The House Master

Evidence?

October

Adrian stares at the floor as he feels tears rolling down his cheeks. Today is the day, D-Day if you will. Cedric Phantomhive's sentencing.

Witnesses in cases like these aren't taken to the courthouse itself. Mostly to protect them from their accusers, partially so they can tell the truth without feeling threatened for being anywhere near their accusers. Instead, police escort Vincent and Adrian to a small room at the top floor of Wembley stadium as they await the time to testify.

A man, neither of them is sure what his role is, enters to give them an introductory presentation.

"The sentencing hearings run from now until three in the afternoon. When your name is called, please proceed to the booth," He holds up his arm towards an even smaller room, inside which are two chairs in single-file and a monitor screen. "You will be connected via video call to the courtroom. The judge will ask you some questions, then the prosecution. Finally, you will be questioned by the defence. If your phone goes off..."

Vincent doesn't need to hear this part. He waits for the presentation to be over and asks. "Can I watch the rest of the sentencing?" He wants to see it all. The presentation of evidence, his father snivelling on the stand. He knows Adrian wants to see it too. Both of them are dying to see it.

"Unfortunately not," the man sighs. "You'll only be connected for your testimony,"

He does a meagre demonstration of how the kettle works and points to a selection of old magazines on the coffee table. Then, he leaves then alone.

Adrian groans at the boring entertainment selection and goes to raid the cupboards for biscuits. "At least we get a day off school," he quips over his shoulder.

Vincent rolls his eyes and crosses his legs over, staring at the ceiling. "There aren't any cameras here, you know,"

Adrian turns around, a biscuit hanging halfway out his mouth. He flicks the kettle on an readies two mugs, remembering how Vincent takes his tea. "What are you thinking?"

Vincent lowers his head to smirk at him, stretching out on the couch to expose himself. "We might have to wait all day to be called on,"

Adrian stiffens. "You know there's probably cameras in here?"

Vincent looks up at the ceiling again. "There are none, I checked,"

Adrian looks at the patterned couch he's sitting on. "That couch is fucking gross, I'm not touching it,"

Vincent glares at him, irritated. "Touch me, then,"

Adrian pushes the coffee table out of the way and kneels between Vincent's legs. He stares at the crotch of his jeans for a moment before slowly unzipping them.

During his ministrations, he pauses with paranoia when he hears the slightest noise. He's terrified that the door with burst open, but at this same time, that makes this kind of hot.

Vincent severely overestimated how much time it takes him to get off. After twenty minutes, they're back to sitting on the couch against the wall sipping tea.

"This is fucking boring," Adrian checks his WiFi for the twelfth time, still none.

A couple of hours later, the boring man returns and leads them into the small room. Vincent is being questioned first, so he sits at the head chair while Adrian sits behind him. "Do we just awkwardly switch chairs in between questioning?"