"You are fucking unbelievable, man – "

Saul flashes his palms at Jesse and ducks his head a few inches, feigning innocence.

"I’m just here expressing deep concern for a valued client -- totally professional, of course," Saul says. His eyes drag down the front of Jesse's body as he wets his lips, and Jesse is struck for the millionth time since this thing with them started that Saul Goodman is exactly as sleazy as he seems in his commercials. There's something deeply wrong with Jesse, he thinks, because this doesn't turn him off at all. 

"But what with me here now,” Saul continues, on a roll now, “and this entire you-without-a-shirt situation – and, hear me out, I'm just thinkin’ on my feet here – you should probably take a ride to my place with me and lay low for the night."

Jesse leans against the doorframe. He hadn't exactly been kicking himself for saying no the day before, but he had found himself wondering what tonight would've been like had he accepted. The fact that it would be a fucking disaster hadn't done anything to extinguish Jesse's curiosity about what the inside of Saul's house (Apartment? Condo?) is like.

And hadn't the invitation been the weird vote of confidence Jesse was waiting for, if he was gonna be honest with himself? To push himself on a weak man in his own tacky office (And car. And broom closet.) was one thing. Being invited over was another thing entirely.

Being invited over when the stakes are what they are is, frankly, something Jesse isn't even ready to wrap his mind around. Saul clearly has a death wish, a sex addiction, or a real curiosity about Jesse. Maybe those options aren't mutually exclusive.

(Some part of him wants to suggest that whatever Saul’s nursing right now is "affection" -- but every time Jesse approaches the word, the visceral lurch that feels like missing a step at the bottom of a stairwell is enough to make him stop speculating.)

"Mike's seriously watching Mr. White? Like, literally right now?"

"Literally like right now. Scouts’ honor," Saul says – and he can't hide his excitement at what is definitely starting to sound like a maybe from Jesse. One corner of his mouth is curling up, out of his control. "Any movement towards your place or mine and he'll call me. Worst case scenario, he'll have to intercept. But it’s my professional opinion that the likelihood of Walt showing up unannounced is zilch at this juncture."

It's like he knows. He probably does know – Saul is probably enough steps ahead of Jesse at all times to know that the only way he's going to convince him is to show up like this and force a decision. The longer he stands there, the harder it is to say no. Send him away and then what? Watch television alone for another fifty hours? Microwave the delectable frozen potpie that's been calling his name? The standard options for his evening seemed more appealing without Saul Goodman standing on his porch.

Jesse stares desperately past Saul and tries to find a single good reason -- aside from the sex they'll have -- that this whole thing isn't a real shit idea.

There are zero good reasons – but his brain is happy to provide at least a half a dozen bad ones: the image seared into his memory of Saul's hand working around his cock with a confident flourish and the glint of that stupid pinkie ring, the way Saul looks younger and somehow genuinely himself as he squints and gasps when he's close, and the hollow-bird-bones feeling Jesse gets when Saul bottoms out for the first time and fills him until he can't breathe.

His whole body throbs in one tight pulse as he looks at the moron standing hopeful before him.

This is the last thing either of them needs, he thinks, even as he catches Saul’s bottom lip between his teeth, as he leans more weight against him and ignores the way his heart is beating so hard it’s flopping around in his chest. They are a runaway fucking train and Jesse knows better. Saul is pliant and warm and familiar and responsive and Jesse pulls away anyway.

Saul doesn’t let him go far, holding him by the front of his hoodie.

“On second thought, forget buying me dinner,” Saul says, his voice a little rough. There’s something in his face that looks like a challenge. “Come to my place.”

Jesse snorts, backing up to break his grip and turning.

“Come over tonight,” he says louder, sounding final but – Jesse notes – careful not to order him. And that’s Saul all over, isn’t it? Careful with Jesse. It’s the kind of thing that has Jesse torn between leaning into a too-gentle touch and wanting to give Saul a bloody nose.

This is the first time he’s asked to see Jesse.

“Can’t tonight. We’re cooking,” Jesse says. He realizes that isn’t ‘no.’

“Tomorrow, then. Come on – pencil me into your dayplanner, you social butterfly.”

“That’s a shit idea,” Jesse says, trying not to smile at the little dig and the way Saul is moving his hands around as if feeling for an argument in thin air.

“Did you ever hear me claim it wasn’t a shit idea?” Saul asks, eyebrow raised.

“He knows where you live.”

“Then I’ll pick you up and we’ll shut the blinds.”

Jesse shuts his eyes and squeezes the back of his neck.

“Sneaking around? This is some real high school shit, Saul.”

“Yeah? And? Have you seen you? I’d have gotten my ass kicked in exchange for spending the night with you in high school, too.”

Jesse starts to frown and Saul holds a finger up in his face.

“Take the compliment – don’t be a punk, punk.”

“Bitch.”

They smile at each other for a beat, and Jesse can practically watch the wheels turning behind the other man’s eyes. Yeah, here comes the pitch…

“Listen. Say I put Mike on him for the night. Let him keep tabs on Heisendad for twelve hours so you can take a deep breath and maybe eat something that’s not off a value menu. No pressure – just a night off from being you.”

“Like he’s not gonna be pissed when he catches Mike outside his apartment? Be real.”

“If Walt hollers, I’ll say Mike was working protection detail. Say, I got wind of some hombres with an agenda in town and dispatched Mike to keep an eye out until things cooled down.”

“He’s still not gonna like it.”

“Then I will beg, I will implore on bended knee – Walt, please, in your vast wisdom grant me mercy for this one minor fuckup in our huge shared legacy of fuck ups,” Saul says, hands wringing together as he acts out the scene. “And then I’ll promise nicely not to do it again. But he’s not gonna catch Mike in the first place, so your point’s moot, kid.”

Jesse sniffs hard and looks everywhere but Saul’s face, like there might be an answer in the graffiti on the dumpster or the stained asphalt. Jesse’s fine with taking heat from Mr. White – but fuck up and drag Saul into this and Walt’s liable to move their lawyer into his little mental column of “expendables.” Jesse has more than enough shit on his conscience without adding Saul to the body count.

“No thanks, man.”

“No thanks man?” Saul parrots back – and yeah, it sounds a little harsher when it’s repeated back to him, and Jesse is already rolling his eyes, retreating back towards sarcasm and frustration because it’s far safer than this fucking quicksand that Saul is pushing them towards.

Before Jesse thinks much further, though, Saul has his hands in Jesse’s hoodie, squeezing around his waist, letting some weight fall against him – and it’s as satisfying as it is annoying that Saul can change tactics like this, like he’s just switching gears on a goddamn bike. Jesse doesn’t like it when he knows he’s being played and he wouldn’t let anyone else in the world other than Saul do it and back up unscathed.

“Don’t you think you deserve to get fucked in a bed for once?” Saul asks, a little gravelly.

“I didn’t hear you complain about your office.”

Saul laughs against his ear.

“Trust me, I’ll take it where I can get it,” he says, and he’s holding Jesse up off the wall, pressing their hips together.

After a moment, though, he pulls back. Jesse waits for him to cajole or try a new tactic, but instead Saul just stands there, breathing even and looking every bit like he’s trying to work out a complicated math equation.

It makes Jesse feel a little off kilter to watch Saul fucking Goodman back down from something he wants, and the only time he’s seen Saul do it is when Mr. White goes steely and sharp, telling Saul absolutely not. Even then, Saul always managed to dig in a few barbs and let their shared employer know that as their attorney, he’s advising strongly against whatever Walt is dead-set on.

That’s not the case here in the alley when it’s just them. It’s clear he won’t push Jesse to get what he wants. The man just looks sad.

He must solve that math equation, then, because he sighs hard and puts a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. It’s almost like Jesse can watch the man build up a fake wall between them as he prepares to go back into the meeting. He straightens his hair and pretends not to see Jesse frown.

“Think about it, yeah?”

Jesse just looks up at him. Maybe Saul can turn on a dime but Jesse feels dizzy as he tries to organize himself enough to face Mr. White again.

“You wanna lead the way?” Saul asks, holding the back door open.