slightlyoffchilt | - IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

But I will satisfy you. I can. You know damn well I can.

[ He spared a glance downward -- his hand movements so very subtle beneath the table, but still moving. Still grasping and touching and violating. Chilton had gone in and violated Walt's mind, so this was only fair. It was justice -- one Chilton had started, one that Jesse fanned the flames of, and now one that Walt was going to finish. ]

And it's only right, isn't it? To give back to my creator. To give back to the man who made me everything I am right now.

[ Walt set down the glass before reaching out with his free hand. His index finger pressed to the side of Chilton's stubbled jaw, turning his face toward him. ]

I'm crazy, Chilton. Mentally unstable. [ The corner of his lips quirked upward. ] And I think that excites you. I think it gives you a thrill. I think you're so perverted and twisted that you get off on danger. And well, Chilton....

[ Walt leaned over, whispering with a wolfish grin: ]

I am the danger.

[It was chilling. A cold finger down his spine, that's what it felt like when Walt referred to Chilton as his creator. It was completion, it was fulfilling -- this was what Hannibal had craved from Will Graham, this very acknowledgment. This kind of influence. Had Chilton succeeded where Lecter failed? He held his breath, his lower abdomen shivering, the heat between his thighs undeniable and very, deeply human.]

You're right.

[Chilton murmured the words, two little words. He felt Walt, the warmth between their bodies, the electricity in the air. He couldn't move his face away, not with Walt's anchoring it to his own with that singular finger.]

You're doing this because I created you. I took what was left of your and forced a opus. And if you think a little close encounter is going to inspire any twitch of guilt, Walt, I must say. You should know better.

-- But that isn't what you want, is it? You don't want my remorse. You want my dignity. And -- [He couldn't help what did twitch, in response to Walt's invasive force. He couldn't help that.] You know you can just take it.

I forged you, Walt. I manifested you. [A break in his voice, in his composure, betrayed the high emotions running beneath that aloof sneer.] Does that not mean anything to you?

[A beseech to Walt's humanity, perhaps. But Chilton had miscalculated; Jesse Pinkman had been the inch of that humanity. And now that measurement was gone.]

[ The only humanity left was simply fumes of guilt -- guilt, regret and remorse for Skyler and what he had done to her. But that guilt had been swallowed in favor of this. Jesse took from Walt, and Walt paid it forward to take from Chilton. And the instant he could make the man lose control of himself, he won this little game -- whether it be to stop him from what he was doing or an unintended release.

His grasp tensed and his rhythm increased from the slow and steady to moderately quick. Chilton was reacting just the way Walt wanted him to, and his pride alone kept this going -- fanned the flames. Chilton even took Walt's words and accepted them, donning the title of Creator without fuss or fight. So predictable when it came to Frederick Chilton -- arrogant and cocky son of a bitch. ]

Something happened in Baltimore, Chilton. I didn't leave it as the same man I went in. And that was thanks to you. I realized something there. You are vital to me. In ways even Jesse is not. The way you make me feel, Chilton -- my hatred for you makes me alive again. You ruined my life while simultaneously becoming the center of my world.

You did create me. This me. And now I no longer want to simply dominate and control you.

[ His mouth neared Chilton's ear, words nothing more than a husky whisper. ]

I want to own you.

[ A beat. ]

Now. How long can you hold back before you burst, I wonder? Whether it be through words and protests or....otherwise. Either way, you're going to give me what I want.

I'm not. I'm -- not going to -- ohgod. [Chilton blinked -- metaphorically. He had stared down Walt, coaxed the other man to stare right back, and he had been the first to blink. The friction beneath the counter top tightened, and his reaction was to stiffen. His breath was ruptured, his focus wavering, and Chilton was beginning to panic. Walter spoke with such conviction. He not only truly believed the rhetoric, he weaponized it.]

Please. Walt. Please understand. That. I'm not Pinkman, I can't be leashed in the same manner you had done to Pinkman.

[Every word took monumental concentration. Chilton's shallow breathing was rapid and his eyes dilated. He didn't know what to do precisely, but talking had never failed him before. Speech was control, persuasion was victory.]

You want respect from me? You've already had it.

[His hands moved now, since Walt was close enough -- one slipped over Walt's nearest shoulder, the other to that corresponding bicep.]

But I cannot deliver anything more until you deliver results.

[Even while practically pinned in place, Chilton sought control through manipulation. Creating and if and then dilemma, he thought, would surely capture Walt's attention. That was the trick to wanting, as Chilton knew quite well: always keep whatever was desired in baited proximity.]

You're not content with owning one man, are -- are you? [Chilton closed his eyes, his throat drying. His very veins screamed for release.] You deserve so much beyond the singular.

You're right, Chilton. You aren't Jesse.

[ Walt stopped the movement of his hand abruptly, though he didn't release Chilton which might have been more torturous than continuing to stroke him. He glanced down at Chilton's arm around his shoulder and then at the one stationed on his bicep. After the quiet pause, he looked back into the psychiatrist's eyes. ]

You're better than Jesse. Think about it for a moment -- I have. Jesse never appreciated me. Jesse never truly respected me. Jesse doesn't give a shit about me. Not anymore. But you do. You want to see me flourish. I'm vital to you. And you have me now. Isn't this what you wanted? What you asked for? You wanted to reach out and touch my mind. You wanted to release me from the imprisonment of being Walter White. And now, I'm merely returning the favor.

[ And after the temporary reprieve, his hand began to move -- more aggressive and intense than before. The reactions of Chilton's were thrilling. Of course, his touch did waver after the comment about not wanting to own one man. Disappointing though it was, Chilton didn't fully understand Walt, although he claimed to. ]

You don't know me as well as you think you do, Chilton. And how could you? We never truly discussed this. But my mind has always been a singular focus. I no longer have Jesse. Not the way I want things with him. And if I screw up, I lose him for good. And quite frankly at this point in time, I don't care. If he wants to go hang around his replacement for me -- let him. Jesse is a disgusting piece of doublecrossing shit.

[ Never mind the fact that Walt had betrayed Jesse first. Never mind the fact that Walt tortured, taunted, threatened, and turned on Jesse first. No, in Walt's mind, Jesse was the one who made the offense. ]

Right now? You are the only one I have. The only one I want. And if you think you can just use that therapist voice of yours to convince me to stop this, clearly you're thinking too small. And you're not exactly small, are you, Chilton? I mean....no part of you is really small.

[While the brief hiatus had incurred bodily yearning -- Chilton was already deeply responsive to Walt's gesturing -- relief had accompanied it as well. Relief that he wouldn't embarrass himself, relief that he could maintain that cold composure he had worked years to manufacture. Relief that he wouldn't lose.]

Of course you're vital to me --

[Walt's hand, gripping with greater fervor, returned. Chilton clenched his jaw, hoping to camouflage his squeaked gasp. He leaned against the counter at an angle, closing the gap by degrees as his hands still gripped onto the chemist; both for the sake of greater privacy and because his own restraint was deteriorating by the moment. This could afford him something to lean on, at least, some mirage of dignity. Chilton's mind grappled for the words Walt was speaking, those pinpointed revelations sung in syllables: replacement, doublecrossing, lose. All trademark of BPD interpersonal demonizing, as according to Chilton's diagnosis. Close company to a BPD sufferer was either idolized or scrutinized, there was little in between. Little wonder why Walt was so churlish, so radical in his reassertion of power -- even if it was over Chilton rather than Pinkman.]

You're doing this -- you're finishing this. Aren't you?

[Chilton could feel the heat rise to his cheeks. Walt's comment was both compliment and control tactic. He felt appraised by the very man who was supposed to be his project.]

If you. Don't pull away --

[He was close, so close, and that made the next sequence of events all the more terrifying. Chilton's eyes went wide as their bartender checked in on them, asking about their drinks and any requests for refills. He looked to Walt, panicked, urging the other man to step in -- Chilton at present wasn't in a position to speak typically. He squeezed at Walt's bicep and shoulder, once, before relenting. This was as good as any Walt, help could have been managed.]

[ This was a shining moment of triumph for Heisenberg. Chilton, the man who had tortured him so thoroughly from the beginning -- reduced to nothing more than a breathless, struggling mass beneath his grasp. It was beautiful to behold. It was arousing. It was a thrill of complete and utter domination -- proof that Walt didn't have to rely on chemical means to get Chilton to respond to the reward. ]

Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. You don't exactly seem to want me to stop. I could be cruel. Bring you right to the peak and let go. You would still have your dignity knowing you didn't succumb fully. But man would you ache.

Why don't you tell me what it is you want, Chilton?

[ Walt had been so focused on his psychiatrist, he didn't even remember there was anyone else around. And when the bartender spoke to them, Walt glanced up -- irritated by the interruption which he viewed as a distraction. Perhaps something for Chilton to focus on outside of them to stave off the inevitable. But, as casual as could be, Walt waved his hand dismissively. ]

We're fine. The drinks are excellent. We're still working on them.

[ He lifted his glass toward the bartender when he smiled uncertainly and then went on his way. The only help, the only salvation was leaving them to tend to other patrons. And with him gone, Walt could focus entirely on Chilton. ]

You could always try begging me to stop. If that's what you want.

[Once Walt had taken care of the bartender complication, Chilton was free to shiver and quiver with that overwhelming sensation provoked upon him. He squeezes shut his eyes, riding wave after wave of abdominal clenching, palpitating urgency. He felt constrained, restrained, and yet so near a release -- it was maddening. The psychiatrist gulped air, trying to stay as balanced and alert as possible.

It wasn't very possible.]

Walter. White.

[Chilton opened his eyes wide, staring right into the other man's gaze. He held the vision of a raw and desperate man seeking compassion and knowing damn well that riverbed was desert.]

Heisenberg.

[And there he stepped into that cracked earth, dusty and dry, still ready to kneel for water.]

Let me go to the restroom. Let me -- handle this. What do. You have to gain by. Playing this card right now?

[His hands, once on Walter, now fell limply away. A surrender, a retreat -- a battle lost, perhaps, for the sake of a burning tide of warfare. But one needed to heed strategy.]

Tell me what you get out of this.

[ It wasn't as though Walt didn't have compassion. It wasn't as though he didn't care. He could have met Chilton's desperate look with cruelty, but instead there was understanding on his face. It was a terrible feeling, wasn't it? To have ones power stripped away. Walt understood it far too well. He felt for Chilton.

Which was exactly why he needed to do this. This was to be a valuable lesson. So to Chilton's question, Walt offered an honest: ]

Revenge, mostly. But I also believe this will help you to be a better therapist. At least in regards to my problems.

[ Walt looked away from Chilton, turning to his drink and bringing it up to his lips. He took his time to savor the alcohol, an expression of enjoyment on his face. But more than the alcohol, it was the shuddered breaths and shivering man beside him that he enjoyed. How much longer? He could feel the taut tension beneath his grip. ]

This is, after all, pretty much the same thing Jesse did to me. So how will you cope with it, I wonder?

[ Walt met Chilton's wide-eyed stare. ]

But more short term than either of those things, I want to see the look on your face as you lose it. The ecstasy, the agony, the loss of control. Because for that one second, that one pivotal and blissful second -- I know you won't be able to hold back that beautiful expression, the open-mouthed pleasure.

[ Walt spared a brief glance down at the crotch of Chilton's pants before looking back up to his face. ]

You fought a good battle, but it's over. You know you can't win. You know there's only one thing you can do to end this.

[ For Chilton's pride in not wanting to beg, he would suffer the humiliation. ]

[It was honesty that reverberated through Chilton, as if Walt's words were in concert with his touch. Every motion pulled at another string, every syllable gripped Chilton by the throat. He looked away, his brow furrowed, his mouth hardlined into a trace amount of lip. The clenching in pelvic region, now volcanic with heat, doubled. There was no abating. There was no graceful exit.

There was only his will weakening before Walter White.]

I'll -- make you --!

[Chilton's mouth parted -- a final gasp. His furrowed brow eased, his eyelids closed, and his facial muscles relaxed beneath the sort of chemical relief that spoke of something profound (or profane) and all too inherent to the natural body. He slumped back in his chair, his shoulder dropping. It took five, maybe six seconds, but time wasn't so precisely calculated beneath the unfamiliar weight of degradation.

The way Walt had spoken. So paternal, so empathetic. It was that familiar tone that grated at Chilton's skin more than foreign humiliation; he recognized that tone. He had used it enough, on his own patients, under vastly different circumstances. It was a betrayal on a much more nuanced level than what he was willing to express.

Chilton looked at Walt, wary of this uncharted territory. Terrified of what this meant for their power imbalance -- for months he had enjoyed what he perceived as the upper hand. For months amplified by every following day.

But not now.]

What a mess we've made.

[Chilton spoke in a shaken whisper.]

[ There it was. The look Walt wanted to see. Although he could feel what was happening beneath his touch, seeing it present itself on Chilton's face? That was the turn on. The way he had one final burst of defiance before he succumbed made it all the better.

It was only after Chilton rode out the last of the rippling tide of waves that Walt pulled back, finally reprieving the man from his touch. And after a moment, he studied that hand before he brought it into his mouth -- finger by finger popped past his lips and cleaned. It was an act of possession as much as it was taunting. Look at the mess YOU'VE made indeed. ]

It was perfect. Everything I thought it would be.

[ He smirked and then pushed Chilton's mostly untouched glass in his direction. A gesture that said 'drink up, you deserve it.' ]

Now, you were saying something about making me do something? Do you honestly believe you're in the position to make such empty threats any longer? What we just did was me staking my claim on you. You belong to me.

[He watched, astounded, as Walt cleaned off his own fingers. Consumption. Wasn't that a running theme in Chilton's nightmares? Cannibalism was a form of domination, he had once said of Hannibal -- and that remained true, here, even if Walt wasn't quite as literal in his destruction. But Chilton felt cannibalized, just as much as he felt exposed and weakened.

He swallowed, glanced towards his lap, and tended to buckling back his belt.]

You've surprised me, Walt.

[Chilton was in shock -- and yes, awe -- over that stated fact. He thought he had Walter White all figured out up to this point, with a name to every string he'd pull. Chilton reached over and fumbled for his glass, lifting it to his lips. His hand shook until he swallowed.]

I am so rarely surprised by my. Company.

[Almost used the word patients right there. Almost.]

[ Walt knew what that brief pause would have been if Chilton hadn't caught himself. And he supposed he could have taken offense -- that even now, Chilton still viewed him as a patient. But the pause to Walt meant that Chilton was respecting him. Finally. At least enough to choose his words carefully. And that solidified this method of attack was a success. ]

You underestimated me. Clearly. But then again, I think you've been doing that from the beginning. Remember that time you pistol whipped me?

[ He finished off his glass and gestured the bartender for a refill. Then his attention returned to Chilton once more. ]

I don't remember a lot of that night, but I do remember that. How far we've come. Or rather...how far you've come.

[ Walt grimaced. The innuendo felt disgusting to say, and he regretted saying it immediately. That was more something that would have come out of Jesse's mouth. Not his. But instead of dwelling on it, his expression became curious. ]

How are you feeling? Right now?

How am I feeling?

[Chilton scoffed, harshly, into the remainder of his whiskey. It was a cruel turn of phrase, knowing that Walt let that syllabic boomerang fly with polished intent. The afterglow of Walt's force simmered in his mind, perhaps mitigating the brunt of his exasperated rhetoric. This wasn't the place, he reasoned, nor the time to engage verbal warfare.]

I'm feeling somewhat used, Walt.

[The sort of honesty that came with a darkly humored smile only after innuendo-soaked barbs had been flung. How far he's come, indeed.]

Of course, I am of the impression that you hadn't any audience when you had Pinkman.

[The psychiatrist gestured only with his eyes, scouring about this very public watering hole. How close they came to discovery: that was the tension in Chilton's shoulders, the width to his wide-eyed gaze.]

Your impression would be accurate, but it makes the situation no less humiliating.

[ The age difference. The age difference was what was killing him the most. But once Walt got his drink, he wrapped his hands around it, staring into the contents as he addressed Chilton's prior comment. ]

But used? That's a start. Do you, perhaps, feel as though the control has been taken from you? As though the roles have changed? Do you feel betrayed in some way? Are you angry that you didn't have enough willpower to resist? Did the guilt turn you on so much it was impossible to stop?

[ Walt shifted himself a bit. They called them guilty pleasures for a reason, and what he had just done to Chilton? Well, that came with its own interesting side-effects. Walt was mostly able to push his own feelings on the matter to the side in favor of reminding himself this was a necessary evil. It put him and Chilton on the same level. But damned if he wasn't turned on from it. ]

Edited 2015-08-14 19:17 (UTC)

You're looking to invoke my motivation.

[Quietly spoken, this revelation. It meant a lot to Chilton, who had invested much of his life into motivations, that this was Walt's newly minted tactic. A seizure of control (expected) but in a manner that pertained specifically to Chilton's forte. That was the most offensive quality to Walt's detected patronizing; he was simply being like Chilton to Chilton.]

If I am yours, then you are equally mine. I won't fight you, Walt -- I enable you. I want to help you flourish.

[Something that was no secret.]

You have to reassert some semblance of dominance, especially after what Pinkman did to you. For you. What he did because of you.

I understand that.

[ The look Walt gave Chilton was one of pure exasperation. Of course the man would dodge his questions. Of course he would turn this around on him. Walt wanted Chilton at a level where he could relate to him -- where he could crack open Chilton's head and see the thoughts on display. He wanted to ask a question and not have the evasive tactics. He wanted honesty. He wanted to know Chilton inside and out.

All part and parcel of owning him. ]

Do you understand it?

[ His brow raised skeptically. ]

Do you even understand me anymore? I don't think you do. I don't think either of us do.

I'm your creator, Walt. Something you've already admitted. Of course I understand you.

[Perhaps just as Doctor Frankenstein understood his monster.]

And I know that succumbing to you is the last thing our... Partnership requires. Your whole identity was fleshed upon trial and tribulation, why would I interfere with that learned behavior you've so cleanly adapted?

[Walt could expose parts of Chilton by force, but only parts. It was a sacrifice the doctor was evidently willing to make, however reluctant his initial approach might have been.]

You're not going to own me. And that friction is what will inspire you to greater magnificence, Heisenberg.

Trust me when I say I will do my part for both our agendas, whether or not you agree about the itinerary.

Edited 2015-08-15 03:51 (UTC)

Who are you trying to convince right now, Frederick?

[ Walt didn't typically use Chilton's first name. He had a few times, mostly in mocking. But he tended to stick to a strict surname basis. No Doctor. No Frederick. Just plain Chilton. So this was yet another form of attack. Another way to become familiar. Another way to rebel against the title of 'patient.' ]

Because what just happened between us was you succumbing to me -- so what if my attentions promised an even greater reward? Something more stimulating? You can't deny that you love it when I touch you.

[ His hands moved upward to brush Chilton's cheek, chillingly affectionate. ]

And my theory is that you secretly love this loss of control. It's as thrilling as it is frustrating. And you're so willing to ride it out just for the chance to one day take back what you think should belong to you. Because it doesn't matter how many losses you face, how many unexpected outcomes -- if you're the ultimate victor, it will all be worth it, won't it?

It will all be worth it, Walt. Every -- stunt you pull, every denigration I suffer at your hand. I will welcome my triumph all the more.

[It was unusual, for Chilton to speak with such thermal conviction, his aspirations in absolute parallel to his emotions on the matter. Chilton did not jerk away, nor did he flinch, when Walt touched him. He took it, like he had taken everything else this evening, with the cold comfort of Walter White's propelled arc. Submission would feed into Walt's ego, his submission specifically. Didn't that justify his sudden cowardice? Didn't that amplified any afterthought strategy behind his enjoyment of Walt's aggression?]

Did you used to think about me this much? Considering my psychological profile, goodness. [He didn't respond to that earlier provocation: something more stimulating. The words alone were enough to make one blush.] How long will you be thinking of this after we leave? Do memories still haunt you, memories of loved ones you've screwed, do those still whisper doubts in your mind? Or do I overshadow them now? Is anger that much easier for you?

[Chilton thought it was.]

You don't get a triumph. Not the way you're imagining one.

[ Walt planned to die. To rid himself of this world and his problems once and for all. Chilton would never get the satisfaction of having Walt.

His hand slipped down to Chilton's throat, thumb pressing lightly against his Adam's apple, feeling the vibration of Chilton's voice against his touch. He remained calm -- completely cold and calm as Chilton unleashed his verbal attack, tearing into Walter's motivations, picking apart his psychology while simultaneously reminding him of the family back home that hated him.

And it was just as calmly that Walt's hand removed itself from Chilton's neck. It raised and swiftly came down to backhand the psychiatrist unless he had enough foresight to either hinder its progression or get out of the way. ]

You still have so much fight in you. And I wouldn't have it any other way. That will make tearing you down into nothing just that much more enjoyable, Chilton.

[Chilton did not have the foresight to determine Walt's handful of aggression. The backhanded smack landed loudly against his cheek, and his entire head moved with the force. The throat grabbing, the feeling of how he spoke, that had been unnerving but hardly worth the interruption -- Chilton had considered it but another of Walt's dominating demonstrations. But that explicit engagement of violence, that drew eyes. And as Chilton moved his fingertips to touch his jaw, to feel the corner of his lip that had just barely split, he sensed the startled gazes glancing over himself and his company.

This was not the sort of impression that Chilton sought to impose, and Walt damn well knew that. In terms of public image, one of them had a long, dreary spiral downwards. One of them had a preposterous amount to lose.]

Of course, Walt. Of course.

[He wouldn't strike back now, he couldn't. He closed, his eyes and nodded, his tongue flicking out to taste the sliver on blood eking from his split lip.]

As you might imagine, it heartens me to hear this from you. You're coming along so nicely.

[Chilton raised his empty glass to the man sitting next to him, his motion imbued with sincerity.]

[ Walter let out a sound that was half irritation and half amused. Chilton sweeping in the take the credit, accepting the blow as though it was all part of the carefully preened mental damage he was doing to him. As though this result was anticipated. Chilton had started the madness, but Walt wasn't following his guidance. ]

Does it? It must make my father so proud.

[ He mocked and looked at the marks he left behind on Chilton's cheek and jaw. His palm went out to cup his face once more, and Walt unleashed chemicals to get the healing process started as well as accelerate it. No questionable evidence left behind for anyone to find. Guess who didn't care about any of the watchful eyes? ]

You can take credit for the idea, Chilton. The concept. I'll give credit where credit is due. If it wasn't for you, I would be wandering around aimlessly in the dark. But now I have a solid plan, an escape from this world. I'm alive and awake. And not even Jesse will mourn me when I'm gone. I think the only one who will, will be you. And not for any reason other than missing your life's work -- your perfect creation. The one time you actually got it right.

[Hiding the evidence. So Walt didn't care much about the local quality taking notice of his haranguing, but he wasn't too keen to let Chilton answer any inevitable imPort's queries about the now-healing facial bruises and cuts? Or did Walt not want to examine what he had done? What he was doing? Would he look upon his own works, and despair?]

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare -- I hadn't taken you to be a fan of poetry, Walt, and yet you sent that letter to me. That little postcard. Mocking me, even while you escaped and eluded my people.

[His people. Will Graham and Lucifer.]

I have already accepted the destruction you'll cause. I welcome it, in fact.

[It wasn't just the man that Chilton was after, but the myth as well. If he had to sacrifice the former for the latter, he could do that. He would have his book on the kingpin, he would collar that memory and leash that story.

But all of that relied on the flesh and bones of the subject first. And therein rested his tension.]

Why won't you let us work together?

[ He was about to comment about being very well-versed in English literature, but then Chilton made a confession -- or what he perceived as one. Walt raised a brow and his expression became one of disgust. ]

So you did align yourself with Lucifer. I fucking knew it. Can't wait for that to blow up in your face. It's only a matter of time before one of your demons turns on you.

[ Didn't Chilton even take into consideration that Abduxel was working alongside Crane? Didn't he stop to think for a moment about what Lucifer was and how he deceived? For a smart guy, he sure was an idiot. ]

And that is also exactly why we can't work together. You're not a trustworthy man and those you align yourself with are even less so. I don't know what game you're playing with me, Chilton, but you should be grateful I'm even wasting my breath talking to you. You should feel honored that I even agreed to meet with you on Friday evenings once more. But I told you already, didn't I? Everything about this is on my terms.

[ He reached down, lifting the watch bearing wrist into Chilton's line of view -- making him look at it. ]

You don't get say. You don't get power. You only get to give advice when I ask for it. You can be a passenger on my journey -- my gift to you for your enlightenment. You can belong to me. But you're never going to be my equal. And you certainly don't get any say in what I choose to do. You either accept it the way you accepted my hand in your pants, or you reject the notion and lose me -- getting to go back to your twisted harem of demons. Are you fucking them, too?

[ Too. As though to imply he and Walt were intimately engaged in some way beyond Walt pretty much forcing himself upon Chilton. ]

- IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

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