Chapter 6. I want to show you something

Once back at the factory, Heisenberg gets comfortable in the heat. The machines have been running since they left and warmth is swelling in the air. Heisenberg drags an arm over his forehead, flicking sweat onto the concrete floor.

“Mind if I undo a button?” he asks, though he’s already doing it.

“Go ahead,” she says, not that she has a choice. Even if she did have one she’s not sure she’d refuse...

He pops open the button, then another, and another. His chest gleams, shrouded in hair with metal jewellery hanging down. It’s brass, or so it seems, and a couple of silver plates. She hadn’t taken him for a jewellery kind of man but she can’t take her eyes off it – and what lies beneath.

Heisenberg is toned for his aged, with the slightest bit of a belly hanging over the top of his pants, coated in a trim line of hair to the navel.

She squeaks, trying to bite back any inappropriate comments.

“You’re staring.” He smirks as she snaps out of her daze, cheeks flaring.

“Sorry. I just...” Want to touch. Kiss? Lick? Nip? The possibilities of what she shouldn’t say are endless.

“Come over here, I want to show you something.”

“I, uh...”

“Don’t be filthy, though it’s a nice thought to know where your mind is at. Maybe later,” he teases. The promise settles in her stomach, stirring up butterflies. “Sit,” he demands.

There’s no other seat in the room.

“On the desk?”

She walks over and he catches her by the wrist, hauling her onto his lap. “I said sit.” A semi pokes through his pants, pressing against her bottom. He’s... Well blessed, by the feel of it, not crazy endowed but definitely more than adequate.

“What did you want to show me?”

With one arm he wraps around her, drumming on the curve of her stomach as he thinks. With the other, he reaches to his desk, flicking open a leather bound book.

“This is a cadou, a parasite in me. It looks like this.” Heisenberg points to a sketch of a grotesque mass.

She winces. “So, see a doctor?”

“It doesn’t work like that, sweetheart.”

“Maybe Mother Miranda could help you.” She finds herself pushed against the desk with a hand on the back of her head. His short nails bite into her scalp.

“’Mother’ fucking Miranda did this to me.” He lets go suddenly. “I’m sorry. That bitch does things to me.”

She sits up, setting herself sideways on his lap. “You ever lay a hand on me again and I’ll kill you.”

He raises his hands in submission. “I guess a blow job is out of the question then. Though technically that’d be you on me.” He’s grinning and despite herself, she tilts her head.

“... Its not entirely out of the question.”

“Well then,” he slaps the book shut. “I guess this can wait.”