Chapter Text
Jesse is high-strung throughout the dinner with Gus. Having dinner with two with the guy he's supposed to kill is stressful, and he can't really do anything to poison him with the ricin right now—he never looks around, never leaves the room, like he knows what Walt has commanded him to do. "Great food, Mr. Fring," he says, to say something.
Gus sets his utensils down, a superficial kind of smile on his face. Jesse can tell. It's the same one he puts on for his customers, his facade. "My pleasure, Mr. Pinkman." The tension in the air is broken, maybe even worsened when Gus gets up from his chair, reaching under the counter. "Ah. Here we are. A Cabernet Sauvignon, my personal favorite. Do you drink?" He doesn't wait for Jesse to answer, and pours him a glass.
He pauses. "I forgot. I can rescind my offer, if you're trying to stay clean."
Jesse looks at the wine and smiles. "I don't really mind wine, no. It kind of falls in the same category as cigarettes for me like—yes, they're substances, technically, but they're better than meth." He clears his throat and grabs his glass, taking a sip. "Thank you for forcing me to be out in the field, by the way. My hands are still shaky from withdrawal."
The sincere, slightly intimate apology and offer, it helps Gus let his guard down, or so it appears. "I'm sorry to hear that. It only gets easier from here. You know how they say." The tone on the oven timer sounds, and he tsks. "That must be the main course. I've been nursing it all day, frustratingly." There are appetizers on the table, a charcuterie board—Jesse knows Gus would never present something he's not proud of, never stop with his showmanship, and around company, it's no different. "You can help me out with this, if that interests you. Here." He hands Jesse a butcher knife, enormous and glistening in the dim light. "Unfortunately, you're not going to be using the blade. I know how much you would love to." Opening the door, he pulls out a dish wrapped in a clay blanket, aromatic and wreathed in herbs. "You'll be using the butt of the knife, to crack the shell. That allows the leg of lamb, which I've packaged inside, to cool. Then, we eat." The dish is foreign and tantalizing as he moves it to the counter, a lotus leaf tied around it in twine. For flavor, Gus mentions. "Have at it, Mr. Pinkman."
Jesse resists the urge to make a joke about how Walt probably would love for him to use the blade rather than him, biting the inside of his cheek as he relaxes a little. He smells the dish and grins before he grabs the butcher knife from Gus's hand, fingers brushing for a brief moment before he starts to crack the clay with the butt of it, enjoying the noise it makes.
"Excellent. Lighter touch, though, please." His hands guide Jesse's, fingers nearly laced over his on the handle. "We don't want to tenderize it, at least, not more than I already have." Slowly, he helps him knock away the slates of clay, lingering over his shoulder. "But I'll do the knife work, of course."
Jesse flushes pink when Gus laces his fingers over his own as he helps him crack the clay open. "Naturally," he says, deeply embarrassed by the fact they're touching in such an intimate way.
"You can drop the act, you know." Gus flits out from behind him, unwrapping the lotus leaf. "I'm already impressed by you. I'd rather you talk to me like you talk to anybody else. Like you do Walter White." He nods, and puts the leg on a ceramic white platter. "Unless you've changed, and this is comfortable for you. Am I overstepping?"
He blushes more when Gus says he's already impressed by him. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? He sucks in a breath and watches the lamb leg. "Um, no you're not, it's fine, really, just—kinda hard to not get all formal stuck-up straight in front of a guy who murdered someone in front of me to send a message, y'know?"
"I understand. It's refreshing, really. Mr. Pinkman—Jesse, can I call you Jesse?" Gus places the dish on the table, pouring himself some wine. "Jesse, I live in the world of business. Everything, everyone, is pretending. Putting on an act. I've seen men lie through their teeth in front of me. I've also seen men laugh with me, humor me, thinking that I cannot see through the theatrics. My clients, my partners, they pose themselves so neatly for me. It's tiring." Looking him in the eyes, he sips the Cabernet. "But to see someone come undone in front of you? That is something special."
Jesse feels like he's going insane when Gus starts to call him by his first name, and then he goes on this whole thing about how everyone is pretending in the world of business, only to make a comment about seeing someone come undone all while making eye contact with him and sipping wine. Does Gus want to fuck him? Is he completely insane? He can't help but let out a hysterical little laugh and echo, "come."
In possibly the least expected outcome, Gus lets out a light chuckle into his glass. "Maybe I'm demanding too much of you." With two pokers, he slides a cut of lamb onto Jesse's plate. "Here. Enjoy." Finally, he joins Jesse at the table again, sitting down across from him at the two-top, the warm light above them pooling in his brown eyes. "Shame I can't just keep this on display. It's like eating...a lover. You understand. You put so much time into it, so much care, only to destroy it at the end of the night."
Jesse settles on his chair and starts eating gladly—if he's supposed to have some different way of using the fork and knife he doesn't know and he's not fucked to care. He takes a good bite and savors it. "God, this is delicious," he mumbles.
Gus doesn't serve himself. "I invited you here to ask you a question." His eyes study Jesse as he eats. "Can you...cook Heisenberg's formula?" He leans forward, fingers threaded together.
Jesse had almost forgotten that of course they weren't just having dinner together for no reason at all, especially when Gus doesn't serve himself and simply watches him eat like he's a vampire or something. The question immediately makes him alert, all his guard up after it being far too down, enough to make a sex joke for Christ's sake. "What? Why do you want to know that? So you can kill him and I can be your little chef instead? Because if you kill Mr. White, I'm out of here and you know that. He's my partner, Gustavo." He spits his first name out like poison.
The man barely flusters, despite the passion Jesse throws at him. Seeing him point at him, Gus, in one confident, unbothered gesture, guides Jesse's hands back down onto the table, neatly, one over the other. He keeps them pinned there. He's barely exerting any force. He doesn't have to. "That's not what I asked you. I asked, can you replicate the recipe?"
Jesse's eyes widen when he grabs his hands and pins them down against the table without any effort. His face flushes red and a shot of arousal floods through his body. "I—um, I dunno, maybe? I tried to do it on my own for a little while, when you first hired me, and it was like... pretty similar but there was something missing." He's still not sure if it was actually good or if Walt just said that to get him back as his partner. "It wouldn't be the same if I did it on my own. What the Hell do you need to know that for, then?"
"You're here because circumstances with the cartel are untenable. And I need your help. I'm impressed by you. I will elucidate this. But we are trying to prevent an all out war." His eyes narrow, tilting his head, ever so slightly. "Now. If you would. Mr. Pinkman. Answer the question." His gaze is paralyzing.
Jesse shudders at that. "Yes," he says, the response spilling right out of him. "I can. It'll—it won't be perfect, but if you want me to replicate it for the cartel people or whatever it should, hopefully be good enough. I'll ask Mr. White for help."
"I think you'll be perfectly fine without him. We can make a powerful team together. You know this." His thumb brushes across Jesse's knuckles. "You are a very smart boy. There are plenty of old men who see that in you. And they want to use you for that. Because you learn fast. You trust. And you're loyal, too loyal." Gus reiterates, drawing closer. "And I don't believe you when you say that you need Walter White for this."
Jesse's face is beet red. You are a very smart boy. Fuck. He presses his thighs together as discreetly as he can. "Okay," he says slowly. "Okay. I can... um, I can go to Mexico or whatever it is you want me to do to... help with the cartel situation. I'll try my best."
"Good. I thought we could come to an agreement." They're as close now as can be comfortable with a table between them. His touch, it's unwavering. "The food, it's good, no?"
Jesse looks up at him, makes eye contact. His blushing has subsided a little, but Gus is still grabbing him, like he's about to manhandle him around. He wouldn't exactly mind. "Um, yeah. I'd like to go back to eating it, maybe."
He nods. "Of course. And help yourself to more. I've made plenty." At last, he cuts himself a piece. Jesse notices how much this man enjoys eye contact. It's different, to say the least. Maybe he just really likes Jesse's eyes, he thinks. "But save room for dessert."
Jesse pulls away from him as soon as he's able to and starts eating gladly. "You're an amazing cook," he says between a mouthful of lamb. "No wonder your fast food joint is so widely acclaimed."
"Fast food, it isn't any proper indicator of a good chef. It's just another type of business. The food doesn't have to be good, per say, but it certainly must be marketable. It always helps when the food looks delicious, of course." He looks up from his plate. "But thank you."
He grins and nods. "Still, it's the bomb, man. So glad you're eating now instead of just staring at me, by the way. Considered that you might be a vampire for a second." He laughs and takes another bite.
Gus raises his eyebrows, grinning. "Would you be surprised if I was?" His posture relaxes, arms unfolding. "It's always a pleasure to cook for someone else. Especially when everyone is always cooking for you." He leans back. "Mr. P—Jesse, can I ask this of you?" He clears his throat. "Do you believe that Walter, he cares for you?"
"Not too surprised, no," he says with a grin. The question catches him off guard, and he knows this must be some part of Gus's plan to drive him further from Walt, but he still sees no point in trying to lie about it. "Yes," he says. "He's... really bad at showing it sometimes, but he fucked up his Aztek and shot a man in the face so I wouldn't get killed, so that means he cares, I think."
"You're right. He does show it quite unconventionally. That he would kill for you. And more, I assume, he must. For him to keep you around." He rests his head on the back of his hand.
Jesse looks around and stares at the table instead of replying. Is he implying what he thinks he's implying? They've kept any sexual activity away from the superlab because the idea of Gus or one of his lackeys watching them was too weird, as much as Jesse is a bit of an exhibitionist. Still. He takes another bite.
Gus blinks. "Let me say this simply." He takes a bite of the lamb and swallows. "The nature of your relationship. You work together. You do what he says. So, excuse my assumptions, but you do this always, correct? Submit?"
Jesse nearly chokes. He swallows and stares at the table. "I understand you're not one to be crude, Gus, but can you just ask if we're fucking already?"
"Apologies. I said I would put it plainly, but you seem to be capable of understanding. And if that is the case, if you extend that same respect, the same obedience you give Walter White to me, then I think our arrangement will work itself out just fine." He smirks.
Oh God, he was right, Gus definitely wants to fuck him. He sucks in a breath, face flushing red once again. "I knew it," he says under his breath. "But... yes. I will. Tonight, if you're offering."
"Offering? Tonight?" Gus takes a petite forkful of lamb into his mouth. "I was only speculating, of course. I didn't mean to imply that the nature of your relationship, that it carries over to your other...business partners. I request nothing but your due diligence. Unless, of course, that's how you prefer to operate." He tidies the silverware next to him, clearly upended by Jesse's straightforwardness.
Jesse huffs out a laugh. "You haven't been touching me and making eye contact and drinking wine all night for you to not want to fuck the daylights out of me, Gus," he says lightly. "I know the hints of a dominant when I see them, even on emotionless drug lords."
He chuffs. "Interesting. You really are a smart boy. But you assume, greatly, just as I do. If I were another person, perhaps, being so bold, as you are, it could have a different outcome entirely." Gus loosens his tie. "So consider yourself lucky that you're dining with me tonight."
He grins at him and finishes his piece of lamb, taking a long sip from his wine. "Oh, I do consider myself lucky for this dinner," he says lightly. "It's been pretty great so far. Can only wonder where the evening will take us."
"You and me. We're very similar, I think. Though you might not see it." Matching him, he takes just as long of a sip. "I see myself in you." He catches himself. "Take that as you please."
Jesse huffs, raises a brow. "I mean, if you don't want to explain what the fuck you're talking about, then I'm game, I guess." He tries to think of things he could have in common with Gus and comes up empty. What could he possibly have in common with a fifty-something kingpin?
"You're angry. Passionate. You're full of fire. I was the same way as a young man. Because I fought so hard to be myself. To prove myself. I think you would understand that feeling." Gus' face is alight with a mischievous glint.
"To be young. A new man. Freshly furious at the world for what you should have been."
Jesse stares at him. A new man. Gus is well aware that he's trans, of course—any light digging on him makes it obvious there is no Jesse Pinkman, only the twenty four year old "daughter" of the Pinkmans. It's only two plus two from there. "Are you... saying you're a transsexual too?"
Gus doesn't respond, instead pouring him and Jesse some more wine. He rolls up his sleeves, which is rare for him, with his consistently professional and formal way of carrying himself. "If you don't mind, I think I'll put away the roast." Grabbing the knife again, he carefully slices the remaining leg, a slight smile on his face.
Jesse stares at him. "Hey, a yes or no would be good enough for me," he says, although he can't help but smile. He can tell Gus is letting his guard down, at least a little, with the way he rolls up his sleeves and smiles a little.
"Good for you?" He chuckles. "Then, yes. If that is what you wanted me to admit. I have no problem discussing it among kindred company. I'm trusting you." Running the knife under the sink, his expression falls. "So please, don't make me regret that."
Jesse freezes and also finds himself curious at the way he says that—he feels threatened, but in a good way? Is that a thing? He sucks in a breath. "Yeah, of - of course. We don't gotta talk about it, I just don't exactly see many other trans people in the meth business, much less people in such a high position as you."
"Strange. You're open about it, in a way that I would never be." When Gus sits back down at the table, his body language is almost indicative of somebody taking a seat for a dinner date. "You continue to surprise me."
The fact that Jesse remains seated seems to keep Gus at unease. "I'll apologize again. People have described me as...intense. But I want you to make yourself at home. That is the most important part about being a host. Keeping your guests happy."
"I don't really have the option to not be open about it," he says. "It's okay. I appreciate that. But yeah, I can't really change my papers as I've got a criminal history so I probably would be just, thrown right out of the court, and I also still haven't gotten any bottom surgery nor do I have any plans to so that probably wouldn't work for that either. So I'll probably be buried as Jennifer Pinkman." He sighs, rubs one eye as he relaxes against the table. "It is how it is."
Gus folds his hands. "Jesse. I have connections. I will make sure that whatever happens, whatever risks come with the cartel, that you will have things exactly how you like them, no matter the circumstance. That you will have full control. Understand?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Control, of course, when you desire it."
Jesse lets out a little laugh at that. "I understand," he says. "Thank you. I'd really love that, to get my papers to read the correct things. Every time I've come in contact with the law it has been. A fucking pain." He rubs his eyes again. "Still kinda mad those cartel guys didn't manage to kill Schrader."
"You want Schrader gone? It is done. You work for me, you cook for me, your wish is my command." The statement floats heavy in the air.
"I mean, you don't gotta," he says, flushing pink. "And he's trying to investigate you so, like, if he drops dead now that'll be really fucking suspicious wouldn't it? I don't—you don't gotta do that."
"It was just a suggestion. No intent behind it." His eyes dart to Jesse's lips, linger there for a second, and dart away again. "Now. Are you ready for dessert?"
Jesse looks at him. He's almost certain there is no actual dessert, as he didn't see anything in the kitchen. "Yes," he breathes out, his lips slightly parted. An invitation.
"Excuse me, then." Slowly, he circles around to the kitchen, behind Jesse, but he doesn't reach for the oven, he's not heading towards the fridge. He stops midway there, and pointedly turns, and though Jesse can't see the man he's sitting in front of, he can feel the brush of his fingers on his shoulder, and the brush of his lips on his jawline. It's silent, the only background noise is some quiet jazz looping on a record player by the door.
Jesse gasps when Gus kisses him, eyes fluttering shut as he not-quite reaches for his lips. He can hear jazz in the background. He leans up to mash their lips together, standing up slowly as he does. They're the same height, he notices. It's odd to be the same size as someone else. They're too similar.
Gus' hand cradles his cheek. "Perhaps you were correct. Perhaps I don't play the 'emotionless drug lord' part as well as I thought." He kisses him again, and it tastes like herbs and wine. "I'm going upstairs to change into something more befitting of the occasion. I hope you can join me."
Jesse grins lightly when Gus pulls away. "Of course," he says, following him upstairs. "Are you... well. I don't know if you've had bottom surgery or not and I also just don't know what you're comfortable with in general, so, like, what do you plan to do?"
"I prefer to do my seduction... clothed." Gus chuckles. "Don't worry about me, Mr. Pinkman. And I plan to do whatever you ask of me. As I said. Your wish is my command. You dined with me with a very clear expectation, and I don't plan on disappointing."
Jesse huffs softly. "Well, I'm usually the other way around," he says. "You know, I prefer for people's wishes to be my command instead of otherwise."
He leans into his ear, his hand on Jesse's lower back. "Of course. I don't enjoy being very forward. You can see this. But I can tell you what I see. Walter, he cares for you. But he does not see who you truly are. Your potential." His hand slides lower. "But I do. And I will tell you, that I could care for you better than Walter White ever could. Because I understand you. I listen." He smirks. "Especially when you trust me with yourself tonight, like this. Now come with me." He makes his way into the bedroom.
Jesse shudders as Gus puts his hand on his lower back and whispers into his ear, his hand going lower, grabbing at his ass. "You know we can just sleep together without you making it a weird power play about me betraying Mr. White, right? Like I know you've never done anything without ulterior motives in your life but I'd like to have a few orgasms instead of just having someone try to emotionally manipulate me with those orgasms."
He straightens. "A power play?" Gus kisses him again, rougher, his 'charmer' act diminished in place of what might have been something genuine—just straight up horniness. "Why, Mr. Pinkman, I'm insulted you would even suggest such a thing." Though they're relatively the same height, Gus' wiry, muscular stature makes it easy for him to push Jesse back onto the bed, straddling him. "Forgive me. I thought you enjoyed power plays." His hand grips Jesse's chin, eyes wandering hungrily.
"Besides, it's what you asked for."
Jesse cries out in surprise when Gus pushes him back onto the bed and straddles him, eyes wide as he feels a shot of arousal go over him. Then he grabs his chin and oh God, he's so fucked. "Yeah," he says, voice airy with need. "But I just—I mean power plays in the ‘tie me up and make me come’ way, not the ‘try to pull me away from my partner’ way."
"I figured just as much." Gus takes off his tie, pulling Jesse's wrists behind his head. "And I think I can oblige." The cinch of the necktie and the cold metal bars of the headboard both against Jesse's skin are a shock to the system. "Both of those. And you look striking in yellow." Gus starts to unbutton Jesse's dress shirt, his belt, taking him in. "It's a shame I have to cast this aside. And this. And these pants, if you don't mind."
Jesse gasps when Gus ties him up to the headboard with one swift motion, feeling himself start to get wet. He whimpers out, shuddering as he starts to undress him. "Don't mind at all," he says, voice tight with need.
"I've never done this before. You wouldn't be able to tell." He laughs gently. "Perhaps I could show you where to find some better fitting trousers." Before he even has time to register, his boxers are off, his pants in a neat pile on the floor, and Gus' strong, yet soft hands are parting his thighs.
"The tying up, that is. At least, not like this."
It takes no time at all for Gus to have undressed him completely, Gus's hands parting his thighs. They're warm against them. He sucks in a breath. "No way I'm going to believe that," he says. "You've never tied anyone up during sex? I mean, c'mon."
"It's true. And I'm more than pleased to have you as my first." And with no warning, no showmanship, his lips are on his dick, and the way he takes such pleasure in tasting him right off the bat, like he was waiting for it.
Jesse cries out in surprise when Gus starts sucking his dick, eyes rolling back as he squirms gleefully—he strains his wrists against the headboard in the process, thighs twitching against Gus as he takes him in. It's so good already, after all this preface, for Gus to lick at him just right. "Fuck," he breathes out. "I was the dessert, huh?"
He looks up. "I think I would go so far as to say you were the main course." Having someone with similar anatomy is always a plus, Jesse figures. Gus keeps fucking him like that, with his tongue, and two deft fingers slip inside of him, curling carefully up into him, gauging how his body responds.
Jesse moans when Gus slips two fingers into him, curling against his g-spot. He squirms against his bindings more, the position making him more turned on than he thought possible, panting hard at the sensation. "Gus," he whines. "Oh God, Gus..."
It seems that Gus' professionalism, in the literal sense, doesn't waver outside of the business. His dedication, his focus on Jesse's body is straight-set, not wasting any time or any chance to drive him to orgasm. His fingers move faster now, clean, strong thrusts with his smooth, busy fingertips brushing his spot—it's as if he's had practice, as if they've made love before. Made love? Is that the appropriate word for whatever this...meetup was? It certainly feels like it, with the attention Gus pays to him, the regard he has for his pleasure.
Jesse is very vocal as Gus fingerfucks him, letting out moans and mewls of pleasure as he gets closer to orgasm. He hazily thinks that Gus must have a lot of practice on sleeping with people with cunts. "Gus," he moans. "Fuck, fuck, oh God, you're so good with your hands, what the fuck?"
"I try." His head dives down between the swell of Jesse's thighs, and as he sucks him off, pulling off occasionally and audibly to deliver broad sweeps with his tongue, his thrusts never cease. The room is filled with the sounds of sex, and Jesse's desperate noises.
It was something Mr. White couldn't—or had never attempted to deliver, at least not while fucking him. He could use his cock, his mouth, each individually, but never at the same time. And he certainly had never used his fingers like that.
Jesse feels like he's on cloud nine, like he's about to fucking die if Gus keeps this up. He sucks him off and fingerfucks him at the same time, with such poise that it must be a dream. He pants hard. "Oh God, fuck, I'm already close," he breathes out. "Gus—oh God, Gus, please..."
Much to Jesse's chagrin, if he had any hope of keeping himself together, he more than keeps it up. Seeing how he vocalizes, how his breathing speeds up, the fingers inside of him curl against him so quickly, the only explanation could be that he's more than rehearsed this same pace on himself. He eats him out like he's trying to gather and taste every last drop of juice from a ripe, sweet fruit—softly moaning into him.
Jesse comes hard only after a few more minutes of Gus's attention—his eyes roll back and he goes completely lax on the bed, straining against the tie and it most certainly marking up against his wrists. He cries out as he orgasms, panting so hard it feels like he just ran a marathon. "Oh God. Oh God. Fuck."
Finally, he comes up for air, and he straightens his glasses. "You did perfectly." Gus' hands start to reach for the tie, but he hesitates. "Unless, of course, you're not finished yet. The idea of that is quite good, actually. Keeping you here for a while longer. A few orgasms longer."
Jesse whimpers brokenly, still gasping for air. "I'd love that. You can keep me for a while longer if you want."
"Excellent. I've been looking for an excuse to use this." Sliding off the bed, he reaches into the side dresser—made of glass and mahogany, and emerges with a black magic wand. "It can be very soft, or very overpowering. You tell me how you want it as we continue." His legs are framing Jesse's thighs, straddling him once again. "You will want to pull at the restraints. Don't."
His eyes widen at the sight of the magic wand, and he can't help but grin. "Oh man, you're really looking to make me come way too much, huh?" he says, tilting his head. He watches him as he straddles him and looks up at him, as he orders him to not pull at his restraints. "I won't," he says, with all the seriousness in the world, giving him his best submissive voice that Walt goes crazy for.
"I believe you. For now, at least." Gus smiles, and the wand clicks to life, and Jesse can see the head of it buzz gently, blurring the outline. "This is 'low.' Where will we start." It barely brushes his cock, and it already makes him want to jolt. "And 'too much' isn't up to you."
Jesse gasps at the sensation of the vibrator against his cock, and then he says that too much isn't up to him and he lets out a strangled moan. "Understood," he breathes out. "Understood, sir."
With the previous orgasm, everything is more sensitive, amplified times two—Gus knows this. He eases the toy against him, watching him curiously, as if he's an experiment for him to document. Gus clears his throat when he calls him sir, the phrase clearly going straight to his groin.
Jesse twitches and whimpers out as Gus presses the toy against him, eyes rolling back as his hips twitch and pleasure wracks through him. He notices the way Gus clears his throat when he calls him sir, though. "Sir," he moans. "Oh God, fuck, 'm so sensitive still..."
"I can tell," he muses, matter-of-factly. He clicks the button on the vibrator, and the hum grows louder, the sensation stronger. "This is something different for you, I'm sure."
Jesse jumps when he clicks the button, the effects immediate in how it presses against him, the sensation so much stronger. He pants out, wringing his wrists helplessly. "Yeah," he says airily. "Oh God, sir..."
He looks to Jesse, clearly pleased. "So this is how I get you to address me properly. Fascinating. Maybe it takes—" he presses the button again, and it's so much, so strong, that it's almost unbearably pleasurable, like he needs to turn it off, or risk electrifying his nerve endings, coming too hard.
"—a few more."
Jesse screams. He twitches and squirms as he orgasms again, eyes rolling back into their sockets and him seeing spots as the vibrator presses against him, too strongly, too much, but Gus clearly told him he couldn't complain. He chokes out a desperate sob as he slowly gets away from the orgasmic stupor, hiccuping as the vibrator keeps going, the sensation overwhelming to the most extreme. "Sir," he cries out. "Sir, oh God, please, sir, please..."
At that moment, he remembers Gus' words to him. But to see someone come undone in front of you? That is something special . Jesse realizes Gus is fully aware of the intensity. He wanted this. He wanted to see him with zero inhibition. Agonizingly, blissfully, he turns it up as high as it goes, looking him square in the face with an indifferent, even bored expression—but Gus can't hide the delight in his eyes.
Jesse cries out again, the overstimulation so much he can barely form coherent thought. Tears slide down his cheeks and he pants out hard, looking at Gus's face as he pretends to look bored, all while clearly being delighted. Motherfucking sadist, he thinks amidst the soup from overstimulation in his brain.
"Come," he commands plainly, and even as his hips jerk and he thrashes against the restraints, Gus holds the toy against him, making sure he feels everything. "Go on." A caring thumb brushes a tear off his face as Jesse struggles.
Jesse sobs brokenly and comes again, jerked up like a puppet Gus can control at will. He comes for a third time in way too little of a period of time and he whimpers as he does it, his whole body feeling too heavy for itself.
Gus sighs, satisfied. The vibrations promptly stop, and he dismounts him, untying his wrists, taking his time. "Beautiful." He plants a kiss on Jesse's neck. "I won't make you endure any more. Though, admittedly, it was quite fun to do. I see why Walter keeps you around." Chuckling, he cleans his glasses on the untucked flap of his shirt.
Jesse is still catching his breath, letting Gus move him around as he unties his wrists, too out of it to really say anything. "Jesus Christ," he says under his breath. "Am I supposed to leave already or can I get a second to recover? If I drive in this state I'll probably hit someone."
He props up another pillow behind him. "Rest here as long as you need. I'll be in the kitchen. Tidying up."
Truly, Gus Fring was an enigma— cooking a meal, proposing a "business opportunity," giving Jesse an amount of mind-blowing orgasms that he frankly lost track of—all fully clothed, all in one night.
Jesse settles in there. "I'm gonna take a nap, I think," he says, and passes out in record time.
Even if he's too spent to appreciate it, Gus remarks before shutting the door. "You ought to come over for dinner more often, Mr. Pinkman."