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Collide - Part One - Chapter
Twenty 
part one: nails for breakfast. “They’re letting me meet with Vincent.” The reaction sparked by those six words is what he had expected, what is to be expected. Head snapping up, Justin’s eyes are wide and color drained. Brian slicks his tongue over teeth and doesn’t say another word -- knows that, if he did, he would be interrupted anyways. “What, why? Why would they let you do that?” Brian runs a hand through his hair. Answers, “I don’t know. All his attorney told me was that he’s the one who wants to talk to me,” He explains, trying not to shrug. Justin begins to look sick, cheeks pale and mouth drawn. “Adeline got the call this morning, she made an appointment for next week.” “Jesus Christ,” Justin mutters, shaking his head, leaning forward in the chair he sits in so he can run his hands over the top of his head, fingers trembling. Brian hesitates, and begins to wonder what the proper etiquette is when dealing with a client who’s mouth you’ve just had your tongue in. He’s never been too good with ethics. So instead of debating, he stands up, hovers around the side of his desk. Finally bites the fucking bullet, and crosses over until he’s standing beside Justin’s chair, kneeling down and waiting until Justin looks at him, waiting before he tries to say anything. He says, “You aren’t going to lose.” Justin manages to nod, a motion that Brian can tell is forced. He doesn’t say “I know,” but somehow they both hear it, know it’s there somewhere. Instead, the blond shakes his head again, leans forward, and rests his chin on Brian’s shoulder. And Brian has always been a certain sucker for this boy. … “If you guys are finished, Constantin is here to pick you up, Justin,” Adeline interrupts, her head popping round the edge of the door, though her introduction is missing. Brian looks up from the computer screen and then over at Justin. Justin, who is still sitting in the same chair, biting his nails. “We’ll be down in a minute. Just tell them to wait,” Brian shrugs, twisting his chair around until he and Adeline are face to face. Her eye makeup is smeared underneath her eyes, her lips are stained from the coffee, and he loves it. She nods, closing the door as she leaves. “You’ll be back in the morning,” Brian begins, squinting over the edge of his desk because somehow it’s a distraction from everything else. “I’m sending a car to get you at six thirty. I’m not allowed to pull you out earlier than that, I tried already.” Justin nods but shifts around, beginning to pull the sleeves of his jacket on, with a half-assed effort. “Justin.” The blond looks up and manages a small smile, and yeah it’s barely there, it’s hanging on a crook -- but it isn’t forced. Brian doesn’t see the Pinocchio strings that hold the edges up with fear of falling down. “Yeah,” He answers, voice small and breakable, and Brian fucking hates it, knowing that he should have just never said anything to begin with. Biting the edge of his lip, he widens his eyes and says, “You’ll be fine.” And then he’s back out of his chair and around the side of the desk, his fingers in Justin’s hair, and they’re kissing -- maybe it’s goodbye and goodnight, but it might be something else. Justin is pathetic and pliable after a half moment, sliding his arm around Brian’s waist until his cold hand is warm under the back of Brian’s pressed shirt. “Okay,” He whispers, speaking against Brian’s mouth, noses bumping together as he nods and leans in once more. Justin presses their lips together quickly before he pulls away, leading Brian towards the office door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” . “Brian Kinney,” He offers, extending his hand, holding it still in the air. The other man reaches to shake it wearily, looking between Brian and the person standing beside him, their briefcases close to identical if you dismiss the fact that one label is a thousand dollars cheaper than the one next to it. Brian grins wolfishly, and explains, “My client opted out of the meeting today, and I have to admit that I’m surprised to see you here.” The man shakes his head, lowering his hand to the side, watching as Brian greets the prison official the same way, out of nothing but mere habit. A hand shake, and arrogant smile. “I’m protecting my own client’s best interests,” The other lawyer tells him, sparking a reaction in Brian that almost makes him roll his eyes. However you can protect the interest of someone who has no chance in hell of winning a case is utterly lost on him. But Brian grins anyways, and smirks, “I am too.” . “You will not speak unless spoken to, and, if at any point you -- I’ll put it simply -- piss me off, the guard will immediately escort you back to your cell,” He explains, raising his eyebrows as he shuffles through the short stack of paper sitting before him, statistics and faxes concerning the man he’s been positioned across from. He’s disgusting in every way possible. The perfect grease ball in any high budgeted film, even complete with thinning hair and hollowed eyes. Brian shakes the automatic frown off of his face, and forces himself to replace it with something neutral, something beige. “If you feel threatened at any point during the interview, your lawyer will assist you. Everything understood?” The man trapped behind the thick glass pane nods once, barely acknowledging out of spite. “Good. I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you, but I’d rather stick with ‘I’m Brian Kinney.’” Ten minutes pass, and Brian hasn’t been seated for that long before Zambino grits, “My lawyers and me spoke long and hard. We want to offer ya a deal.” “I’m interested to hear this, Mr. Zambino… Can I call you Vince?” Brian smirks, leaning back in his plastic chair, steadied by one foot on the counter that holds the glass pane. Zambino shakes his head and sends an obvious glare that rivals Brian’s raised eyebrows, but the expression falls short, like the indents under Zambino’s cheeks. Brian doesn’t know if they’re leftovers from a brawl, or sheer fat. “Vince it is.” They hold each other’s glare for a few moments, before Zambino breaks it and pauses all action, hesitating before he says, “We want to offer a plea bargain before the trial is took to court.” Brian almost barks a laugh at the absurdity of the notion -- the lack of appropriation and professionalism rubbing the back of his throat raw. “Really,” He manages, the corners of his lips already beginning to twitch. Zambino nods carelessly and continues, “Yes. I will plead guilty to one count of false imprisonment and take a term of five years probation in a high security prison. In exchange, you are to have Justin drop all other charges against me.” “Don’t even say his name,” Brian snaps, calm losing ground for a split second as he looks from Vincent to the team of lawyers standing in a line behind him, reflecting in the glass. “And you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Maintaining his gray expression, Vincent shakes his head, watching as Brian opens his mouth and tries to speak. And it takes a second longer than he wishes it had before the words manage to come out -- tumble out in a heap of a mess. “No. No deal,” Brian shrugs, reaching down into his briefcase. When he resurfaces, there’s a wicked smirk on his face, and a piece of paper in his hand. He makes sure Zambino can see it before the smirk transforms to an arrogant grin. “However, these are the charges that my client will be laying against you. Should I go alphabetically, or in order of sentencing? Personal preference, really.” Zambino shakes his head and tries to move closer to the window. His hot breath fogs up the glass as he starts, “Listen to me, listen to me and my lawyers for just a damn second, and--“ “Aggravated assault. Battery. False imprisonment… well, you had that one right--“ Obviously surprised, Vincent tries to get out of his chair, but doesn’t make it far before the shackles tighten and the two guards standing on either side of him move forward, ready to run and tackle him down. Zambino stops, but snaps, frustrated, “Listen!--“ “Negligence and grievous bodily harm… Do you want to hear the sexual offences that will be pressed against you, Vince, or shall we leave those for another day?” Zambino presses his chubby, sweaty hands to his forehead, and Brian watches as his lawyers begin to move in -- whispering at him, hissing. It presses Brian harder, raises his voice and makes him smile. “Sexual exploitation of a minor, then there’s an attempt at obtaining sexual services from a child. Corrupting a child, anal intercourse with a child -- and of course you’ll be registered in the sex offender’s registry, both in the United States and Germany.” The tight team of lawyers are shaking their heads rapidly, motioning for the guards to come and escort their client back to his cell. Brian stands up from his chair, pulse still quick and pumping in his veins, his fists clenched as he stares at Zambino, waiting for the old man to dare looking him in the eyes. It never happens. “My client will see you at the trial. This meeting is over.” The echo of the lock snapping closed on his briefcase echoes around the room. . When he picks Justin up from the centre on route to Kinnetik, his knuckles are tight white around the steering wheel -- and worse yet, whether he’d actually ever admit to it or not, he’s grinding his teeth together, gritting in the back of his mouth. “Hey,” Justin smiles, dropping down into the front seat. He throws his on-its-way-to-being-ratty bag at his feet then reaches for his belt, and pulls it across his chest. Brian forces a half-smile back and pulls away from the curb, forgetting to bother looking back to see whether or not Janice still watches the kid as he leaves. If Brian could say it without laughing, he might express that he feels as though the woman is getting too attached to her appointed client. “So did you go to the meeting?” Justin asks, all innocent voice and raised eyebrow. Brian glances over to the other side of the car and offers an expression that tries to explain everything flooding through his head. “Was is bad? Do I want to know?… Was he gross?” Smirking despite himself, Brian nods. “He was definitely gross, yeah.” Justin wrinkles his nose and turns to watch out the window as they drive by a tourist stop, yellow black and red in all its full fledged glory. Brian’s made fun of it for years: some guy standing on the street corner, selling miniature clay versions of the Berlin wall, all cracked and glossed with nail polish. “He wanted to settle out of court,” Brian explains, glancing over at Justin’s profile as they come to a red light, and the car slows down to a stop. The blond raises his eyebrows, and looks mildly surprised. “He wanted to plead guilty to one count of false imprisonment, and veto the rest.” Justin’s completely silent for a minute, digesting before he asks, “What?” “Needless to say,” Brian begins, stopping to pause when the street light flashes to green. “I told them that my client didn’t except the offer.” . “What does this say?” Justin asks, holding up a piece of paper that has obviously been photocopied a hundred times over. There are thick black ink lines and dots that look like white television snow. Even if Justin could comprehend German, he doesn’t exactly think that he’d be able to decipher this. Brian glances over from the computer screen. “What?” He asks, only half interested and barely paying attention. Tapping the paper with his fingers, Justin crosses the room and stands in front of Brian’s desk, fully intent to ignore the yelling of the reporters and photographers camping underneath the window. The curtains have been pulled tight for the last few days, and they’re beginning to protest. “This,” Justin says, resting the paper on Brian’s desk. His posture relaxes, hips pop out. Brian tries to ignore them, all sharp bones that he has thought about being wickedly pale as they touch the edge of his desk. “Read it to me.” Brian rolls his eyes and picks the paper up off of the desk with snappy fingers. He looks over the sentences quickly, and glances up at Justin. His eyebrows are knotted. “This is the building’s emergency fire escape route,” He snorts, the color of his eyes turning light, charmed. “Where the hell did you find this?” Grinning, Justin moves around the desk until he’s leaning against the edge Brian has positioned himself behind, those hips right the fuck in Brian’s face. Shrugs and explains that, “There’s a stack of them in the downstairs lobby, with a whole bunch of pamphlets on worker’s insurance coverage. You work in a pretty dodgy building, you know.” “Cheap rent, expensive location,” Brian grins, edges crooked like his teeth. Justin laughs and moves his knees so they knock against Brian’s, toes tipped on the floor, legs pushing until they’re level with Brian’s kneecaps. “Why, it doesn’t get any better than that.” The flabbergasted tone to Brian’s voice makes Justin laugh and lean in, it makes him kiss Brian until both of their bodies are warm and pliable, and Justin wants to… well, he doesn’t know what he wants to do, because he can’t exactly think properly. But he figures it’s safe to assume that what he may want to do would probably cure this disease he has. “So tell me what it says,” Justin smirks, teasing, pulling away until their lips are apart, all red and wet and swollen. He slides one hand to the back of Brian’s neck and tugs them close, together, until their mouths are barely touching. Brian grins and tips his head back, chins bumping. “Maybe I don’t want to teach you German fire instruction,” He whispers, eyes flickering down Justin’s face, to his throat. He leans in to mouth it, but pulls away before Justin can properly register the action. The blond presses their foreheads together and murmurs, his voice quiet but not quite deadly, “Well… I think you should. Tell. Me.” He punctuates his words with his lips against the corner of Brian’s mouth. “Oh yeah?” Brian laughs, raising his eyebrows as he pulls away, just far enough to spy Justin’s expression. Justin grins and nods, his eyebrows arched as he mimics the set before him. He nods and whispers, “Yeah,” leaning in to press his mouth against Brian’s, lips moving and palms pressing tight. Brian wraps his fingers around those hips to steady him in the chair, eyes closing as Justin moans quietly. Most of the sound disappears into Brian. “Brian, the guy from Constant-“ The office door bursts open as Adeline steps in, head down and eyes focused on the paper copy that she holds. Justin almost falls out of Brian’s lap, and just manages to recover at the very last moment, balancing himself against the desk. Brian’s pulse races, beating fast like the boxing as he reaches up to adjust his tie. Adeline looks over at them, then, both of their expressions too obvious. Her eyebrows raise. “…Constantine Security called… he’s on line three.” Nodding, Brian coughs and reaches forward to turn the line on. Adeline glances over at Justin, his posture, his body language, the way he’s chewing on his thumbnail and hovering around the edge of the desk. She leaves the office with a tick in her brain. . “What the fuck are you thinking?” She hisses, voice raw. Brian glances up from the photocopier he’s hovering over, rumbling and flashing beneath him. Adeline’s eyebrows are drawn together in an angry knot, and her lips are pressed thin. “Listen to me Brian. Are you listening? You are going to fuck yourself over.” Brian raises his eyebrows and screws them up to match hers as he flips the lid of the copier over, relining the paper against the upper edge. He keeps his eyes on the glass watching him and snaps, “Hey, Adeline -- mind your own fucking business for once, okay?” “Fuck you,” She snaps, hitting his arm. He grimaces and begins to inch away, but she isn’t even close to being done. “You fuck this up and I’m fucked too. Understand that? Do you understand how much shit you’re going to land yourself in? For what, a fuck?” He rolls his eyes as he begins to punch in the copy count, cursing the broken ‘10’ button, because he’s stuck doing increments of ‘1’ instead. Brian drawls, “I attended law school. I’m fantastically aware.” “Then what the fuck are you thinking?” She whispers, the hiss dropping like she’s been wounded as she taps the side of her head rapidly. Her hair bounces, but her fingers stay the same. Brian stares at her face for a moment, eyes hard but his jaw line harder until he enunciates, words perfected, “Leave it alone, Adeline.” He heads for the doorway after that, pushing past the assistant’s body until he’s managing to break through to an open space. She remains in the copy room for a few moments, stoic, body frozen as she watches the copier flash beneath her.
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