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“I need you to believe me.”
Jesse's blood ran cold. He knew what Walt meant. Go along with the facade or I’ll kill you too. He just hadn’t heard it spoken so explicitly before.
It wasn’t as if he felt he deserved to live, but Jesse was desperate to see his money redistributed out to the people who’d suffered because of him and Walt. It wouldn’t undo any damage, but maybe it would make the rest of their lives slightly easier. Then he could disappear, and hopefully no law enforcement would be able to trace the money to its criminal origins. His death would be doing everyone a favor. But not yet.
“Yeah. Like you said. He’s alive.”
Walt let the warning expression on his face soften.
“Yeah. Mike’s alive. Absolutely.”
They both lied. They both knew it. Tears welled in Jesse’s eyes and he turned away. However it had happened, Mike hadn’t deserved to die at the hands of Walter White. He’d met Mike after losing Jane, and the grief was choking him all over again. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, desperately trying to hold back tears and to ignore the tar building in his chest.
Jesse suddenly felt Walt’s shadow loom over him. He turned to meet the older man’s gaze, biting his lip as he felt two tears fall from his eyes. Walt stepped closer to him, slowly bringing his hands to cup Jesse’s face, thumbs resting on his cheeks as if mimicking a saint.
“You need to be careful, Jesse.”
Was he referring to his allegiance to Walt or his money? Jesse presumed both. The way Walt used a sweet tone to deliver threats and manipulations made Jesse sick. He was so tired of hating himself for believing everything Walt said for so long, and for still clinging on to hope now that he knew better. He was so tired of that expression Walt was giving him, like he was looking into the eyes of a sick dog before putting a bullet in its head.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Fuck you, Jesse screamed in his head as Walt bent to lay a soft kiss to his forehead. Fuck him for playing Jesse’s emotions to get what he wants. Fuck him for rotating between the roles of mentor, father, and lover.
Mike had opened Jesse’s eyes to how deranged his relationship with Walt had become. Walt knew it too, and that’s probably why he hated Mike so quickly. Mike saw right through him. And then he was gone.
A small sob broke from Jesse’s throat, guilt wracking his body. Walt shushed him gently and pulled him close. “It’s okay. You’re okay, son.” Jesse shut his eyes and tried to ignore that he was close enough to hear the quiet sound of Walt’s rattled breath, as if Walt’s lungs held the same black tar he felt spreading in his chest.
Walt slowly let him go.
“Jesse, take your clothes off.”
There it is. Jesse hesitated, taking a moment to stare at Walt incredulously, glassy blue eyes wide, as if begging him no . He hadn’t even tried to frame it like a question. He never had. Except before, Jesse had been an enthusiastic participant. In the past, their trysts had been fueled by adrenaline after a near-death experience, or a great success in their business endeavors. It was a “heat of the moment” thing, and sometimes a “Jesse was too high to care” thing.
Walt acted like he was opposed to Jesse still smoking weed and drinking post-sobriety, but really he knew that if enough substance was in Jesse’s system he would have no qualms about dropping to his knees. It was just another thing about Walt in retrospect that made Jesse feel ill.
Jesse took a deep breath; he didn’t want to find out what would happen if Walt had to ask twice. He carefully stood up, looking away from Walt as he began to shed his clothes, dropping the oversized articles to the floor. He felt Walt’s gaze searing his body, burning with satisfaction at Jesse’s compliance. He didn’t have to look to know the older man was already hard.
“Good boy. Now lie down.”
Even before her relapse, Jane had told Jesse that his and Walt’s relationship was weird, and that the man pretending to be his father gave her bad vibes. Jesse had argued back. And here they were now.
Looking Walt dead in the eye, Jesse slowly lowered himself to the couch. He tried to lay on his front, but Walt took him by the wrists to roll him onto his back.
“I like seeing your face when I fuck you.”
Jesse would throw every ounce of sobriety away if it meant he could get through the rest of the evening high enough to forget who he was. Jesse used to be convinced that opening his legs for Walt was a good deed helping an unfortunate soul, as if letting a married man fuck him was akin to giving sight to the blind. He just felt like an idiot now.
Jesse felt chills as a hand slowly slipped up his leg. He didn’t want him touching him. Not the man who had killed Mike. Not the man who orchestrated the deaths of people he’d never met.
Since their first week working together, Jesse had felt a degree of paranoia that Walt would do him in. Would it be poison in his water bottle? Laced drugs? A bomb hidden in his closet? That fear had made him respect the unconventional criminal at first, but now the fear was visceral.
Jesse wasn’t Walt’s partner anymore, he was prey.
The fingers violently prying him open felt like claws tearing through his flesh. The deepening crackle of necrotic lungs made him feel like there was a mad wolf snarling over him before going in for the kill, which was made all the more convincing by the hot breath and teeth burning his neck.
A sick, dying animal driven to prey on humans. Walt was going to eat Jesse alive.
Three fingers made Jesse cry out in pain. It never had been about his pleasure, but at least he hadn’t been afraid to advocate for himself back then. He’d felt like he’d had a choice. Clearly it was all an illusion; Walt only listened to Jesse’s needs when Jesse was 100% on Walt’s side. Now that their relationship was hanging on by a thread, Jesse felt like he was experiencing Walt’s true brutality. How he treated people who threatened to go against him.
The fingers were abruptly removed and Jesse felt his hips being pulled up Walt’s lap. He kept his head tilted back so he could stare at the ceiling, trying to distract himself with shapes and patterns in the wooden rafters. His attempt at a meditative state was shattered as he felt Walt begin lining himself up. He panicked and frantically tried to push himself out from under the older man.
“Mr. White, please -”
His plea was broken off by the cutting pain of Walt’s cock forcing through him. The hands on Jesse’s hips quickly grabbed his wrists again, locking him in his twisted position, shoulder digging into the couch cushions. He wanted to scream, bite and kick until he got away or was killed. He didn’t want to be raped in his own house, in his own living room, on his own couch, staring at the few items left in the world he held sacred.
He couldn’t bear the feeling of that black tar inside them leaking out and dripping down his furniture, smothering the box of Brock’s toys that still waited in the corner, gluing to the Sergio Leone DVDs Mike had lent him, defacing the NA medallions Andrea ended up achieving. He couldn’t bear to have the cherished parts of his world tarnished.
The shallow words of praise that spilled into Jesse’s ears were terribly contrasted by the agony of Walt finding the limit to far he could push into the smaller man’s body. Jesse then let out a miserable sob as Walt pulled back out to begin fucking him in earnest.
His hands eventually went numb from the harsh grip on his wrists.
“I love you, son.”
The old Jesse used to bask in the warm feeling he received from those words. The new Jesse had experienced being the protege of a better man than Walt. The new Jesse had experienced the brief privilege of being a surrogate father himself. The new Jesse thought how fucking dare you . He felt so disgusted he’d let this incestuous relationship ruin his life. He felt so disgusting. It seemed that repentance demanded he suffer for not realizing it sooner.
Listening to Walt’s grunting, feeling the agony of getting fucked mellow into a numbness with the occasional shrapnel laceration, and reflecting on just how fucked up the two of them were, left Jesse to discover how violently lonely he was. Walt had removed every person he cared about from his life. First he convinced him to separate himself from Andrea and Brock, and now Mike…
Really, Mike had been the closest thing to an actual father Jesse had ever had.
His biological father had emotionally cut him off before he’d turned 14. The man’s affection was conditional in the terms that his sons must fit his idea of success to be worthy, and an amateur artist with undiagnosed ADHD and a drug dependency was not his picture of success.
Walt… Walt was well aware of Jesse’s family issues in high school, and he gave him no mercy for it. He’d later used them to gain Jesse’s affection in the beginning of their partnership. Meticulously tossing scraps of praise and approval Jesse’s way had him completely dependent on Walt for any sense of self-worth. But even before their relationship officially became sexual, Jesse was closer to being Walt’s mistress than his bastard son. Jesse was the secret cellphone Walt hid from his wife. Jesse was the disturbingly young partner the real estate agent saw Walt gripping in the kitchen. Jesse was the truth behind every lie Walt shilled to his family about where he had been for so long and why he was acting so strange.
Yet, for some reason, Jesse had never been allowed to meet Walter White’s real son.
Mike was as much of a father to Jesse as any man in his position could have been. Mike had shown Jesse patience, kindness, and understanding. Mike never tried to use his emotions against him, never feigned sentimentality to get what he wanted, because Mike never wanted anything from him. He just wanted to do his job and wanted Jesse to be safe. Gus’s evil mastermind plan to undermine Walt by pairing Mike and Jesse, the two people who had ever directly objected to his morality, had completely worked. As he became more fond of Mike, Jesse began reassessing his relationship with Walt. Walt fucking hated Mike for that.
Mike put up with Walt because of Jesse. And then Mike was dead.
Jesse wore guilt like a second skin. He would do anything to have Mike back again, able to leave money for his family before disappearing North like he was supposed to. Able to bust down Jesse’s front door, gun in hand, ready to give him calm instructions about how to recuperate after sending Walt back to hell.
Realizing just how desperately he missed Mike is what caused Jesse to fall apart, breaking down completely in Walt’s grasp. Walt paused briefly when he noticed Jesse was sobbing; he tried to shush him, tried to slow his pace until he calmed down, to no avail.
Walt tried to pry the truth out of him, asking “what’s wrong, Jesse?” in a sappy tone Mike would have never used. Jesse couldn’t speak, choked from the tears running down his face and his throat.
“I already told you, Mike is fine.” Despite Walt’s artificial tone, the words he breathed into Jesse’s neck were dripping with tar. The man had invaded Jesse’s body, had read his fucking mind. All Jesse could do now was try to protect his soul.
I wish I could still believe you, Mr. White.
Hands moved from grasping Jesse’s wrists to his hips so that Walt had better leverage for his final thrusts. Strained cries burst from Jesse’s throat in response to the teeth that pierced his neck and the liquid that started burning his insides. The final kill. Cum dripped from him like blood from a bullet wound.
“You did so well, Jesse,” a foreign voice rasped into his ear. Who the fuck was this person?
I don’t even recognize you anymore.