Fic: "The Man Belongs to You" (Les Misérables; Valjean/Javert)
Title: The Man Belongs to You
Fandom: Les Misérables
Pairing: Valjean/Javert
Rating: Explicit
Summary: There was a moment when their gazes met again and neither of them moved: Javert, spread out on the bed, and Valjean, poised but hesitant, as if he was still wary of taking what Javert so readily would give.
Word count: ~ 2900
Content info: Post-Seine AU, established relationship, PWP, Javert's (book-canonical) leather collar
Notes: For a kinkmeme prompt: "Javert doubts that Valjean can make him come while fucking him without touching Javert's cock. Valjean sets to prove him wrong."
Sorry-not-sorry about the title. My grateful thanks to
carmarthen for beta-reading and to the Les Misères chatroom for putting up with my writer's angst. (AO3 version here.)
The sun had not yet set, the June evening long and soft with lingering warmth. A year ago, Javert would not have paid attention to such matters; it seemed to him, these days, he was turning into a sentimental fool, a tendency which vexed him only slightly.
He stretched out on the bed, feeling heat rise in his face under the weight of Valjean's gaze -- not so much from shyness as from arousal. They would usually not go to bed until nightfall, but this evening, as they had sat in the garden earlier watching the sky grow darker, their eyes had kept searching each other, their hands brushing, until it became clear that they were both of the same mind.
"Come," Valjean had said at last, rising from the bench, and Javert had followed, as he could never help but follow.
Now Valjean was standing in his shirtsleeves at the foot of the bed, his gaze trailing thoughtfully over Javert's naked body as if it were a mystery that still intrigued and delighted him, even after all these months. Though his eyes were dark with desire as strong as Javert's own -- a mystery far more delightful in Javert's eyes -- his hands had stilled on the buttons of his waistcoat.
Javert lifted his head. "Aren't you going to undress?" he asked, trying to sound casual. He had left his leather stock on; neither of them had commented on it.
"Yes." Valjean shook his head and began unbuttoning his waistcoat again, though he did not take his eyes from Javert. "It struck me how strange... Well." He shook his head again, a look of near-bewilderment on his face.
Javert's stomach clenched unpleasantly, as it did every time the thought hit him that Valjean might decide the scars of their past ran too deep, after all; that sharing his life with Javert gave him pain rather than pleasure. He cleared his throat, uncertain what to say -- but then Valjean's face cleared into one of those wide radiant smiles of his, as unusual as they were dazzling; he came over to the bed and bent down to kiss Javert's brow.
"A year ago, I would never have imagined it," Valjean muttered. "It still stupefies me, sometimes."
Javert swallowed. He curled a hand around Valjean's neck and pulled him down so their mouths met, hot and eager. "Undress, then," he murmured into Valjean's ear. "I won't wait all evening."
It was said in jest, of course. He would have waited as long as it took.
Valjean undressed while Javert watched him, their gazes on each other, occasionally wandering over each other's bodies, then meeting again. Every time this happened, they would smile, a bit bashful, and Javert would feel his heart beat harder in his chest.
Naked on the bed, his body laid out like a piece of evidence, he wondered if he should have grown used to Valjean's gaze by now. In truth, some part of him still felt awkward being on display like this, though it was as much exciting as it was unsettling. And then he wondered, as he had done before, how he must appear to Valjean's eyes, naked and unshielded, no choice but to be honest in his inadequacy: this is what you get, this is who I am, this is what I am asking you to accept.
But honesty was the price they'd paid, both of them, in choosing to lower and look past their shields. And as it happened, honesty was also their reward; the language of their bodies did not lie, and so their bodies must be allowed to speak. Words could be misunderstood, but there could be no misunderstanding in the heat of their embraces and the tangle of their limbs -- a lack of concealment as liberating as it was terrifying.
Javert watched, mouth dry, as the rays of the setting sun caught the flex of muscle and the shadows of old scars on Valjean's body, watched the unconscious grace of his movements as Valjean put away his clothing. When he turned back to Javert, his eyes still dark and his nakedness as frank as Javert's own, there was a moment when their gazes met again and neither of them moved: Javert, spread out on the bed, and Valjean, poised but hesitant, as if he was still wary of taking what Javert so readily would give.
Then the moment broke, and Valjean was on the bed next to him, a warm, calloused hand gently curling on Javert's hip. Their mouths met in a kiss, as they had earlier, more languid now but just as sweet. Javert lay back and tugged Valjean down, half-way on top of him, their cocks pressing together as hotly as their mouths.
"Tell me what you want," Javert murmured as they paused for breath, and Valjean, mouthing along his jaw, replied in turn, "Tell me what you want."
Oh, there were many things Javert wanted, some of which only existed in his imagination, muddy and half-conscious and half-formed -- images of being held down, Jean-le-cric's strength turned on him -- he was not sure if these darker desires could ever be shared, if there was a way to put them into words without old ghosts ruining this new and fragile life. But what he wanted tonight, at least, they had done before. He took one of Valjean's hands in his own and kissed it.
"I want you to take me," he said, and added, "If you don't object."
Valjean's mouth moved from his jaw down his neck, pausing at the leather stock. "You love that," he said. Coming from anyone else, the words would surely have been derisive; instead there was a tone of wonder, almost reverence in his voice. Javert's face grew even hotter. "You love having me inside you."
Javert let out a moan as Valjean's right hand wrapped around his cock. "I would not ask for it otherwise," he managed. "You must believe that, at least."
"I do." Valjean mouthed at Javert's neck again, continued downwards, rubbed his cheek against Javert's shoulder. "You would not lie to me." He raised his face to look at Javert, and now the curious thoughtfulness from earlier was in his eyes again. "I wonder if it would be enough."
"Enough?" Javert said, confused. Valjean removed his hand from his cock, and Javert blinked. "Do you mean you'd make me... Without touching me? Is that possible?"
Valjean kissed him again. "I'm as new to this as you are," he muttered against Javert's mouth. "I'd like to find out. Do you mind?"
"No." Of this, at least, Javert was certain. As unlikely as it sounded to him, he could not deny Valjean anything and had no wish to. "No, not at all, not if it's what you want."
"It's what I want," Valjean said, and the very words were enough to make Javert shudder, a strange trembling coiling in his belly. He ran his hands through Valjean's hair, cupped his face, kissed him again. "Please," he said and lay back, watching as Valjean moved to extract the bottle of oil from the drawer in the nightstand. The inward tremble grew stronger; now he recognised it as anticipation.
"How do you want me?" he asked as Valjean turned back. "On my belly?"
Valjean studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "At least to begin with, I think." He reached out a hand and stroked Javert's cheek.
Javert leaned into the touch. "It still seems unlikely," he muttered, before pressing a kiss to Valjean's palm.
"We shall see," Valjean said gently. "Turn over, if you please."
Javert did so, and Valjean's hand glided downwards, down his shoulders, the line of his spine, finally curving around his backside in a caress that was soft and, Javert thought, possessive. It rested there for a moment, then withdrew. Javert spread his legs wider.
Soon Valjean's hand returned, an oil-slick finger tracing down his cleft. It paused, for a moment, then gently prodded, the tip seeking entrance -- and then slid in, slowly and carefully. Javert moaned into the pillow.
The finger drew back, almost all the way. There was a soft kiss between his shoulderblades. "Are you all right?"
"Yes." He took a deep breath, let it out, willing his body to relax. The first touch was always a bit strange, something to get used to, but he liked that, liked the possibility of pain which could so easily be inflicted and yet wasn't. "You can add more," he said. "I can take it."
"We have all night," Valjean said. At the hint of laughter in his voice, Javert's heart swelled with a force that took him aback; he was glad his face was buried in the pillow. Valjean kissed his neck and moved his finger in slow, circling motions. "And I enjoy touching you."
"So I gather," Javert muttered into the pillow, not quite trusting his voice.
It was strange, he thought as Valjean introduced another finger, how his rigid body -- firm and upright and unquestioning for over fifty years -- so easily yielded to Valjean's touch, becoming clay in his hands. The old Javert would have considered it shameful, dishonourable, degrading. But the old Javert had been stripped away, bit by bit, ever since what had happened on the bank of the Seine one night a year ago; frightening as this thought might be, he knew the new Javert would never again be able to tell himself lies and think them truth.
Valjean's fingers moved in him, circling and pressing and stretching. Javert groaned into the pillow again, louder this time. The leather stock chafed against his throat, but he did nothing to remove it. Valjean kissed his shoulder, his neck. "Is this enough?" he murmured, his breath hot in Javert's ear. "Tell me if it is."
Javert craned his neck for a kiss. "I think so," he panted against Valjean's mouth, clenching around Valjean's fingers. "It's good, but I want..." The words sounded vulgar all of a sudden, so he settled for an insistent push upwards, and Valjean pulled his fingers out.
Then Valjean's hands were on his hips. "On all fours might be better," he said, and Javert scrambled onto his hands and knees, Valjean's hands holding him steady. His cock was throbbing by now -- he could not ask Valjean to touch it, he could not touch it himself: such was their agreement, and at any rate he would lose his balance if he tried. He bit his lip and swallowed as he felt Valjean's own hardness bump against him.
"Please," he said. That, too, would have sounded degrading to the old Javert, to be begging for an ex-convict's cock. But whatever fantasies he'd had before, this was not one of them: this was reality, a grace he had never expected and never dreamed of, his old self shattered one night in June and regrown into something stronger, healthier, like a bone that had to be broken to be set straight. "Please."
"Yes, Javert." The tone of his words made Javert want to see his face, and yet the thought overwhelmed him; Valjean's voice was too raw with emotion. He pushed back, and Valjean removed his hand; a moment later, his cock was sliding into Javert, as slowly and gently as his fingers had done earlier, and Valjean's hand was back on Javert's hip, caressing it with circling motions of his thumb. He paused for a moment, surely to let Javert adjust and not to taunt him -- but the effect was the same, it made Javert feel harsh and wild and wanting more, and it was all he could do to bite back a snarl of impatience.
"Don't stop," he said, canting his hips. "I would tell you if I wanted you to stop."
"Would you?" said Valjean softly. He complied, however, sliding all the way into Javert, and then back, almost all the way out. "Yes," he murmured as he pushed back in, harder this time, drawing a long moan from Javert. "I believe you would."
"I should hope so," Javert hissed. He bit his lip. "God." The heavy weight of his cock was a sweet pain between his legs; Valjean's long, slow strokes sent sparks of pleasure through him. He rocked back against them, bracing himself on the mattress. "If you stop now, I will -- I do not know what -- don't stop!"
"I won't." Valjean tightened his grip on Javert's hips. "God, Javert, you're so..." His pace quickened as he spoke. Javert kept pushing back; they moved together in heavy thrusts. "As long as you don't tell me to stop, I will not -- the way you feel --"
"Harder, then." It came out as a croak, and Javert cleared his throat. "Harder, please, just..."
Valjean's hands slid upwards, seeking purchase on Javert's waist. "Come," he said, nudging gently. Javert rocked backwards again, and then he was being lifted, pulled -- Valjean was sitting back on his heels, tugging Javert with him. Javert closed his eyes and groaned out loud as he sank further down on Valjean's cock; he scrambled behind him and got hold of Valjean's hair with his left hand.
"Fuck," he moaned, turning his head and messily catching the corner of Valjean's mouth; then he tipped his head back and gasped as Valjean's teeth scraped against his neck. The leather collar was sweaty and hot against his throat; he clung to it with his free hand, tugged at it mindlessly. "God, Valjean, please..."
"Please what?" Valjean said in his ear, voice low and hoarse. "Do you want me to touch you, after all?"
Javert's cock was straining under the lack of attention, and yet he could not bring himself to say yes -- they were pushing a new boundary, his dizzy mind told him, and Valjean had asked this of him; Javert could not be the one to ruin it. "No," he managed, "no, just keep doing what you were doing -- please!"
Valjean moved his hands to Javert's chest, caressed his nipples as he drove into him again. "I will do it, Javert," he whispered, pressing kisses to Javert's shoulder. "Anything you ask. I want no debts between us."
"You owe me nothing," Javert ground out, "and yet you give me everything. Oh, God..." He ground down on Valjean's cock, meeting every thrust as hard as he could. "No debts," he gasped, "but please, let me give you what you want as well, if only... Please tell me it's enough."
"You do," Valjean panted. His arms clenched around Javert's chest and waist, pressing their bodies flush together. "And it is."
Javert loosed his grip round the collar to clasp one of Valjean's hands, twining their fingers together. He brought their joined hands to his lips, then he guided them towards his collar. "Hold it," he said, "just do it -- please --"
If he had not been so far away in that moment -- if his thoughts had not been dispersed by Valjean's thrusts and his body and his warm mouth against Javert's shoulder -- he would have thought better of it, refrained from giving more than he knew Valjean was ready to take. But he did not think; his reason had fled him; the world was wholly sensation and pleasure and emotion. "Please," he hissed -- and after a moment's hesitation Valjean's hand closed around his collar, and he pressed a hot kiss to Javert's throat.
"I have you," Valjean breathed in his ear, and at those words Javert broke all over again.
He cried out and threw his head back, waves of pleasure shaking him, vaguely aware that he was spending; Valjean's hands on his breast and throat and Valjean's mouth against his neck and Valjean's cock so hard inside him were all that mattered, and he pushed back again, thrashing in Valjean's grip.
"Please," he gasped, "please, you must also --"
And Valjean trembled and clasped him tighter, and drove into Javert one last time, hard enough to draw a cry from them both -- a flood of warmth, another tremble -- and then Javert's knees gave way; he collapsed onto the bed, Valjean on top of him, the two of them tangled in a heaving mess of limbs and mouths and gasps.
After a while Valjean shifted away to lie beside him. He raised his hand to Javert's collar, slipped a finger under it and lightly stroked the sore, sweaty skin underneath. "You should take that off," he said.
Javert lifted a hand in turn, letting it glide gently down Valjean's side. "And what if I wish not to?"
"Then you should keep it on." The sun was finally sinking below the horizon, the bedroom growing dim, but the gentle affection in Valjean's eyes was plain to see. "The choice is yours." He withdrew his hand, touching Javert's cheek instead, as he had earlier. "I would have you either way."
Javert swallowed. He had no speech at the ready, only himself and his awkward gestures, but it was enough -- he had been told it was enough. He caught Valjean's hand and kissed it. Then he wrapped his own hand around Valjean's neck and brought their faces together. Valjean's mouth opened under his, relaxed and unafraid, a truth more astonishing than could be put into words.
This entry was originally posted at http://miss-morland.dreamwidth.org/106292.html. You may comment there, if you like.
Fandom: Les Misérables
Pairing: Valjean/Javert
Rating: Explicit
Summary: There was a moment when their gazes met again and neither of them moved: Javert, spread out on the bed, and Valjean, poised but hesitant, as if he was still wary of taking what Javert so readily would give.
Word count: ~ 2900
Content info: Post-Seine AU, established relationship, PWP, Javert's (book-canonical) leather collar
Notes: For a kinkmeme prompt: "Javert doubts that Valjean can make him come while fucking him without touching Javert's cock. Valjean sets to prove him wrong."
Sorry-not-sorry about the title. My grateful thanks to
carmarthen for beta-reading and to the Les Misères chatroom for putting up with my writer's angst. (AO3 version here.)
The sun had not yet set, the June evening long and soft with lingering warmth. A year ago, Javert would not have paid attention to such matters; it seemed to him, these days, he was turning into a sentimental fool, a tendency which vexed him only slightly.
He stretched out on the bed, feeling heat rise in his face under the weight of Valjean's gaze -- not so much from shyness as from arousal. They would usually not go to bed until nightfall, but this evening, as they had sat in the garden earlier watching the sky grow darker, their eyes had kept searching each other, their hands brushing, until it became clear that they were both of the same mind.
"Come," Valjean had said at last, rising from the bench, and Javert had followed, as he could never help but follow.
Now Valjean was standing in his shirtsleeves at the foot of the bed, his gaze trailing thoughtfully over Javert's naked body as if it were a mystery that still intrigued and delighted him, even after all these months. Though his eyes were dark with desire as strong as Javert's own -- a mystery far more delightful in Javert's eyes -- his hands had stilled on the buttons of his waistcoat.
Javert lifted his head. "Aren't you going to undress?" he asked, trying to sound casual. He had left his leather stock on; neither of them had commented on it.
"Yes." Valjean shook his head and began unbuttoning his waistcoat again, though he did not take his eyes from Javert. "It struck me how strange... Well." He shook his head again, a look of near-bewilderment on his face.
Javert's stomach clenched unpleasantly, as it did every time the thought hit him that Valjean might decide the scars of their past ran too deep, after all; that sharing his life with Javert gave him pain rather than pleasure. He cleared his throat, uncertain what to say -- but then Valjean's face cleared into one of those wide radiant smiles of his, as unusual as they were dazzling; he came over to the bed and bent down to kiss Javert's brow.
"A year ago, I would never have imagined it," Valjean muttered. "It still stupefies me, sometimes."
Javert swallowed. He curled a hand around Valjean's neck and pulled him down so their mouths met, hot and eager. "Undress, then," he murmured into Valjean's ear. "I won't wait all evening."
It was said in jest, of course. He would have waited as long as it took.
Valjean undressed while Javert watched him, their gazes on each other, occasionally wandering over each other's bodies, then meeting again. Every time this happened, they would smile, a bit bashful, and Javert would feel his heart beat harder in his chest.
Naked on the bed, his body laid out like a piece of evidence, he wondered if he should have grown used to Valjean's gaze by now. In truth, some part of him still felt awkward being on display like this, though it was as much exciting as it was unsettling. And then he wondered, as he had done before, how he must appear to Valjean's eyes, naked and unshielded, no choice but to be honest in his inadequacy: this is what you get, this is who I am, this is what I am asking you to accept.
But honesty was the price they'd paid, both of them, in choosing to lower and look past their shields. And as it happened, honesty was also their reward; the language of their bodies did not lie, and so their bodies must be allowed to speak. Words could be misunderstood, but there could be no misunderstanding in the heat of their embraces and the tangle of their limbs -- a lack of concealment as liberating as it was terrifying.
Javert watched, mouth dry, as the rays of the setting sun caught the flex of muscle and the shadows of old scars on Valjean's body, watched the unconscious grace of his movements as Valjean put away his clothing. When he turned back to Javert, his eyes still dark and his nakedness as frank as Javert's own, there was a moment when their gazes met again and neither of them moved: Javert, spread out on the bed, and Valjean, poised but hesitant, as if he was still wary of taking what Javert so readily would give.
Then the moment broke, and Valjean was on the bed next to him, a warm, calloused hand gently curling on Javert's hip. Their mouths met in a kiss, as they had earlier, more languid now but just as sweet. Javert lay back and tugged Valjean down, half-way on top of him, their cocks pressing together as hotly as their mouths.
"Tell me what you want," Javert murmured as they paused for breath, and Valjean, mouthing along his jaw, replied in turn, "Tell me what you want."
Oh, there were many things Javert wanted, some of which only existed in his imagination, muddy and half-conscious and half-formed -- images of being held down, Jean-le-cric's strength turned on him -- he was not sure if these darker desires could ever be shared, if there was a way to put them into words without old ghosts ruining this new and fragile life. But what he wanted tonight, at least, they had done before. He took one of Valjean's hands in his own and kissed it.
"I want you to take me," he said, and added, "If you don't object."
Valjean's mouth moved from his jaw down his neck, pausing at the leather stock. "You love that," he said. Coming from anyone else, the words would surely have been derisive; instead there was a tone of wonder, almost reverence in his voice. Javert's face grew even hotter. "You love having me inside you."
Javert let out a moan as Valjean's right hand wrapped around his cock. "I would not ask for it otherwise," he managed. "You must believe that, at least."
"I do." Valjean mouthed at Javert's neck again, continued downwards, rubbed his cheek against Javert's shoulder. "You would not lie to me." He raised his face to look at Javert, and now the curious thoughtfulness from earlier was in his eyes again. "I wonder if it would be enough."
"Enough?" Javert said, confused. Valjean removed his hand from his cock, and Javert blinked. "Do you mean you'd make me... Without touching me? Is that possible?"
Valjean kissed him again. "I'm as new to this as you are," he muttered against Javert's mouth. "I'd like to find out. Do you mind?"
"No." Of this, at least, Javert was certain. As unlikely as it sounded to him, he could not deny Valjean anything and had no wish to. "No, not at all, not if it's what you want."
"It's what I want," Valjean said, and the very words were enough to make Javert shudder, a strange trembling coiling in his belly. He ran his hands through Valjean's hair, cupped his face, kissed him again. "Please," he said and lay back, watching as Valjean moved to extract the bottle of oil from the drawer in the nightstand. The inward tremble grew stronger; now he recognised it as anticipation.
"How do you want me?" he asked as Valjean turned back. "On my belly?"
Valjean studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "At least to begin with, I think." He reached out a hand and stroked Javert's cheek.
Javert leaned into the touch. "It still seems unlikely," he muttered, before pressing a kiss to Valjean's palm.
"We shall see," Valjean said gently. "Turn over, if you please."
Javert did so, and Valjean's hand glided downwards, down his shoulders, the line of his spine, finally curving around his backside in a caress that was soft and, Javert thought, possessive. It rested there for a moment, then withdrew. Javert spread his legs wider.
Soon Valjean's hand returned, an oil-slick finger tracing down his cleft. It paused, for a moment, then gently prodded, the tip seeking entrance -- and then slid in, slowly and carefully. Javert moaned into the pillow.
The finger drew back, almost all the way. There was a soft kiss between his shoulderblades. "Are you all right?"
"Yes." He took a deep breath, let it out, willing his body to relax. The first touch was always a bit strange, something to get used to, but he liked that, liked the possibility of pain which could so easily be inflicted and yet wasn't. "You can add more," he said. "I can take it."
"We have all night," Valjean said. At the hint of laughter in his voice, Javert's heart swelled with a force that took him aback; he was glad his face was buried in the pillow. Valjean kissed his neck and moved his finger in slow, circling motions. "And I enjoy touching you."
"So I gather," Javert muttered into the pillow, not quite trusting his voice.
It was strange, he thought as Valjean introduced another finger, how his rigid body -- firm and upright and unquestioning for over fifty years -- so easily yielded to Valjean's touch, becoming clay in his hands. The old Javert would have considered it shameful, dishonourable, degrading. But the old Javert had been stripped away, bit by bit, ever since what had happened on the bank of the Seine one night a year ago; frightening as this thought might be, he knew the new Javert would never again be able to tell himself lies and think them truth.
Valjean's fingers moved in him, circling and pressing and stretching. Javert groaned into the pillow again, louder this time. The leather stock chafed against his throat, but he did nothing to remove it. Valjean kissed his shoulder, his neck. "Is this enough?" he murmured, his breath hot in Javert's ear. "Tell me if it is."
Javert craned his neck for a kiss. "I think so," he panted against Valjean's mouth, clenching around Valjean's fingers. "It's good, but I want..." The words sounded vulgar all of a sudden, so he settled for an insistent push upwards, and Valjean pulled his fingers out.
Then Valjean's hands were on his hips. "On all fours might be better," he said, and Javert scrambled onto his hands and knees, Valjean's hands holding him steady. His cock was throbbing by now -- he could not ask Valjean to touch it, he could not touch it himself: such was their agreement, and at any rate he would lose his balance if he tried. He bit his lip and swallowed as he felt Valjean's own hardness bump against him.
"Please," he said. That, too, would have sounded degrading to the old Javert, to be begging for an ex-convict's cock. But whatever fantasies he'd had before, this was not one of them: this was reality, a grace he had never expected and never dreamed of, his old self shattered one night in June and regrown into something stronger, healthier, like a bone that had to be broken to be set straight. "Please."
"Yes, Javert." The tone of his words made Javert want to see his face, and yet the thought overwhelmed him; Valjean's voice was too raw with emotion. He pushed back, and Valjean removed his hand; a moment later, his cock was sliding into Javert, as slowly and gently as his fingers had done earlier, and Valjean's hand was back on Javert's hip, caressing it with circling motions of his thumb. He paused for a moment, surely to let Javert adjust and not to taunt him -- but the effect was the same, it made Javert feel harsh and wild and wanting more, and it was all he could do to bite back a snarl of impatience.
"Don't stop," he said, canting his hips. "I would tell you if I wanted you to stop."
"Would you?" said Valjean softly. He complied, however, sliding all the way into Javert, and then back, almost all the way out. "Yes," he murmured as he pushed back in, harder this time, drawing a long moan from Javert. "I believe you would."
"I should hope so," Javert hissed. He bit his lip. "God." The heavy weight of his cock was a sweet pain between his legs; Valjean's long, slow strokes sent sparks of pleasure through him. He rocked back against them, bracing himself on the mattress. "If you stop now, I will -- I do not know what -- don't stop!"
"I won't." Valjean tightened his grip on Javert's hips. "God, Javert, you're so..." His pace quickened as he spoke. Javert kept pushing back; they moved together in heavy thrusts. "As long as you don't tell me to stop, I will not -- the way you feel --"
"Harder, then." It came out as a croak, and Javert cleared his throat. "Harder, please, just..."
Valjean's hands slid upwards, seeking purchase on Javert's waist. "Come," he said, nudging gently. Javert rocked backwards again, and then he was being lifted, pulled -- Valjean was sitting back on his heels, tugging Javert with him. Javert closed his eyes and groaned out loud as he sank further down on Valjean's cock; he scrambled behind him and got hold of Valjean's hair with his left hand.
"Fuck," he moaned, turning his head and messily catching the corner of Valjean's mouth; then he tipped his head back and gasped as Valjean's teeth scraped against his neck. The leather collar was sweaty and hot against his throat; he clung to it with his free hand, tugged at it mindlessly. "God, Valjean, please..."
"Please what?" Valjean said in his ear, voice low and hoarse. "Do you want me to touch you, after all?"
Javert's cock was straining under the lack of attention, and yet he could not bring himself to say yes -- they were pushing a new boundary, his dizzy mind told him, and Valjean had asked this of him; Javert could not be the one to ruin it. "No," he managed, "no, just keep doing what you were doing -- please!"
Valjean moved his hands to Javert's chest, caressed his nipples as he drove into him again. "I will do it, Javert," he whispered, pressing kisses to Javert's shoulder. "Anything you ask. I want no debts between us."
"You owe me nothing," Javert ground out, "and yet you give me everything. Oh, God..." He ground down on Valjean's cock, meeting every thrust as hard as he could. "No debts," he gasped, "but please, let me give you what you want as well, if only... Please tell me it's enough."
"You do," Valjean panted. His arms clenched around Javert's chest and waist, pressing their bodies flush together. "And it is."
Javert loosed his grip round the collar to clasp one of Valjean's hands, twining their fingers together. He brought their joined hands to his lips, then he guided them towards his collar. "Hold it," he said, "just do it -- please --"
If he had not been so far away in that moment -- if his thoughts had not been dispersed by Valjean's thrusts and his body and his warm mouth against Javert's shoulder -- he would have thought better of it, refrained from giving more than he knew Valjean was ready to take. But he did not think; his reason had fled him; the world was wholly sensation and pleasure and emotion. "Please," he hissed -- and after a moment's hesitation Valjean's hand closed around his collar, and he pressed a hot kiss to Javert's throat.
"I have you," Valjean breathed in his ear, and at those words Javert broke all over again.
He cried out and threw his head back, waves of pleasure shaking him, vaguely aware that he was spending; Valjean's hands on his breast and throat and Valjean's mouth against his neck and Valjean's cock so hard inside him were all that mattered, and he pushed back again, thrashing in Valjean's grip.
"Please," he gasped, "please, you must also --"
And Valjean trembled and clasped him tighter, and drove into Javert one last time, hard enough to draw a cry from them both -- a flood of warmth, another tremble -- and then Javert's knees gave way; he collapsed onto the bed, Valjean on top of him, the two of them tangled in a heaving mess of limbs and mouths and gasps.
After a while Valjean shifted away to lie beside him. He raised his hand to Javert's collar, slipped a finger under it and lightly stroked the sore, sweaty skin underneath. "You should take that off," he said.
Javert lifted a hand in turn, letting it glide gently down Valjean's side. "And what if I wish not to?"
"Then you should keep it on." The sun was finally sinking below the horizon, the bedroom growing dim, but the gentle affection in Valjean's eyes was plain to see. "The choice is yours." He withdrew his hand, touching Javert's cheek instead, as he had earlier. "I would have you either way."
Javert swallowed. He had no speech at the ready, only himself and his awkward gestures, but it was enough -- he had been told it was enough. He caught Valjean's hand and kissed it. Then he wrapped his own hand around Valjean's neck and brought their faces together. Valjean's mouth opened under his, relaxed and unafraid, a truth more astonishing than could be put into words.
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