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Who: Jesse Pinkman & Ronan Lynch; Jesse Pinkman & Joseph Kavinsky; Jesse Pinkman & Noah Czerny; Jesse Pinkman & Andyr Prince. (Will set up more starters if anyone wants one!)
When: Post-Moira crash into the Midway Hub
Where: Around the camp set up
What: #justpostwhatthefuckthings
Note: Warnings for swearing and other stuff I'll edit in if necessary. If anyone wants to do post-crash things with Jesse, shoot me a PM and I'll toss up a starter for you!

☲ closed to ronan

[ One of the things Jesse managed to salvage of his own belongings from the Moira was the tent he'd received upon being promoted to Tiruncula rank a month or so ago. It's pitched shoddily among other crew members' tents pitched nearby, a slipshod effort on Jesse's part with how little he really knows about camping. Not that it matters, not that Jesse even cares. Hours have blurred on by since the ship went down, and Jesse has steadily descended from blind adrenalised terror into a state of shock-induced apathy; all the horrific things he's seen has anesthesised him into an eerily indifferent calmness.

Sitting crosslegged just outside his tent, there's a cigarette dangling between his lips, smoke drifting up from the lit end, while he's washing his hands in a dented camping saucepan of water that he'd managed to acquire. Barefoot and dressed in just his filthy jeans, his equally filthy blood-caked t-shirt is lying in a heap beside him. The water is cold, shocking against his skin; goosebumps rise across his arms and chest as he scrubs water up along his forearm, washing away dirt and dried blood as best he can with what little water he has available to him. He focuses on the task like he hasn't got a care in the world, like nothing horrific or traumatising has taken place.

Realising someone is approaching him, slowing down in front of him, Jesse glances up with a puff on his cigarette. It's Ronan. Smoke billows from around the cigarette pursed between his lips as Jesse peers up at Ronan with a look that's full of acknowledgement, yet unreactive; that same eerily indifferent calmness. Turning his attention back down to what he's doing, he remarks around his cigarette with a curt casualness that's entirely out of place with the whole situation: ]

'Sup?

☲ closed to kavinsky

[ On the very outskirts of the makeshift camp set up by all the crew, away from the bustle of crew members and the grim reminders of everything that led up to the ship crashing, Jesse loiters in near darkness, smoking one of his last cigarettes. The only light thrown on him comes from the camp itself, dim and indistinct; the tip of his cigarette glows red and bright in the murky shadows with each drag.

That shock-induced apathy hasn't really lifted. As he stands on the edge of the camp, he watches the camp from this safe distance with an impassive casualness. Disconnected from it all, like a spectator to a situation that he's watching on a screen rather than a part of. That's not to say there isn't an endless hum of trembling anxiety trapped beneath the surface, waiting to tear through his bubble of indifference; that's not to say that his hands aren't constantly sweaty, or that his heart isn't constantly racing. But he seems disconnected even from that.

He stands slouched on the spot, hand shoved in his pocket, other hand bringing his cigarette up for a drag and then dropping away to his side with a flick of ash. It's like he's standing on a street corner and not on the edge of a camp that's stranded on a planet on the edge of the universe. However, a noise nearby has Jesse snapping his head towards it, eyes suddenly alert and sharp. He exhales a plume of smoke, shoulders tensing up while he peers into the darkness. Another noise, like a twig snapping under someone's shoe. ]

...Hey, who the fuck's there, yo?

☲ closed to andyr

[ A few days have passed since the crash, in whatever way that "days" can be defined on this alien planet. Where Jesse, during the first couple of days, had been eerily apathetic in the face of so much trauma and terror, that shock has been slowly subsiding, giving way to a benumbed yet anxious helplessness rotting away inside of him. The only thing for it has been to keep busy, and god knows there's plenty to do. Not that Jesse is skilled in any of the areas needed most, but if Mr. White taught him anything outside of manufacturing meth and applying himself, it's taking inventory.

So, that's what he's been doing: throwing himself into the task when and where he's needed. Taking stock of the supplies salvaged by noting each item down on a clipboard, and moving said supplies to designated inventory areas. He's an exhausted wreck, having barely slept, barely eaten, but keeping busy keeps the churning storm of helpless panic all knotted up inside him contained.

It's when the stocktaking hits a lull in productivity, while those in charge work out how to inventory new supplies recovered from the Moira, that Jesse, bitten with a desperate nicotine craving, heads through the makeshift camp to find a secluded spot. He hovers near the edge of a cluster of tents, cigarette pursed between his lips and lighter igniting the tip, and it's when he draws in a deep, grateful hit of cigarette smoke that his eyes land on a familiar face. Andyr, sitting alone. A face Jesse hasn't been able to forget. Unspeakable horrors he hasn't been able to forget. Jesse hangs back, loitering in the dim shadows, wondering if he ought to approach the guy at all. And then, eventually, he hesitantly starts towards Andyr. ]

Hey, man.

[ An equally hesitant greeting as he comes to a stop at a respectful distance from Andyr. ]

☲ closed to j

[ It's late, dark. Half the camp is asleep, or at least trying to sleep, in their cramped little tents and makeshift shelter fashioned out of salvageable materials from the Moira. Jesse isn't asleep, though. Sitting outside his tent, he's chewing on his fingernails anxiously in between taking drags of his cigarette, looking this way and that. Seeming to be looking out for someone. That someone being Daisy. He hasn't seen her and he doesn't know where she is, and he can't seem to contact her over the MID. He's worried. She knows where his tent is, though, having camped with him in it the first night of the crash. It's why he's sitting here waiting for her, looking out for her: maybe she'll show up.

As he takes another edgy drag of his almost-finished smoke, everything about him seeming restless and fidgety even though he's sitting still, he throws a glance the other way and spots J up ahead. Heading towards him, it would seem. ]

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[ Honestly, what a different person this side of Ronan is. Compliant, willing, eager, innocent. He's so fucking innocent. Like he doesn't know if he should be enjoying it, but enjoying so much that he doesn't know what to do with himself. He's a panting, excited, gasping, virginal mess underneath Jesse. Such a fragile little thing.

Jesse is determined to follow his own advice: just go with what feels good. Don't overthink it. Don't think at all. Just let it happen. And so, with Ronan's mouth meeting his, Jesse lets it happen. This - kissing - at least seems to be something Ronan knows how to do. Seems the Catholic boy might have been secretly halfway sinning and making out with boys behind the gym shed to learn how to kiss better than he can jerk off.

Excited by the effect and the power he's got over Ronan, Jesse gives Ronan what he wants: a deep, searching, heated kiss, tongue exploring Ronan's tongue and lips. It's so fucking weird kissing a guy, with Ronan's rough mouth and his rough stubble, but that all adds to the perversity of it all. His hand slows its strokes on Ronan's cock; slower, longer strokes. Eager for some relief on his own cock, Jesse shifts onto Ronan more, almost completely on top of him now, and his cock slides and slithers up alongside Ronan's. He fumbles them together with his hand and starts thrusting, and though he wants to jerk off, he wants to thrust, too.

So, his guiding hand ends up slapping on the ground for leverage as he starts thrusting in greedy, long rolls of his hips, their cocks nudging and rubbing and frotting and sliding together in a tangle of hot, dry hardness. If anyone saw them, all they'd see is Jesse's skinny bare ass thrusting and his jeans caught around his knees, shirt rucked up around his back, rutting like he's fucking Ronan. Probably would look like a quick, dirty fuck in the darkness. ]

Feels so fucking good. [ A breathless, purring agreement murmured against Ronan's panting mouth. It shouldn't feel thIs fucking good but it does. A filthy admission that might haunt his thoughts later. Unable to help himself, Jesse taunts as he ruts against Ronan faster, more greedily, harder, close to tipping over the edge: ] You gonna come? [ Another hungry, biting kiss to that gasping mouth beneath his, interrupted with a tugging bite of Ronan's lower lip and a further coaxing, whispering taunt: ] Say you wanna come, Ronan. Say you need it.

[It's something of a relief when Jesse's hand slows its stroking. Ronan begins to feel less like his heart's about to explode out of his chest and more like he can feel exactly what's happening. Which is good. It's so good. His moans are strangled by Jesse's tongue, a forceful thing that seems intent on either conquering him or stifling him. Ronan surrenders to it, and everything else that Jesse does to him. He is innocent. That's his dirty secret. He's innocent and lonely and hungry for affection.

When Jesse starts to climb on top of him, he's struck again by the sense that he should be afraid. It would be easy for someone with Ronan's strength to toss Jesse off of him, but that isn't the point. The point is that he likes what Jesse's doing to him, likes it too much, and he might find himself falling over a line he won't be able to return from. As Jesse thrusts against him, Ronan's fingers drag down his chest, caught in the indecision between whether he should push Jesse off or not.

He does not. Mostly because he hears Jesse's irresistible voice again, his teeth biting at Ronan's lips. Ronan's response is a whimper:]

I n-need...

[Every jerk of Jesse's hips, every thrust of his cock against Ronan's, feels like it's interrupting the signal from Ronan's brain to his mouth, leaving him gasping each time.]

I want...

[He's going to die. He's going to die right here.]

I'm gonna come. I'm -

[Whether or not Jesse intended to cast a spell with those words, it works. Ronan's voice dissolves into moans, his whole body quaking as he orgasms. His hips roll against Jesse's and hot semen spills between them, shooting across Ronan's stomach in a violent burst.]

[ Jesse is hurtling towards a point of no return whether Ronan is going to come or not. There's a white heat pressure building in the base of his spine, in the base of his dick, while he rocks and ruts and thrusts with increasing reckless abandon. The rake of Ronan's fingers down his chest surges a deep, growling, gasping shudder from Jesse, and then Ronan is struggling to whimper those desperate, dirty words. At Jesse's command, he's whimpering - this imposing, intimidating, powerful mystery of a boy. Stripped right down bare to a delicate, naive, naked innocence that Jesse is corrupting and spoiling.

Jesse's kisses grow aggressive, mindless, passionate, noises building and mounting in the back of his throat. The base of his cock starts tightening and spasming, and suddenly he's coming. He's helplessly loud and shameless, shaking whimpers trapped amongst growls of orgasmic pleasure joining in over the top of Ronan's defenselessly euphoric pleasure. Ropes of Jesse's semen spurt messily over Ronan's stomach and shirt. The smell of come almost instantly hits the air. The wet mess between their bodies grows slick and slippery and while Jesse ruts into the final few powerful clenches of his dick squeezing the last of his orgasm out of him.

Then he's slumping on top of Ronan in a breathless heap. Jesse's weakness immediately after sex is affection - a thing he always seeks foolishly, instinctively, which is what he does now. He presses his face pressing into Ronan's neck, nuzzling, blindly affectionate, hot breath billowing against Ronan's skin. ]

[Ronan doesn't understand how he got here. Time seems to be skipping, and he has vague memories of fireworks, but he finds himself post-orgasm without any clear idea of how he came to be beneath Jesse. He's simply and suddenly there, with Jesse breathing against his neck and their mingling seed coating his skin and the final shivers of pleasure echoing through his still-hard cock, which happens to be nestled against Jesse's still-hard cock.

Turning his gaze to the sky past Jesse's shoulder, Ronan attempts to feel anything at all and he comes up short. There's an overwhelming numbness that follows his orgasm, and he doesn't know what it means. It was different with Andyr. But then, he wasn't lying in the dirt with Andyr, either.

Trying desperately to push away the feeling that something terrible has happened, Ronan reaches for Jesse's face to redirect him, catching his lips for a kiss. He doesn't think Jesse cares for him at all, is the problem. He has the sick feeling that none of this meant anything. Which makes it a mistake.]

[ Jesse is so drunk on orgasmic afterglow that there's no resistance when Ronan is guiding their mouths back together. All that pathetic neediness for affection pent up inside him, that pathetic need to matter to someone, anyone, is in free-fall. The moment their mouths meet, it's a sloppy, breathless tangle of tongues and lips. The slick, semen soaked mess between their sweaty bodies is the startling sensation in Jesse's coked out awareness that's tugging him down a little from his post-orgasmic cloud. Such raw, filthy, shameful evidence of what he's coaxed out of Ronan.

That's what has Jesse pouring even more of his attention into kissing Ronan. He brings a clammy hand up to clutch the side of Ronan's face, holding him right there. He doesn't want Ronan to push him away. He doesn't want Ronan to hate him. He wants to keep hold of that fragile, needy thing he's found in Ronan for a bit longer. If the way Jesse is kissing him could talk, maybe it would be uttering 'sorry, I'm sorry' over and over, or maybe it would be an ensnaring, persuasive little voice feeding on Ronan's fragile innocence that he's just shattered into a million pieces. 'Stay for a while longer, you know you want to.'

Or maybe it would just be a pathetic, hungry, 'Don't leave'. ]

[Ronan isn't going anywhere. As long as Jesse is willing to kiss him and hold him, as long as Jesse doesn't get up and abandon him here.

He doesn't need apologies. (As far as he's concerned, Jesse hasn't done anything wrong. He's not the one who's in love with someone else.) Ronan only needs to believe that he hasn't given himself away for nothing.

Reassured by the affection, Ronan soaks it in and returns it in kind. This vulnerable Ronan, who Jesse adores for whatever reason, kisses with gentle sweetness now that the dirty deed is done. His lips drag lazily over Jesse's skin, stubble scratching in a way that Ronan finds irresistible.]

I swear I didn't plan this.

[ That lazy sweetness makes Jesse's eyes drift closed and he draws in a deep, steadying breath as those kisses start wandering languidly from his lips. God... Whoever would have thought someone so intimidating and hard could have such a soft sweetness to him. Without bothering to fight it, not listening to that voice in his mind telling him he shouldn't be encouraging this, he nuzzles into those drifting kisses.

A twinge of guilt at those words confided to him. Jesse ignores it. Ignoring the voice in his mind telling him he shouldn't be encouraging this, too, he nuzzles into those drifting kisses. ]

I know. [ Uttered quietly. He absolutely knows Ronan didn't plan this. ] You don't gotta say anything. It's okay.

[Ronan's crashing fast now that the cocaine's wearing off. He doesn't even consider taking another hit, though. The fluttering in his heart is a deeply unpleasant thing, anxious and nagging. He tries to focus on Jesse's body instead, on all the good parts about being in his embrace and none of the heavy guilt that comes with it.

He has to ask, though:]

Are you okay?

[Jesse thinks he's straight. It can be slightly traumatizing, Ronan's aware, to discover that might not be the case. Especially when the discovery happens like this. He had been so careful with Adam. He's really fucked up here.]

[ Jesse doesn't answer at first. Jesse nuzzles a brief kiss to Ronan's bristly cheek in effort to stay drowned in how good it feels to be close to another human being rather than allow himself to think about what a terrible thing he's done here. The semen slick between their bodies is turning runny; Jesse's attention is drawn back to it, hyper-aware, in just the slightest shift of his body on top of Ronan's. That draws his attention back to the fact that he's lying on top of Ronan, jeans caught around his knees, softening dick caught slack next to Ronan's cock between their bodies. Out in the open, lying in the dirt, no less. How fitting: a dirty deed done in the dirt.

Slowly, Jesse rolls off Ronan until he's on his back beside him. A wet dribble of semen rolls sideways down his stomach while he looks up at the inky black sky bursting with stars. The smell of semen wafts brief but accusingly past Jesse's nose. He's starting to crash, too. He starting to feel sickened with himself. What the hell has he done? ]

Yeah. I'm okay.

[ Said absently. Probably not terribly reassuring. ]

[Ronan hates lies, and Jesse isn't even trying with this one. Ronan sits up as soon as Jesse rolls off of him. Not to leave, but to look down at him. It's still so dark that he can barely read Jesse's expression, so he's imagining the worst. Ronan drags his jeans up over his hips, half-dressing himself, and then he lays back down to rest his cheek again Jesse's shoulder.]

Jesse.

[He says it quietly, not really a question, but prompting in a way. As if what he's really saying is say what you mean.]

[ Jesse reaches down for his jeans and shimmies them up his thighs. He makes it as far as getting them up over his ass when Ronan lies back down beside him, head on his shoulder. His hands go limp mid-effort to do his fly up. Why is Ronan concerned about him? He shouldn't be. He knows Ronan hates lies but the last thing Ronan needs to hear is what Jesse is really thinking. So, attempting to sound more reassuring: ]

Seriously. I'm fine. Don't worry 'bout me.

[Ronan remains there, his head on Jesse's shoulder, scrutinizing him through the dark. His arm comes around, draping across Jesse's chest in a loose hug, ignoring the mess that coats his skin.]

I'm going to be fucking honest here. I'm in love with someone already, and you're not the one. So if you're panicking right now about what you're going to say to me tomorrow morning, you don't have to let me down easy. You're a straight guy, and you were high, and you were horny, and I was here. Secretly you're thinking it felt good at the time, but you don't want to do it again, because you're into chicks, and Ronan Lynch is just some creepy motherfucking faggot. Blah blah blah, identity crisis, whatever.

Look, man, you're still straight and you'll have a hot wife someday and forget this ever happened. It's dark out here. You weren't even thinking about who you were with. And I'll totally get it if you don't talk to me again.

[ Jesse didn't ever for a second think Ronan was in love with him; that thought didn't even occur to Jesse until Ronan is bringing it up now. Ronan confessing that he's in love with someone is a surprising thing to hear - surprising because Jesse never thought Ronan would ever admit something like that. He lies there, though, eyes falling shut as that sickened feeling with himself sinks in deeper. Any pleasure that had been pounding through his body minutes ago is all vanished now. Ronan's arm holding him is comforting and his words are comforting, but that only serves to make Jesse feel all the more sick. It would be easier if Ronan was sneering at him, insulting him, even punching him.

Jesse reaches up and gently pushes Ronan's arm away, and he shrugs Ronan away from him as he slowly sits up. ]

C'mon, man. You don't gotta do that.

[ It's said quietly, like he appreciates what Ronan is doing. It's not fair to lie there letting Ronan take responsibility for it, though. ]

[At least Jesse's getting up now. That's slightly more promising than the catatonia he seemed to be heading towards. Ronan sits up again, too, but he stays close to Jesse. People often make the mistake of thinking Ronan is a cold person. It is, in fact, the opposite. He has a warmth that erupts violently with the right spark, not unlike a wildfire. Jesse is in his path, now.]

I'm not doing anything. I already did something.

[And he always believed he wasn't this kind of person, but it turns out that he is. Maybe Kavinsky's right about him. Maybe they're just the same.

Ronan drags a hand across his chest, wiping some of the filth away and slapping it onto the ground. He'll have to roll in the mud to get it all off before he returns to Kavinsky's tent. There's something appropriate about that. He feels exactly like swine.]

[ Jesse does the same - gingerly smears the mess away from his stomach with his hand and wipes it on the ground. A lingering scent of semen hangs in the air. He tugs his shirt down and silently shifts on the ground to tug his jeans up properly before buttoning them. He should be reassuring Ronan that it's not his fault; it's not like conversation earlier in the night isn't starting to bounce around in Jesse's mind. How, though, can he say No, I used you to this innocent boy? He can't.

Spying the baggy of whatever's left of the 8-ball, Jesse subtly reaches for it and guiltily pushes it into his pocket. Then he's slowly pushing himself to his feet. Dirt and small bits of rock cling to the back of his shirt. Looking down at Ronan, Jesse isn't sure if he should hold a hand out to help him up, or... He feels like he should, because he would if he'd just fucked a chick. He feels like he should know what to say, too. This is completely uncharted territory.

After a moment's hesitation, he holds out his hand. ]

[Ronan doesn't get up. He waves away Jesse's hand and draws up his knees, hugging those instead and pressing his face into them. He's not so innocent that he doesn't understand he was used. The problem is that he allowed it to happen. Enjoyed it, even. The problem is that if Jesse touched him again, even knowing there's nothing else to it, he would do it all over again. He feels like he doesn't recognize himself anymore. His body is betraying his spirit.]

You can go now.

[In case that wasn't clear.]

[ Jesse stares down at Ronan, shrouded in darkness on the ground, and his hand lingers there another beat before dropping away. He lifts that hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it uneasily, while looking away. ]

I'll... I'll see you back at camp.

[ Maybe. Possibly. Probably not. Jesse doesn't blame Ronan if Ronan never speaks to him again. The thought makes Jesse's stomach sink. He's such a fuck up.

Hand dropping away from his neck, he listlessly pushes both hands into his pockets and turns away. The flashlight is over past Ronan, glaring off into the darkness at nothing in particular; Jesse doesn't bother collecting it as he starts to take a few steps towards the direction back to camp. He stops and lingers on the spot, then glances back at Ronan, who is almost swallowed up entirely in darkness now, making his imposing form look small. ]

I'm sorry.

[ He lingers on the spot, then turns and slowly continues into the darkness, pulling out his lighter and snapping it alight to guide him back to camp. ]

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