, not out of uncertainty, but because the sound turned something over in him. Jesse was so easy. So responsive. A mess under his hands, his mouth. And God, it turned him on. Not just the physical part, though he was painfully hard by now, but the effect he had on Jesse. The control. The vulnerability. The way Jesse gave in so completely, like there was no one else in the world who could wreck him this way.

Walt didn’t need to fuck him. Not yet. That wasn’t the point. One day, maybe. One day he’d have him like that, spread out, completely taken, but not now. Right now was about this. About learning Jesse’s body like he’d learned the periodic table: intimately, obsessively, piece by piece.

He pulled off slightly, just enough to expose the tip to the cool air before letting his tongue flick lightly over it, slow, teasing strokes that made Jesse shiver and curse under his breath. His thighs tensed.

“Fuck… you’re really getting into this,” Jesse muttered, half-laughing, half-gasping.

Walter didn’t answer. He just kept going, tracing patterns with his tongue, swirling slow and light before sealing his mouth around him again, letting the heat return in full. He was getting the hang of it, and he knew it. Every moan, every twitch of Jesse’s hips was proof. Every broken noise was a signal that he was doing it right. 

“Uh… M–Mr. White…” Jesse barely managed to speak, voice cracking under the weight of the pleasure wracking his body. “I’m… I’m close.”

The words stumbled out of him, ragged, breathless, like he was struggling just to stay tethered to reality. His back arched off the couch in response to another slow pull of Walter’s mouth.

His thighs trembled, every muscle in his stomach drawn tight, about to snap. His chest heaved, sweat clinging to his skin, his heart pounding loud in his ears. He was right there, teetering on the edge, barely able to form the words, let alone hold himself together. 

Walter didn’t stop. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he doubled down, tongue swirling, lips tight, pace unwavering. The soft hum at the back of his throat vibrated through Jesse’s core, pulling a desperate, broken moan from his mouth. Walt’s hands gripped Jesse’s hips, holding him firmly, preventing him from thrusting too hard, too fast, keeping him pinned, in control, exactly where he wanted him.

Jesse squeezed his eyes shut, head thrown back against the cushion, trying to breathe, trying to not come, because God, he didn’t want it to end, not yet, not when it felt this good, this overwhelming.

“Fuck, man—fuck,” Jesse gasped, his voice strained and helpless. “You’re gonna—shit—you’re gonna make me—”

Walter could feel it, the way Jesse’s thighs trembled under his grip, the stuttering breath, the desperate tension in his voice. He knew that edge, that moment right before release. The shift in Jesse’s body was subtle but unmistakable, and Walt, ever precise, acted just in time. He pulled back.

Not completely, his hands still on Jesse’s hips, his breath still warm against the slick heat of him, but his mouth released just before the point of no return. Jesse let out a choked, frustrated cry, his body bucking helplessly into empty air. And yet, too late.

Jesse came anyway, the buildup too strong to stop. His back arched, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent curse as he spilled across his stomach and Walt’s chest, the climax tearing through him with full-body intensity. 

“Awh, fuck, Jesse,” Walter muttered, pulling back and glancing down at his now-soaked button-up. “Your spunk is all over my shirt.”

He sounded disgusted, but more inconvenienced than truly upset, his face wrinkled. “This was one of the good ones,” he added, muttering to himself.

Jesse let out a weak, breathless laugh. “What the hell did you expect, man?” he said, still panting. “You pulled off at the last second.”

Walter was already standing, frowning down at the mess. He peeled off his shirt with clinical detachment and walked toward the sink in the kitchenette, muttering something under his breath about hydrogen peroxide and ruined fabric. His bare back disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom, shirt bunched in his hand.

Jesse, sprawled across the couch, wrecked, letting his arms fall limply at his sides, then flung them up in exasperation. “Yo!” he shouted toward the hallway. “What, did you think it was gonna disappear into thin air?! I warned you, man! That was on you!”

He let his arms fall back dramatically to the couch with a flop, still catching his breath, still too blissed-out to be really mad, but annoyed just enough to yell about it.

Walt returned a few minutes later, with a large, unmistakable water stain spreading across the front. It clung to the fabric awkwardly, half-dried, a visual reminder of the mess he'd just tried to scrub away. His movements were quieter now, more restrained, like the earlier heat had cooled into something complicated and heavy.

“I’ve gotta go, Jesse…” Walt muttered, avoiding eye contact. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture Jesse had come to recognize over the years.

“Skyler’s waiting for me,” he added, almost like an afterthought. “I told her I was just going out for a drive.”

Jesse sat slouched on the couch, shirtless, the afterglow already fading into something dull and familiar, disappointment. He nodded, eyes flicking away, trying to mask the sting he felt in his chest. He grabbed his briefs from the floor and pulled them on, followed by his jeans, slow and a little clumsy. His body still felt warm, sensitive, like it hadn’t caught up with the sudden coldness in the room.

“Alright, man. Whatever,” Jesse mumbled, trying not to sound hurt but failing. His voice lacked the bite he usually had when Walt pissed him off. This wasn’t anger, it was resignation.

Walter stood there for a moment longer, his hand lingering on the doorknob like he wasn’t sure whether to say more or just leave. His shoulders tensed, and Jesse could sense the battle happening inside his mind before he left.

 

Chapter 3: Policy of Truth

Summary:

Walter is questioned by his wife and son, who are slowly losing trust in him. Meanwhile, Jesse calls his friends over to discuss distribution. Walt's head is anywhere but the classroom, thinking about Jesse and his guilt eating at him.

Notes:

I'm not gonna lie, all of the titles have been from songs I like. lmao. I feel like they're fitting, though.

The key to the White residence clicked in the front door, letting Skyler know her husband was home. She stood over the stove, stirring the sizzling chicken in the pan, the air thick with ginger, soy sauce, and garlic. She reached for a handful of sliced vegetables, casually tossing them in as steam hissed upward.

“Hey, honey,” she called out, her voice light, routine. “Dinner’s just about ready. Just prepping everything.”

“That’s good,” Walter replied, stepping into the kitchen. He smiled, but it was shallow, performative. The kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Skyler glanced over her shoulder, catching the stiff set of his jaw. “Nice drive?”

Before he could answer, Walter Jr.’s voice cut through from the hallway.

“What—what happened to y-your shirt, Dad?”

Walter flinched slightly. Skyler turned to face him fully now, brows furrowing. The shirt he wore, faint with the water stain spreading down the front, hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

“I… spilled something,” he muttered, running a hand over the fabric like he could smooth out the evidence. 

Skyler’s eyes narrowed, wooden spoon stilled in her hand. “Where exactly did you go on this little ‘drive,’ Walt?”

Walter opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again. “Nowhere important. Just… needed some air. Think I might be catching something.”

Skyler stared at him for a beat longer than necessary. She didn’t press, not yet, but the look in her eyes said she didn’t buy a word of it.

“Well,” she said carefully, turning back to the pan. “Hope it was worth it.”

Walter stood there in the kitchen doorway, the scent of dinner mixing with sweat, guilt, and Jesse. His hands were clean, but he didn’t feel it.

_______________

He sat at the table like he was still somewhere else, like his body had made it home, but his mind was still back in that dark, cluttered apartment, on that sagging couch, kneeling between Jesse’s thighs. The taste of stir-fried chicken and soy sauce barely registered on his tongue as he picked at his plate, pushing vegetables around with his fork like it was busywork. Every now and then, he took a small bite, chewing slowly, mechanically.

His hand absently rubbed over his bald head, a nervous tic more than anything, fingers dragging across skin that still felt flushed from earlier, from things he wasn’t allowed to say out loud in this house. He avoided Skyler’s eyes. He avoided everything.

Skyler watched him for a few moments, her chewing slowing until she finally put down her fork with a quiet clink .

“What?” she asked, her tone cautious but edging into irritation. “What’s wrong, Walt?”

He looked up, startled like he hadn’t realized he was being watched. “Nothing,” he said too quickly, too flatly. “I’m fine.”

Skyler folded her hands together, studying him now with sharp suspicion. “You’ve barely touched your food. You’re sweating. And you came in looking like you’d sprinted through a car wash. So don’t tell me ‘nothing.’”

Walt sighed, deep and tired, eyes dropping back to his plate. “It was just a long day. I had… things to handle. I’m tired.”

“Tired of what?” she pressed, leaning in slightly. “Tired of working late? Tired of lying? Or tired of coming home to us?”

Walt didn’t answer. The silence between them stretched thick across the dinner table, broken only by the faint scraping of Junior’s fork as he kept awkwardly eating, pretending not to hear a thing.

Skyler leaned back in her chair, jaw tight. “You disappear for hours, come back looking like hell, and all I get is ‘I’m tired’? You can do better than that.”

“I’m not doing this right now,” Walt muttered under his breath, pushing his plate away. “Not tonight.”

Skyler exhaled, slow and sharp, before picking up her fork again, like she was physically biting back every word she wanted to say.

And Walt, silent, empty, rubbed a hand over his head one more time, as if trying to scrub away the day, to erase the places he’d been, the things he’d done, the skin that had touched his. But the feeling clung to him, sticky and stubborn, just like the guilt he refused to name.

Without another word, he slowly rose from his chair; meanwhile, Skyler didn’t look up. Walt gathered his plate, half-eaten and cold now, the stir-fry untouched beyond a few small bites.

He walked it to the sink, stood there for a second, then hesitated. Instead of rinsing it off or wrapping it up like he usually did, he scraped the food directly into the trash can. The soft thud of chicken and vegetables hitting the liner felt weirdly final. Wasteful. 

He ran the plate under the faucet briefly, enough to make it look like he cared, then set it aside and wiped his hands on a dish towel.

Skyler watched him from across the kitchen, eyes narrowed but lips tight. Walt didn’t look at her. Didn’t look at Junior, who was now pretending to text at the table.

Walt stood for a moment longer, gripping the edge of the sink, staring into nothing. He wasn’t tired. He wasn’t even angry. He was just… emptied out. Hollowed.

_______________

It was early the next morning, and the kitchen was already alive with the quiet rhythm of routine, eggs cracking, a pan sizzling, the smell of bacon and coffee slowly filling the air.

Skyler stood at the stove in a robe, her hair pulled back, spatula in hand, as she flipped something in the skillet. 

Walt entered the kitchen, already dressed for the day, smiling like nothing had happened the night before. Like he hadn’t come home looking guilty and distracted, hadn’t scraped a barely-touched dinner into the trash, hadn’t left a silence between them that still lingered.

He approached her from behind, arms crossed loosely, voice light. “You’re up early.”

Skyler didn’t turn around. She gave a short huff through her nose, tight, pointed, unmistakably annoyed.

Walt’s smile faded, just slightly. “You okay?” he asked, stepping a little closer.

She flipped the eggs and finally glanced at him over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable, tired, distant, like she’d spent the night going over all the things she couldn’t say without setting the house on fire.

“I’m fine,” she said flatly.

“You don’t sound fine.”

“That’s because I’m tired, Walt,” she replied, turning back to the stove. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Walt hesitated. “Because of me?”

Skyler didn’t answer at first. She plated the eggs in silence. Then, quietly: “What do you think?”

Walt opened his mouth, ready to offer another half-truth or vague apology, but thought better of it. He just nodded, slowly, and stepped back. He didn’t want to push. At least not now.

Skyler placed a plate on the table with just a little more force than necessary. “Eat before it gets cold,” she muttered, already moving back to the stove for the next batch.

Walt sat down, staring at the eggs. He suddenly wasn’t hungry. He didn’t want to set her off again. So he picked up his fork and began to eat. Small, mechanical bites. 

Then, mercifully, the tension in the room shifted.

“Morning,” Junior called out, walking into the kitchen with his usual uneven gait, backpack slung over one shoulder, earbuds dangling around his neck. He was dressed and ready for school, oblivious to the lingering tension between his parents.

His entrance was like flipping a switch. Skyler straightened a bit, smoothing her expression into something more neutral. Walt set his fork down just for a second, as if he'd been waiting for some kind of interruption, some excuse to breathe.

“Hey, buddy,” Walt said, forcing a lightness into his voice. “Sleep okay?”

Junior nodded, heading straight for the fridge. “Y-Yeah. You guys were up late, though. I could hear Mom w-walking around.”

Skyler’s back stiffened. She said nothing, just stirred the pan a little too long.

Walt cleared his throat. “Just one of those nights.”

Junior shrugged, pulling out the orange juice. “Cool. Eggs s-smell good.”

Skyler forced a small smile. “They’re on the table. Sit down, I’ll make you a plate.”

As she moved to get a clean dish, Walt watched her quietly, the moment of relief already evaporating. Junior may have shifted the energy in the room, but nothing was fixed. 

_______________

“Yo, get your asses over here!” Jesse snapped into his flip phone before slamming it shut with a loud clack .

He tossed the phone onto the kitchen counter and let out an irritated breath through his nose, then turned his focus back to the work in front of him. On the counter were rows of small plastic baggies, each one carefully being filled with the purest crystal he had.

The product shimmered under the dim light like glass dust, and Jesse moved with a strange mix of sloppiness and precision, his hands quick, his eyes half-lidded from a lingering high, but his measurements surprisingly exact. This was the good stuff. The blue.

Walter would’ve noticed if even a few grams were missing. He’d measure the grams and make a mental inventory down to the decimal. And with a batch big enough to fill two hundred baggies, Jesse couldn’t afford to take risks. Walt would run the numbers, sniff out the difference, and then launch into one of his exhausting, condescending lectures like Jesse was some idiot kid.

It was irritating. So irritating. The way Walt hovered. The way he obsessed. The way he watched Jesse when he thought Jesse wasn’t looking, like he was trying to figure out what made him tick, just so he could control it.

And yet… Jesse kind of loved it.

He zipped the last baggie shut and let it fall into the pile, then leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Asshole,” he muttered to no one in particular.

_______________

A loud, aggressive knock shook Jesse’s front door. Yep, Badger. No one else knocked like that.

Jesse didn’t even flinch. He was expecting it. Still, out of habit, he moved toward the window and peeked through the blinds, just to make sure it wasn’t someone else.

Through the slats, he spotted them. Badger was out front in his usual baggy hoodie. Right behind him were Skinny Pete and Combo, both looking half-baked already. Pete was staring off into space with his hands in his pockets, and Combo was nursing an oversized Slurpee.

Jesse let the blinds fall back into place and exhaled, rubbing a hand across his mouth. Jesse had prepped the product, bag after bag of crystal carefully measured and packed, and now it was time to move it. Hand it off to the guys and let them push it out in their usual corners and circles. 

He walked to the door, unlocking the chain he always kept fastened when product was in the apartment. Before he opened it, he yelled: “Yo! Chill the fuck out! You’re gonna dent the door.”

Badger's muffled voice shot back immediately. “It’s already dented, bro!”

Jesse rolled his eyes and yanked the door open. “Whatever. Get in here.”

“Damn,” Badger said, eyeing the stacked baggies on the kitchen counter. “This is the good shit, huh?”

Jesse crossed his arms, expression serious. “Yeah, so don’t fuck it up. Mr. White’s gonna count what comes back, so no skimming.”

The guys all nodded, but Jesse caught the quick look Pete and Combo exchanged.

He squinted. “What? You two got something planned or what?”

Combo smirked and nudged Pete. “Man, the shorter they are, the angrier.”

Pete chuckled under his breath, and Badger let out a wheezy laugh like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all week.

Jesse didn’t laugh. He just stood there, arms crossed, staring at them until the room quieted down. “I’m serious. You screw around, and I’m gonna fuck you up.”

The energy shifted fast. Combo looked away. Pete rubbed his nose. Badger stopped bouncing on his heels.

Jesse grabbed a few baggies and handed them off to Combo. “You’re hitting your usual spots. Stick to the plan. No extra bullshit.”

He handed another set to Pete. “Same for you. Be smart.” Pete gave a small nod.

Jesse turned to Badger last. “You’re riding with me.”

Badger blinked, surprised. “For real?”

“Yeah. Don’t make me regret it.”

The room was quiet now, all business. Jesse liked it better that way. 

He didn’t have the patience for games. Not when he had this much product floating around, not when Walt was already riding his ass about “protocol” and “loss margins” like Jesse ran a Fortune 500 company.

And the only reason Badger was rolling with him? Because he was a fucking idiot. Plain and simple. The guy had gotten busted the last time. Jesse still remembered the call: Badger freaking out, cops circling, the whole thing nearly blowing up in their faces. Walter had not been chill about it.

“Just follow my lead,” Jesse said flatly. “Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t say anything extra . Don’t try to be funny.”

Badger gave him a lazy salute. “You got it, boss.”

Jesse didn’t respond. He just zipped up his jacket and grabbed the last pack of baggies off the table. If someone was gonna screw this up, it wasn’t gonna be him.

_______________

Walter spent the entire day thinking about Jesse. 

He told himself it was just business, just concern about distribution and logistics. Today was the drop-off, the day Jesse and his group of barely functioning friends were supposed to move the last of the latest batch. Walt had little faith in their competence, but they had a working system: street-level deals, word-of-mouth sales, the kind of exposure Walt himself would never risk. Idiotic? Often. Slow? Without question. But functional.

So, fine. He tolerated them for Jesse. But that wasn’t the real reason Jesse had been haunting his thoughts all day. It wasn’t about business. It was about yesterday. About the moment he’d let things go too far.

He hadn’t meant to go there. He’d gone to Jesse’s apartment intending to scold him, to get control of the situation again. He told himself he needed to set boundaries. That Jesse needed discipline. Focus. Structure .

Instead, he kissed him. Instead, he whispered, ‘ I love you .’

Walter clenched his jaw just thinking about it. What the hell had possessed him? It was reckless. Stupid. Completely off-script. Emotional.

Sure, he liked Jesse. Cared about him. There was something about the boy, no, the young man, that pulled at something buried deep inside Walt. Maybe it was the way Jesse still looked at him like he had the answers. Like he mattered. But saying he loved him?

Far from the truth. That wasn’t what it was. He needed Jesse focused. He needed him grounded. If feeding him a few soft words helped keep him from spiraling, then fine. It was manipulation with purpose. A necessary tool. Or at least, that’s what Walt told himself.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the low murmur of voices in the back of his classroom. Fifth period. Chapter eight quiz. A completely forgettable Tuesday, except now, Jesse’s voice wouldn’t leave his head.

Walter looked up from his desk, blinking himself back into the real world. The class sat mostly quiet, heads down, pencils scratching. Mostly.

A pair of students near the window were whispering, giggling under their breath like they were in study hall instead of a graded exam.

Walt’s eyes narrowed. “Lauren,” he said sharply, voice cutting clean through the quiet. “We’re taking a quiz. Please—enough talking.”

The girl froze, cheeks flushing as a few students looked up.

Walt leaned back in his chair, the guilt from earlier settling back into his chest. He rubbed his thumb against the bridge of his nose, but it didn’t help. No matter how hard he tried to focus, Jesse was still there.