Apprenticeship/Situationship

by SageGarnish

Summary:

Walt and Jesse have a number of discussions on apprenticeship styles throughout history.
The awkward topic of some mentor/protégé bonds being linked to sexual education comes up, and neither of them can stop thinking about it.

Walt told Skyler there was an educational conference in Ohio.
They’d cooked all day today and Walt was ready for a meal, a hot shower and sleep.
Unfortunately, there was a complication.
“Yo, what the fuck?” Jesse slammed one hand on the wooden beam he stood beside, “One room? One bed??? Fuck that.”

Notes:

Set in a vaguely s1-s2 place where they're cooking in the RV but nothing too crazy has happened yet.
I wanted to write a fic where both Walt and Jesse have some severe internalized homophobia. They use historical references to justify it to themselves.

Point of view alternates.

 

For notes on some of the tags:

CLICK HERE

The "Implied/Referenced Child Abuse" tag is specifically for the references to ancient practices, and nothing that happened to the characters in the story.

Chapter 1

 

It all started with that damned reference.

“You’re like some sort of… like… Obi-Wan of meth,” Jesse mumbled, unable to keep the awe from his voice.

Walt snorted.

For once, it was a reference he understood. 

Jesse Pinkman typically had a way of coming up with the most inane statements, often leaving Walt staring and blinking.
It wasn’t unfamiliar to him. Being a high school teacher for all these years left him with the glaring knowledge that he was usually out of the loop with whatever the kids were into lately.

Walt shook his head as he looked down at the tray of freshly cooked methamphetamine he’d made. 

That they had made.

“It’s just chemistry,” Walt insisted. “You could do it too, if you applied yourself.”

“Nah, man, not like that,” Jesse shook his head. “Tried.”

He looked ashamed as he said it, chewing on his lip as if it could recall the words from being spoken.

Walt just shrugged.
“Practice makes perfect.”

Jesse laughed, a bright sound, unsuited to the atmosphere in the dim RV.
“Do or do not, there is no try, yo,” he replied, leaning back on the counter.

“Now I’m Yoda?” Walt couldn’t pull the small smile from his face, the ease of joking back coming to the surface.

“Sure, whatever,” Jesse said, shrugging. “Just a… I dunno, man. Some Jedi master. I guess I’m your padawan.”

Another reference Walt didn’t get.
He sighed.

“Padawan?” he asked.

“Come on, Mr, White,” Jesse said, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you never saw the new ones.”

“Ah. Okay, yes.” Walt mumbled awkwardly.
Of course he’d brought Walt Jr. to see the Star Wars prequel movies. He remembered movie theatre nights, the smell of buttered popcorn, Skyler grinning at him over Walt Jr’s seat at the joy in the boy’s face.

He just didn’t remember all the silly names for everything.

And was frequently annoyed by all the scientific inaccuracies. Big loud explosions in space. Ridiculous.
He scoffed to himself.

“It’s like… a Jedi trainee,” Jesse explained, “So, kinda’ like how you’re teaching me shit.”

“An apprentice,” Walt replied thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” Jesse nodded, almost looking pleased about it.

In a certain sense, that is what their relationship had become.
Jesse had been his student just eight years ago, another disaffected teenage boy slouched in too-big jeans in the back of the room. Refusing to take off his beanie, even in the New Mexico heat. Refusing to pay attention, despite all of Walt’s attempts.

Now Jesse was his entry point into Albuquerque’s criminal underground. 

Far more experienced with the world of shady and dangerous meth dealers than Walt was.
Even so, Jesse still looked boyish. He was, after all, twenty-six years younger than Walt. 

More years separated them than Jesse had even existed for on this earth. 

Walt swallowed, his mouth dry. The chemotherapy caused xerostomia, but he suspected this was another reason entirely.
He was a teacher, he was supposed to be leading and guiding young people. To be a good example. A pillar of the community.

Instead he was here, wearing PPE, with stolen glassware and respirators from his workplace, helping his former student make high quality meth.

“Well,” Walt said, “Let’s bag this up.”

Chapter 2

Notes:

Jesse POV

Jesse draped himself over the couch in his living room, the blinds drawn. 

Mr. White was such a weirdo.

Jesse flicked his lighter in his hand as he lay there staring up at the ceiling. Little bits of light from the blinds scattered across the wall like shards of crystal.

He thought back to his days in class. Chemistry hadn’t been his strongest subject, but by the end of his schooling nothing had been.
Just the doodles in his book, and a urge to get out of his head.
Pot, beer, whatever he could get his hands on.

Ecstasy once, but that had cost him more than he’d wanted to part with, and just made him horny with no outlet for it.
Meth had appeared to him like a fucking savior.

Just like Mr. White had.

In no world did he ever expect his old chemistry teacher to show up and ask him to sell his shit, much less to cook with him.
It wasn’t the worst, once he’d agreed to it, not at first.
The RV was cool.
Seeing Mr. White in only his tighty-whities had been almost more surreal than the drugs part. It’s not as if he’d never imagined seeing him like that, but he never thought he actually would .

Jesse remembered sitting in class drawing his teacher with his pants down, test tubes shoved up his ass.
He’d drawn it as a joke at the time, but that night he’d still shoved his hand in his boxers before bed and imagined it happening for real.

It’s not like he was a homo or anything, it was just… about the situation of it, or whatever.

But those old feelings had come back when Mr. White had.

So now he was just in Jesse’s life now, and they were linked together by something unbreakable.

Murders. Murders they had committed and covered up, together.

Jesse closed his eyes, and it did jack shit for the images that flashed into his mind.

He sat up, rubbing one hand over his sweaty forehead.

Maybe he would go out tonight. 

Or maybe he just needed sleep.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Walt POV

The next time they cooked was the following weekend.

Maybe it was that previous conversation that had Walt keyed up, but he found himself thinking about the nature of he and Jesse’s… partnership.

“Society is interesting.” Walt said, “The concept of apprentices.”

Silence.

He glanced over to see Jesse staring, fidgeting with the pipette on the counter.

Blinking, he seemed to realize he was expected to respond.
“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“Just when we were talking about apprentices last week,” Walt replied. “If it was a hundred years ago, it would be considered fairly normal. We don’t seem to do it much these days. It’s fallen by the wayside.”

Jesse nodded.
“Except in the trades,” Walt stopped to think, “That’s one area that still keeps it going. I guess even white-collar businesses have protégés though. Maybe it’s not so uncommon after all, we just call it by different things.”

“Yeah, I mean, I learned to cook from Emilio, and he learned to from his buddy Slam.” Jesse said. “Seems like apprentices are normal. Makes more sense to me than like… school.”

Walt laughed, and it turned into a hacking cough.

When he had recovered, he looked up to see Jesse looking at him with concerned eyes.

Walt hated it. That pitying look. This is exactly why he didn’t want to tell anyone about the cancer. 

The way people’s eyes got all sad and soft when they looked at him. 

He immediately blurted out the first thing he could think of, anything that would stall Jesse from asking if he was okay.

“You know the Japanese did it as well,” Walt continued. “Apprentices. They called it wakashudō.”
“Like samurais and ninjas and shit?” Jesse actually looked interested, leaning in, “That’s cool.”

Walt nodded.
“Though that would begin in pre-adolescence,” Walt acknowledged, “with the samurai taking on an apprentice to teach and guide. Monasteries did it as well, with younger acolytes.”

Walt swallowed.
“Yeah?” Jesse grinned, “That sounds cool as shit. Getting trained up to be a samurai, or a monk. Go all Dragonball Z on people.”
Walt decided to stop talking before he said too much.
The fact was, he’d been thinking about all the cultures that viewed taking on apprentices as a guidance in all life experiences. 

Including sex. Submitting themselves to their master completely.
It was revolting. 

It revolted him.

The practices, as they were done in ancient times, were repellent to him and his current moral sensibilities.

But also… Jesse was no longer his student. 

He was twenty-four. 

An adult.

It wasn’t as horrible as it could be.

Skyler was only twenty when he’d gotten together with her, and he was twelve years older.

She was twenty-two when she had Walt Junior.

Two years younger than Jesse was now.

The thoughts of Skyler knocked him out of that kind of thinking.

He was married.
Walt shook his head. This was insane.

Why was he even thinking about this at all?

He wasn’t gay. 

He didn’t look or act gay at all.

Walt gritted his teeth when he recalled people shouting slurs at him when he was younger, and even some students calling him names like “Mr. Homotron” and other things.

No, those people were wrong.
He wasn’t gay. 

Walt wasn’t willing to even entertain the thought of accepting anything in himself other than the purest of heterosexuality.
Just the idea of what people would think about him if they thought he might want to fuck his young male protégé… it left him unpleasantly sweaty and dizzy.

Almost worse than being diagnosed with cancer, or the idea of being caught cooking meth.

But then… hadn’t the samurai and monks had a clear differential between the giver and the receiver? 

The older one was the penetrating party, the younger one on the… receiving end. 

The Greeks had a similar system. It was considered to be perfectly admirable and manly to fuck another man. The only negative connotations were for the one being penetrated, and even that wasn’t too bad, as long as he stopped when he got to a certain age.
Walt couldn’t help but see visions of himself and Jesse, in ancient times.

Times where it was normal to do that sort of thing. No judgements, at least not like the ones now.
Wearing robes or a toga, he didn’t know. It was flickery and unclear. Then he imagined Jesse underneath him. Slicked with oils, clothes rucked up.
Moaning “Mr. White!”

Walt felt nausea rise up in him.
“Let’s cook already, we’re burning daylight,” he said, making his voice hard and clipped.

Jesse nodded, looking at him warily. 

Walt decided to never think about it again.

That night when he got home, Skyler was already asleep. Walt considered waking her up to fuck her, but thought it likely wouldn’t go over well. His lies about the cancer, about where he always was… he’d managed to cover fairly well, he thought. 

But the lies still left a gulf between him and his wife.

She was skittish around him now, cautious. Sometimes everything was fine, and other times… she stared at Walt like she could see past his eyes into what he’d actually been doing.

Sometimes her eyes looked wet, and Walt loathed it.

Whatever the reason, she wasn’t much into fucking him these days.

As he lay in bed, he tried not to think of fucking Jesse instead.

Notes:

Important point: All the shit Walt thinks about homosexuality is not anything what I think. He's a self hating, repressed, egotistical asshole, and an unreliable narrator, so please don't get it twisted.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Jesse POV

Jesse laid in bed, unable to find sleep. He couldn’t get it out of his head.

He’d wanted to learn more about the samurai thing Mr. White had mentioned. It was rare he went to the library, but it was always a decent place to snag some weed when he’d been a teen.
Earlier tonight, he’d gone inside and ignored the librarian who asked him if he needed anything. Ignored the woman who glanced at him and gave him the once over and sniffed disdainfully, like he was some sort of loser.
He’d gone to the section he remembered hanging out in, drawing ninjas in his notebooks.

Pulling out a few books, he flipped to the back. Learning about the index was the only way he’d even managed a C in some of his classes.

He had to go through four books before he found it. Jesse didn’t even remember the word, only that it started with “wak”.
Finally he found it.

Wakashudō .

As he read, he felt his lips draw back in horror.

Was… was this what Mr. White wanted?

Or was he messing with Jesse?

He felt himself drawn into the text, imagining the illustrations as himself and Mr. White.

He shook his head and mumbled, “The fuck?”

Jesse thought he was over that shit.

Apparently not, if the growing hardness in his baggy jeans was making itself known.

“Fuck,” he mumbled again, slamming the book closed and jamming it back into the shelf.

He stood up and shifted himself so his boner wasn’t tenting his jeans, grateful for the quiet solitude of the bookshelves.

 

And that was why Jesse was currently unable to sleep.

He was hard again, despite a cold shower and an earlier jerkoff session to some big booty porn mags he had laying around.

He tried to tell himself it wasn’t because of what he’d learned about old timey apprentices.

Desperately assured himself it wasn’t because he liked Mr. White telling him what to do.

That he wasn’t imagining Mr. White fucking him, letting his old teacher do depraved shit to him.

Jesse groaned as he pulled his dick out under the blankets.

It’s the only way he was going to be able to sleep.

This time, when he jerked off, he let his mind drift to thoughts of the illustrations in those books.

Visions of the RV interior like ancient paintings swam in his head.
Jesse came hard and fast, into his own hand. He slid his boxers off and used them to wipe up, tossing them onto the floor beside the bed.

His sleep was uneasy.

 

They were on a multi-day cook, and Jesse was jittery.
He couldn’t focus, not knowing what he’d done while thinking about the man.
Imagining getting all gay and weird with the great Heisenberg. With his old teacher.

Finally, after Jesse had knocked over two beakers, and narrowly avoided a chemical disaster, Mr. White wheeled around.
“What is wrong with you today?” Mr. White stopped and ripped off his respirator, “If you’re going to get underfoot, then go sit down. I don’t need your help. I don’t want this batch to be ruined.”

“Yo, I looked that shit up,” Jesse said, “That shit you mentioned the last time. The waka … wakashudō or whatever.”
He felt fiery, like he’d just done a bump of his old shitty Captain Cook crystal, with the Chili P.

“You didn’t tell me it was…  like that,” Jesse said, unsure of whether he was furious or embarrassed or excited.

“Like that ?” Mr. White asked, raising one eyebrow in that snotty old dude way he had. “Like what?”

“Like a bunch of fuckin’ fags, yo!” he practically yelled. “Dudes were like… they were basically like boytoys to the samurai. Why didn’t we learn this in school?”

Mr. White’s eyes darted a little before settling.

“I imagine it was of a more prurient nature than they wanted to teach you,” Mr. White said.

“Dude, speak normal!” Jesse said, pushing up into Mr. White’s space, not shoving him, but close.
He could feel Mr. White’s heat even through the apron and his gear.

“Sexual, Jesse,” Mr. White said in that gritty voice, “It was probably too sexual.”

“Yeah,” Jesse mumbled, “Yeah, probably.”

There was a silence that stretched out too long.
“The Greeks did it too,” Mr. White volunteered into the space.

“Yeah?” Jesse asked.
There was a strange thrill he got from asking Mr. White about this.

Especially after being told it was too dirty for his old school to teach them.

And now he was secretly talking about it with one of his own teachers, who had just last week compared their own partnership to that weird shit.

“They were similar practices, in that it was quite codified,” Mr. White said, not making eye contact.
He was organizing the glassware as he spoke, seemingly to keep his hands occupied.

“The older man was considered the apprentice’s guide in everything, in life, general things,” Mr. White said calmly, “So, sex. Of course.”
Jesse scoffed and sarcastically said, “Oh, of course.”
“The older man would always be the one to fuck the younger,” Mr. White said.
Jesse let out a breath like he’d been punched. Somehow hearing him say it like that, in those words, was filthy.

But the concept of it really shook him. It had shaken him since he’d jerked off to the thought of it after the library.

Even in Jesse’s teenage fantasies, he’d never really actually considered that before.
He’d imagined Mr. White and other men having things shoved inside them, but never himself. 

It’s not that he was opposed to the idea of anal itself. He’d even done it like that with some of his girlfriends, after some convincing. 

But only ever as the one doing the fucking.
And now Mr. White was here, casually comparing them both to guys who would fuck eachother in the ass, and there was no question Jesse was implied to be the one on the bottom.

“Man, that doesn’t seem fair,” he grumbled, “Just ‘cause he’s younger.”

“Well, it’s assumed he’ll go on to use those skills on a woman,” Mr. White replied, “Or to take an apprentice of his own. And continue the tradition.”

“Yeah,” Jesse said weakly, pulling his mask on.

He swallowed, feeling like there wasn’t enough air.

“Let’s finish the cook,” Mr. White said.

Chapter 5

Notes:

Walt POV

Warning:
Slurs (homophobia, sexism)

Walt told Skyler there was an educational conference in Ohio. 

In actuality, he and Jesse needed a multiple day session to make their quota of product.

They’d cooked all day in the stifling heat of the RV, and Walt was ready for a meal, a hot shower and sleep.

Unfortunately, there was a complication.

“Yo, what the fuck?” Jesse slammed one hand on the wooden beam he stood beside, “One room? One bed??? Fuck that.”

“It’s all they had, Jesse,” Walt glared at him, “Don’t be petulant, this is still better than sleeping in the RV.”

“Man, I don’t see why I can’t just drive home, sleep there,” Jesse whined.

“I told you,” Walt said, yanking Jesse by his collar towards the room, “We have to get an early start. If I let you drive all the way home, and wait for you tomorrow? I won’t see you until eleven, if that. I need to be back at the airport by four. And that means we need to be done the cook and back by then.”

Jesse didn’t even reply, but he squirmed out of Walt’s grip and followed.

 

The room was small, and stank of cigarette smoke. Walt wished he hadn’t even paid the $50 he had, knowing it was far too much for the night in such a shitty establishment.

Jesse ordered delivery, and when it arrived they ate the pizza while sitting on the bed.

Walt watched Jesse as he ate, unable to pull his thoughts back from the idea of touching him.

Their conversation earlier today had lit some sort of strange fuse inside Walt.

He couldn’t stop imagining a world where Jesse obeyed yet another one of his orders.

Gauzy fantasies of that same red grease-slicked mouth he used to eat the terrible pizza.

Slipping over Walt’s cock.

Walt was old enough that he wouldn’t get random unwanted erections any more, but this was testing him, and the longer he let the thoughts go unfettered the more the possibility rose.

The meal was mostly silent.

As they dropped the paper plates in the motel trash bin, Jesse bumped against him. In such a small room, surely Walt could be forgiven for not leaving quite enough clearance.

Every place they contacted made Walt feel like his skin was tingling.

He spoke before he could think.

“Have you given any thought to what we discussed earlier?” Walt asked.

Even as he said it, he knew it was likely a bad idea, and his hands shook so he braced them on the counter.

Why would he ever float this idea to Jesse? He still had time to back down.

“What’d we discuss?” Jesse looked over, his face open and curious.

“That whole Master Apprentice thing,” Walt waved one hand, “Just as a concept.”

Jesse didn’t react immediately.

“I mean, I guess?” he said slowly, “Aren’t we already doing that? You teach me like, your recipe, and I help out.”

Walt nodded, taking his hands back when he felt the sweat on them building up on the counter.

“And what about the other parts of it?” Walt said, feeling like alarms were going off in his mind.

A pause.
Jesse stared back at him, eyebrows drawn, licked his lips.
Walt saw it the second he understood, 

“Yo, I ain’t a faggot!” Jesse shoved at Walt’s chest ineffectually.

“Language!” Walt said, his instincts immediately kicking in to scold Jesse. 

He was a high school teacher and parent to a teenage son, and he said it without thinking.

Walt even likely scolded Jesse Pinkman for that sort of thing, back when he was a student.

Walt tried not to think about it.

Jesse rolled his eyes, dramatic as ever.

“Whatever,” he muttered, “I ain’t a homo. I am not gay, are you hearing me, old man?”

Neither am I,” Walt said evenly.

“Could’a fooled me, man,” Jesse said darkly, “Why are you tryin’ to like… get up in my shit, then? Huh?”

Jesse was shifting uneasily, fidgeting, his eyes wide.

His pale skin was tinted with a flush, one that Walt saw dipped even down past his loose t-shirt and hoodie.

The long line of Jesse’s neck was pink, and Walt watched his adam’s apple move as he swallowed.
He wanted it, and his body couldn’t lie.

“I told you,” Walt continued, “It’s not about attraction. It was to teach the younger man about the… ways of the world. Techniques.”

Walt waved his hands vaguely.

“You think I’m a virgin?” Jese scoffed at him, a half smile of mocking disbelief on his face, “I’ve fucked. I fuck bitches allll the time, yo. I don’t need sex lessons, or whatever you’re offering.”

Walt tipped his head and laughed, low.

“I never thought you’re a virgin, Jesse,” he said, almost placatingly, “But just having done it doesn’t mean you’re an expert. How do you even know if the girls enjoyed themselves?”

Jesse stared at him, clearly offended.

“Uh, they let me know, trust me!” he shouted, “Maybe you’re the one who needs sex lessons if you don’t even know if a honey is having fun getting pounded.”

“You say they ‘let you know’? They tell you?” Walt asked, “Or they make noises? They can lie, you know. You ever hear of ‘faking it’?”

Walt’s heart was beating a staccato rhythm in his chest. 

Why was he pushing this?

Was it because Jesse was being so contrary? Or was it that he could see Jesse was interested, his transparent responses teasing at Walt’s self-control?

Jesse sighed, looking exhausted with the whole argument.

“Nah, they get all like, wet and shit,” he made some gestures with his hands, “And tighter. God, why am I even talking about this with you!? What the fuck, man!”

“Yes, why are you?” Walt asked, looking at him and looming closer, “Admit it. Admit you’re curious. What I could teach you.”

“Fuck you, man,” Jesse hissed, his eyes wide and almost panicked.

He bit his lip and chewed on it slightly.

Walt wanted to capture it, bite at it himself, until he could taste blood.

He wanted his apprentice to be his entirely.

One of the things he liked about Jesse, if he was honest, was that the younger man did what he said.

Even when there was push and pull, adversarial testing, and arguments (and they’d had a few), in the end Jesse always acquiesced to Walt’s commands.

It was intoxicating.

Skyler pushed back constantly, Walt Junior as well, and the students in his class and even his coworkers were likely to ignore even his mild requests.

No one else listened to him the way Jesse Pinkman did.

“How can you ever truly know what it’s like for your… girls, without experiencing it yourself?” Walt asked, his voice low and firm, “Did you know what doing meth was like before you did it?”

“No, but…” Jesse answered him immediately but trailed off, his eyes darting and clearly unable to think of an argument.

Got him.

Walt smiled gently, reeling in the bait.

“What if this is as good as that?” he asked, “And if you don’t like it, then it’s done. It’s not as if we can’t stop, or just never do it again. Just like the apprentices a thousand years ago.”

“Whatever man,” Jesse mumbled, “I guess if… yeah, fine.”

“Yeah?” Walt said, “Good. Go… go wash up.”

Jesse didn’t reply, just nodded shakily, and went to the bathroom.

The shower kicked in and Walt started thinking about Jesse’s bare skin under the water.

Chapter 6

Notes:

Jesse POV

Jesse leaned with both hands against the shower wall.

He tried to steady his breathing, slow his heartbeat, but he felt his hands trembling even braced against the ceramic tile.

God, he was being such a… a fuckin’ girl about this shit.

He’d tried desperately to tamp down the roiling mess of weird thoughts and desires he’d become newly burdened with.

His weirdo gay-ass lust over Mr. White.

And then that fuckass old bastard had to bring up the apprentice shit.

Jesse wondered if it was a trick. 

A fucked up way to get under Jesse’s skin.

A cruel barb for all the times Jesse had grabbed his own dick mockingly, or called the guy a homo.

Maybe once he went out there, Mr. White would say some lame shit like “Well, it looks like you are the one who is a homo, Jesse.”

And then never mention it again, but they’d both know.

It’s one reason he had responded so aggressively. Keep your guard up, never let anyone even suspect you’d thought about dudes dicks before.

Jesse was hard, achingly so. 

He wanted to reach down and touch himself, but then realized how stupid it would be, if he had a sure thing back in the room.

He still thought it might be a good idea to jerk it, if only to keep him from going off too soon. Ultimately, he decided against it.

Shaking his head, droplets scattering, he blinked the water out of his eyes and reached for the soap.

If… if this was happening how he thought, then Mr. White was going to…

He was gonna go in the back door, so to speak.

‘My ass’ , Jesse’s mind helpfully reminded him.

Reaching backwards, Jesse let a soapy finger trail over the hole between the crack.

He’d never had anything up there, and he wondered if it would hurt.

Had to, right?

Maybe that whole wakashudō deal, or the thing the Greeks did, maybe it was all some scam.

Trick the sexy young dudes into taking it, and then when they learned better, they left on their own and got to be the ones topping.

As Jesse pressed soaped up digits inside himself, he didn’t think it hurt, really. But it didn’t feel good. It just felt like he was really getting in there.

He’d fucked girls in the ass and they didn’t seem to hate it or nothing.

But maybe they were just built different.

Jesse realized with a sudden horrible clarity that Mr. White’s dick would be replacing his fingers, and soon.

He wondered how big the guy was.

Would it hurt? Would it split him open? 

Would he beg Mr. White to stop, please?

Even through the clench of fear, Jesse was turned on just imagining it.

He tried not to think about what that said about him.

Finally clean, he stepped out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels and using it to dry his hair roughly.

He debated putting his clothes on, but decided to just walk out in the towel.

Confidence. 

If this was all a joke, then he was gonna play his part to the end.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and cranked the door open.

“Yo, where do you want me?” he said, letting a false smile pull up one corner of his mouth.

Mr. White was sitting in the solitary easy chair in the corner, like some creepy pervert.

“On the bed,” Mr. White said, his voice deep and raspy.

Jesse swallowed.

Chapter 7

Notes:

Walt POV

Jesse was laid out on the bed, his pale skin still carrying some droplets of water from his shower. His hair was half fluffy and half damp, the strands sticking together.

His tattoos were contrasting, dark spirals and sharp points on the soft smoothness of his skin.

Jesse looked so small against the bedsheets, his legs drawn together and his hands loosely covering a poorly hidden erection.

Walt kneeled on the bed, reaching to touch Jesse’s legs.

Hands slipping up his thighs, the hair there nearly invisible it was so light.

Jesse tensed, and Walt considered stopping, at least pausing. Imagined checking in with him, maybe just hanging up this whole thing as a bad idea.

But even getting Jesse to agree to this had been like pulling teeth, despite his clear eagerness, and ultimately Walt decided to just go ahead.

Grabbing a pillow from beside him, he used one hand to slide under Jesse’s back and the other to shove the pillow underneath.

“Whoa, fuck man,” Jesse flailed as he was manhandled. “Warn a guy, shit!”

He glared at Walt, but it was all posturing and display.

Walt could see the hardness he tried to hide, despite his slight tremble.

Leaning in, his hands shoving Jesse’s legs further apart, Walt looked at him.

Pale skin, pink flushed around his balls and hole, the dampness of the water still clinging to the hair there.

A perfect ass, and Walt felt his cock harden a bit just looking at it.

He could feel Jesse’s thighs pushing back against his grip, tense and attempting to close and conceal himself.

Walt used his strength to keep the legs parted, leaned in and licked Jesse’s hole.

The full body jolt he received in return made him smile around the action.

“Fuck!” Jesse said, panting, “Holy shit!”

Walt recalled the first time he’d done this, the first time he’d convinced Gretchen to let him.

He thought of Skyler, of the times he’d gone down on her as well, never here, but the same principle.

Walt had never done it to a man before, and he used his nose to nudge up underneath Jesse’s balls.

Not unpleasant, just unfamiliar.

They too had pale hair, not as blond as the stuff on Jesse’s head, but not dark.

Jesse squirmed against him, against his tongue that pushed and licked. Jesse’s hands had dropped to the bedcovers beside him, gripping them like a lifeline as his back arched.

Walt was relentless.

“Mr. White…” Jesse moaned.

With that, Walt felt like his cock was hard enough to break glass.

That rough voice that tested him, that argued, that whined and cajoled… the voice of his old student, now partner and apprentice.

Calling him by that respectful honorific, like he always did.

He wondered if that was how the Greeks and Japanese had done it. 

Did the eromenos moan out an honorific title to the erastes ? 

Did the chigo beg the nenja in sweet honeyed words?

“Mr. White, please!” Jesse pleaded again.

Suddenly Jesse’s hands were clutching at his own cock, and Walt felt a flood of vicious rage.

No.
This was about teaching Jesse how to do it, not about letting him jerk off on the bed while Walt serviced him.

Walt’s hands reached up fast and gripped Jesse’s slim wrists, pulling them away as he rose.

“No,” he said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Jesse looked down at Walt between his knees, chest heaving and cock hard and bobbing.

“Getting off!?” he answered incredulously and with a note of frustration.

“ I’m getting you off,” Walt said, “Not you.”

Jesse slammed his head back into the pillow, groaning.

His cock was dark pink and full, leaking, a shining rivulet down the side.

Walt watched as the drop nestled into the thatch of hair at the base.

“Come on man,” Jesse begged, “I’m like… ready to blow, yo. Just please, please…”

“You agreed to this,” Walt said, “Which means we do this my way. I’m in charge here.”

Jesse nodded, frantically, his eyes screwed shut.

“Fine, whatever, just please…” Jesse begged, “Don't leave me hangin’.”

Walt just returned to his task.

Chapter 8

Notes:

Jesse POV

Jesse wasn’t sure what he expected from this, but the sensation of Mr. White licking him was so shockingly foreign he knew it wasn’t that.

Even after all the fantasizing, it was hard to believe it was really happening. 

Part of him had really expected Mr. White to back out. 

Like he’d been joking. A game of gay chicken that he would mock Jesse for later.

A bluff, a test.

When the flat of Mr. White’s warm tongue had spread slick heat across his asshole, Jesse finally had to admit this wasn’t a joke.

This was nothing like when he’d poked his fingers around back there, and he had to grudgingly admit there may be something to this apprentice shit after all.

It was hot and wet, a tongue sliding around, pressing at him, and he felt his cock get even harder than it had been.

Jesse felt like he had to grip the bed to keep from writhing his way entirely off it. He trembled with the effort of not bucking up into Mr. White’s face, or wiggling away at the unfamiliar vulnerability.

He’d never done this to a girl, much less had it done to him.

It felt like his nerve endings were over-firing, like he’d just taken a shit-ton of meth and was having the top of his head fizzle away.

Shivers rolled up his body, and his cock throbbed tensely with every lick.

It was more than he’d ever imagined.

Mr. White’s mustache scraped against his asscheeks, somehow tickling and scratching at the same time. It was just another thing to add to the way his body was registering every sensation.

The pillow under his hips had him arched way back, and it felt vaguely uncomfortable, but not enough to make him stop any of this.

The pleasure was building, though, just from whatever the hell Mr. White was doing.

He felt like all he needed was a bit more, just a quick jerk, and he’d be ready to cum.

Jesse let go of the comforter and reached to his cock.

He’d barely brushed it, when suddenly Mr. White’s massive hands grabbed his wrists and wrenched them away.

Jesse’s eyes flew open as he stared down at Mr. White’s head between his legs.

“No,” Mr. White’s voice was low and deep as he asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting off!?” Jesse said.

What the fuck was this, even? Jesse was breathing hard, ready to cum, and Mr. White was stopping him?

“ I’m getting you off,” Mr. White said, “Not you.”

Jesse begged, but it was no use.

All he could do was agree to whatever Mr. White agreed to give him.

Jesse had never been on the edge like this for so long.

He would compare it to feeling like being drugged, but he knew what that was like, and it was nothing like the way Mr. White was tonguefucking him.

If meth was the build up, the excitement of knowing you’re gonna get laid (and soon), then heroin had been that euphoric sleepy feeling after you came.

This was like the fraction of a second before you shoot your load, but stretched into an agony.

Jesse squirmed away from the pressure of Mr. White’s mouth, the scratch of his facial hair becoming Too Much even as the pressure was Not Enough.

He wanted so badly to jerk himself off, to finally let go and cum his brains out.

But Mr. White wouldn’t let him, still holding his wrists because Jesse just couldn’t keep his hands from drifting back there.

“Please!” he begged, almost sobbing, “Mr. White!”

Jesse felt so close, and it was actually kind of unimaginable. He was going to cum.

Untouched. 

Jesse bucked his hips involuntarily.

“Shit!” Jesse gulped air, “Fuck! Fuck.”

The orgasm wasn’t like normal, it was a wave rolling through him.

Tense, untense, tense, untense.

Jesse realised the noise he heard was his own voice, high and babbling.

He’d been coming for this whole time, and only then did his cock start shooting off.

Jesse felt it hitting his chest, lashing up across his neck and he couldn’t even be grossed out by it.

Finally, he felt his body ease, and Mr. White slowed his licking.

Jesse took huge gasping breaths, eyes closed.

It had been so fucking incredible. Undercut with a sharp taste of shame, of blowing without even a hand on him.

Like a guy who would cum in his pants at a strip club watching the girls.

And worse, his ex-teacher, a fuckin’ old dude.

“Sorry, I… I guess you wanted me to last longer,” Jesse mumbled, ashamed.

“You’re a young man, I think we can get it again,” Mr. White said, sitting up and wiping off his face, the wetness from his beard not quite leaving.

Jesse shifted uneasily. 

He hasn’t exactly gone soft, but he was used to the typical finishing and then… being finished.

“Look, I dunno,” Jesse mumbled, “If not, like… I’ll still do you, man.”

“I know you will,” Mr. White looked down at him, unbuckling his belt.

Jesse swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry.

This all started to feel a little too real, now that the orgasm had lifted the lust fog from his perception.

His old high school teacher was getting ready to fuck him in the ass.

Jesse tensed, and slid back up against the pillow as he watched Mr. White strip.

It wasn’t even like Jesse hadn’t seen him do it before.

The damn guy used to strip down to his tighty-whities before every cook.

Jesse was pretty sure he was never going to be able to watch him do that again without remembering this moment.

Chapter 9

Notes:

Walt POV

Walt was in an unexpected form of heaven. 

He was totally in control, playing Jesse like an instrument.

The slight man was squirming, letting out broken little sounds, and all just from Walt’s mouth.

He could see why those ancient warriors had considered this to be perfectly decent and not emasculating. What on earth about this was not manly? He shoved his tongue into Jesse aggressively, holding his wrists so he couldn’t touch himself.

When Jesse begged, Walt knew he was in charge.

The muscles clenching was his first sign of Jesse’s impending orgasm.

It really was very similar to going down on a woman, and Walt smirked around his tongue as he kept up the pressure.

He held Jesse’s hands as they pulled, not letting him give himself a quick finish. Teaching him a lesson about holding on, waiting for what he was given.

Walt urged him forwards, pushing Jesse through it.

Walt was so turned on it hurt, his cock harder than he could remember it being, even before the cancer.

Sitting up, he wiped his face off.

Jesse apologized for coming so fast, and it made Walt feel huge.

Like some sort of god. To force Jesse’s body to orgasm despite thinking he couldn’t, despite being unable to even touch himself.

All the apologies and reluctance only made Walt feel more turned on. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Jesse’s body had clenched, imagining being inside him for all that.

Walt finished stripping as Jesse curled on the bed, looking smaller out of all his baggy clothes.

In Walt’s hand was a lube packet he’d found in a hotel cupboard while Jesse had been in the shower.

Apparently this was the sort of place that had amenities like that.

Walt wanted to be judgmental about it, but he settled on being glad they’d come here.

He felt Jesse’s eyes on him and did feel a brief flicker of insecurity that he attempted to squash.

He felt old. What possible desire could a twenty-four year old have for him?

But then he thought of wakashudō , and of the Greeks, and how the apprentice would always submit.

Was expected to, even.

This wasn’t about Jesse finding him attractive, and Walt felt like a fool for letting vanity creep in.

He would fuck Jesse, and he would make him like it.

Perhaps, Walt thought absently, he could even fuck Jesse so well, and so often, that the boy would develop a physical attraction to him. 

He chuckled to himself as he kneeled on the bed, tearing open the packet of lube.

“Yo, Mr. White?” Jesse asked, his knees drawn up.

“Yes, Jesse?” Walt looked up from slicking up his cock with the stuff.

“Are you sure we gotta do it this way?” Jesse asked, eyes shifting to the side, “Just like… I could finish you with my mouth. I just…”

“It will be fine,” Walt replied, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Jesse’s face fell, like he was counting on the offer of a blowjob to change the situation.

“No condom?” Jesse tried again.

“No condom,” Walt said, pretending he didn’t know Jesse was trying to think of another out.

For a second, they were both silent.

Finally, Jesse nodded, twisting his head to the side.

He really would always do what Walt said.

As Walt took Jesse’s knees in hand, he wondered for a moment if he should roll him on his side, or even do it from behind.

But then Jesse looked up at him under those soft brown eyelashes, his blue eyes almost glowing from the bathroom light across the room, Walt decided this position was fine.

Lining himself up, he felt Jesse tense.

“Hey,” Walt said, softening his voice to something calming, “You gotta relax.”

“Well, I’m about to have a dick shoved up my ass, forgive me if I’m not relaxed enough for you!” Jesse snapped.

“It will feel good if you just relax,” Walt felt his annoyance grow, and his voice grew harder. “Bear down. Like... push back on me. Like you’re trying to force it out.”

“Maybe I am, yo!” Jesse said, glaring up at Walt.

“Be good for me,” Walt said, the words coming from someplace deep inside him.

Jesse looked sullen, but bore down on him anyways.

Something about Jesse’s challenging stare as Walt pushed into him made his blood feel like fire.

Walt pushed, the slickness easing the way but he was still so tight. Impossibly tight.

Tighter than Gretchen, than Skyler, than his own damned hand even when he squeezed as hard as he could.

Buried in this beautiful boy, seated deeply in a place no one had ever been before.

Walt felt all-powerful.

Jesse hadn’t gone soft all the way, those twenty-four year old hormones working their magic that Walt hadn’t had in years.

He reached down and grabbed at Jesse’s cock between them, gently for now.

The whimper Jesse let out was so sweet, Walt couldn’t help but drive into him a little harder.

This felt better than that first time he fucked Skyler after cooking meth, maybe even better than fucking anyone ever.

This felt like winning.

Neither of the women who had allowed Walt to fuck them had ever been this… submissive, ever looked up at him like Jesse Pinkman was right now.

“Yeah?” Walt asked, hoping for more than just sounds from the man beneath him, “You love this.”

It wasn’t a question.

Walt was commanding him, forcing him to speak the truth that Walt already knew.

“Jesse,” he said, thrusting in a steady thump thump thump against him, “Say it.”

“Fuck,” Jesse moaned, “Fuck, I… I love this. Mr. White. Oh my god.”

His voice was wavering, every movement making him sound rough and jostled.

Walt breathed out, taking a huge gulp of air in again, the strain on his lungs like fire.

But he didn’t care.

He would do this a thousand times over, he would breathe the burnt air of Pompeii itself to see his own eromenos beneath him.

Jesse’s initial reluctance was gone now, replaced by a writhing pulsing creature beneath Walt.

Walt had suspected it would be like this, knowing what he did about anatomy and sex between men, as theoretical as it was. 

Still, there was nothing like scientific proof.

And the proof was Jesse Pinkman, gasping and moving into him.

Evidently Walt was hitting the prostate effectively, because these weren’t cries of pain.

Walt had heard Jesse’s noises of pain before, agonized little groans after Emilio and Domingo had beaten him.

They were remarkably similar sounds to the whimpers he was making now, and Walt reflected on the fact he probably wouldn’t care if they actually were. 

It would be different, but he was ashamed to know he’d be just as hard to hear them.

However, these were closer to the sounds Jesse made when he took a sip of one of his luridly colored drinks after a long cook.
Relief. 

Like he’d been waiting so long for this that his body couldn’t help but make the sound.

“Mr. White!” Jesse groaned.

Walt gritted his teeth and tried not to come.

Once again, the implied respect of the title was intoxicating. Ceding power to him, acknowledging him as the one in control.

‘Mr. White’ was a respectful name, one keeping him in another tier of existence to the one addressing him.

Nothing so casually tossed out as ‘Walt’ or even ‘Walter’, and nothing like a pet name.

Mr. White.

‘That’s what my students call me,’ a traitorous part of his brain reminded him, ‘and Jesse was one of my students.’

A swirl of nausea rose up. Walt dismissed it as part of his chemo side effects.

It was certainly not from remembering how he’d met Jesse.

Walt groaned and reached down with one hand to grab Jesse’s hair, arching his neck back.

Pistoning into him, Walt leaned in and grazed his teeth over the pale throat.

“Fuck,” Jesse moaned, “Fuck, I’m… I think I’m…”

Walt felt insane, tugging harder on Jesse’s hair, pressing his teeth harder and sucking at his neck. Salt sweet skin, the barest scrape of blond stubble.

His hips worked faster, an exertion straining him to his limit, even as his chest burned.

Suddenly, he felt out of control, insane with it. The cool older mentor persona was long gone, an illusion he’d maintained until he was here, on the edge.

He wanted Jesse to come.

Wanted to feel it around himself.

Something dangerously close to tenderness surfaced inside Walt.

Muscle memory from decades of marriage led him to lean up and press his mouth to Jesse’s.

Walt felt a sense of disconnected horror even as he did it, but not enough to stop.

This was never about kissing, and Walt wasn’t gay.

It was just supposed to be about teaching Jesse, and maybe about getting off. Getting away with something.

Jesse made a shocked little sound as Walt’s lips worked against his, but he opened his mouth. Walt groaned and pushed his tongue inside. How could he not?
Jesse was soft, and warm, utterly pliant.

Whether it was gay or not, Walt wanted to taste him.

Finally, he wrenched himself away. The kiss had stopped being a clash of teeth and shoving of tongues and was starting to feel like something closer to the kisses he’d shared with Skyler when they’d first started out.

Something soft. Something that didn’t belong to the boy under him, that had no place in their life of meth and crime.

He looked down at Jesse’s face.
His eyes were half lidded, blue as a New Mexico sky. His mouth hung open, his lips pink from the rub of Walt’s facial hair.

He looked utterly debauched, lost in pleasure.

“Mr. White!” he said, eyes shooting open a bit, “I’m gonna… you’re gonna make me come.”

Jesse attempted to fumble a hand between them, before whipping it away and glancing up at Walt. Remembering he wasn’t supposed to touch himself.

This last demonstration of obedience made Walt feel like he was going to explode.

“Jesse,” he groaned, unable to stop the words, “That’s it, son, that’s it.”

Another shocked clench of his gut at the term of endearment he’d let slip, and Walt tried not to think about it as he felt the rushing wave of his own orgasm take over.

He pounded into Jesse, gritting his teeth, trying not to make a sound.

The years of silent marital sex were a good basis for it, but suddenly he broke.

“Ooohhh, god,” he groaned as he felt himself throb out pulse after pulse into Jesse. He ground down into him, feeling Jesse’s hardness against his own stomach.

Evidently that was enough to set Jesse off as well.

“Fuck!” Jesse practically shouted, “Mr. White, fuck!”

Jesse met him thrust for thrust and then wetness was spilling between them.

Walt could feel the muscles inside him clenching and gripping, drawing out his own climax.

They squirmed against each other like that for some moments, Walt enjoying the last rippling of Jesse’s internal walls.

Finally, it was over.

Walt felt blissfully delightfully blank.

Even the burning of his lungs was distant, like he was floating outside his own body.

He collapsed down, putting more weight onto Jesse, unable to keep himself up after all the exertion.

 

Chapter 10

Notes:

Jesse POV

The opening dialogue of this chapter is from this Breaking Bad behind the scenes clip

“Ahhh, god, you’re so heavy!” Jesse said, his voice rough, “Holy shit!”

Mr. White had simply let his body flop down, and he was so much heavier than the slight girls Jesse was used to. He even liked it when girls would lay on top of him after, the gentle pressure like a living blanket.
This was nothing like that.

Mr. White was warm, hairy, and huge.

A massive cock was still inside him, but he could feel it softening. There was sticky cum all between them, and Jesse knew it was going to be hell to get out of his pubes.

Still, it hadn’t been as terrifying in the end as he’d thought.

The last minute jitters, as he’d tried to convince Mr. White to use his mouth or something hadn’t been needed at all.

Jesse pushed up against Mr. White’s prone form with one hand.

“Yo,” Jesse whined, “Get off me, man! You’re fuckin heavy as shit.”

Mr. White only shifted slightly, rolling sideways onto his elbow. The stickiness of their stomachs smeared and the air hitting it felt cool.

It was still a relief and Jesse enjoyed being able to take a full breath.

Almost too quickly, Mr. White sat up, and Jesse felt the cock in his ass pull out.

He flinched as the head caught on him, and cringed again as he felt a flood of fluids between his cheeks.

His stomach dipped.

The fluids inside him were Mr. White’s cum.

His high school chemistry teacher now kneeled between his legs, after they’d just fucked it out.

Jesse blinked.

He was still riding the slow bliss of his two orgasms, but reality was starting to chip in at a pretty rapid rate.

This somehow went beyond the meth cooking, the dead guys, and all the rest.

It was with a certain hysteria he started laughing, remembering the visit he’d gotten from Mrs. White just weeks ago.

“Do not sell marijuana to my husband.” she’d said.

Jesse found himself wondering what she’d think of this whole thing. She obviously wouldn’t be okay with her husband’s meth cook job, but probably even less impressed with Mr. White fucking him.

Mr. White glared at him, eyes narrowing as Jesse laughed.

“What’s so funny, Jesse?” he asked, his voice chilly.

Jesse managed to choke down the last gasping laugh.

“Nothing,” he said, running a hand across his sweaty forehead, “Just. Never thought I’d do that. Or like… With you.”

It wasn’t a lie. He never thought he’d actually do it.

Mr. White didn’t look satisfied with the answer.

“You liked it,” he said, in that way he would just say shit that sounded like it should be a question but wasn’t.

“I mean, yeah,” Jesse shrugged.

“But?” Mr. White asked.

He was sitting there totally naked and it was throwing Jesse off, making him think of his own nakedness. He tried to pull his legs together, to at least cover himself, but Mr. White stopped him with a hand on each knee.

“I liked it, okay!” Jesse propped himself up on his elbows angrily, “Why you gotta like... grill me? Can’t you just enjoy the afterglow and shit? Damn.”

Mr. White smirked, and slid over, letting his legs hang off the side of the bed.

Jesse reached to the box of tissues on the side of the bed and grabbed a handful.

He started mopping up the cum on his stomach before realizing it was just leaving pilled up bits of paper on him.

“Shit,” he mumbled.

He rolled over and quickly darted to the bathroom, shutting the door.

Quickly, he sat on the toilet to keep whatever else was left in him from doing the wet slide down his legs like it had been.

Jesse hyperventilated, his head in his hands.

He’d let Mr. White fuck him.

And he’d liked it.

A lot.

Even though he felt weird and freaked out, and his ass kinda felt strange and bad.

He wondered if this whole thing had just been Mr. White doing that thing he did where he just needed to prove a point. If it was all over now, and he’d never touch Jesse ever again.

He wondered if Mr. White would look at him like he was insane if he ever brought it up, act like it never happened.

But, the alternative was that this had opened up some door in their already strange partnership.

Was this going to be just a thing they did now? Would Mr. White reach over and grope him in the middle of a cook?

Would he take him over and over in the back of the RV?

Jesse couldn’t decide which one sounded worse.

Standing, Jesse stepped into the shower again. With shaking hands, he turned the water to cool, so the cum wouldn’t be hard to clean off.

His fingers once more touched at his asshole, the second time today. The slick slide of Mr. White’s cum inside him made Jesse feel the oddest combination of triumph and horror.

Once he was done cleaning up, he stepped back to the mirror, still dripping.

His eyes looked wide, his face still red from the rough scrape of a mustache.

The memory flashed into his mind, of Mr. White’s noise as he’d come, of the thick press inside filling Jesse.

Oh, he wanted to again. But he couldn’t help but feel like it was a bad idea.

His clothes were still in here, and he slipped his boxers on. He hesitated over the shirt, and finally slipped it on. There was only one bed, and he wanted some more fabric between them, for whatever reason.

Finally, after some trepidation, he stepped back out into the room.

The lights were out and Mr. White was laying in the bed.

Jesse couldn’t tell if he was still naked, because the blankets covered him.

He could see the wet spot on the top of the duvet and felt his lip curl up. Maybe they should have fucked on the floor.

Mr. White was breathing evenly, and Jesse half hoped he was already asleep.

As he slipped under the covers, he had no such luck.

“Jesse?” Mr. White said, mumbled and low.

“No one else in here, bitch,” Jesse snarked back, to cover the shake he knew would be in his voice.

The light from the motel sign lit the room in a sickly glow.

Jesse stared up at the ceiling.

If he was honest with himself, he had to admit it was good.

He felt… powerful somehow.

When Mr. White had leaned in and kissed him he’d been shocked, but opened to him like it was instinct.

Being with his old teacher turned partner felt… right somehow. In the wrongest way.

Jesse knew that all his friends would judge him, knew Tuco and the other dealers would probably mess with him over it if they knew. To say nothing of what Mr. White’s wife would do.

Still.

Jesse found himself smiling slightly. All his dumb pervy teenage dreams had come true. Including some he never had before.

He glanced to his side to watch Mr. White as he drifted off into sleep.

Like this he seemed like less of an asshole. His face looked soft and less severe.

“Yo,” he couldn’t help but whisper, “You awake, Mr. White?”

“Hmm?” Mr. White cracked one eye and looked at him. “Go to sleep, Jesse.”

Seized by some reckless desire, Jesse asked him, “Was that the lesson?”

“What?” Mr. White opened his eyes fully and stared at him in the dark.

He felt unsure. Whenever Mr. White was watching him like this he felt kind of stripped down and weak.

“You know, like the… apprentice shit?” he finished weakly, “Was that… y’know. It?”

Mr. White looked thoughtful.

“I’m not sure, Jesse,” he said slowly, “Did you learn anything?”

“I, uh…” Jesse mumbled, “Feels like there’s some stuff we didn’t get to… and I… I dunno, man, maybe I need another try just to like… fully get it.”

Mr. White looked pleased, which was a bit of a relief.

“I’m sure we can find some time for that,” he said, nodding slightly. “Now go to sleep, Jesse. We have to cook in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Jesse said, “Yeah, cool.”

He rolled over onto his back.

The sound of Mr. White’s breathing mixed with the shitty motel A/C unit, and the rumble of the ice machine in the hall.

Tomorrow was another day in the RV, another day of cooking.

And maybe more.

Notes:

(I like to think Walter cleaned himself up with bottled water from the minifridge, but he was too tired to wait for the bathroom. Still. Gross, Walter. I hope he showers the next morning lol)