Fic: Prescient
Title: Prescient
Author: diane_kepler
Length: 1400 wds Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Breaking Bad
Characters: Walt / genderswapped Jesse = Jessie,
Genre: PWP, Angst
Spoilers: Season 2x12
Summary: There's a problem with Jessie's underwear and Walt is nothing if not a problem solver. Jessie's POV. Set sometime during Season 3.
Notes: It's awesome to have a fandom where the show is actually not over yet. Also, potential slash fic becomes het. Subversive? Or doubly subversive?
Jessie normally just put her hazmat suit on over her regular clothes. But there'd been something wrong with the fans since yesterday and the heat from the furnace wasn't venting right. Gus knew about it, of course. They could barely take a dump in this place without him being wise, but finding a trusted guy with the right skills was a problem. Or at least that's what he'd told Mr. White.
The great Heisenberg didn't buy it though. He figured that Gus was just using the situation to put some kind of pressure on them -- on him, that is -- because everything was always about Mr. White. It was his formula, and his lab, and it didn't matter how long Jessie busted her ass, she'd still be the not-good-enough target of all his pent-up frustration about the fans. So when it came time to change, Jessie didn't bother moving away from the lockers. He'd just yell at her for wasting time. As for him seeing anything, she couldn't muster the energy to give a fuck. He'd seen it all anyway and then dumped her to go patch things up with his wife. He never looked at her that way anymore.
But Jessie was sliding her arm into a sleeve when she noticed that he was looking, and not just darting glances either. He was full-on staring. And he didn't even have the manners to act embarrassed when she turned to face him. Instead he just gave her The Look -- the one that meant she'd better figure out what she was doing wrong before he had to waste yet more of his time explaining it to her.
Still, she waited him out.
"Jessie," he said at last, "what the hell are you wearing?"
"Huh?"
"Why," Walt tugged his own suit up his legs, dressing with quick, aggressive motions, "are you wearing men's briefs?"
Ah. The great Heisenberg was pitching a fit because she wasn't up to his standards of girlyness, Jessie realized, and dug in her heels.
"Because they're roomy." She stuck her thumbs in the waistband and stretched the elastic away from her slim hips. "Comfortable. You know, air the outsides. Don't tell me your balls don't get sweaty in those tighty-whities."
"My balls -," and maybe Mr. White was going to say "are none of your business" and then stopped because they had been for awhile. So he just yanked up the zipper on the front of his suit and then swore when his shirt got caught.
Sensing victory, Jessie smiled. "At least my shorts were made in this century, yo."
She finished dressing and left Mr. White to figure out how to get his shirt unstuck while she went to get the forklift. Damn it felt good to get a dig at him sometimes.
"You know, wearing James' clothes isn't going to bring him back."
Jessie froze. He'd figured it out, of course. But he did not just announce it. He did not just fucking call out her dead boyfriend's name across the lab.
"Are you even listening?" he said.
She would not break down. She wouldn't. Instead she would walk right over to where Mr. White was glaring at her, stab a finger where she wanted to put a knife and tell him to back. The fuck. Off. But she couldn't. All Jessie could do was walk like a zombie to their break room and sit down on the black leather couch.
Of course he followed. "Jessie, it's just that I'm concerned about you. This attachment -- it isn't healthy. You have to stop blaming yourself."
"Oh, so you're my shrink now too?"
"I just want what's best for you." His voice was softer. "For us."
"Us? Now it was her turn to stare. "I thought there was no more us."
"I know, but I've been thinking that maybe we should . . . reevaluate our relationship."
"Oh what, you saw my ass and it got you all nostalgic?"
"No, not that." He was looking straight at her with those deep brown eyes. "It's that being closer . . . it's just better."
Jessie narrowed hers at him. "Not getting any pussy at home, huh Mr. White."
The great Heisenberg sighed. He rubbed at his face, underneath his glasses and then slowly let them settle back down onto his nose. "Jessie, I'm under a lot of pressure right now. Don't make this hard for me."
There should've been some crack about how his wife could probably do that just fine, but Jessie didn't have the heart. She didn't even move when he sat down next to her, which put them so close together that all he had to do was catch her with the comfort of his arm. She didn't want to lean into him, but he pulled her there, so that her knit cap with the brown hair spilling out from under it was on his shoulder, right where it used to be. His other hand covered one of hers. It was warm.
"It's not about what's out there." Mr. White, his voice softer than ever, gestured vaguely with his hand. "You are important to me. You."
Jessie really wanted to believe that. That there was some room for her between all the the chemistry and paranoia and the pissing contests with Gus. So she didn't say anything when Mr. White moved in, his lips all firm but soft, and kissed her. His tongue was at home in her mouth. He was slow. He was patient in that way James wasn't and he waited for her to get turned on, to want to kiss him back. Then he eased off until she moved closer, until she was straddling his hips and they were making out for real in a place that Gus, she hoped to hell, couldn't see.
Once things were really heating up, he pulled down the zipper on her suit and Jessie wished she'd worn a nicer bra that day. But he didn't seem to mind, cupping her, and sticking his face down in, thumbs on her nipples, beard tickling. Down south it was like another thumb, way bigger, probing her and feeling just right. Between those three things all kinds of lighting was arcing through her belly. It made a Y of energy that connected nipples to clit. Hard nipples. Stiff clit. God, she wanted him.
Mr. White was licking her now. He'd pulled the cotton cups of her bra aside and was sucking what he'd found. It made her grind her hips down onto his bulge, stick her hand down too so that she could feel the heat of it as he drove her crazy with his mouth. Then he laid them both down and she said "wait" but he shushed her and slipped a hand into her boxer-briefs, finding her warm and wet and ready for the two thick fingers that he pushed into her and bent, curling up towards that spot that nobody but him had ever found. But Mr. White had and he knew the wordless sounds that come out of her when he touched it, when he stroked it with a demanding kind of pressure that seemed to say "give this to me." "I want this."
So it didn't matter if Jessie felt like she had to pee, if she was nervous that they were hooking up in the lab and that Gus might shit a brick if he found out, or even if she wasn't sure whether Mr. White should be so deep inside her again. Literally, even. In the end, she came apart under is hands just like she always did, with Mr. White watching and stroking and saying "That's it. Just like that Jessie. There we go. Good girl."
He waited until she caught her breath. Until she cupped him again. He just stilled her smaller hand with a squeeze and said "later". Then he got up, helped her out of the now soaking briefs, and wiped her down with some Kleenex from the box on top of the fridge. She was zipped back into her suit again before five more minutes were up with her head on this thigh. Dreamy.
"I'll go back first." Mr White said. He tossed the briefs into trash can, where she guessed they were supposed to stay. "You just come out when you're ready."
And it was like he knew. Knew that Jessie, robbed of company, would find her way back to him fast and work all day with a clear head and a burning need to fuck his brains out. Which they'd do. At his place with the fancy sheets and the take-out anything but Pollos Hermanos between rounds.
It was like he knew she'd come back to him. Even like he'd planned it, somehow.
Author: diane_kepler
Length: 1400 wds Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Breaking Bad
Characters: Walt / genderswapped Jesse = Jessie,
Genre: PWP, Angst
Spoilers: Season 2x12
Summary: There's a problem with Jessie's underwear and Walt is nothing if not a problem solver. Jessie's POV. Set sometime during Season 3.
Notes: It's awesome to have a fandom where the show is actually not over yet. Also, potential slash fic becomes het. Subversive? Or doubly subversive?
Jessie normally just put her hazmat suit on over her regular clothes. But there'd been something wrong with the fans since yesterday and the heat from the furnace wasn't venting right. Gus knew about it, of course. They could barely take a dump in this place without him being wise, but finding a trusted guy with the right skills was a problem. Or at least that's what he'd told Mr. White.
The great Heisenberg didn't buy it though. He figured that Gus was just using the situation to put some kind of pressure on them -- on him, that is -- because everything was always about Mr. White. It was his formula, and his lab, and it didn't matter how long Jessie busted her ass, she'd still be the not-good-enough target of all his pent-up frustration about the fans. So when it came time to change, Jessie didn't bother moving away from the lockers. He'd just yell at her for wasting time. As for him seeing anything, she couldn't muster the energy to give a fuck. He'd seen it all anyway and then dumped her to go patch things up with his wife. He never looked at her that way anymore.
But Jessie was sliding her arm into a sleeve when she noticed that he was looking, and not just darting glances either. He was full-on staring. And he didn't even have the manners to act embarrassed when she turned to face him. Instead he just gave her The Look -- the one that meant she'd better figure out what she was doing wrong before he had to waste yet more of his time explaining it to her.
Still, she waited him out.
"Jessie," he said at last, "what the hell are you wearing?"
"Huh?"
"Why," Walt tugged his own suit up his legs, dressing with quick, aggressive motions, "are you wearing men's briefs?"
Ah. The great Heisenberg was pitching a fit because she wasn't up to his standards of girlyness, Jessie realized, and dug in her heels.
"Because they're roomy." She stuck her thumbs in the waistband and stretched the elastic away from her slim hips. "Comfortable. You know, air the outsides. Don't tell me your balls don't get sweaty in those tighty-whities."
"My balls -," and maybe Mr. White was going to say "are none of your business" and then stopped because they had been for awhile. So he just yanked up the zipper on the front of his suit and then swore when his shirt got caught.
Sensing victory, Jessie smiled. "At least my shorts were made in this century, yo."
She finished dressing and left Mr. White to figure out how to get his shirt unstuck while she went to get the forklift. Damn it felt good to get a dig at him sometimes.
"You know, wearing James' clothes isn't going to bring him back."
Jessie froze. He'd figured it out, of course. But he did not just announce it. He did not just fucking call out her dead boyfriend's name across the lab.
"Are you even listening?" he said.
She would not break down. She wouldn't. Instead she would walk right over to where Mr. White was glaring at her, stab a finger where she wanted to put a knife and tell him to back. The fuck. Off. But she couldn't. All Jessie could do was walk like a zombie to their break room and sit down on the black leather couch.
Of course he followed. "Jessie, it's just that I'm concerned about you. This attachment -- it isn't healthy. You have to stop blaming yourself."
"Oh, so you're my shrink now too?"
"I just want what's best for you." His voice was softer. "For us."
"Us? Now it was her turn to stare. "I thought there was no more us."
"I know, but I've been thinking that maybe we should . . . reevaluate our relationship."
"Oh what, you saw my ass and it got you all nostalgic?"
"No, not that." He was looking straight at her with those deep brown eyes. "It's that being closer . . . it's just better."
Jessie narrowed hers at him. "Not getting any pussy at home, huh Mr. White."
The great Heisenberg sighed. He rubbed at his face, underneath his glasses and then slowly let them settle back down onto his nose. "Jessie, I'm under a lot of pressure right now. Don't make this hard for me."
There should've been some crack about how his wife could probably do that just fine, but Jessie didn't have the heart. She didn't even move when he sat down next to her, which put them so close together that all he had to do was catch her with the comfort of his arm. She didn't want to lean into him, but he pulled her there, so that her knit cap with the brown hair spilling out from under it was on his shoulder, right where it used to be. His other hand covered one of hers. It was warm.
"It's not about what's out there." Mr. White, his voice softer than ever, gestured vaguely with his hand. "You are important to me. You."
Jessie really wanted to believe that. That there was some room for her between all the the chemistry and paranoia and the pissing contests with Gus. So she didn't say anything when Mr. White moved in, his lips all firm but soft, and kissed her. His tongue was at home in her mouth. He was slow. He was patient in that way James wasn't and he waited for her to get turned on, to want to kiss him back. Then he eased off until she moved closer, until she was straddling his hips and they were making out for real in a place that Gus, she hoped to hell, couldn't see.
Once things were really heating up, he pulled down the zipper on her suit and Jessie wished she'd worn a nicer bra that day. But he didn't seem to mind, cupping her, and sticking his face down in, thumbs on her nipples, beard tickling. Down south it was like another thumb, way bigger, probing her and feeling just right. Between those three things all kinds of lighting was arcing through her belly. It made a Y of energy that connected nipples to clit. Hard nipples. Stiff clit. God, she wanted him.
Mr. White was licking her now. He'd pulled the cotton cups of her bra aside and was sucking what he'd found. It made her grind her hips down onto his bulge, stick her hand down too so that she could feel the heat of it as he drove her crazy with his mouth. Then he laid them both down and she said "wait" but he shushed her and slipped a hand into her boxer-briefs, finding her warm and wet and ready for the two thick fingers that he pushed into her and bent, curling up towards that spot that nobody but him had ever found. But Mr. White had and he knew the wordless sounds that come out of her when he touched it, when he stroked it with a demanding kind of pressure that seemed to say "give this to me." "I want this."
So it didn't matter if Jessie felt like she had to pee, if she was nervous that they were hooking up in the lab and that Gus might shit a brick if he found out, or even if she wasn't sure whether Mr. White should be so deep inside her again. Literally, even. In the end, she came apart under is hands just like she always did, with Mr. White watching and stroking and saying "That's it. Just like that Jessie. There we go. Good girl."
He waited until she caught her breath. Until she cupped him again. He just stilled her smaller hand with a squeeze and said "later". Then he got up, helped her out of the now soaking briefs, and wiped her down with some Kleenex from the box on top of the fridge. She was zipped back into her suit again before five more minutes were up with her head on this thigh. Dreamy.
"I'll go back first." Mr White said. He tossed the briefs into trash can, where she guessed they were supposed to stay. "You just come out when you're ready."
And it was like he knew. Knew that Jessie, robbed of company, would find her way back to him fast and work all day with a clear head and a burning need to fuck his brains out. Which they'd do. At his place with the fancy sheets and the take-out anything but Pollos Hermanos between rounds.
It was like he knew she'd come back to him. Even like he'd planned it, somehow.