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alaschija Giotto/Daggi
FROM:guavejuice
TITLE: On The Inside
GIFT REQUEST: Fic angst, AU, hurt/comfort, porn without plot Brian/Justin
NOTE: Beta: Kimpredec2. This is AU. Angst:Yes. Hurt/comfort (at least as I see it ):Yes. PWP: Not so much but I hope it's okay :)
Pittsburgh Penitentiary, Early Fall…
Brian's POV
"Before you say anything, Mister, uh...Kinney," the young guy replies curtly at me as he checks my visitor's tag. "I just want you to know I didn't do it," he hisses at me as he leans his slim body back in the metal chair, looking at me through narrowed eyes. They are barely visible, since they're hidden under heaps of golden, soft-looking hair which stands in stark contrast to the faded grey inmate suit he's wearing. I try to detach my gaze from him, but there's something about him that doesn't let me do that. I'd been a public defender for ten years before I opened my own practice with two of my college mates, Melanie Marcus and Theodore Schmidt. I am the senior partner, so I can take pro bono cases a few times a year if I feel like it. Most of these pro bono cases usually involve people who get caught on the wrong side of the justice system, which makes it all the more appealing for me to want to represent them in court; in nine cases out of ten, I usually win, which I find very gratifying. But naturally, all these clients I represent always deny they’ve done anything wrong the first time I meet them in jail.
The blond guy looks at me intently as I pull my laptop out of its case and drag the other metal chair over to take a seat beside him.
"Most people claim they haven't done anything wrong when I first meet them here," I inform him, trying to sound as businesslike as possible. It's not an easy task, however, since the young man is now running his fingers through his hair, brushing a few thick strands away from his face to reveal a pair of the most amazing, piercing blue eyes.
I swallow hard, trying not to get distracted. "What's your name again?” I ask him with a frown, silently berating myself for not paying more attention. Normally, I had no problem recalling my client’s name once I heard it; it was a gift, along with a photographic memory, both of which served me well in my profession. But for some reason, this one unnerved me, and made me feel off my game. I had reviewed this client’s file yesterday when my assistant, Cynthia, had handed it to me. Right now, however, as I stared over at the young blond, I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was. One thing I DID know, though; I wouldn’t forget his face.
"Justin," the guy mentions dryly; if I didn’t know better, I would swear he was enjoying my discomfiture.
"So… want to tell me why you're here?" I ask him, tapping my pen on the metallic surface. It’s a standard question for this kind of meeting, but for some reason this feels different.
Justin hangs his head and averts his eyes downward. He slowly traces patterns across the scratched surface as he retorts, "You don't want to know.”
"Listen to me… are you listening?" I ask him sharply. "I'm not your friend, I'm not your social worker, I'm not anything to you. At this point I'm not even your lawyer yet. I took your case pro bono, so either you be straight with me about the details of your arrest, and why you were sentenced to a year in prison, or you can rot in your jail cell for another twelve months until someone else tries to get you the fuck out of here."
He lifts his eyes upward at last and looks at me, his rebellious nature gone, replaced by watery eyes.
"Okay, Iook…I didn't mean to sound so harsh,” I tell him. "But I can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself.”
He sighs as he scoots in a little closer. His face is now inches from mine. He looks so lost under the harsh, neon light of the tiny room. His flawless, fair skin looks almost grey-ish under the horrible lightning.
"I guess you would say I was a sex worker," Justin says softly after a slight pause. "And it didn't help that when I got arrested, I was under eighteen," he adds.
I look at him again, but this time he doesn't avert his eyes. He leans forward in his seat as I flip my laptop open to start typing his statement.
“The misconception created by the media is to make everyone in jail seem really dangerous,” he states nonchalantly, leaving me quite surprised. “The prison population would be massively reduced if they decriminalized sex work, or stopped arresting minors.” He stops to take a breather. I can't resist staring at his expressive, blue eyes. “You see my dad was gay, but that only made my early teenage years a living hell. He had lots of internalized homophobia early on. I had a very hard time coming out to him initially. My mom left when I was really young, so I was basically raised by the LGBTQ community. They were the only people I could really relate to." He stops again to take a deep breath. "But even they couldn't help much when I found myself with no place to go and nowhere to stay, so I had to start hustling to get by somehow."
"How long where you hustling for?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
"About six months or so, but then I got arrested. Fuck them!" He raises his voice. "I never even stood a chance to prove I didn't do anything wrong," he maintains; my eyes are drawn to his Adam's apple as he swallows hard to choke back some tears. “Once I got used to being in jail, it wasn’t that bad,” he revealed with a bitter tone. “I had a roof over my head, three meals a day – even though they tasted like shit – a place to shower and sleep. But then…then things started getting ugly when they…" he bites his lower lip and stops mid-sentence.
"Who?" I ask quietly, pretty much knowing the answer he would give.
"Those homophobic haters they threw me in with," he replies, his voice shaking. “I was stripped of all my property, my clothing, even my fucking, threadbare mat…and made me sleep on a cold steel bunk,”
He presses his lips firmly together as he tells me, “I’ve been harassed time and time again for my identity, for being gay. But I’m still here. I won’t bend and I won’t break.” He lifts his eyes to look at me defiantly and sniffles. "Damn allergies," he mutters. "It wasn't all that bad, though," he tells me almost smugly. "My favorite part of the day was lockdown. We would make out until the count; that’s when the real fun started." He stares directly at me now, almost defiantly. But I see the vulnerability behind his so-called bravado. "Are you surprised?" he asks with a raise of his eyebrow, almost challenging me.
I clear my throat, feeling the crotch of my pants tightening, despite my attempt at being nonchalant when I respond. "It's none of my business," I tell him, as I try to keep my voice professional-sounding. "I’m heading back to my office now to review what you’ve told me, along with the documents for your case; I’ll come back and meet with you about it tomorrow,” I inform him. “Unless you have a date,” I add with a smirk as he rolls his eyes at me.
I watch him bite his lip as if in concentration before he responds, “I think I can pencil you in.” I snort at that as he grins back at me.
The expression on his face dissolves into something more serious as I move to leave. "So…does this mean you’ll help me get the fuck out of here, Mr. Kinney?" Justin asks me, the tremble in his voice belying his previous boasting. I already knew as much, however. No one his age could be in jail, and not be affected by it somehow. "No other lawyer has agreed to do it yet.” He smirks back at me, then, my desire for him not going totally unnoticed. “So are you up for it?” he asks me, tongue-in-cheek, his eyes flicking downward to where I’m holding my briefcase not-so-subtly in front of my crotch.
I grin. Cheeky, little twat, I can’t help thinking. But I like it. "I'll do my best," I tell him. “It won’t be easy. But I never DID care for ‘easy.’” And I didn’t; the more I was challenged, the better. And this case would definitely fall into that category.
He nods at me, apparently able to accept that. “I heard you were good,” he told me. “From some of the other inmates.”
I chuckle as I head toward the door. “I’m not sure whether to be insulted or flattered by that statement,” I respond. “but yeah, I AM good…at a lot of things.” No point in lying. I WAS good at what I did. “I don’t like to lose. And if I didn’t think you had a good case, I wouldn’t be agreeing to review it.”
The young man’s confidence from earlier wavers just a bit as he asks me anxiously, “You think I could be out by Christmas? I hate the idea of being in here for another fucking twelve months.”
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly as I press a buzzer next to the door for the guard to indicate I’m finished with my possible client. “I won’t lie to you, and guarantee it. But I WILL tell you that if I take on a case, I give it 125%. All I can promise you is that I will do my best to make that happen. No one has a crystal ball, even me. A lot of it depends upon the prosecutor and what judge you come up against. But I’ll do my best. Okay?”
Taylor looks so young as he peers back at me and nods, the faded, gray inmate suit making him look even more vulnerable. The previous confidence he had displayed earlier was completely gone now, replaced by a more honest expression; a mixture of hope as well as worry. “Okay,” he whispers back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
I nod back at him. “Yeah…you’ll see me tomorrow.” Taking one more look at him, I heard the clanging of the door opening before I step outside, my mind awhirl with all sorts of thoughts; not all of them professional ones.
~ Kinney, Marcus & Schmidt Offices, Downtown Pittsburgh, Midnight ~
"What the hell are you two still doing here?" Mel says when she enters my office to find Ted and I surrounded by mountains of law books, open lap tops, legal pads and empty pizza cartons, along with tall, Starbucks disposable latte cups.
"Working on this case," I reply absently without looking up at her.
"What case?" Mel asks impatiently.
"Brian's pro bono case," Ted answers, leafing diligently through his legal yellow pad.
"Oh, 'tis the season already, is it?" Mel retorts sarcastically as I glare at her with a raised eyebrow. She pats me on my shoulder, but then puts her coat and bag down to sit next to me and peer over my notes.
"When will our justice system stop jailing people over technicalities?" She says after scanning through a few of my notes.
"That's what Justin said when I met him earlier today," I note.
"Who's Justin?" Mel inquires.
"The guy who's been in prison for the past year," I clarify. "Just because he had to hustle when he was under eighteen to make a living," I continue, pressing my lips tightly together.
"Uh, huh," Mel replies dryly. "Is he cute?"
"That has got nothing to do with it, Mel," I huff indignantly, knowing that wasn’t exactly the truth.
"You could fool me," Mel answers.
"She's got a point there, Bri," Ted chimes in, lifting his head from his lap top. "I mean, you're always taking on these kinds of last-resort cases, because you’re this big defender of justice, and I like working with you on them, because I get a lot of self-satisfaction out of it. But this particular case is obviously different for you."
"Will you shut the fuck up?" I lash out at both of them.
"Don't try to deny it, Brian, you obviously have some feelings towards that guy," Mel states, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Are you out of your fucking mind? There's no way in hell I'm gonna…" I stop mid-sentence to compose myself. Mel and Ted's words obviously struck a chord with me, but I can't afford to show too much emotion at this point. Or maybe ever. Being an attorney meant being impartial, detached; something I was finding hard to do with this particular client.
"He's not going to stay in prison forever, is he?” Ted says.
“No, not forever,” I admit. “But it’s like I told him. You know. So much depends upon who the prosecutor is, and the judge...”
"Come on! You're a brilliant lawyer, Brian! You'll get him out of there in no time, I know you," Mel replies with conviction.
“Why, thank you, Mel; I’m not sure I’ve ever heard such profuse compliments spring from your mouth!” Brian teases her as she rolls her eyes at him. His expression turns grim as he tells his colleagues, “He’s wanting out before Christmas very badly. I wouldn’t promise him that, because I’m not to guarantee something I don’t have total control over. But I’m going to do my best to make it happen.”
"We're in deep shit trouble then," Ted sighs. “Christmas? Brian, that’s near to impossible, even for you!”
"Well, even with a tough prosecutor and a strict judge, there are always technicalities and loopholes,” Mel counters. “We just have to find it.”
"The night is still young," I reply, yawning as I raise my hands above my head, and stretch my legs to loosen up my stiff muscles before I go back to my notes.
"I'd never thought I'd hear you say that outside of Babylon, Bri," Ted remarks with half a smile.
~ Next Morning, Pittsburgh Penitentiary ~
"Can you please tell me where I could find Justin Taylor?" I turn to the officer on duty. "I'm his lawyer. I've been waiting for him for over an hour. Is there something wrong? "
The officer looks at me without so much as a smile, and then checks his computer. "He's in his weekly art class," he informs me dryly, rolling his eyes.
"Art class?" I ask curiously.
"This artsy lady from the city comes here every week to give lessons to a few of our inmates, so yeah…" he says.
"Can I go have a look?' I ask.
He shrugs at me indifferently. "I guess so. It's in an out building at the back of the exercise yard. Most of the inmates taking the lessons are queers, though, so I wouldn't try too hard if you know what I mean," the officer advises me with a wink. Homophobic prick. I feel my rage building, but I take a deep breath and try to relax. I haven't had much sleep after working on Justin's case all night in order to draft a motion to overturn the verdict as soon as possible. The last thing I need is a moronic prison guard giving me his two cents’ worth.
"Thanks," I mutter before heading toward the exercise yard in search of my client.
"May I speak to Justin, please? I was told he'd be here," I ask the casually dressed, tall, blond woman who is standing near the back door of the workshop.
"And you are?" she asks me inquisitively. Before I could answer her, I notice Justin's fair head of hair almost buried in a sheet of paper, eagerly drawing, along with few other guys who are quietly working throughout the room.
"I'm Brian Kinney. I'm Justin's lawyer, and I need to see him," I tell her quietly. I gaze around the interior of the building, watching as everyone’s attention was focused on the project in front of them. “What’s all this?” I ask her. “And you are?”
"I'm Lindsay Peterson," she introduces herself as we briefly shake hands. "I'm a New York-based artist, and I'm part of a nonprofit organization called Pink and Black. We believe art can bear witness to the suffering inmates often experience while they’re incarcerated, but also celebrate the resilience of the artists who are locked up here. The quality of their work, and the amount of talent these people have here is stunning. You can’t just stereotype and forget them. I want people to be wowed, and the voices of these artists to be heard. I've been working here for almost a year, and Justin was part of this group right from the start. We're about to have an art show in my gallery in New York City soon, as a matter of fact," she concludes.
"When's the art show?" I ask.
"A week before Christmas, actually,” she answers, and I feel my heart sinking again. That must have been why he wanted out of here by then. I bet there's nothing more he would want than to attend that art show. I pull my lips together and let out a quiet sigh. "Can I see him for a minute? I have some important information for him," I tell Lindsay.
"Sure, go ahead," she says with a polite smile. Nodding my thanks at her, I quietly walk over to Justin. "Hey," I whisper to him as he keeps drawing, not noticing that I was even there; he was so intent on what he was doing, that I didn’t want to startle him.
"How did you find me here?" Justin asks, sounding a little amazed that I had located him.
"The guard told me where you were. I told you I'd be here with more information about the case, didn't I?" I tell him, trying to concentrate on the task at hand as he looks at me with those clear, deep-blue orbs.
"As soon as I enter the art class, I forget everything," Justin admits with a smile.
"May I see your drawing?" I ask him.
"Show him, Justin," Lindsay says, with a distinctive hint of pride in her voice. Justin seems a bit reluctant, but then Lindsay approaches to encourage him. “Go on; show him, Justin. You have a great feel for the human form," she tells him as he lifts the sheet of paper to show it to me. It's a drawing of a male who's in the motion of shrugging out of his top. "I can see that," I state, nodding at him. “I can almost see him moving in that scene,” I tell him, and I swear he's almost blushing.
"Thanks," he murmurs.
"Now…is there anywhere private where we can sit and talk?"
~Three weeks later, Brian's Office, Noon ~
"So the judge overturned the verdict just like that?" Cynthia replies in disbelief as I call to let her know how it sent.
"Well, it wasn't easy, but I proved to him that people can’t just be thrown in jail for trying to get by after being disowned by their own families," I tell her. "The judge signed an order to release Justin effective immediately. Is Ted there? Tell him I'm on my way to the prison right now. And notify Mel as well; thanks.” I hang up my car phone, feeling as though an immense weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Standing in the grim looking parking lot outside the prison gates, I can't explain why I feel so restless. Justin isn't anything to me. He was another just one more person who had wound up on the wrong side of justice. Someone I'd helped. I'd only known him for a short period of time. I hadn’t stayed in contact, let alone met any of the people I had sprung from prison in the past outside the gates, and I had no reason to be here, waiting for Justin to come out, or any rational reason whatsoever to stay in touch with him. I had done my job, and found a way to get him released. But I didn’t want to analyze the reason why.
It's two weeks before Christmas, and now he'll be able to attend the art show in New York City, and see his pieces on display, His art would tell his story.
Standing next to my Jeep, I wiggle my feet inside my boots, trying to stay warm in the frigid, December air, and then I spot him. Dressed in a plaid shirt, light denim jacket, and denim pants with high-rise trainers.
"Hey," he says when he notices me at the gate. "What are you doing here?" he asks, his cheeks and nose tinted red from the cold.
"I thought you might need a ride to wherever you’re going," I tell him. "As one last favor," I add quietly.
He nods. "Thanks, I appreciate it," he says. "You can just drop me off at the nearest bus station, then.”
"It's like -20 degrees out here, and snowing around an inch an hour! Let me drive you to where you need to go," I urge him, noticing how he clutches the small paper bag they gave him when he left the prison.
"It's okay; I'll manage," he says as he walks around and climbs into the passenger seat. I nod, slipping behind the wheel as we both fasten our seatbelts. We drive in silence for a while until he points at the bus station and asks me to pull over and drop him off.
Oddly, as he turns in his seat to face me, I find that my normal, confident self eludes me. "Well…uh…Good Luck,” I finally say.
He nods with a weak smile. "Thanks…for everything," he replies as he opens my Jeep's door. But I notice him hesitating.
"Aren't you going to get out? You'll miss the bus.” He remains silent, adding to my curiosity and concern. “Justin?”
I hear him sigh before he admits, "Well…I…I really have nowhere to go. I have no place to stay. I wasn’t in touch with my dad the whole time I was inside. I have a younger sister, Molly, but she lives out of state, and I bet she doesn't want anything to do with me. I could stay with my friend Daphne for a few days, but I'm not sure that’s such a great idea."
"What about the art show in New York City? " I ask him.
"Fuck the art show. It's only for Lindsay's rich artsy friends. It's not for people like me. I have no money; I have nothing. I can't dare even dream of getting there." Justin sighs deeply. "Could you please drive me to the nearest LGBT youth shelter? It's just off Liberty Avenue from what I can remember," Justin asks, his pale face clearly broadcasting both his disillusion as well as distress.
"I've got a better idea," I tell him. "But it's going to be a long ride."
"Where are you taking me?" he questions me, looking puzzled.
"Home," I tell him, before I lose my nerve.
"Where is…home?" he asks in a tired voice. Home. Such a simple word that meant so much. He HAD no home.
"My home’s in West Virginia,” he informs me. “Just outside Pittsburgh.” Why don’t you try and get some sleep on the way if you want?” I suggest, peering over at his beautiful face. Seemingly too tired to protest, before too long he rests his head on the top of the seat and closes his eyes. What the fuck am I doing? Do I really want to get involved in a relationship? For years, I had told myself that my place was big enough for one person, and that person was me, whether it was a mansion or some hovel. I had convinced myself I could do without the heartache of getting emotionally attached to another person. I'd been quite satisfied with a quick fuck or a rushed blow job from a random trick at Babylon or at the baths. I couldn't even bear the thought of sharing my bed with another man, and now I'm taking this young lost boy home with me? I didn’t dare analyze the reason why.
"Are we there yet?" Justin speaks up in a sleep-filled voice after a while, and my heart literally melts. "Nearly there,” I reply softly as we approach the long, curved driveway.
"This is your home? You live in this...this mansion by yourself?” Justin exclaims in astonishment as he notices the grounds of my country house all adorned with festive but tasteful Christmas decorations.
"I do,” I tell him with a smile. He looks like a child waiting for his presents on Christmas morning, or seeing Santa for the first time in some shopping mall. "Well. Alone as in human,” I amend my statement. “I have several horses out in the stable, out back by the tennis courts. And I DO have some landscapers and housekeeping staff that come here regularly to maintain the grounds and the house.” I snort. “No way I could take care of something this huge. I must have been out of my fucking mind when I bought it. But something made me do it.” Perhaps I was waiting for somewhere to share it with me, came unbidden to my mind as I gazed over at my companion.
"This is too much, really," Justin murmurs in awe as we pull up to the front door and I turn the engine off. He soaks in the impressive structure with his eyes, his mouth gaping open in disbelief.
"There's no such thing as enough…or too much," I reply with a smirk as we both slide out from our seats and shut the Jeep’s doors at the same time. "Plus, this place is way too big for me and my things. I have five guest rooms here, so you can take your pick if you want to stay the night," I say. Just before I open the door to head into the house, I take one last look at the snow that is quickly accumulating. “Not a good night to be out in this,” I tell him. “No reason why you can’t just stay here for the time being.” I try to tell myself that that is the only reason why I am doing this, but in the back of my mind I know that there is more to it than that.
"Really?" he replies, a radiant smile breaking out on his face that almost blinds me with its intensity. His lips look so plump and sweet I ached to just lean over and kiss him deep and hard.
"Well… yeah, just for a while," I tell him. Who am I kidding?
"I've always wanted to spend Christmas at a place like this," he reveals to me softly as we enter the hallway and walk towards the living room. The fireplace is already warming up the room, and there's even a decorated Christmas tree that my trusty housekeeper, Philip, had fashionably decorated a few weeks ago.
"So here's your chance. Is that a yes?" I lift one eyebrow questionably and smile back at him. God, I wish I could scoop him up in my arms and fuck…no, make love to him all night, in my bed. He nods quietly, takes his jacket off, and sinks onto my huge, Italian sofa. "Would you like anything to eat? Debbie, my cook, can fix you a light dinner."
He nods again and smiles almost sheepishly at me, but before I call Debbie to ask her, I notice he's fast asleep on the sofa. I pull him in my arms, marveling at how light he feels, and walk upstairs to take him to the closest guest room near my master suite. I take off his shoes and his pants, leaving him in his underwear. My fingers slightly brush against his silky smooth skin as I undress him. I stand there afterward, looking at his sleeping form a few more minutes, before gently covering him with the thick duvet, silently caressing his golden hair. My cock hardens in my pants, but I know anything like that would have to wait a while longer. I have another mission to accomplish.
I go downstairs to my den and call Phillip to make all the necessary arrangements for converting a large, empty space in the stables into a state-of-the-art studio for the beautiful prince presently sleeping in his bed. I then go back upstairs, hesitating briefly before I slip into bed beside him and spoon him from behind. He whimpers slightly and turns over until he faces me, his eyes fluttering open drowsily. "Go back to sleep, Justin. You've got a huge surprise coming up tomorrow," I tell him, ever so gently kissing him on his lips. He smiles as he falls back to sleep and rolls back over with my arms still wrapped around his waist from behind.
He might not know it yet. And hell, I'm not quite sure if I'm ready for it myself, but I do know I'm willing to explore this new journey I have begun, one day at a time, with this beautiful man that's so handsome on the outside, but is as equally passionate, strong and beautiful on the inside.
*********************************************
alaschija Giotto/DaggiFROM:
guavejuiceTITLE: On The Inside
GIFT REQUEST: Fic angst, AU, hurt/comfort, porn without plot Brian/Justin
NOTE: Beta: Kim
predec2. This is AU. Angst:Yes. Hurt/comfort (at least as I see it ):Yes. PWP: Not so much but I hope it's okay :)Pittsburgh Penitentiary, Early Fall…
Brian's POV
"Before you say anything, Mister, uh...Kinney," the young guy replies curtly at me as he checks my visitor's tag. "I just want you to know I didn't do it," he hisses at me as he leans his slim body back in the metal chair, looking at me through narrowed eyes. They are barely visible, since they're hidden under heaps of golden, soft-looking hair which stands in stark contrast to the faded grey inmate suit he's wearing. I try to detach my gaze from him, but there's something about him that doesn't let me do that. I'd been a public defender for ten years before I opened my own practice with two of my college mates, Melanie Marcus and Theodore Schmidt. I am the senior partner, so I can take pro bono cases a few times a year if I feel like it. Most of these pro bono cases usually involve people who get caught on the wrong side of the justice system, which makes it all the more appealing for me to want to represent them in court; in nine cases out of ten, I usually win, which I find very gratifying. But naturally, all these clients I represent always deny they’ve done anything wrong the first time I meet them in jail.
The blond guy looks at me intently as I pull my laptop out of its case and drag the other metal chair over to take a seat beside him.
"Most people claim they haven't done anything wrong when I first meet them here," I inform him, trying to sound as businesslike as possible. It's not an easy task, however, since the young man is now running his fingers through his hair, brushing a few thick strands away from his face to reveal a pair of the most amazing, piercing blue eyes.
I swallow hard, trying not to get distracted. "What's your name again?” I ask him with a frown, silently berating myself for not paying more attention. Normally, I had no problem recalling my client’s name once I heard it; it was a gift, along with a photographic memory, both of which served me well in my profession. But for some reason, this one unnerved me, and made me feel off my game. I had reviewed this client’s file yesterday when my assistant, Cynthia, had handed it to me. Right now, however, as I stared over at the young blond, I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was. One thing I DID know, though; I wouldn’t forget his face.
"Justin," the guy mentions dryly; if I didn’t know better, I would swear he was enjoying my discomfiture.
"So… want to tell me why you're here?" I ask him, tapping my pen on the metallic surface. It’s a standard question for this kind of meeting, but for some reason this feels different.
Justin hangs his head and averts his eyes downward. He slowly traces patterns across the scratched surface as he retorts, "You don't want to know.”
"Listen to me… are you listening?" I ask him sharply. "I'm not your friend, I'm not your social worker, I'm not anything to you. At this point I'm not even your lawyer yet. I took your case pro bono, so either you be straight with me about the details of your arrest, and why you were sentenced to a year in prison, or you can rot in your jail cell for another twelve months until someone else tries to get you the fuck out of here."
He lifts his eyes upward at last and looks at me, his rebellious nature gone, replaced by watery eyes.
"Okay, Iook…I didn't mean to sound so harsh,” I tell him. "But I can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself.”
He sighs as he scoots in a little closer. His face is now inches from mine. He looks so lost under the harsh, neon light of the tiny room. His flawless, fair skin looks almost grey-ish under the horrible lightning.
"I guess you would say I was a sex worker," Justin says softly after a slight pause. "And it didn't help that when I got arrested, I was under eighteen," he adds.
I look at him again, but this time he doesn't avert his eyes. He leans forward in his seat as I flip my laptop open to start typing his statement.
“The misconception created by the media is to make everyone in jail seem really dangerous,” he states nonchalantly, leaving me quite surprised. “The prison population would be massively reduced if they decriminalized sex work, or stopped arresting minors.” He stops to take a breather. I can't resist staring at his expressive, blue eyes. “You see my dad was gay, but that only made my early teenage years a living hell. He had lots of internalized homophobia early on. I had a very hard time coming out to him initially. My mom left when I was really young, so I was basically raised by the LGBTQ community. They were the only people I could really relate to." He stops again to take a deep breath. "But even they couldn't help much when I found myself with no place to go and nowhere to stay, so I had to start hustling to get by somehow."
"How long where you hustling for?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
"About six months or so, but then I got arrested. Fuck them!" He raises his voice. "I never even stood a chance to prove I didn't do anything wrong," he maintains; my eyes are drawn to his Adam's apple as he swallows hard to choke back some tears. “Once I got used to being in jail, it wasn’t that bad,” he revealed with a bitter tone. “I had a roof over my head, three meals a day – even though they tasted like shit – a place to shower and sleep. But then…then things started getting ugly when they…" he bites his lower lip and stops mid-sentence.
"Who?" I ask quietly, pretty much knowing the answer he would give.
"Those homophobic haters they threw me in with," he replies, his voice shaking. “I was stripped of all my property, my clothing, even my fucking, threadbare mat…and made me sleep on a cold steel bunk,”
He presses his lips firmly together as he tells me, “I’ve been harassed time and time again for my identity, for being gay. But I’m still here. I won’t bend and I won’t break.” He lifts his eyes to look at me defiantly and sniffles. "Damn allergies," he mutters. "It wasn't all that bad, though," he tells me almost smugly. "My favorite part of the day was lockdown. We would make out until the count; that’s when the real fun started." He stares directly at me now, almost defiantly. But I see the vulnerability behind his so-called bravado. "Are you surprised?" he asks with a raise of his eyebrow, almost challenging me.
I clear my throat, feeling the crotch of my pants tightening, despite my attempt at being nonchalant when I respond. "It's none of my business," I tell him, as I try to keep my voice professional-sounding. "I’m heading back to my office now to review what you’ve told me, along with the documents for your case; I’ll come back and meet with you about it tomorrow,” I inform him. “Unless you have a date,” I add with a smirk as he rolls his eyes at me.
I watch him bite his lip as if in concentration before he responds, “I think I can pencil you in.” I snort at that as he grins back at me.
The expression on his face dissolves into something more serious as I move to leave. "So…does this mean you’ll help me get the fuck out of here, Mr. Kinney?" Justin asks me, the tremble in his voice belying his previous boasting. I already knew as much, however. No one his age could be in jail, and not be affected by it somehow. "No other lawyer has agreed to do it yet.” He smirks back at me, then, my desire for him not going totally unnoticed. “So are you up for it?” he asks me, tongue-in-cheek, his eyes flicking downward to where I’m holding my briefcase not-so-subtly in front of my crotch.
I grin. Cheeky, little twat, I can’t help thinking. But I like it. "I'll do my best," I tell him. “It won’t be easy. But I never DID care for ‘easy.’” And I didn’t; the more I was challenged, the better. And this case would definitely fall into that category.
He nods at me, apparently able to accept that. “I heard you were good,” he told me. “From some of the other inmates.”
I chuckle as I head toward the door. “I’m not sure whether to be insulted or flattered by that statement,” I respond. “but yeah, I AM good…at a lot of things.” No point in lying. I WAS good at what I did. “I don’t like to lose. And if I didn’t think you had a good case, I wouldn’t be agreeing to review it.”
The young man’s confidence from earlier wavers just a bit as he asks me anxiously, “You think I could be out by Christmas? I hate the idea of being in here for another fucking twelve months.”
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly as I press a buzzer next to the door for the guard to indicate I’m finished with my possible client. “I won’t lie to you, and guarantee it. But I WILL tell you that if I take on a case, I give it 125%. All I can promise you is that I will do my best to make that happen. No one has a crystal ball, even me. A lot of it depends upon the prosecutor and what judge you come up against. But I’ll do my best. Okay?”
Taylor looks so young as he peers back at me and nods, the faded, gray inmate suit making him look even more vulnerable. The previous confidence he had displayed earlier was completely gone now, replaced by a more honest expression; a mixture of hope as well as worry. “Okay,” he whispers back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
I nod back at him. “Yeah…you’ll see me tomorrow.” Taking one more look at him, I heard the clanging of the door opening before I step outside, my mind awhirl with all sorts of thoughts; not all of them professional ones.
~ Kinney, Marcus & Schmidt Offices, Downtown Pittsburgh, Midnight ~
"What the hell are you two still doing here?" Mel says when she enters my office to find Ted and I surrounded by mountains of law books, open lap tops, legal pads and empty pizza cartons, along with tall, Starbucks disposable latte cups.
"Working on this case," I reply absently without looking up at her.
"What case?" Mel asks impatiently.
"Brian's pro bono case," Ted answers, leafing diligently through his legal yellow pad.
"Oh, 'tis the season already, is it?" Mel retorts sarcastically as I glare at her with a raised eyebrow. She pats me on my shoulder, but then puts her coat and bag down to sit next to me and peer over my notes.
"When will our justice system stop jailing people over technicalities?" She says after scanning through a few of my notes.
"That's what Justin said when I met him earlier today," I note.
"Who's Justin?" Mel inquires.
"The guy who's been in prison for the past year," I clarify. "Just because he had to hustle when he was under eighteen to make a living," I continue, pressing my lips tightly together.
"Uh, huh," Mel replies dryly. "Is he cute?"
"That has got nothing to do with it, Mel," I huff indignantly, knowing that wasn’t exactly the truth.
"You could fool me," Mel answers.
"She's got a point there, Bri," Ted chimes in, lifting his head from his lap top. "I mean, you're always taking on these kinds of last-resort cases, because you’re this big defender of justice, and I like working with you on them, because I get a lot of self-satisfaction out of it. But this particular case is obviously different for you."
"Will you shut the fuck up?" I lash out at both of them.
"Don't try to deny it, Brian, you obviously have some feelings towards that guy," Mel states, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Are you out of your fucking mind? There's no way in hell I'm gonna…" I stop mid-sentence to compose myself. Mel and Ted's words obviously struck a chord with me, but I can't afford to show too much emotion at this point. Or maybe ever. Being an attorney meant being impartial, detached; something I was finding hard to do with this particular client.
"He's not going to stay in prison forever, is he?” Ted says.
“No, not forever,” I admit. “But it’s like I told him. You know. So much depends upon who the prosecutor is, and the judge...”
"Come on! You're a brilliant lawyer, Brian! You'll get him out of there in no time, I know you," Mel replies with conviction.
“Why, thank you, Mel; I’m not sure I’ve ever heard such profuse compliments spring from your mouth!” Brian teases her as she rolls her eyes at him. His expression turns grim as he tells his colleagues, “He’s wanting out before Christmas very badly. I wouldn’t promise him that, because I’m not to guarantee something I don’t have total control over. But I’m going to do my best to make it happen.”
"We're in deep shit trouble then," Ted sighs. “Christmas? Brian, that’s near to impossible, even for you!”
"Well, even with a tough prosecutor and a strict judge, there are always technicalities and loopholes,” Mel counters. “We just have to find it.”
"The night is still young," I reply, yawning as I raise my hands above my head, and stretch my legs to loosen up my stiff muscles before I go back to my notes.
"I'd never thought I'd hear you say that outside of Babylon, Bri," Ted remarks with half a smile.
~ Next Morning, Pittsburgh Penitentiary ~
"Can you please tell me where I could find Justin Taylor?" I turn to the officer on duty. "I'm his lawyer. I've been waiting for him for over an hour. Is there something wrong? "
The officer looks at me without so much as a smile, and then checks his computer. "He's in his weekly art class," he informs me dryly, rolling his eyes.
"Art class?" I ask curiously.
"This artsy lady from the city comes here every week to give lessons to a few of our inmates, so yeah…" he says.
"Can I go have a look?' I ask.
He shrugs at me indifferently. "I guess so. It's in an out building at the back of the exercise yard. Most of the inmates taking the lessons are queers, though, so I wouldn't try too hard if you know what I mean," the officer advises me with a wink. Homophobic prick. I feel my rage building, but I take a deep breath and try to relax. I haven't had much sleep after working on Justin's case all night in order to draft a motion to overturn the verdict as soon as possible. The last thing I need is a moronic prison guard giving me his two cents’ worth.
"Thanks," I mutter before heading toward the exercise yard in search of my client.
"May I speak to Justin, please? I was told he'd be here," I ask the casually dressed, tall, blond woman who is standing near the back door of the workshop.
"And you are?" she asks me inquisitively. Before I could answer her, I notice Justin's fair head of hair almost buried in a sheet of paper, eagerly drawing, along with few other guys who are quietly working throughout the room.
"I'm Brian Kinney. I'm Justin's lawyer, and I need to see him," I tell her quietly. I gaze around the interior of the building, watching as everyone’s attention was focused on the project in front of them. “What’s all this?” I ask her. “And you are?”
"I'm Lindsay Peterson," she introduces herself as we briefly shake hands. "I'm a New York-based artist, and I'm part of a nonprofit organization called Pink and Black. We believe art can bear witness to the suffering inmates often experience while they’re incarcerated, but also celebrate the resilience of the artists who are locked up here. The quality of their work, and the amount of talent these people have here is stunning. You can’t just stereotype and forget them. I want people to be wowed, and the voices of these artists to be heard. I've been working here for almost a year, and Justin was part of this group right from the start. We're about to have an art show in my gallery in New York City soon, as a matter of fact," she concludes.
"When's the art show?" I ask.
"A week before Christmas, actually,” she answers, and I feel my heart sinking again. That must have been why he wanted out of here by then. I bet there's nothing more he would want than to attend that art show. I pull my lips together and let out a quiet sigh. "Can I see him for a minute? I have some important information for him," I tell Lindsay.
"Sure, go ahead," she says with a polite smile. Nodding my thanks at her, I quietly walk over to Justin. "Hey," I whisper to him as he keeps drawing, not noticing that I was even there; he was so intent on what he was doing, that I didn’t want to startle him.
"How did you find me here?" Justin asks, sounding a little amazed that I had located him.
"The guard told me where you were. I told you I'd be here with more information about the case, didn't I?" I tell him, trying to concentrate on the task at hand as he looks at me with those clear, deep-blue orbs.
"As soon as I enter the art class, I forget everything," Justin admits with a smile.
"May I see your drawing?" I ask him.
"Show him, Justin," Lindsay says, with a distinctive hint of pride in her voice. Justin seems a bit reluctant, but then Lindsay approaches to encourage him. “Go on; show him, Justin. You have a great feel for the human form," she tells him as he lifts the sheet of paper to show it to me. It's a drawing of a male who's in the motion of shrugging out of his top. "I can see that," I state, nodding at him. “I can almost see him moving in that scene,” I tell him, and I swear he's almost blushing.
"Thanks," he murmurs.
"Now…is there anywhere private where we can sit and talk?"
~Three weeks later, Brian's Office, Noon ~
"So the judge overturned the verdict just like that?" Cynthia replies in disbelief as I call to let her know how it sent.
"Well, it wasn't easy, but I proved to him that people can’t just be thrown in jail for trying to get by after being disowned by their own families," I tell her. "The judge signed an order to release Justin effective immediately. Is Ted there? Tell him I'm on my way to the prison right now. And notify Mel as well; thanks.” I hang up my car phone, feeling as though an immense weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Standing in the grim looking parking lot outside the prison gates, I can't explain why I feel so restless. Justin isn't anything to me. He was another just one more person who had wound up on the wrong side of justice. Someone I'd helped. I'd only known him for a short period of time. I hadn’t stayed in contact, let alone met any of the people I had sprung from prison in the past outside the gates, and I had no reason to be here, waiting for Justin to come out, or any rational reason whatsoever to stay in touch with him. I had done my job, and found a way to get him released. But I didn’t want to analyze the reason why.
It's two weeks before Christmas, and now he'll be able to attend the art show in New York City, and see his pieces on display, His art would tell his story.
Standing next to my Jeep, I wiggle my feet inside my boots, trying to stay warm in the frigid, December air, and then I spot him. Dressed in a plaid shirt, light denim jacket, and denim pants with high-rise trainers.
"Hey," he says when he notices me at the gate. "What are you doing here?" he asks, his cheeks and nose tinted red from the cold.
"I thought you might need a ride to wherever you’re going," I tell him. "As one last favor," I add quietly.
He nods. "Thanks, I appreciate it," he says. "You can just drop me off at the nearest bus station, then.”
"It's like -20 degrees out here, and snowing around an inch an hour! Let me drive you to where you need to go," I urge him, noticing how he clutches the small paper bag they gave him when he left the prison.
"It's okay; I'll manage," he says as he walks around and climbs into the passenger seat. I nod, slipping behind the wheel as we both fasten our seatbelts. We drive in silence for a while until he points at the bus station and asks me to pull over and drop him off.
Oddly, as he turns in his seat to face me, I find that my normal, confident self eludes me. "Well…uh…Good Luck,” I finally say.
He nods with a weak smile. "Thanks…for everything," he replies as he opens my Jeep's door. But I notice him hesitating.
"Aren't you going to get out? You'll miss the bus.” He remains silent, adding to my curiosity and concern. “Justin?”
I hear him sigh before he admits, "Well…I…I really have nowhere to go. I have no place to stay. I wasn’t in touch with my dad the whole time I was inside. I have a younger sister, Molly, but she lives out of state, and I bet she doesn't want anything to do with me. I could stay with my friend Daphne for a few days, but I'm not sure that’s such a great idea."
"What about the art show in New York City? " I ask him.
"Fuck the art show. It's only for Lindsay's rich artsy friends. It's not for people like me. I have no money; I have nothing. I can't dare even dream of getting there." Justin sighs deeply. "Could you please drive me to the nearest LGBT youth shelter? It's just off Liberty Avenue from what I can remember," Justin asks, his pale face clearly broadcasting both his disillusion as well as distress.
"I've got a better idea," I tell him. "But it's going to be a long ride."
"Where are you taking me?" he questions me, looking puzzled.
"Home," I tell him, before I lose my nerve.
"Where is…home?" he asks in a tired voice. Home. Such a simple word that meant so much. He HAD no home.
"My home’s in West Virginia,” he informs me. “Just outside Pittsburgh.” Why don’t you try and get some sleep on the way if you want?” I suggest, peering over at his beautiful face. Seemingly too tired to protest, before too long he rests his head on the top of the seat and closes his eyes. What the fuck am I doing? Do I really want to get involved in a relationship? For years, I had told myself that my place was big enough for one person, and that person was me, whether it was a mansion or some hovel. I had convinced myself I could do without the heartache of getting emotionally attached to another person. I'd been quite satisfied with a quick fuck or a rushed blow job from a random trick at Babylon or at the baths. I couldn't even bear the thought of sharing my bed with another man, and now I'm taking this young lost boy home with me? I didn’t dare analyze the reason why.
"Are we there yet?" Justin speaks up in a sleep-filled voice after a while, and my heart literally melts. "Nearly there,” I reply softly as we approach the long, curved driveway.
"This is your home? You live in this...this mansion by yourself?” Justin exclaims in astonishment as he notices the grounds of my country house all adorned with festive but tasteful Christmas decorations.
"I do,” I tell him with a smile. He looks like a child waiting for his presents on Christmas morning, or seeing Santa for the first time in some shopping mall. "Well. Alone as in human,” I amend my statement. “I have several horses out in the stable, out back by the tennis courts. And I DO have some landscapers and housekeeping staff that come here regularly to maintain the grounds and the house.” I snort. “No way I could take care of something this huge. I must have been out of my fucking mind when I bought it. But something made me do it.” Perhaps I was waiting for somewhere to share it with me, came unbidden to my mind as I gazed over at my companion.
"This is too much, really," Justin murmurs in awe as we pull up to the front door and I turn the engine off. He soaks in the impressive structure with his eyes, his mouth gaping open in disbelief.
"There's no such thing as enough…or too much," I reply with a smirk as we both slide out from our seats and shut the Jeep’s doors at the same time. "Plus, this place is way too big for me and my things. I have five guest rooms here, so you can take your pick if you want to stay the night," I say. Just before I open the door to head into the house, I take one last look at the snow that is quickly accumulating. “Not a good night to be out in this,” I tell him. “No reason why you can’t just stay here for the time being.” I try to tell myself that that is the only reason why I am doing this, but in the back of my mind I know that there is more to it than that.
"Really?" he replies, a radiant smile breaking out on his face that almost blinds me with its intensity. His lips look so plump and sweet I ached to just lean over and kiss him deep and hard.
"Well… yeah, just for a while," I tell him. Who am I kidding?
"I've always wanted to spend Christmas at a place like this," he reveals to me softly as we enter the hallway and walk towards the living room. The fireplace is already warming up the room, and there's even a decorated Christmas tree that my trusty housekeeper, Philip, had fashionably decorated a few weeks ago.
"So here's your chance. Is that a yes?" I lift one eyebrow questionably and smile back at him. God, I wish I could scoop him up in my arms and fuck…no, make love to him all night, in my bed. He nods quietly, takes his jacket off, and sinks onto my huge, Italian sofa. "Would you like anything to eat? Debbie, my cook, can fix you a light dinner."
He nods again and smiles almost sheepishly at me, but before I call Debbie to ask her, I notice he's fast asleep on the sofa. I pull him in my arms, marveling at how light he feels, and walk upstairs to take him to the closest guest room near my master suite. I take off his shoes and his pants, leaving him in his underwear. My fingers slightly brush against his silky smooth skin as I undress him. I stand there afterward, looking at his sleeping form a few more minutes, before gently covering him with the thick duvet, silently caressing his golden hair. My cock hardens in my pants, but I know anything like that would have to wait a while longer. I have another mission to accomplish.
I go downstairs to my den and call Phillip to make all the necessary arrangements for converting a large, empty space in the stables into a state-of-the-art studio for the beautiful prince presently sleeping in his bed. I then go back upstairs, hesitating briefly before I slip into bed beside him and spoon him from behind. He whimpers slightly and turns over until he faces me, his eyes fluttering open drowsily. "Go back to sleep, Justin. You've got a huge surprise coming up tomorrow," I tell him, ever so gently kissing him on his lips. He smiles as he falls back to sleep and rolls back over with my arms still wrapped around his waist from behind.
He might not know it yet. And hell, I'm not quite sure if I'm ready for it myself, but I do know I'm willing to explore this new journey I have begun, one day at a time, with this beautiful man that's so handsome on the outside, but is as equally passionate, strong and beautiful on the inside.
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Date: 2016-12-31 01:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-31 06:35 am (UTC)I'm currently concentrating a NEW AU I started writing in November but I might go back to this 'verse at one point :)
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Date: 2016-12-31 10:16 am (UTC)Lovely.
Of course I want more.
I want Christmas, and the visit to NY to see Justin's show, and and and...
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Date: 2016-12-31 01:55 pm (UTC)Oh but that's the magic of an alternative universe IMO (when it's still very much IC obviously )
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and leave such a thoughtful supportive feedback. It means a lot coming from you Wendy. So thrilled to know you enjoyed this.
Also I'm really humbled to know you'd like to read more from this 'vere :)
All the best for 2017 btw :)
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Date: 2017-01-02 11:02 am (UTC)This story made my day today ! Thank you
P.S. is there going to be a sequal? ;-)
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Date: 2017-01-02 02:26 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for your kind words and supportive feedback. I love writing angsty B/J fics (as long as there's always a light at the end of the tunnel ) and I thought it would interesting if Justin would find comfort in his art.
I'm so thrilled to know you enjoyed this one and that you think it deserves a sequel. We'll see about that.
p.s
I noticed you used a different username in your gift request so I was a bit confused at first ;)
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Date: 2017-01-05 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-01-02 11:50 pm (UTC)Dee Dee
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Date: 2017-01-03 04:05 pm (UTC)I'm thrilled to know it deserves a sequel <3
Take care