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Badger had to have laced this coke somehow. Or whoever he got it from did. There’s no other explanation.
Jesse has been spread out on the futon in the darkness of his sparse living room for half an hour now. It’s a quarter past nine and yet time feels like it’s ceased to exist. His clothes feel ten sizes too small, a feeling he hasn’t known for over a decade. His eyes are heavy and his body temperature has to be over 103. He has to be dying.
He’s left Badger at least three voicemails by now. His last one probably sounded verging on nonsensical, ridden with panic and at this point, fury. Jesse knows logically that Badger probably didn’t lace it, but somebody must have, and his panic won’t let him rationalize. “Hey asshole,” he’d said. “I doubt you’re real busy tonight, so pick up already. Where the fuck did you get that blow? I seriously need to know, okay. Please, Badge.” His voice was shaking and so were his hands.
He feels like an idiot in the back of his mind, past the fear and fever overtaking him. This is what he gets for buying cocaine from Badger, someone who was never super reliable with this kind of stuff in the first place. Someone could have probably passed a bag of sugar off to him and gotten away with it. Jesse should have known better. But he needed something. He felt half-awake and half-alive by default all the time, and the crystal was making him sick at this point.
It had been fine at first. He did a line, did another, felt better. Had more energy than he had all week. A half hour passed. Then came the chills— the full body shivers and combined sweating. His house was already on the cooler side, so it made no sense. At first, he’d figured it was just a side effect of the blow before his body started feeling achy and heavy. That definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. Something in the pit of his stomach lurched, like a scorpion trying to claw its way out. A headache on top of it all, and Jesse had known by then that this wasn’t normal. Something was really wrong.
That was when he left the first voicemail. He was already on edge, and Badger not answering him didn’t help. Of all times for him to busy, why did it have to be right now?
“Hey Badge,” he croaked out. “I’m not sure if— I don’t know why, but that stuff you gave me is messing with me. I feel like, sick as a dog. Is there something in there that— that you didn’t tell me about?” He feels stupid as he says it, but nothing makes any sense. “Who’d you even get it from? Please call me back. This is like, urgent, yo,” he said shakily, then hung up.
In the span of half an hour, he’d tried Badger another two times before conceding that he was fucked. If he had been poisoned or something, there was nothing he could do if he didn’t want to end up in jail. He’d had enough of that already; Mr. White’s dickhead brother-in-law and all the douchebags at the DEA.
Sweat-covered and nearly delirious, Jesse is abruptly stricken with the only idea that might help him out here.
He scrambles to make his body get up and pick up the phone to dial Mr. White’s number, his fingers nearly missing most of the buttons. It rings, rings, rings… It may as well be ringing for hours. Jesse nearly gives up and accepts certain death when he hears Mr. White’s voice and feels a kind of relief that he never thought would be associated with the man.
“Jesse?” He doesn’t sound angry or like he’s by his family. He sounds neutral, neither here nor there. Good.
“Mr. White,” Jesse says in a sort of gasp. He forgets how to say the words to convey anything useful.
“Yes? Jesse?” Now there’s an air of impatience in his voice, but Jesse supposes that’s always there somewhere beneath it.
Jesse’s brain gives just enough energy then to say what he needs to. It comes out rushed, broken. “Mr. White, I need— I need you to come over here. Please. It’s super important, yo, please just come—“
“Slow down. What is this about? What is wrong?” He sounds slightly nervous now, probably assuming this is something about Gus or Mike or anything in that department.
“It’s not about the— business, or anything, Mr. White, but it’s urgent shit. Look, I’m sorry for interrupting your night, but I’m in a… situation here, so please just get your ass over here,” Jesse says quickly, slightly irritated now. He hears a sigh on the other end of the call.
“Jesus, alright. Give me a few minutes.” That’s all he hears before Mr. White hangs up. He can only hope that he doesn’t take his time, leaving Jesse to possibly die here in that time. It would be a shitty way to go, Jesse thinks. Coked up on his futon, all alone, with Mr. White being the one to stumble upon his corpse. Jesse bitterly acknowledges that it doesn’t seem implausible under other circumstances.
He lays there, waiting impatiently, hoping maybe Badger will call him and tell him it’s just some extra addition to the coke that’s truly harmless. That he won’t have to explain this to Mr. White after all and feel the impending, inevitable shame that will result.
Half-dazed and still anxious, Jesse is horrified to feel his jeans growing tighter, even more so than they felt before. Blood is rushing to down between his legs and he is powerless to stop it. There’s no logical reason for this, he knows. It must be another awful effect of the coke. He panics knowing that Mr. White will be here soon. He tries to will it away, crosses his legs, to no avail. What could have been slipped into the coke to do this? He can’t comprehend anything. This can’t be real.
“Please,” he says to nobody, his voice quivering. He hasn’t sounded normal since the start of this fucked up experience. He can only pray that Mr. White might offer him some comforting explanation, or antidote to this thing.
Walt assumes Jesse’s gotten himself into something outside of his qualifications to handle or done something stupid. He supposes those go hand in hand.
He doesn’t want that to be the case, of course. But a call at 9:30 at night from him claiming urgency probably doesn’t indicate well thought out choices. And he knows Jesse. These things just happen when he’s left to his own devices.
He can’t deny that he’s a bit worried regardless. He certainly doesn’t want anything bad to happen to Jesse. It would be detrimental. He wants everything to be okay and go smoothly. That’s why he’s going over to Jesse’s house. It’s the practical thing to do.
It’s not unbeknownst to him that comforting people, especially Jesse, isn’t his strong suit. If Jesse’s emergency is relationship-related or personal, Walt doesn’t know how he’s going to get through it without looking like an asshole. He does care; he doesn’t want to see Jesse in pain or anguish. But conveying that easily and appropriately might as well be an unsolvable equation to him. It’s not his finest trait, he knows it. He silently hopes that this is an easily mitigated situation.
He pulls up to Jesse’s house on that note, putting the car in park and making his way to the front door, giving a polite few knocks. A shout of “come in!” presses him to open the door. His first instinct is to shun Jesse for not having his door locked, but the sound of his voice thwarts him from doing so. The sight of him is even more concerning.
Jesse looks exhausted and restless at the same time. Walt feels a pang of nerves as he stands over the futon, looking down at him carefully.
“What is wrong with you?” He means to say it with concern, but it comes out insultingly. “I mean— what is going on with you? You look like you have the flu.”
Jesse’s head rolls over to meet his eyes. His own are slightly bloodshot, maybe teary if Walt looks close enough.
“I’m dying,” Jesse says. His voice sounds like sandpaper. “I am supremely fucked. I shouldn’t have even called you.” His eyes close and he exhales loudly.
Walt shakes his head. “What are you talking about? Explain to me what happened here from start to finish.”
“I bought coke,” Jesse spits out. Walt stiffens. “It was just, I don’t know, I just— I needed something different, and Badger, like, just had some. Before you lecture me and tell me how much of an imbecile I am, listen to me when I say I already know.” At least he’s aware. “He must have laced it, or the guy he got it from did, I don’t know, I— I tried to call him three times, yo. He won’t answer and I’ve probably been poisoned so you can just plan my funeral now, I guess.” Jesse huffs the last sentence and rolls his head back in the opposite direction of Walt, who is baffled as well as disappointed.
“Jesse, if it were laced with something seriously lethal, like fentanyl, you’d be dead by now,” Walt explains. “You don’t look like you’re dying. You look exhausted and sick. You probably just have a bug or the flu.” He pats Jesse’s shoulder once, hoping this can be over soon.
“No!” Jesse leaps up at the touch, anger coloring his features. Walt can see the sweat beading on his forehead now. “It’s not a goddamn bug,” he continues. “I was totally fine before I did that blow. Thirty minutes later and I feel like a thousand degrees, I’m sweating buckets, my head hurts, I have a—“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head.
“You have what?” Walt prompts.
“Nothing. Listen, it’s the coke. There was something in it. This shit doesn’t just happen, yo. Coke isn’t supposed to make you feel like this.” Walt knows deep down he’s right. He looks slightly off, not in a typical intoxicated way.
“Okay, Jesse. I suppose it’s possible there’s something else you’re dealing with here, but unless you can get ahold of your friend and find out what’s in it, I can’t help you.” He wills himself to be patient, knowing Jesse is already keyed up.
“Jesus, like I didn’t already try that!” Jesse exclaims. “Can’t you just, like, look at it? Test it or something?”
Walt breathes deeply. “I can see it from here. There is nothing that sticks out to me visibly that would indicate anything added to it. If there was, you would’ve seen it and not taken it, come on.” He rolls his eyes when Jesse huffs petulantly. “And I can’t just ‘test it,’ I didn’t bring a whole lab with me on the way to your house when you called me on urgent notice,” he says, irritated. “That’s why I asked you what it was about, Jesse.”
Jesse practically snarls. “Look at me, Mr. White!” He stands up, his knees clearly shaky. Walt nearly brings a hand up to steady him but resists. “I look like shit, I probably have a fever that would put me in the hospital, and I’ve been hard since for no reason!” He spits out the last sentence regretfully, shaking his head in embarrassment. “I’m dying!” He adds, choking up. Walt is past the point of annoyance, now, mostly feeling pity and concern for the man.
“Jesse,” he starts, softer than before. “I’m very sorry this is happening. It’s very possible— likely even, that the cocaine had something else in it.” He rests his hand on Jesse’s shoulder, keeping it there this time when Jesse’s eyes dart up to his own. “But son. You are not dying. It’s very unlikely, like I said earlier. These are probably just inconvenient side effects at worst. You can probably just sleep it off and be fine the next day. As for…” Walt trails off, not knowing how to address the erection Jesse is still trying and failing to hide. “Well, I’d imagine you know this already, but cocaine is known to affect your libido on its own anyway. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“But it…” Jesse sounds close to tears, clearly past anger by now. “I’ve done blow before, man, okay? I’m not an idiot. Yeah, it gets you pumped up, makes you wanna screw, but not like this. It’s like somebody put ten Viagra pills in my coffee or something. It won’t go away.” Jesse avoids Walt’s gaze, staring at his feet. He sits back down in defeat. “I don’t know why I even called you here.”
“Yes, you do.” Walt steps towards him again. Jesse’s eyebrow furrow. At least he doesn’t look so close to a meltdown now. Walt notices something— there’s been a shift. He can’t identify when exactly it occurred or why but the air feels tenser, on a molecular level.
Jesse fixes his gaze on the wall behind Walt’s head now, eyes darting back and forth and his teeth gnawing on his lips like he’s biting away another thought. “Uh, no? I panicked, yo, I couldn’t think of anybody else who was, like, available. When you think you’re dying, you do shit like that.” His eyes fall back to his lap and his legs press together awkwardly, one of his hands coming up so he can bite his middle nail.
Walt ignores the insult. “You called me because you trusted me to help you with this.” He stares down at Jesse and doesn’t look away when Jesse does. He’s intentional to not describe exactly what this is, certain Jesse will freak out and accuse him of something. Still, Jesse calls him for help and is aroused when he gets there, what else is there to assume? He really can’t be sure if he’s reading between the lines here or simply overstepping. Deciphering the code or making a fool of himself.
“I— I mean yeah, I guess,” Jesse concedes. “If anybody could help me figure out what might be in the shit I’m snorting, I assumed it was you. So what?”
“I think…” Walt says, lower than usual, “you trusted me to take care of this.” He presses a hand to Jesse’s back, hoping he wasn’t planning on breaking it in response. He doesn’t know where this is coming from, really; sure, Jesse is beautiful. That doesn’t cause debate. And under the circumstances they’ve been in together, it was impossible not to imagine things… differently every now and then. Walt was only human. Something about Jesse in this moment made him speak without thinking. Maybe it was the desperation in his voice, or the knowledge that he needed him like always, just in a different way this time. For once Walt couldn’t be mad at him, not when he looked so gorgeously needful and dependent on him. If Jesse’s next move was to punch Walt in the face, he’d accept that and move on, albeit not without a hint of shame. He had a feeling, though. He wasn’t alone in feeling this way.
To his relief, Jesse doesn’t respond with violence. He simply looks back up, finally meets his eyes again.
“Huh?” He says dumbly. The word is confused but his expression is not. His eyes are half-lidded, his mouth slightly open, his lips licked. He doesn’t know when Jesse took the hand awkwardly covering his crotch off of it, but now he can see clearly the bulge that was underneath it and beneath his jeans for the past fifteen minutes, and likely much longer before that. It had to have been uncomfortable.
“Jesse, if you needed some help getting off, you could have just been up front,” Walt says, teasing a bit, like it could maybe break the tension he’s created, easily cross whatever threshold he’d been tiptoeing around before.
“I don’t need anything,” Jesse says. He grabs ahold of Walt’s wrist, bringing it down and setting it on top of his crotch where his own hand had laid minutes ago. He’s staring up at Walt, who has been silenced with shock.
“Jesse,” he starts, but the words disintegrate before he can say them.
“Please help me,” Jesse says quietly, like it’s suddenly a secret. His words shake, as does Walt’s hand slightly on his clothed dick. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised or suddenly timid; this had been his proposition, at least he thinks. He’d missed the reversal Jesse had pulled seamlessly on him, effortlessly putting him in the vulnerable position he had occupied moments before. It makes his head spin.
Jesse reaches up and pulls Walt by the back of his neck down to press their lips together. It’s surprisingly chaste until Walt deepens the kiss, pressing his tongue against the line of Jesse’s lips. Jesse responds gingerly, yanking Walt down so that he’s sat on the futon alongside Jesse, until Walt finds him sat on his lap, knees on either side of him. He runs a hand along the small of Jesse’s back, pressing a kiss to his throat and then pulling away. He looks up to see Jesse heavily breathing open-mouthed, bending down to reconnect their mouths. Then Walt’s reaching to pull off his shirt, letting it land on the floor as Jesse grinds against him, looking delirious. Walt figures that this had been stewing since he got there. It was probably for the best that Jesse got some release.
They’re pressed as closely together as Jesse can get them, every part of their bodies making contact despite the layers of clothes Walt’s still wearing. He tries to take it all in, comprehend that it’s actually happening. This wasn’t how he pictured it, but he certainly can’t complain. Not when Jesse’s making his way off of him and onto his knees, resting on the floor between Walt’s legs. There’s a thud sound from his knees hitting the hardwood roughly, but Jesse doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“Jesse, you don’t—“
“Shut up,” Jesse cuts him off roughly, making quick work of unzipping his pants and taking his cock out, fully hard at this point. In a matter of seconds, Jesse has his lips fully wrapped around him, moving his head to take more and more.
“Shit, Jesse.” Walt’s hand find themselves in his hair, almost without thinking. He desperately wants to thrust forward, use his mouth like he can, but he knows he’s better off letting Jesse take the reigns for now.
Jesse blindly reaches up to cover Walt’s hand in his hair with his own, almost as if he read his mind. He then looks up at Walt, trying to speak with his eyes. Go ahead, he says. Use me.
Walt groans and fucks his throat like Jesse wants. He pistons his hips forward while pressing down on Jesse’s head, enough to make him gag on every other movement. If Jesse minds, he doesn’t show it. He keeps his hand on top of Walt’s and sucks harder, looking up at him when his eyes aren’t squeezed shut from having his throat filled. In Walt’s mind, it’s perfect. He’s not expertly trained in giving head, that much is obvious; but Jesse’s going for it like he feels he may have to earn whatever may come next, whatever rewards he might reap from Walt in return. That alone makes him buck his hips up especially hard then, causing Jesse to sputter and cough. The look on his face isn’t deterred or irritated, though. He presses his cheek against Walt’s inner thigh as his eyes flutter, tears gathered in his eyes and ready to flow down his face.
Walt’s hands twitch as he’s unsure if he should pull Jesse back onto his dick. He doesn’t have to give much more thought to it because Jesse is taking him into his mouth again wordlessly. He gets back to it like nothing. It’s maddening.
He simply won’t last like this. Jesse has him close to coming in mere minutes. This can’t be how it ends, especially when he’s here to help Jesse, not the other way around. Walt yanks him off his cock by the hair, still not wanting to hurt him but also suspecting that maybe that’s what Jesse wants.
“Please,” Jesse whispers, voice even more shot than before. Walt tries his best to wipe away the tears running down his face, yet throbbing at the sight.
“Let’s go to your bed,” Walt manages to get out. He silently hopes Jesse is able to walk there, relieved when his knees only shake on the way there rather than buckle. Walt nearly trips up the steps himself, not much better off.
In the bedroom, Jesse lays back on his bed, clearly waiting for Walt to touch him somehow. He doesn’t unzip his own jeans though, still leaving his erection trapped, waiting for Walt to do something.
Walt sheds his clothes and settles himself over Jesse on the bed. He reaches down to undo Jesse’s jeans, who even moans a bit out of relief. He helps Walt get them fully off, along with his boxers. The pity Walt felt earlier comes back a bit when he sees how hard he is, leaking now onto his lower stomach. He’s pretty there, too, no surprise.
Jesse practically whimpers when Walt’s hand wraps around his dick. He tries to fuck Walt’s fist right away, desperate for any friction after being denied it for what feels like forever, but Walt uses his other hand to press his hips down. Walt can see how much it tortures him. He gives a soft smile in mock sympathy.
“Mr. White,” Jesse gasps. Walt lets go of his length, making him groan, this time out of frustration. He watches Jesse quickly reach his hand over into the bedside drawer and toss him something.
“Do you…” Walt starts, wanting to know what Jesse wants him to do before he moves.
In response, Jesse simply widens his legs a bit and says, “You gonna fuck me or not, Mr. White?”
That’s all it takes for Walt to tear open the packet of lube and take some on his fingers. In the back of his mind, he hopes Jesse isn’t actually suffering from any potentially deadly drug aftereffects throughout this, though he deems it unlikely.
He presses one finger against Jesse’s entrance. His gaze doesn’t move, so Walt presses in. Jesse winces a bit, clearly not that experienced with this, but he utters a “keep going,” so Walt does.
While working his finger in and out to let him adjust and trying to find his prostate, he busies his other hand with thumbing one of Jesse’s nipples, smiling at the surprised moan he lets out. At the same time, Jesse jolts and moves his hips downward towards him, his eyes shut tightly with pleasure. One of his hands come up to grip Walt’s forearm above his chest. He throws his head back as Walt finds what he’d been looking for.
“Ah,” he cries, then “More.” Walt gives him another finger, moving faster now that he’s better adjusted. Jesse presses back against his fingers, whimpering every time Walt touches his prostate.
“Oh, fuck,” he says. Walt feels like he could come just from witnessing such an act, seeing Jesse so frenzied and needy. Now that it’s etched into the back of his mind, it’ll never leave.
“God, I used to think about this all the time in the RV,” Jesse says with a cry. Walt’s fingers pause, but Jesse’s hips don’t. His mouth doesn’t either.
“Yeah. Out in the desert, just the two of us alone,” he continues. “I’d be thinking now and then, after a good cook. How you could just fuck me right there,” Walt’s mouth goes dry and he wills himself to not rut against Jesse’s thigh as he listens, amazed that his need to ramble still remains in his current state. “Just bend me over the counter— work station,” he corrects himself and chuckles. “And take what you want. Or you could just mount me on the floor. Get me on my hands and knees and use me.” He trails off at the end, having to take in a shuddering breath.
“God,” Walt gasps. The thought is almost too much. He pulls his fingers out and uses the rest of the lube to slick himself up, patience no longer existing in his body.
“I wanted it,” Jesse says, breathless. “Wanted you to fuck me and take what’s yours.” Walt shoves his hips forward then, having to pause for a moment once he’s inside. It’s overwhelming. He hears Jesse choke on his gasp and feels legs wrap around his back.
“I would have,” he grits out, thrusting into Jesse at a decent pace, still trying to steady himself, though this conversation might prevent that entirely. “Would have given it to you how you wanted.”
Jesse moans and tries to meet his movements with his hips, which are speeding up. When Walt hits his prostate, he’s reduced to cries. He’d grown accustomed to Jesse’s voice, its many inflections and volumes, but hearing him sob and whimper like this is staggering. Mentally he tries to memorize the sound, tries to burn it into his brain until it’s all that plays over and over and over.
Jesse grabs his face and brings his lips down to meet his, moaning into his mouth. Walt indulges him a moment before pulling out and away. He rolls Jesse onto his stomach, then lifts him by his underarms to support his own weight. Jesse gets the idea and positions himself on his hands and knees.
Now that he finally feels acclimated to this turn of events, he’s not going to waste any time. He pushes back into Jesse roughly, going at a faster pace than before. Then he reaches a hand into his hair and yanks, making him yelp.
“This what you wanted?” Walt asks rhetorically. Still, Jesse can’t help from answering. He has to catch his breath from moaning over and over, but he’s not one to keep quiet.
“Yes,” he breathes. “More,” he continues, saying the word over and over as Walt continues to fuck into him roughly. His head is forced up by Walt’s hand in his hair, so every sound he makes is louder. Walt feels him tightening around him and knows he must be close. It’s a miracle they’ve lasted this long, he thinks.
“God, you’re— perfect, Jesse, I’m close,” he warns.
“Stay right there,” Jesse orders. “Come in me,” he says quieter. He reaches his hand around to sit atop one of Walt’s hands on his hips, holding him there, just like before. After that, it’s over. Walt comes with a shout, gripping bruises into Jesse’s hipbones.
He pulls out slowly and flips Jesse over, who looks close to tears once again. “Please,” he whines.
Walt grips his cock and this time doesn’t hold his hips down when he starts fucking into his hand. It only takes ten seconds of this for Jesse to come, shooting onto his stomach and nearly wailing. Walt kisses him deeply and lets go of his dick, setting a hand gently on his side.
Jesse is quiet but appears sated, at least for the time being. He lays back on his bed, his chest heaving, but looking less feverish than before. Walt feels slight relief, but doesn’t give way to it yet when he doesn’t know if whatever this was is over. He uses a tissue from the nightstand to clean Jesse off the best he can. He sees him close his eyes and swallow, then open them and look to Walt.
“Thank you,” Jesse says quietly. “I mean— for that, but also for being here.”
“Don’t worry about it, Jesse.” Walt wants to lay a hand on his shoulder and say something more but feels that the moment for it has passed, fleeting and easily missed. The irony of being unable to offer any verbal intimacy after what they’ve done hits him, and he suddenly feels out of place, an intruder.
Jesse doesn’t look phased. Walt expects him to reach for a cigarette but he just lays there in silence catching his breath. After a beat he says, “I don’t know if that fixed it.”
“What?”
“I still… Feel weird. Like in my stomach. And uh…” His eyes flicker to his dick which is half-hard still.
Walt stares at him wordlessly. Jesse continues, “I know you probably can’t… you know, for a while, since you’re like, old.” He smirks.
“Well, thanks for that,” Walt says sarcastically. “But Jesse, I don’t mind… helping you out anyway. Not when you’re in this state. And besides, it’s not like I have places to be.”
“You don’t?”
“Well, I doubt Skyler would be over the moon to see me home right now, so no.” He feels a jab of guilt in his gut but pushes it away. If Skyler could step away from their marriage more than once then it was fair game. A shred of pride awakens in him as he thinks of how he’s now spited her the way she did to him.
Jesse’s cell phone starts ringing then, muffled by the pocket of his jeans laying on the floor. Jesse jolts upward, but Walt quickly retrieves it in a weird act of kindness, handing it to him. He flips open his phone and presses it to his ear, looking at Walt nervously.
“Dude, I called you like a million times,” Jesse says indignantly. Walt assumes his friend finally got back to him. Thank God.
Jesse’s quiet then, listening to what his friend’s saying. His face shifts from vexed to confusion to something akin to disappointment, like a dad who just found out his kid landed themself in jail. It’s amusing to Walt, who usually aims that kind of look Jesse’s way.
“Jesus, Badger, are you an idiot?” Jesse exclaims. Walt hears a quiet voice on the other end from where he sits. It sounds frantic and rushed.
“No, listen to me. I thought I was dying, yo. Like you were trying to kill me or something. Don’t be such a dumbass next time.” Jesse’s hand covers the upper half of his face in exasperation.
“Right. Whatever. Yeah, I’m fine, I think. Bye.” Jesse hangs up then, blindly dropping it onto the nightstand and laying back with a heavy sigh, his forearm over his eyes.
Walt stares at him expectantly before realizing he doesn’t look like he plans to explain anything.
“Jesse?”
“Huh?”
“So what was the culprit?”
Jesse shifts so he’s sitting up and looking at Walt. He looks tired again. Embarrassed, too.
“Badger did something really stupid. He got that coke from some random friend of his cousin. Didn’t know the guy at all. So he called him after he heard my voicemail, and apparently the guy put some, like, voodoo shit in it.” Walt resists the urge to shake his head. “I don’t know, like some aph— aphro— the thing that makes you horny. Badger doesn’t know what it was and didn’t know it was in there.”
“So your friend got cocaine from some random guy who laced it with an aphrodisiac.”
Jesse looks up at the ceiling and slowly shakes his head, sheepish.
“It’s just weird, cause like, it didn’t feel normal. That was some next level shit,” Jesse says.
Walt’s eyebrows furrow. “I can’t think of what he might have used. It doesn’t really make sense.”
“Whatever. I’m just glad it didn’t kill me. If anything, it helped,” Jesse says, smirking.
Walt rolls his eyes. He sits back alongside Jesse and sighs, wracking his brain silently. Jesse then swings a leg over him so he’s sat on his lap, still naked. Walt’s taken by surprise but moves his hands up to hold his waist. Jesse bends down to connect their lips, seemingly content with the explanation he got from his friend. Walt pulls back to look up at him, and he decides that whatever solution he’s searching for in his head can wait a bit. As long as Jesse’s here alive and well, albeit a bit under the influence, he can postpone his overthinking for a short time.
He can take care of Jesse for the time being. That what half of his duties amount to anyway, so he supposes it’s just a normal part of his daily life at this point. This time it just happens to come with odd circumstances.
If this is the worst he has to handle, he’ll deal.