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Forbidden Fruit

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Jesse's sitting in the deck chair outside the RV, smoking a cigarette. The air is heavy with the heat of the day but he's still sporting his beanie. He's taken off his jacket at least; he's wearing a tee shirt bearing a skull motif, while his ridiculous, baggy trousers drown out his slender legs. His eyes blaze in the light of the day, burning blue fire in the sun.

You say something in a tone that is deliberately (unnecessarily) irritable, which gets his attention. He looks right at you, ready to argue, the cigarette balanced between his parted lips.

And he's already way too much for you.

In a few moments you'll be working up close and personal, side by side again, in the confines of the RV; he will be so near to you that you'll be able to feel the warmth of his body through his clothes, as though he is pressed up against your own skin.

And you know there'll be the moment later on, when you do the math, when you tell him how much you'll probably make out of this particular batch, and he'll break out into that adorable smile of his and cry out, "Yo, Mr White! All right!"

You might even give high fives after that, and the temptation to take him in your arms and hug and kiss the breath out of him will almost prove too hard to resist. But you know only too well the particular road that will lead you down (because you want him so damn much now it actually hurts), and so you hope that you can feign indifference for a little while longer, until the job is done and you are home and dry - and that there won't be yet another reason to lie to Skyler.