Work Text:
Change of Plans
Gustavo Fring/Mike Ehrmantraut
So as it happened, their second session, as Mike came to call them, took place only six days after the first. A sudden and unexpected change in his schedule was enough to send Fring spiraling into another state of near-panic, and Mike could tell it was bad when he returned to his employer’s residence, as always like a stowaway in the trunk of a car, and found Gustavo pacing his home office, private cell phone clutched hard in one hand.
The Chilean barely even acknowledged Mike’s entrance, too deep in his pit of agitation to bother with social niceties. Which was when Mike realized things were indeed bad. He had nothing to report – no sightings of Lalo Salamanca, no intel, nothing at all to suggest the man was in the country or even anywhere on the American subcontinent. He was a ghost. If only that were true in the literal sense. The Salamanca cur would most likely live rent-free in Gustavo’s head for the rest of his life, but at least specters, real or imagined, could not put a bullet in your head.
“What’s going on?” the older man asked with the honest expectation that this would be difficult. Getting any answers out of Gustavo, let alone strategically useful ones, when he was in such a state of mind would be like pulling teeth. But he had to try.
Fring, however, caught him off guard with a torrent of fast-paced but still somewhat coherent speech, as though he had been waiting for Mike’s return in order to offload on him.
“I received a phone call from Lyle. His mother was hit by a car this afternoon, and she has been hospitalized. Her life is not in danger, but she will remain at the hospital overnight, and most likely throughout the day tomorrow. A broken leg – a compound fracture, alas – and a concussion, Lyle told me. She was lucky, very lucky. It could have been much worse. A hit-and-run, can you believe it? Witnesses said the driver was going well above the legal speed limit. I am not worried about Lyle, he is the best local manager I have ever had. I could not wish for someone better.”
Gustavo paused for a moment to catch his breath, and Mike stayed silent, sensing that there was more to come. A lot more.
“Until his mother can arrange for a proper babysitter, the responsibility of his younger siblings’ care falls onto Lyle. There are three of them, all girls. No father in the picture. Lyle has been providing for them since he was sixteen years old. He has been in my employment since he was eighteen. There is no one more loyal, more willing to please, more…” Gustavo paused again, seemingly searching his brain’s built-in dictionary for the correct English term. “No one more conscientious. He said he can come to work as usual during the dayshift after he leaves them at school. But they cannot be left unattended during the evening, so he asked…”
Fring was hyperventilating now, his throat parched but forcing out more speech nonetheless.
“…he asked if he could be relieved of his evening duties for tomorrow and the day after. How could I say no? The boy has been nothing but loyal to me throughout the time that I have known him, sometimes to his own detriment. But family takes precedence. You know how it is, Mike. I can respect that. I do respect that. I would do the same in his stead.”
Mike nodded, humming an affirmative. He had already worked out what the problem responsible for this meltdown was, in rough strokes, but he was not going to be presumptuous, and thus patiently waited for Gustavo to finish telling his story.
“There has been a large unprecedented change in my schedule. I will have to both open and close Los Pollos tomorrow, and probably the day after. But tomorrow for certain.”
Opening and closing the restaurant meant Gustavo needed to pull a 14-hour shift, and such a massive change in his schedule in turn meant that the security crew hired to protect him needed to be briefed and given new instructions. The practical logistics of security and surveillance was Mike’s area of expertise; it was the job his employer paid him good money to do. The men under his command would not be happy with changes on such short notice, and at least some would probably demand additional monetary compensation for their troubles, but Mike did not anticipate any major problems; he calculated that gathering the necessary information and passing it on to the security crew would take him no more than forty-five, perhaps fifty minutes.
The real problem was the fact that Gustavo Fring had once more worked himself into a state of frenzy.
“That shouldn’t pose any issues for us,” Mike said, careful to keep the exasperation from showing on his face. “I’ll have that taken care of in a snap. You’ll be under full protection the entire time. You won’t see the men, nor will your customers.” He would have liked to say that Lalo, if he was hovering, wouldn’t be able to spot them either, but that would probably be a lie, and what Gustavo needed now was not false reassurance. Just the facts.
“Your routine won’t be disturbed. I know that being outside after dark isn’t ideal and adds an element of uncertainty--”
“An element of uncertainty?” Gustavo snapped, raising the hand clutching his cell phone over his head with the obvious intent of throwing it; a severe momentary lapse of self-control, primitive limbic system overriding the more advanced prefrontal cortex. Gustavo caught himself just in time, looking at his hand and the inanimate object he was holding as though he didn’t recognize either. Then his arm dropped, and the phone stayed in his grasp. If Lyle called again with more bad news, it would be borderline insanity to be unable to take the call.
“Uncertainty, Mike? Is that what you would call it? I will be helpless, completely exposed! How can you expect me to… to… handle it?”
Gustavo’s particular form of myopia also came with the added disadvantage of poorer-than-usual night vision, and although Mike was sympathetic to the other man’s plight, he also wished that his employer would trust him. What more could he possibly do to reassure Gustavo when he was being like this?
“I’ll handle the details, and you do what you can to calm yourself down,” Mike said. He knew from experience that telling a man about to throw a tantrum to calm down would frequently have the opposite effect, but this was no mere temper tantrum, but something closer to a burgeoning panic attack. He pictured the reality of Gustavo still being in this sorry state when he drove to work tomorrow and attempted to perform his regular managerial duties in the loud, bustling environment of a commercial kitchen, and it didn’t take Mike long to decide that that was a risk he was not willing to take.
He decided to switch gears. It had worked in the past.
“Have you eaten anything?” he asked in a matter-of-factly tone. Conversational, not too interrogative.
“The men brought pizza,” Fring replied. He went back to pacing, not quite hyperventilating anymore. Good. Even a small victory was technically a victory.
“I know that. I was asking if you had eaten.”
Gustavo’s pacing slowed down, but he did not stop. “No,” he said.
“Okay. When was the last time you had anything to eat or drink?”
“I had coffee. Black, one sugar. Shortly before six. I was preparing dinner when…” He looked at the phone again, features contorting into an anguished grimace, as if the phone was somehow responsible for his misery. “…when Lyle called me.”
“And what was the time then? Do you remember?”
“It was past seven. I could check the caller logs…” Gustavo, handling the phone as if it was a snapping turtle ready to bite off one of his fingers, did exactly that and delivered a more specific answer. “7:23. The call lasted just over five minutes.”
The mounted wall clock in Fring’s home office ticked ominously, the steady, rhythmic sound of the analogue machinery being the only noise besides Gustavo’s quick, labored breathing. The time now was ten past ten in the evening, and Mike did not even need to ask if Gustavo had spent the two and a half hours between Lyle’s call and Mike’s arrival nervously pacing in his office.
The older man suppressed a sigh. He must not let himself get worked up alongside Gustavo and start meaningless arguments by berating behavior which was, regrettably, not entirely within Gustavo’s control. The obsessions flourished uninvited in his mind like weed, and the compulsions were nothing but a drowning man’s desperate attempts to stay afloat by any means possible.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Mike stated. He was not making suggestions now; they were beyond that. This was telling. “You are going to the kitchen to get something to eat. I don’t care what; a slice of toast, a cup of yogurt, or just an orange. Anything you think you might be able to keep down. No more coffee. You’ll never go to sleep if you drink coffee at this hour.”
Despite trying his damndest not to lecture, Mike realized he had indeed fallen back into that role. At least Fring didn’t talk back, although Mike wasn’t sure total silence was necessarily a good sign.
“I will handle the changes in your schedule and bring everyone it concerns up to date. I’m not gonna lie, there might be some additional expenses. I assume that won’t be a problem?”
Fring shook his head mutely. They were still well within their budget for this operation; Mike had made sure of that too.
“Good. Then we have nothing to worry about. I’ll join you upstairs when I’m done with my job and brief you on the details, to make sure you and I are on the same page. That sound acceptable to you?”
Gustavo nodded, looking down at the floor beneath his feet before slowly raising his eyes to look at Mike from behind his lashes.
Oh, God, he knew that look.
“Will you… stay?” Gustavo asked softly, somehow managing a perfect blend of naivety and presumption.
“You really think that’s a good idea tonight, Gustavo?”
The Chilean averted his gaze, fixing it on something behind Mike’s left shoulder. His jaw tightened, and his mouth curved into an expression that was more morose than hurt, but still radiated profound disappointment. Mike’s rejection, however gently expressed, had wounded him.
“Of course,” Gustavo said in a flat voice. “You’re not in the mood tonight. I should have guessed. Forget I asked.”
“Technically I have not given you an answer yet,” the older man said, fighting back his growing annoyance with Gustavo and his behavior. Bedding the man standing before him now was quite far down on Mike’s list of priorities, and truth to be told, he couldn’t envision that changing in the upcoming hours. But Gustavo did not need to know that. What he needed now was reassurance that he was not in any danger.
“Do as I ask, and we’ll see how you’re feeling when I’ve taken care of the more pressing business,” Mike said. He could do most of it from his employer’s home office (to which Fring had granted him full use and access) but he would talk with the guys currently on duty at Fring’s house face-to-face. Not only was it more personal, but it allowed Mike to gauge their reaction to the news of an inconvenience in real time. He refused to trust his employer’s safety to any man who harbored resentment toward either of them, however minor.
“Fine,” Gustavo said in a low, pleasant tone. His features were back to neutral, angst carefully concealed behind a mask of indifference. This was not to hide his feelings from Mike, which was impossible, but to present an aura of control to the security crew. Mike hoped Gustavo had not forgotten his promise to get something to eat before he retired for the night.
Mike opened the door and allowed his employer to exit first, not simply performing chivalry but making sure that Gustavo actually went to the kitchen to eat like he’d said he would. Mike pocketed another victory, hiding a triumphant smile behind his own unflappable poker face.
Minutes ticked by as he worked, and to Mike’s genuine surprise, he had made the necessary arrangements in less than thirty minutes. Only one of the men – O’Brien, a family man – had demanded an additional fee, and Mike saw no reason to refuse the requested amount. The measly sum of twelve hundred dollars meant very little when compared to the importance of the task at hand.
Mike printed out copies of the documents he wanted Fring to review and approve and almost made a beeline upstairs to the Chilean’s personal quarters before realizing that he was at least fifteen minutes early and the other might not be ready to receive him. A small, ultimately insignificant detail, perhaps, and yet something that might startle Gustavo and hinder Mike’s attempts at providing reassurance. Besides, he hadn’t showered since this morning, and if Gustavo still wanted to have sex, he would demand that Mike take a shower anyway. He might as well do it in his own time.
Headed for the first-story bathroom used by him and the crew with a change of clothing in his arms, the former law enforcement officer quickly stripped down and stuffed his dirty day clothes, underwear and all, into a plastic bag, making a mental note to put them in the washer before the night ended.
He always did his own laundry, careful not to get any of his stuff mixed up with Gustavo’s. His employer used the dry cleaner for his bespoke suits and other high-end clothing items, but he washed his extensive collection of work shirts and khakis at home, and Mike could vividly imagine the hissy fit Fring would throw if Mike’s black denims caused his precious yellow shirts to come out a couple of shades darker.
Hot water felt heavenly against his aching shoulders and back, but as always, Mike showered quickly and then redressed himself with the same degree of efficiency. This evening was not yet over for him, and to his own surprise, he realized he had not entirely made up his mind on whether or not that was a good thing.
Sufficiently clean on the outside, Mike went on to brush his teeth, wondering if he should take the time to floss. He chose not to; sometimes his fingers slipped when handling the delicate nylon threads and made his gums bleed – something Gustavo definitely would not appreciate. He was here often enough to have his own toothbrush mug and tube of toothpaste stashed away in the mirror cabinet. Unlike Gustavo, Mike did not discard his toothbrush after a single use, but his current one was nearing the end of its half-life, so to speak. Oh, well. He could always steal one from Gustavo’s big box of toothbrushes to replace it.
Or not. The Chilean might notice and take offense at an employee taking such liberties. Even with Mike’s cock up his ass, Fring was still the boss.
That reminded him of another thing, namely his fingernails. Mike recalled the look of faint displeasure on Gustavo’s face when Mike had asked to finger him, and his own subsequent implicit promise that he would rectify the problem before next time. Only he didn’t expect next time to come so soon.
Mike used a nailbrush to remove the admittedly visible line of dirt that had congregated underneath his nails and then clipped off the edges that were the slightest bit jagged or uneven. To do a more thorough job, he’d have needed a nail file, but Mike honestly couldn’t remember ever owning one, and there wasn’t a spare one in the cabinet that he could borrow. His own little version of an instant manicure would have to suffice.
Now dressed much more comfortably in grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt, Mike picked up the folder with the newly printed documents and threw a quick gaze at his wristwatch. Forty-five minutes almost to the second. He figured Gustavo was ready to receive him.
The door to his employer’s personal bedroom was closed, as customs dictated, and Mike delivered his signature two-knuckled rap to announce his presence.
“Come in, Mike,” a quiet voice called out, and he opened the door to find Gustavo Fring already in bed, seated against the headboard and a stack of pillows, wearing a navy blue terrycloth robe. He was reading yesterday’s copy of The Wall Street Journal, small round glasses off and folded neatly on the bedside table to his right. Gustavo’s near-sightedness meant that he preferred to take off his glasses when reading; Mike had observed him read often enough to recognize a deeply ingrained habit.
The heat and array of pleasant scents coming from the adjoining bathroom informed Mike that his employer was fresh out of the shower very much like himself. He knew for a fact that Gustavo did not limit his showers to two or three minutes, and suddenly Mike was grateful that he’d decided against barging straight from Fring’s office to his living quarters with the documents, as it meant his entry most likely would have cornered Gustavo in the shower. Their budding relationship was not ready for such a high degree of intimacy, and perhaps it would never be.
“You showered?” Mike asked. He already knew the answer; the sole purpose of the question was to gauge Gustavo’s mood.
The Chilean nodded, and his lips curved upwards in a slightly subdued version of his customer service smile.
“As did you, Mike,” he countered, looking oddly pleased with himself, gaze both hopeful and measuring. There was no doubt that in his mind, he was now one step closer to getting what he wanted from the older man.
However, business first. Always.
Gustavo set down his copy of the newspaper on the bed beside him, and shifted his focus to the folder in Mike’s hands. “You have taken care of everything, I trust?” he asked, trying but failing to keep a tremble out of his voice. His anxiety had lessened but not gone away. Mike had expected this, too.
“Yeah, it didn’t take long,” the ex-cop answered truthfully. “I’ve brought some documents I want you to look over. Is now a good time?”
Gustavo shifted slightly, pulling his knees toward his chest. His feet and legs were bare, and even though he couldn’t tell from this angle, Mike would bet that he was naked underneath that robe. The folder changed hands, and Mike remained standing as he closely observed his employer’s reaction to the contents.
“You have changed my driving route for tomorrow evening,” Gustavo pointed out, showing Mike the printed copy of central Albuquerque where Mike had drawn a dotted red line to indicate exactly which streets he wanted Fring’s vehicle to travel. “It adds over six minutes to my time spent in that car. It cannot possibly be safer.”
“I knew you’d ask. May I?” Mike walked over and sat down on the edge of bed, gently taking the paper with the new itinerary from Gustavo’s hands. The old route was symbolized by one single continuous blue line, and Mike trusted his employer to be familiar enough with his surroundings to make sense of what he was about to explain.
“It’s a slightly longer route, I’ll give you that, but this way you won’t have to pass through any traffic lights on your way back.” He pointed to a place on the map representing a busy four-way intersection. “You don’t wanna take the risk of getting a red light and becoming a stationary target, especially at ten in the evening. In the morning you should be fine; he won’t come at you in broad daylight during rush hour. Lalo’s a psycho, but he’s not an idiot. My guys will be trailing you at all times, three cars behind, like we agreed.”
Gustavo nodded, accepting the logic, and relief instantly flooded Mike’s entire body. One battle over and done with.
“And what about the men? Were they… displeased?”
“Not particularly, no. O’Brien demanded compensation for missing his son’s basketball game. He’s top-tier guy, so I approved his request. You really have nothing to worry about, security-wise. It’s all taken care of.”
Gustavo sighed, clearly resenting the implication. “Security-wise? Then what should I be worried about?”
Mike didn’t hesitate; his employer paid him to always speak the truth, however blunt.
“I’m worried about you, Gustavo,” he said. “Can your body handle a 14-hour shift tomorrow? You’re not sleeping well, you’re hardly eating, and I can tell you’re losing weight.” There were other physical changes, as well, like the growing dark bags now practically omnipresent underneath the Chilean’s eyes, and the way Gustavo easily became winded from any minor exertion. Mike would speak the truth, but he was not the type of man to rub salt in the wounds for good measure. And he most certainly wasn’t here to start a fight. This was concern, plain and simple.
“I did not realize you were tracking my measurements,” Fring snapped back with an indignant scowl. Gustavo was a handsome man, but anger twisted his regal features into a look that was frankly quite ugly.
Mike, not taking the bait, was undeterred. He much preferred to have this conversation now rather than wait until a trip to the emergency room forced his hand. “You made me a promise earlier,” he said, not breaking eye contact. “Did you keep it?”
“Yes, Michael, I ate.”
Michael. Gustavo only used his full name when he was seriously cross with Mike.
“That’s good. What did you have?”
“A bowl of yoghurt, like you suggested.” Fring, however, did not specify the quantity. “And an apple.”
“That’s good. Better than nothing, plus I know it’s late, and you don’t normally eat at this hour.”
“I was going to eat,” Gustavo said in a sulky, almost petulant tone of voice, sounding a bit like a disobedient child arguing their case to an authority figure. “I was making dinner, and then I received that phone call, and--” He rubbed his forehead angrily with the palm of his hand, belatedly realizing how he’d come across to Mike: whiny.
“And then you just weren’t hungry anymore,” Mike filled in. “Look, I get it. Some people eat when they get stressed, and others, like you, are unable to eat at all. But here’s where that brilliant brain of yours comes in. You have to make your brain override your gut feeling if you want your body to last.”
“Under normal circumstances--”
Mike held up one finger to silence his employer, and Gustavo’s mouth closed with an audible click.
“Nothing is normal about our current circumstances. Situational adaptation, Gustavo. It’s my area of expertise. It’s why you hired me. I’ve managed the external factors, but I need your help with the internal ones.”
“I always eat breakfast when you bring it to me,” The Chilean said. It was true; Mike did not always stay to watch him eat, but he had seen the leftovers. “And I have lunch at the restaurant.”
“That’s good. Two meals a day.” Mike needn’t add that a third hot meal was necessary and instead tried to come up with a way to make sure Gustavo ate dinner at his own house. The kitchen was under camera surveillance; all the rooms on the first floor were except for Fring’s private home office and the guest bathroom. Mike quickly discarded the idea of attempting to spy on his employer; Gustavo would not take kindly so such an overt breach of trust. Still, he did not like to imagine the possible repercussions of Gustavo going up to eighteen hours without eating for days on end.
“How about this? I’ll be here tomorrow when you come back, and I’ll have something ready for you. Something light, since it’ll be late. I’ll eat with you, if you want.”
“You would… do that?” Fring appeared more fascinated than outright defiant, but Mike could still see that big brain of his working furiously to find an angle. There was always an angle with Gustavo Fring.
“I wouldn’t be suggesting it otherwise, would I?” Mike said with a scoff.
“But it is not… a part of your duties,” Gustavo mumbled, appearing bewildered, almost stunned.
“No, this is me offering to help a friend in need,” Mike replied. “Now, I may not be a master chef like yourself, so expect nothing fancy, but I can make stuff that’s quick and easy on the palate, like mashed potatoes with meatballs and gravy. What do you say?”
“As a friend…” Gustavo contemplated the word, but only for a moment. His eyes took in Mike’s entire figure. “Did you come up here tonight as a friend, as well?” he asked carefully.
“Yeah.” The older man demonstrably looked down at his hands. “You can see I did.”
“You showered. Was that for my benefit?”
“Yes and no. I’d rather not go to sleep smelling like a locker room full of stinking armpits and jockstraps.”
He had hoped the comment would draw a smile from Gustavo, but the other man’s face remained somber.
“But you don’t want to anymore.” Gustavo began to wring his hands. “I ruined it with my… whatever this is.” His body appeared to physically shrink into the blue terrycloth robe and Mike could detect a very obvious hitch in his breath. Disappointment mixed with anger of the decidedly self-deprecating kind radiated from the Chilean, and Mike had a sudden horrible feeling that he was about to witness Gustavo Fring break down in tears.
To prevent such a cruelly visible loss of dignity, Mike instinctively leaned forward and enveloped the smaller man in a tight bear hug. Air was expelled from Gustavo’s lungs in an undignified little grunt, but he did not fight the hold and soon clasped back with near-ferocious desperation, face tightly pressed against the side of Mike’s neck. Mike was proud of himself for reading the situation as well as he did; he had intuited that in Gustavo’s mind anything would be preferable to the humiliation of being reduced to tears in front of someone else, even if that person was Mike Ehrmantraut.
“Hey, kiddo, relax. I’m not going anywhere,” Mike whispered against Gustavo’s temple, and there it was at last; a smile, which Mike did not see but rather felt against the weathered, rough skin of his Adam’s apple.
“Kiddo?” Fring asked, the one-word question expressed together with a faint, throaty chuckle. “I have not been called that in a long time. Or ever.”
“Well, I am technically old enough to be your father.” Mike murmured through a smile of his own, relieved to know the crisis had been averted for now. He inhaled the rich, sensuous scent of Gustavo’s freshly washed skin, made softer by the generous application of undoubtedly expensive body lotion, and felt the first bloom of arousal in the pit of his stomach; not a particularly paternal reaction to an embrace. This was definitely not Matty in his arms right now.
“I don’t want to think of you as my father,” Gustavo murmured back. His warm, slender hands found the hem of Mike’s T-shirt and slid in underneath it to touch the bare skin of his back. “Have you changed your mind?”
“My mind was never made up to begin with,” the older man replied. “But you’re doing a very good job helping me decide.”
Gustavo then proceeded to kiss Mike as intimately as he allowed himself to, plenty of lips, some teeth, but no tongue. Swapping saliva even in small quantities was a no-go zone, and Mike did not pressure him or try to cross his boundaries.
Gustavo only broke the kiss in order to speak. “I made some preparations of my own,” he said, voice husky with desire, and threw a knowing glance at something at the foot of the bed.
Mike had spotted them the moment he entered: three identical white towels, identically folded and stacked on top of each other.
“I saw them. Same ones as last time?” Mike asked teasingly.
“Tempting as it is, I do not tag every individual towel I own,” Gustavo replied, his answer clearly his own idea of a dry joke. “What is important is that they will serve their purpose.”
“Do you trust me to handle them, boss?”
Gustavo’s eyes narrowed in concern. “I know your back is hurting, Mike. Let’s not add meaningless strain on it.”
“Hey, I’m here to follow your lead.”
Mike stood up when Gustavo gestured at him to stand, and then stepped back a few feet to watch the scene unfolding before his eyes with a mixture of arousal and fascination. Fring worked swiftly and methodically, foregoing much of his typical perfectionism, and yet his compulsive tendencies never quite went away, as he checked more than once that the three towels were perfectly lined up; an action that lacked practical purpose but mattered greatly to Gustavo.
When he found the arrangement acceptable, he quickly, almost casually, shrugged out of his slightly damp terrycloth robe, confirming Mike’s earlier theory that he was naked underneath. Instead of throwing the garment on the bed like a normal person, Gustavo walked over to his closet, selected a hanger he deemed appropriate, and then proceeded to drape the robe over it and hang it on a hook conveniently situated on the closet door. Mike had seen Gustavo’s business suits, sometimes still in their dry cleaning bag, hanging from said hook, and it hardly surprised him that Fring treated all his clothes with the same degree of respect.
If only Gustavo devoted the same amount of care to his own body.
Mike tracked his employer’s graceful, fluid movements, trying his hardest not to apply a clinical check, but he could not stop his brain from doing certain things anymore than Gustavo could, apparently, because Mike found himself calculating just how much weight Fring had lost in the past week. His ribs were much more prominently visible through his skin now, as were his shoulder blades, and the already small layer of fat on his stomach had pretty much been reduced to nothing.
Gustavo shivered, freshly lotioned skin objecting to the sudden change in temperature, and Mike took that as an opportunity to approach him and offer to share his own body heat. He wrapped his arms around the other man’s slight frame from behind and immediately Gustavo’s hands were atop his own, guiding his touch.
“I don’t want you to be cold,” Mike murmured softly against the pulse point on the Chilean’s neck, fingers finding Gustavo’s hardening nipples and giving them a good squeeze. Mike was still somewhat unaccustomed to the flatness of his current lover’s chest and realized he had to rewire his brain not to expect the fullness and weight of a woman’s breasts whenever he touched Fring this way.
“Why, Mike, are you still dressed?” Gustavo asked, guiding the older man’s hands down his abdomen and then even further down as if to show Mike why clothes were now an inconvenience. Mike tentatively grasped the quickly hardening cock with his non-dominant left hand, still feeling clumsy but also curious about handling an uncircumcised penis. The difference was mainly in the foreskin functioning like another layered barrier between the member and the hand stroking it, akin to smooth silk sliding effortlessly over a solid column of tightly packed clay.
Mike thought he was doing pretty well until Gustavo suddenly twitched in his arms and moaned through clenched teeth. Pain, not pleasure.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?” Mike asked and ceased his ministrations at once. Successfully masturbating Gustavo was clearly a more difficult challenge than he had expected.
“Oh, no, you simply touched a place that is more sensitive on me,” Fring replied, turning around in the embrace so that they were once again facing each other. The Chilean’s face was back to its neutrally serene, composed look, but a clear blush radiated from his cheeks and his eyes were darker than usual, pupils blown wide with lust. He grasped Mike’s own burgeoning erection through the fabric of his sweatpants and gave it a measuring squeeze.
“What do you think? Are you ready to move on to other things?”
“Other things?” Mike teased. He felt he could get away with some good-natured teasing and not spoil the mood. “What would those things be?”
Fring scoffed. “I see that you took care of your fingernails, which can only mean you would like to be the one to prepare me this time. Am I wrong?”
How astute. “You’re not wrong,” Mike admitted. “But there is something else I’d like to try first.”
Gustavo’s poised expression gave way to some confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s call it a part of the foreplay.”
Confusion turned into a full-on frown. “You know I don’t “give head”, as you so eloquently put it. Please tell me you remember.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not gonna hassle you over a blowjob,” Mike said with a chuckle. “What I have in mind is solely for your benefit.”
“Then what is it?”
Mike guided his partner into a seated position on the bed. The dark eyes that looked up at him contained excitement and apprehension in just about equal quantities. Gustavo Fring clearly did not like not knowing what to expect.
“I thought I’d give you a massage first. How do you feel about that? I’ve been told I give awesome backrubs.”
Gustavo’s face instantly brightened with the prospect of such a service. An unexpected but welcome change. Mike supposed he received few of those.
“Shall I…?” the younger man asked, looking up at Mike for further guidance. When Gustavo Fring truly wanted something, he could very compliant.
“On your stomach, knees apart,” Mike directed, slipping naturally into the role of giving orders. He then stripped out of his T-shirt and sweatpants but decided to leave his underwear on for now, mostly because he did not need the distraction of seeing his own cock every time he looked down. His sole focus needed to be on the man he was about to handle. Mike knelt on the bed between Gustavo’s parted legs and placed his hands flat against the other’s rather prominent shoulder blades and then applied some pressure; something between a squeeze and a caress. Gustavo, head turned sideways, tried to look at him over his shoulder.
“You should know something…” the Chilean murmured. His flush had gradually spread from his face to his neck, his breath coming out ragged and heavy. “I am very… aroused… right now.”
Mike wasn’t stupid enough for a hint like that to fly over his head; Gustavo was telling him in no uncertain terms that he wanted a cock up his ass – preferably yesterday. Still, Mike felt he was in possession of leverage and decided to test his negotiation skills. All as a part of the foreplay.
“This is your favorite position, right?” Mike’s strong hands encountered a knot in one of Gustavo’s trapezius muscles close to the base of the skull and instantly went to work on it. He could have a full conversation and still do an expert job at this; he had plenty of experience. “If you like being on your stomach so much, you won’t mind if I take my time with you, right?”
“Hmmm…” Gustavo’s protests were abandoned, and he gratefully accepted what was being given to him now. No doubt his neck had been hurting like a son of a bitch; keeping one’s head in the same unnatural position for hours caused knots like this. Mike knew this too from experience; he received plenty during his years with the Philadelphia PD spending night after night in the enclosed space of a car doing surveillance. Every now and then, some of his colleagues throughout the years had been on the receiving end of his lauded backrubs, but none of them had asked him for a fuck afterwards, and now Mike wondered if he’d dodged a bullet or actually missed out.
“How do you know…?” Gustavo asked while Mike was busy working on his lumbar region.
“I can see the way you carry yourself. Your main problem is this region. You usually hide it very well with your posture, but not so much when you’re exhausted or agitated.”
“No, I mean… how did you know I prefer to be on my stomach during sex?”
Mike slowed his hands down but did not interrupt the massage. “You told me last time. I may not look like it, but I have one hell of a memory for trivia.”
“Oh, yes.” The memory of their conversation about positions returned to Gustavo, and Mike felt him relax. “It’s not so much that I like it,” he added, even though Mike had not asked him to elaborate; this was completely unprompted. “It’s the position straight men usually prefer me in. I can’t make any mistakes, or at least no major ones, and they don’t have to look at my face, or touch my genitals.”
Mike was on the verge of outright asking what kind of selfish assholes Gustavo had been sleeping with prior to him, and why this brilliant and highly capable man allowed himself to be treated in such an appalling manner by scum who did not deserve to kiss the ground he walked on, but a loaded question like that definitely would have spoiled the mood, and Mike was never one to speak in affect.
“We don’t all come off an assembly line, you know,” he said in jest, figuring it was probably wise to pretend this was all part of the playful banter between friends. “This “straight” wants you to have a good time. A great time, as a matter of fact.”
“Hmmm. Plus I write your checks. I would assume that to be a powerful motivator for excellence.”
Banter, then. Mike figured he could work with this. “I’d hate for you to think I’d have ulterior motives, like keeping you alive and out of the hospital. That would be unseemly, now wouldn’t it?” His thumbs burrowed into the sensitive intersection between the deltoid and trapezius muscle, and suddenly the man beneath him went stiff from pain.
“Tell me where it hurts, Gustavo,” Mike coaxed gently. What had started out as foreplay had now become a serious attempt at relieving acute muscle ache, and the older man wondered if his employer would still want the sexual activities to resume if he managed to find relief some other way. Mike would certainly never pressure Gustavo to put out; he could always retire to his little guest bedroom and pull one off if he walked away from this with a case of blue balls.
“Right arm,” Fring said, trying not to grind his teeth. “It hurts whenever I move it.”
Though no doctor, Mike was able to make a near-instant diagnosis based on the information he’d just now received; given how hard he’d seen Gustavo clutch that damn cell phone in his hand, it was not difficult at all to add two-and-two together.
“That’s probably a pinched brachial nerve,” Mike stated. He gently maneuvered the other man’s arm into a fully extended position, vigilant for further signs of sudden pain. Feeling encouraged, he decided to try a trick that had worked on someone else in the past. “The problem isn’t in your arm, per se, but in your shoulder. Higher up. May I…?” Consent was needed; if Gustavo moved unexpectedly now, Mike could very well end up damaging his shoulder even further by tearing a ligament.
“Go ahead.” The Chilean buried his face in the pillow to hide the expression of pain and apprehension, but Mike had already seen it. There was an implicit sense of trust between them, but that didn’t mean Gustavo was comfortable with overt displays of vulnerability or suffering.
“This will be quick,” Mike reassured him. “And you should feel much better immediately afterwards.” He pressed down hard on Gustavo’s right shoulder with one hand and pulled the younger man’s now hyper-extended arm in the opposite direction toward himself. To a casual observer it must have looked like he had placed Fring in a submission hold in order to handcuff him, and suddenly Mike was very glad there were no cameras in the house recording this.
A small crack could be heard from the realignment of joints, and Gustavo couldn’t help letting out a startled cry, half-muffled by the fabric against his face. He tentatively moved the doctored limb, appearing astonished that Mike’s technique had actually reduced the pain to almost nothing.
“This is incredible…” Gustavo said admiringly, causing the older man’s chest to swell with pride. “Where on earth did you learn his?”
“Pattaya, Thailand,” Mike replied without missing a blink. “It was a popular R&R resort for American servicemen during the Vietnam war. Close enough to be practical, but different enough to give men like me a break from our everyday life so that we wouldn’t go bad. If you had money, you could get pretty much whatever you wanted. I won’t lie, I ended up at brothels a couple of times, but truth to be told, I preferred just the massages.”
Gustavo said nothing and simply listened in stunned disbelief. Mike smiled to himself; it felt good – no, more than good – whenever he was able to surprise his employer with another hidden talent.
“I would pay you for that massage alone,” Gustavo said, and Mike could tell he was serious.
“That one was on the house, but Gustavo, if you want to compensate me, you’ll let this arm rest tomorrow. No walking around sweeping tables or lifting heavy objects. You have your employees for that. Make them earn their paycheck.”
“Lyle is usually the one to supervise the others, and tomorrow Lyle won’t be there, so that task falls on me.”
Mike, matching his employer’s stubbornness, did not relent, and Gustavo decided it was time for a tactical retreat. The Chilean always knew when he had to make concessions, and this was one of those times. “But I promise I will not over-exert my shoulder,” he said, “because I rely on my right hand for writing.”
“Good enough,” Mike said, and then figured he should ask the most obvious question now that the massage session was over. “What do you wanna do now?”
“Not sleep, if that’s what you’re implying,” Gustavo replied, pushing himself up on his elbows to look at Mike over his shoulder, and the older man could see that the earlier arousal was definitely still present in his gaze.
“So you’d still like to have sex?”
Fring’s eyes blatantly traced the outline of Mike’s erection through his boxer shorts. “Yes, and apparently, so do you.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Mike thought it was a good time to lower his underwear and allow them both to see what they had to work with. He was not quite fully hard, but his cock had retained decent tumescence ever since he fondled Gustavo standing up and felt his body’s eager physical response to Mike’s own. Just a few strokes brought him back to full hardness, and he slid his shorts down and off before reaching into the top drawer where the Chilean kept his condoms and lubricant.
Mike was not the type to go through anybody’s private drawers, least of all Gustavo Fring’s, but this time he could not avoid catching a glimpse of something that drew his attention; alongside several packets of condoms and at least three different brands of lubricant, the top drawer also contained a large, purple, silicone sex toy, battery-powered by the look of it, and designed explicitly for anal rather than vaginal stimulation.
Gustavo chuckled dryly at the brief look of abject shock on Mike’s face. “I see you found my Mister Super-Twirl-Spin-And-Vibrate. Don’t worry, he stays in the drawer. Good as he may be for certain things, he does not compare to…” Slender brown fingers grasped Mike’s erection and tugged lightly “…the real thing.”
“I’m not judging, I’m just…” Really, what was the appropriate word for something like this?
“Surprised? How come? You knew that I was a maricón when you agreed to work for me. You are a bit old-fashioned, but you aren’t naïve.”
“It’s just… a bit much, I guess,” Mike finally managed to say. Goddamn it, that thing was big. How did Gustavo even get it inside himself to begin with? How could he walk the day after?
“Like I said,” Gustavo sat up, suddenly decisive, and took it upon himself to close the bedside drawer that had revealed the purple monstrosity. “It is a poor imitation of the real thing. Try not to think about it more than you have to.”
As if that were up to Mike. His earlier statement, though spoken in half-jest, was no lie; Mike Ehrmantraut had an excellent memory for detail. For everything, really. And the sight of a freakishly big, purple fake dong in his employer’s nightstand would stay with him, quite vividly, for days to come.
“I hope you don’t get any bright ideas about putting that thing in me.”
The Chilean’s first response was a look of pure revulsion. “That thought had not occurred to me, and besides, I never share my sex toys with anyone, not even my lovers,” Gustavo said, lips curling downward as his brain processed the mental image Mike had just inadvertently placed there. “It would be very unhygienic.”
“Maybe we can try to forget about it together?” Mike suggested, waggling his eyebrows and the ugly frown on Gustavo’s face was thankfully replaced by a small but noticeable smile. Gustavo had such a beautiful smile, and Mike was grateful for the privilege of being on the receiving end of it. His real smile, not the stiff unnatural rictus grin he plastered on for his customers day in and day out.
A look of concentration momentarily replaced the smile, and this was also an expression Mike was exceedingly familiar with by now; Gustavo Fring was back to business as usual. He positioned himself on his stomach, knees far apart, all the while maintaining eye contact with Mike.
Mike decided to try something bold. “I think I’d prefer you to be on your back for this,” he said. “Are you comfortable with that?”
Gustavo pursed his lips and half-completed the requested positional transition by moving to his side. “I could, but… will it not bother you?” He looked down at his own body, and the hesitant, highly self-critical scrutiny returned full-force. “I won’t feel anything at all like a woman. Is that really what you want?”
“I’m not fucking a woman, I’m fucking you,” Mike said calmly. “So please oblige me.”
Mike had discovered by now that Gustavo responded extremely well to direct commands whenever he felt insecure, and indeed he did exactly as told without voicing any further objections or excuses.
“Like you said…” Mike affectionately stroked his flank, letting the younger man know that he appreciated the view. “I’m old-fashioned, but hardly naïve. You are a man, and a pretty damn beautiful one. Let this be a reminder of that.”
Mike squirted some of the water-based lubricant onto his fingers and made sure he achieved an even spread before using them to penetrate Gustavo. He started with his index finger, and the tight, furrowed orifice reflexively tightened around the invading digit before Gustavo forced his body to relax and adjust. Mike figured that the Chilean usually did this part entirely by himself and might not be used to fingers other than his own digging around in his ass. Mike’s gradual entry was gentle yet unrelenting; he trusted Fring to let him know if he experienced true discomfort and wished to take it slower or stop altogether.
“I am not… made of glass, you know,” Gustavo said breathily, toes curling against the loose white fabric of the towel underneath him. “Don’t treat me like I am.”
“We still have to make sure you can walk properly tomorrow.” Although if Gustavo regularly used that purple thing on himself and still managed to spend most of the day on his feet, he could probably handle anything Mike was able to dole out. Mindful of this, he added another finger and then curled them both slightly upward. Gustavo’s breathing quickened and then he was moaning and writhing all of a sudden, as if Mike had somehow hit a nerve. And indeed he had; a bundle of them, in fact.
“You like that, huh?” Mike repeated the motion, easily able to palpate the spongy nub of the other man’s prostate through his rectal wall. At his age, he’d endured repeated prostate exams, but he couldn’t remember any of them feeling the slightest bit good. Perhaps there was a learning curve and Mike was simply behind.
“If you keep doing that… I might come,” Gustavo said, now grasping the towel with both his upper and lower digits. “And that would not be… optimal.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Mike agreed. Getting fucked directly after the intense physical stimulation of an orgasm would probably subtract from the overall experience, and he did not want be the cause of that, no matter how tempting it was to see if he could make his employer come without even touching his penis.
Mike gently withdrew his fingers and reached for the condoms he had taken out earlier along with the lube, but Gustavo handed him one with the plastic wrapping already opened before Mike could open one himself.
“Use this one. Those are difficult to deal with when your hands are wet,” the Chilean stated matter-of-factly.
It would never cease to surprise Mike how quickly Gustavo could alternate between different modes of being; just fifteen seconds ago the same man now giving him advice had been writhing on the mattress and grabbing fistfuls of the towel just to postpone an imminent climax.
“Thanks.” Mike did not know what else he could say, but he was grateful for the help. Rolling the condom onto his cock was the easy job, and something Mike had done hundreds of times before. Adding additional lubricant was another thing he’d had to do every once in a while with women, especially after the ladies he could attract were generally post-menopausal. His erection had virtually maintained full rigidity despite being ignored during his preparation of Gustavo, but Mike himself gave it a few extra strokes as he distributed the lubricant over the area covered by the condom.
“Ready?” he asked, kneeling between Gustavo’s splayed legs, and tried to calculate the easiest point of entry. Even though the hole he was about to penetrate had a slightly more lateral placement on the pelvis than a woman’s vagina, Mike did not anticipate any problems with either access or angles. And if they did run into those, he could always flip Gustavo onto his stomach and fuck him from behind instead.
“Hmmm… Yes, I’m ready, Mike.” Gustavo reached down to cup himself, and for a split second Mike believed he was about to start masturbating, but instead the Chilean lifted his scrotum both to improve access for Mike and to keep his balls from getting squeezed between their bodies. This was definitely not a woman lying underneath him now, Mike thought, and realized he did not mind that one bit. His lubed-up and extremely firm erection slid easily into the other man, and once he was inside, hands were no longer needed to guide the penetration.
Mike leaned forward, taking most of his weight onto his own arms so as not to smother his partner (at least this bit was no different from what he was used to) and immediately began thrusting in earnest. Gustavo’s chest against his felt flat and hard, but at least Mike was still the only one with chest hair. Soon all four of the Chilean’s limbs encircled Mike’s torso in a tight embrace, and the latter noticed that Gustavo’s earlier passivity was all but gone; he not only followed Mike’s thrusts but countered them with aggressive yet precise hip movements of his own.
The difference was obvious; Gustavo enjoyed sex where he was an active participant much more than the role of a passive, unmoving semen receptacle that he had been assigned at some point in his life, and – for some reason – never questioned. Pointy fingertips with blessedly short fingernails dug into the freckled, sun-tanned skin of Mike’s shoulders hard enough to leave marks that would still be visible tomorrow, but it was for leverage only; Gustavo was not attempting to purposely scratch his flesh.
Other than their ragged breathing and the distinct sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the act was performed in complete silence. Mike wasn’t sure if he’d expected Gustavo to be more vocal this time around; sometimes people who were soft-spoken or socially reserved were surprisingly loud between the sheets, almost as if their psyche was unknowingly trying to overcompensate.
Had he really expected Gustavo Fring to talk dirty to him? The idea sounded ludicrous, but then again, his employer continued to show sides of himself that Mike definitely could not have predicted on his own.
Suddenly, when Mike himself was already close to his climax, Gustavo’s legs tightened around his waist and Mike could feel the rapid, involuntary flexing of pelvic floor muscles around his cock. It could only mean one thing; the man underneath him had just managed to orgasm without the use of hands.
Mike felt an unexpected surge of both pride and envy; the former in spades because he had been the instrument of Gustavo’s pleasure, and a small sliver of the latter, because at the end of the day, everything was a competition, and Mike was well aware that coming unhanded was a feat he could never match. Men, apparently, could not resist comparing their accomplishments with those of their own sex even when it made zero practical sense to do so.
Mike groaned against the crook of his partner’s neck as he rode out the waves of his own climax, and his arms gave way, causing him to collapse on top of Gustavo with his full weight. He only realized what had happened when the man now trapped underneath his sweaty, heaving bulk gently shoved at him.
“Mike… you’re really heavy,” Fring murmured. “I can’t breathe.”
“Oh jeez, I’m sorry.” With slightly trembling arms and still feeling out of breath, Mike nevertheless managed to push himself back into an upright position. His softening penis slipped out of Gustavo when their bodies separated, and Mike instinctively grabbed the base of his shaft to prevent the condom from falling off and making a mess. The sex had been fantastic, but in that moment Mike felt the weight of every single one of his fifty-eight years, knowing already that his body would not be thanking him tomorrow.
He looked down at himself and noticed the sticky white streaks of seminal fluid now smeared all over his chest and stomach hair.
“Wow, look at that,” he said, scoffing. “You shot your load without even having to jerk off. Should give that bad arm of yours some rest, at least.”
Gustavo sat up in alarm, a look of panic replacing the languid, post-coital haze. “Mike, I’m so terribly sorry, I never intended to-- Here, let me…” He began to rifle through his bedside drawers with the same anxious urgency, clearly on the hunt for wet wipes. When he found the packet, his hands were shaking too much to open the wrapping and the box flew out of his grasp.
Mike was on his feet in an instant, trying his best to calm his agitated partner. “Hey, hey, it’s fine, Gustavo,” he said, but the only way to still Gustavo’s hands now was to grab his wrists and physically restrict his movement. “I’ll go wash it off myself, it’s no biggie. It didn’t get on your sheets, nothing’s ruined. Can you calm down?”
A look of calm finally returned to Gustavo’s face, and he stopped his frantic attempts to move, to clean, to wipe. “I deeply apologize for my behavior, Mike,” he said, sounding more defeated than agitated all of a sudden. “It was unacceptable.”
“Don’t worry about it, really.” He released Gustavo’s wrists and chose instead to cup his jaw with one hand. Gustavo allowing the touch was a tentatively positive sign, and Mike took the opportunity to press a quick kiss to his temple to show Gustavo that even though the sex part was over for now, displays of affection could still be exchanged between the two of them.
“Let me go get cleaned up, okay? I’ll be back in a little bit.”
Cleaning up was quick and easy, just as Mike had predicted. First he disposed of the condom, after which he focused on himself, using water and a paper towel for his genitals, and then more water and a bit of liquid soap to wash Gustavo’s rapidly cooling semen stains out his body hair.
The Chilean’s reaction to seeing his come on Mike’s body had been… concerning, to say the least. Mike knew from experience that Gustavo would probably not want to talk about it and prepared for that scenario, but that didn’t mean Mike wouldn’t at least try to get him to open up.
When Mike reemerged after his little clean-up session, Gustavo had hardly moved at all, still sitting completely naked on top of the now rather crumpled towels. He had wiped down his own chest and stomach with a wet wipe, but he had not bothered to put the now opened packet away.
“Hey,” Mike said softly and took a seat on the bed next to Gustavo without asking for permission. Given what he had discovered about his employer’s psychology; it only made sense to give Gustavo a break from making decisions. “Shouldn’t we talk about what just happened?”
Gustavo cleared his throat, stiff gaze fixed on something directly in front of him. He refused to look Mike in the eye. “I’d rather not, as you can probably guess. But I do owe you an explanation, as well as an apology, so we will.”
“You owe me nothing. However, I would like to understand. And help, if possible.”
Gustavo inclined his head, seeming ready to accept Mike’s offer. “Alright, I will tell you.”
“Seeing your come on my body made you really upset. Why was that?”
“It upset you, as well,” the Chilean pointed out, and for a moment Mike was flabbergasted at the accusation.
“It did not! What makes you think that?” he asked, his tone sharper than intended.
“I saw the look of displeasure on your face. It disgusted you.”
“Gustavo, now you listen to me,” Mike said sternly, and to his surprise, Gustavo actually turned his head to look at Mike. The trust between them was returning, but at a slower pace than Mike had hoped. “That look of “displeasure” that you saw, it wasn’t disgust, it was just envy. You managed something I’m incapable of, and for just a moment I felt like I’d lost a competition. It’s silly, I know, but sometimes us “straights” can’t help but compete every second of our lives. I’m genuinely sorry if I made you feel bad.”
Gustavo sighed, and Mike could tell the Chilean blamed himself for being unable to read the situation correctly. Mike took one of Fring’s hands in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“What you tell me in here won’t be heard by another soul,” he said and meant every word of it. “But I have to ask… did someone treat you badly because your semen got on them?”
“You could say that,” Gustavo admitted. His voice was calm now; a low, soothing monotone, but when their eyes connected again, Mike could see profound sadness in Gustavo’s. Their fingers remained interlocked. Mike had a feeling they would stay that way until Gustavo had finished telling him about this.
“Spring of ’98. He was German, and we met at conference in Houston Texas where Madrigal Electromotive was one of the main speakers. A friend of Peter’s, at least on occasion. I suppose they were more colleagues than friends, but it can be difficult to know with Germans. His name was Hermann. Hermann Krantz. We were seated next to each other at the dinner table, and he initiated a conversation with me. His English was surprisingly good, and I could tell he was an erudite man with excellent taste. And I also noticed that he liked me. Or at least found me attractive enough to want for one night.”
Gustavo paused in order to swallow and wet his lips, and Mike suspected that his employer would have liked to complete the retelling in his native Spanish; sometimes, during moments of stress, Gustavo forgot certain things about English grammar and syntax, which in turn fuelled his frustration and abject self-loathing.
“When he invited me up to his room at the end of the evening, I said yes. Part of me knew it was a bad idea from the start. He wore no wedding ring to the conference, and there was no talk of a Frau Krantz, but I could see an indentation on his ring finger which suggested he’d recently worn one.”
“A closet case, then,” Mike said with a sigh.
“Yes,” Gustavo said with a nod. “That is the most likely explanation. I tend to avoid closeted men, especially if they are married. They are unpredictable and potentially dangerous. I should have known this and turned him down, but I was lonely, and since we were out of state, I thought that… that maybe I could engage for once without constantly looking over my shoulder.”
Mike hummed in agreement and gave the younger man’s hand another squeeze of silent encouragement.
“I had second thoughts the moment I set foot in his suite. He was drunk now; visibly so. I could smell whisky on his breath. He offered me a drink from his mini bar, but I declined. I could tell he didn’t like that. I was not what he had expected, either. I am fairly sure he thought he could simply have me… blow… him, and then send me away afterwards without a fuss. I should have left. I could have left; I don’t think he would have tried to stop me.”
Mike did not like where this story was headed, but he needed to hear it just as much as Gustavo needed to tell it. “And then?” he asked cautiously.
“I said I could not perform oral sex, but we could have intercourse instead. Maybe I still expected to get some enjoyment out of it by that point. He was undoubtedly a very good-looking man, and I had felt drawn to him during our earlier conversation. I brought condoms, naturally, and he tried to convince me to forego the use of them. Said he was “clean” and that I had nothing to worry about. When he realized I would not budge on this issue, he agreed to wear one, but I did not trust him, and his attitude toward me became openly hostile. If I hadn’t already removed all my clothes, I would have fled from his room, but without my clothes, how could I…?”
Mike had no trouble picturing what a catastrophic blow to Gustavo Fring’s sense of dignity it would have been to be caught naked and afraid in a hotel corridor, but he wasn’t sure the alternative was a whole lot better.
“Did that man… hurt you?” A superfluous question, really; they would not be having this conversation if Gustavo’s dalliance with the German had passed without incident.
“Not at first. He wanted me on my stomach, but I did not agree to that, simply because I could not trust him not to try to remove the condom when I wasn’t looking, so the alternative was to be on my back. At least then I could see what his hands were doing at all times.”
Gustavo closed his eyes, and Mike observed a slight nervous twitch in the corner of his right eyelid. He inhaled deeply once before he continued to tell his story.
“You don’t need to know every sordid detail, but long story short: the alcohol caused his prick to go soft in the middle of the act, and he could not get it up again in order to finish. That made him furious. I finished myself, and some of it landed on him, and he responded by punching me in the face. I probably should have expected it, and yet… I was in too much shock to do anything to defend myself. He shoved me out of his bed and screamed at me to get out, or he’d kick me to death right there and then.”
“You think he would have?” Mike asked. He made sure that both his face and voice remained as stoic as always even though he was fuming on the inside.
“I don’t know. Maybe not. Probably not. Either way, the man outweighed me by at least seventy pounds. Fighting with him would have not ended in my favor.”
“Did you report him?”
“Report to whom, exactly? The police?” Gustavo glared at Mike, and in that moment the latter could see exactly how much contempt Fring held toward the entire system of American law enforcement.
“Peter came to visit me in my own hotel room later that same night. I did not speak about what happened, but he could work it out just by looking at my face. I certainly did not encourage him to take action, but the following morning Hermann Krantz appeared at breakfast with wads of cotton in both of his nostrils. I never saw him again after that.”
“Your friend showed an admirable amount of restraint,” Mike said, finally allowing some emotion to come through. “I wouldn’t have let that guy go with just a little nosebleed after what he did to you. He’d have to get it reset by a doctor, and he’d need stitches for sure.”
The comment drew a small smile from Gustavo, and he placed his second hand atop Mike’s.
“You leave the drama to us maricóns,” he said.
“This Peter dude… were you two ever an item?” Mike knew it might be out of bounds to ask, but Gustavo had already volunteered plenty of information about Peter Schuler, so again, perhaps not.
“We had a mutually beneficial physical relationship on and off for many years,” the Chilean replied. “I ended it because Peter wanted me to commit on an emotional level, and I was not ready for that after what happened to Max. It was an amicable split, and we have remained good friends up to this day. Peter is married now and has a daughter. He could not have gotten that with me, so what happened was for the best.”
“So he’s a bisexual, then?”
“Yes, obviously. I am not.”
“I know you are not,” Mike teased. “Have you ever even… you know, tried it with a woman?”
“Never. I have known since before I reached puberty. Doing it now when I’m past my prime would be awkward and pointless. For me especially, but also for her.”
“Point taken. Do you ever miss it… him? Sex with Peter?”
Gustavo appeared to contemplate the question for a second or two. “Sometimes, yes. Peter was great in bed, especially for a man whose preferences usually skew toward women. And he was very kind to me and understanding of my…particular limitations.”
“Of course he was, Gustavo. He’d fallen in love with you.”
The sad smile returned. “You understand why I had to end it, then. Being seen with me would have put the spotlight on him, and I could not subject Peter to such a risk, not after---”
Not after what they did to Max.
The phrase hung unspoken in the air between them. Mike decided to be the one to break the silence.
“You did the right thing, Gustavo. I would have done the same in your stead. You chose another person’s safety over your own desires, and that is admirable. You are an honorable man. Always take that with you.”
“Thank you,” the Chilean replied with genuine candor. “That is quite a compliment from someone like yourself.”
“You might give me too much credit,” Mike said. “But at least I won’t be falling head over heels in love with you.”
Gustavo responded with a thoughtful nod. “That was one of the parameters I considered, yes.”
“Nor you with me, I trust?”
“While I do find you attractive, Mike, I also find that scenario highly improbable. I hope I have not offended you.”
“Not at all,” the older man chuckled. “I’m relieved, is more like it.”
“Good.” Gustavo spoke only one single word and rested his own forehead against Mike’s for a brief moment before extricating his hands from the older man’s grasp. “I think I would like to sleep now.”
“You and me both, kid.”
Mike stood up from the bed and started the process of getting back into his clothes, and Gustavo did the same but not before gathering up the soiled, crumpled towels and putting them inside a large bag of transparent plastic, no doubt to be brought straight to the laundry room first thing in the morning.
The Chilean never slept naked, and tonight was no exception; waiting for him in his closet was a silk burgundy pajamas which hung just a little bit too loose on his short, slight frame. Gustavo really needed to eat, or all his fancy tailored stuff would start to look like it came straight off the rack at some men’s wear store.
They stood silently in the middle of the room, eyes locked in a silent battle. Mike knew that Gustavo knew what he was thinking, and the man did not need any further reminders of his physical frailty.
“Breakfast at six-thirty,” Mike said. “Be ready.”
“Goodnight, Mike.”
“G’nite, Gustavo.” Mike decided to leave the folder with the updated travel route behind in case Gustavo wanted to take a second look at it. He probably would; if there was one thing Fring could not tolerate it was unknown variables.
The door closed softly behind him, but Mike did not hear the sound of a lock clicking into place as he walked away. That alone was another small victory in his mind.
The End