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Walt will admit it—Saul has some brains in him after all.
When Walt brought up the topic of money laundering—a heavy one, obviously—Saul seemed to already have some plans in mind. It’s simple, really; he proposed a systematic network of donations, coming in from all over the world in various denominations, creating the illusion that hundreds, if not thousands, of concerned strangers are simply contributing to Walt’s cause. Walt couldn’t think of a better plan even if he tried.
“I’ll get it done,” Saul says, standing up from his desk and planting both his hands on the expensive oak surface, “but only on the condition that you let my guy make a couple of . . . ah, let’s say stylistic changes to the website.”
Walt shrugs. “You deal with the technical stuff. Anything to get my family off my ass.”
They shake on it.
That night, when Walt gets home, he’s greeted by the excited voices of Skyler and Walter, Jr. coming from the office. Perfect. Everything as expected.
“Walt, is that you?” Skyler. She sounds happier, now. It’s almost nice.
Walt sighs, hanging his coat up beside the door. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”
“Dad, you’ve gotta see this!” Junior pipes up. “Th—that webpage I made you? People are—people are donating real money!”
Walt smiles to himself, victorious, before he searches out the rest of his family in the office. This is working all too well, and as he glances at the computer screen, he mentally thanks Saul for coming up with such an incredibly ingenious money laundering scheme.
Eventually, after what seems like an eternity of celebration, Skyler walks up to the monitor and presses the power button on it, washing the screen in black. “I think it’s time for bed anyway,” she says, playfully ruffling Junior’s hair. “C’mon, Walt. We can check all the donations in the morning.”
But Walt can’t sleep.
He hasn’t been able to fall asleep easily lately.
Tonight, however, he’s thinking more about what Saul said back in his office. Stylistic changes? Walt isn’t sure what that entails, but his curiosity gnaws at him far too much for him to not check it out. He trusts Saul, of course—he’s his lawyer and obligated to serve him—but Walt can never be too sure. Especially when something this big is on the line.
He creeps out of bed and into the office before slowly closing the door behind him (these past few months, he’s noticed the doors in his house are awfully creaky). He’s sure to turn the speakers down and onto silent before he even dares to touch the power button on the monitor.
The website flashes back at Walt: bright neon green, with neon yellow text as always. The big “Donate” button is printed in red. Nothing suspicious. Walt squints against the harsh light as he searches the webpage for anything that could have even remotely been labelled as a “stylistic change”.
Then, Walt spots it. A tiny, tiny hyperlink at the bottom that reads in forest green (as if to camouflage against the background): “Affiliate Links”.
Now, what would these affiliates be?
Walt clicks on it.
The next webpage loads.
“SaulsSecrets.com . . . the things he does when he’s not on the job?” Walt whispers to himself, confused and curious. “The diary of a . . . wow, a kinky lawyer. Jesus.” He adjusts his glasses on his nose and scrolls down. Purely out of curiosity, of course.
He’s met with a video. The thumbnail is mighty suggestive; Saul is sitting on his desk, shirt unbuttoned and tie hanging loosely around his neck. His hair is a mess. Walt takes a deep breath. Okay. His lawyer runs a porn website on the side. That’s fine. Walt just won’t bring it up because it really, really isn’t his business.
Slowly, without taking his eyes off the screen, Walt gets up and locks the office door. After all, this may all be a front for some top-secret information being revealed halfway through the video. Walt should watch it just to be sure, right? Just in case this is all some sort of big ploy?
Walt reaches for the headset on the desk and plugs it into the computer. His hand trembles as he drags the cursor over to the play button on the video and clicks. Just in case, just in case, Walt keeps reminding himself.
[VIDEO] i tell you about my dirty fantasies while you fuck me until i’m begging
Jesus. Walt doesn’t like how his stomach twists when he reads that title. Saul is right there, in his office, where he had talked to Walt a few hours prior. Saul probably does this stuff all the time in his office. Walt almost wants to witness it.
The time the video was posted? Two hours ago.
This is new.
The video starts playing.
“Oh, hey, I—” Saul hops off his desk and kneels in front of the camera to talk directly into it. “I was wondering when you’d stop by.”
Walt’s stomach twists again. Saul had said nearly the same exact words to him before. Minus the kneeling on the floor, but there’s time to fix that.
He runs a hand through his already-messy hair and looks at the camera almost pleadingly. “You know, uh—I was really good for you today, like you said. I was just getting a little—a little impatient. I’m so hard, sir, just like a little whore. Want you to touch me, ruin me.”
Oh, God. Walt’s stomach turns again, and it’s on the third time that he realises it’s in a good way. Something about hearing the word sir come from Saul’s mouth in such a pathetic way makes Walt thirsty to hear more. And the controlling? He bets Saul would be nice and obedient if he asked him to be. He tries not to think about it.
Saul retreats from the camera suddenly and shrugs off his button-up shirt, leaving the tie on. He fumbles with his belt, swearing under his breath in frustration when he can’t get it smoothly off. “I, uh—prepped myself and everything,” he adds, smiling shyly at the camera with a guilty glint in his eye. “Bet you wanna lift me up on my desk and fuck me silly.”
Walt squeezes his eyes shut for a split second. He decides not to mentally respond to that.
“Anyway,” Saul continues, finally kicking off his pants and going behind his desk to look for something, “I want to tell you about something tonight. I have some—ah, really filthy fantasies and I’ve just been looking everywhere for someone to help me check them off the list.” He lifts something out of one of his desk drawers—a pink silicone dildo with some sizable girth to it. He smirks. “One of them is trying to talk while I get fucked. You wanna help me with that first?”
Yes. Oh, God, yes.
Walt keeps watching, stomach turning. If this keeps up, he’ll be stuck with another problem, and he doesn’t much want to think about that right now.
Saul climbs up on his desk, kneeling painfully on the hard surface. He glances over his shoulder at the camera. “Please, sir,” he begs, tilting his head back in desperation. “I’ve been waiting so long. Just wanna be fucked, used until I can’t talk. Can you do that for me?”
Walt’s breath catches hot in his throat. Everything about this is so filthy. He must have started setting up to film as soon as Walt left the office that night, and that makes Walt’s stomach twist. Had he been thinking these obscene thoughts throughout their meeting, too?
As filthy as it may be, Walt continues to watch, captivated.
Saul adjusts the spread of his knees, reaching behind himself to fit the head of the dildo against his hole. He jolts and whimpers at the touch of it, squeaking out a soft moan of “please” before he glances back at the camera. “I wanna tell you about my fantasies,” he says before beginning to press the thick dildo slowly inside himself. He moans and pleads and he even reaches to touch his cock with his free hand. “I really, really—ah, fuck—like to be intimidated. Dominated.”
Walt watches Saul whine and shift when he presses the dildo half an inch deeper.
Intimidated. Dominated.
Walt likes the sound of that.
“Fuck, sir, your cock feels so good inside me,” Saul breathes, tilting his head back as he inches the silicone length fully inside his wanting hole. He takes the whole thing with a clearly practiced ease. “Not even gonna—fuck—not gonna finish telling you everything at this point. Maybe next time.”
He sits back on his heels and attaches the suction cup on the bottom of the dildo right to the surface of his desk. “Bet you think I’m pathetic, huh? I love being told I’m a filthy whore, just a little cockslut.”
Walt palms himself through his pajama pants. Making videos like this? Yeah. It is pathetic. Walt finds himself itching to tell Saul that in person. Bonus points if he’s kneeling naked on his desk, green tie dripping from his neck.
Saul seats himself down on the dildo and glances over his shoulder at the camera. His back arches slightly and his hair is still messy—in a hot way, of course. “You like what you see, sir?” he asks, in a small, pleading voice.
“Yeah, I do,” Walt whispers to himself. He reaches into his underwear and takes hold of his cock.
“If you were here, I’d let you tie me up, make me yours,” Saul goes on, rising slowly up off the dildo before easing himself down with a soft moan. He spits into his hand and works at his cock, his back arching in delicious pleasure. “Just wanna belong to you, sir, only you. Want you to make me your little fucktoy.”
Walt covers his mouth with his free hand, spits quietly into his other hand, and jerks himself off to the image of Saul tied up, all for him to use and ruin.
“I have a confession,” Saul says, squeezing his eyes shut and whining loud when the dildo nudges itself up against his prostate. “It’s really bad, sir, I’m sorry. I know I’m pathetic, but—fuck yes—I have this one client, see?” He opens his eyes and glances over his shoulder, his hand quickening on his cock. “He just left a minute ago. He’d do all those things to me, sir, I just know it. Do you think he would?”
Yes, he would. He absolutely would. Walt has never been this hard in his life. He chooses not to think about what that might mean.
Saul sinks fully onto the dildo and sobs out a moan, his entire body shaking. “He’d just ruin me. Oh, fuck, sir, I’m gonna come, I’m sorry, I was so horny and I couldn’t touch myself—” He cuts himself off by clenching his teeth tightly, holding back a sound that would simply be downright embarrassing. “I’m sorry it’s so soon, your cock just feels so good and I—” Saul’s head drops and his body shakes profusely as he comes. A rope or two could be visible by the camera.
It takes Walt a few extremely long seconds to realise that he had come too. He had come so fast, and to a video like this? Of his lawyer? Jesus Christ. Maybe they’re both fucked up.
He reaches for a few Kleenex to clean himself up while he watches Saul lift himself off the dildo.
Saul gets shakily to his feet, holding onto the side of his desk, while his cheeks and ears burn in humiliation. “That was so quick, sir, I’m sorry,” he says, using a towel to wipe himself off. He soon comes back to kneel in front of the camera. “But I hope you came too.”
He pauses.
“That client of mine is ruining me,” Saul decides, running one hand through his hair. “He’s ruining me before he’s even touched me. I’m so selfish. I want more.”
Walt wants more, too.
He doubts he has enough energy to proceed to the next video, however—he has far too much to think about. He’s fairly confident that Saul isn’t hiding any top-secret information on his site, anyway, especially after that video. Walt takes a deep breath.
He breathes slow. In, out.
Then, he picks up his phone, dials Saul’s number, and speaks as quietly as he can into Saul’s answering machine.
“We need to talk.”