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Despite his asceticism, Valjean still possesses a provincial voluptuousness that stirs the animal in Javert. After a lifetime of sallow underlings and plump patrons, Valjean’s sturdy flesh is an unexpected and undeserved divergence. In every way, Valjean is a relic of an environment Javert knows nothing of. Fresh air and baths in country streams had shaped Valjean long before the whip, and, in some sense, Faverolles was the only world they had not shared. Javert has no particular desire to see what is surely a poor and stinking country, but the glimpses of provincial life he catches in Valjean are far from repulsive. Soft brown eyes that twinkle at even the simplest joy, a penchant for growing a garden even in the metropolis of Paris, and the endearing tendency to curl close for warmth despite their chest of blankets warm Javert’s heart in a way he had long suspected was impossible. Javert knows himself to be far from immune to Valjean’s more physical charms, and his enjoyment of Valjean’s provinciality extends into their evenings. He is not foolish enough to believe pruning trees alone had given Valjean his phenomenal strength, but he still searches every night for shards of the country man Valjean had been. He strokes Valjean’s stomach in a search for childhood injuries, noses his prick in the hopes of seeing a hair of the shade a guileless Jean Valjean must have had on his head.
The clearest glimpse comes, of course, when he has not been hunting for one.
Javert awakes early one morning to the sight of an unaware and unabashed Valjean buttoning a shirt by the chest parallel to their bed. His eyes rake in the sight of Valjean’s bare, strapping thighs, admiring both the supple skin at the very top just barely left uncovered by the blouse as well as the tanned and hearty flesh below. As Valjean turns towards the prie dieu, Javert snaps his eyes shut, his mind wandering to thoughts of a younger Valjean wrapping those thighs around a tree trunk so that he could reach a higher branch or bouncing one of his sister’s children on his knee after dinner. Yes, Javert thinks with a hidden, self-satisfied smile. Valjean’s legs had been robust long before the toil of Toulon. As Javert shifts and his prick brushes the bedclothes, images of those thighs curled around him, gripping his length between their soft yet sturdy mass fill his mind and he growls lowly into his pillow. He enjoys the sensation of any part of Valjean touching his prick, and he suspects, based on observation, that Valjean reciprocates such thoughts. This act he imagined-this rubbing between Valjean’s thighs-could not possibly hurt the man any more than taking Javert in hand did. And should he prove incorrect, Javert thinks with a quirk of his lips, then he surely knows of other ways to please Valjean. Javert suppresses another groan as he imagines the exquisite sensation of being surrounded by Valjean’s body, drawn into the man’s heat and strength while Valjean thrusts into his touch.
“Javert,” Valjean murmurs as he rises from the floor, “do you wish to join me at Mass this morning?”
The rest of the day passes with maddening ennui, and when Javert finally looks up from his book after the eighth chime of the mantle clock, he cannot suppress a sigh of sheer relief. He uncrosses his legs, catching Valjean’s eye over one of Cosette’s letters. Valjean’s eyes dart from the page before relaxing into their usual warmth. His lips curl into a soft smile.
“Would you like to retire for the night, Javert?” he asks, smoothing his hands along the creases in his trousers as Javert approaches him.
“Very much” Javert huffs, laying his book down onto Valjean’s desk and, in some altered state, seating himself upon one of Valjean’s knees. Valjean lets out a rich laugh and admires Javert upon his perch, not seeming to notice how his lover is trying desperately not to rut against the solid warmth beneath him.
When Valjean’s laugh fades back into a pleased smile, Javert lets himself lean forward and kiss Valjean as he slowly moves against his knee. Valjean keeps his lips pursed into a smile as he kisses sweetly back, his eyes closing in pleasure as Javert wraps his arms around his neck and parts his lips gently with his tongue. Valjean, much to Javert’s delight, begins to stroke his hands up and down his thighs, and Javert nearly laughs at the contrast between them, two of Javert’s gangly legs not even the size of one of Valjean’s hearty thighs. Javert thinks again of those thighs trapping his prick between their strength and he pulls back panting, pushing himself off of Valjean and extending a hand to help the man out of his chair. Javert guides them in an artless stumble to their room, shutting the door securely and trying not to be impatient as Valjean carefully undoes every button on Javert’s waistcoat and blouse. Javert is far less steady-handed as he unties Valjean’s dressing robe and undoes his cravat, hungrily mouthing at the hollow of Valjean’s throat when it is exposed, savoring the light taste of Valjean’s sweat. Valjean falls back upon the bed in boneless pleasure, still in his slippers and trousers, and Javert rakes his fingers through Valjean’s hair as he shakily undoes them, revealing what has been occupying his thoughts from the moment he had woken. Javert still remains in his boots and trousers, but Valjean seems unworried, curling his hands around Javert’s waist and pressing his mouth to Javert’s shoulder in a series of chaste kisses. Javert groans, unfastening his trousers and rolling onto his back in an attempt to free his prick. He watches as Valjean instinctively crosses his legs in a futile attempt to hide his arousal, and Javert feels satisfaction well up in his chest at the flushing mass of a man before him. He rests a hand against Valjean’s hip, crawling upwards so that he might uncross the poor strained muscles and feel them instead tense in pleasure.
The powerful thighs tremble as Javert runs his hand up the inside of Valjean’s leg, his roughened hands stroking the tender skin near the curve of Valjean’s balls. His thumbs pet the very tops of Valjean’s thighs as he, with great restraint, uses them to push against Valjean’s tense muscles, slowly parting Valjean’s legs so that he is able to slip his prick into the sliver of space between them. He removes his hands from Valjean’s thighs, causing the space to disappear and the sweat-slicked legs to engulf his prick. He lets out a guttural groan as Valjean tightens his legs once again and curls his thighs up towards his belly, granting himself the pressure of Javert’s abdomen grinding against his prick and giving Javert a seamless way to thrust into his flesh. Javert buries his face into Valjean’s neck. He imagines them on a bed of straw, hidden away from the eyes of villagers in a barn; men who have no past between them beyond shared glances over the year’s crops. Valjean whines, rutting his prick against Javert’s belly, and Javert lifts his head so that he might see his half-lidded eyes, his parted lips. Again, Javert runs his fingers through Valjean’s mussed hair, his thrusts into Valjean growing abrupt as Valjean tightens his grip around Javert’s prick in response to the touch. One of his hands moves to stroke the seam between Valjean’s thighs, rubbing the skin not covered by his body. Valjean lets out a breathy sound and wriggles against Javert as his thrusts increase in frequency, and the exalted expression he has caused to spread across Valjean’s face is enough to encourage him to come moments later with a desperate gasp.
Valjean is quiet as as Javert eases himself off of him to doff his boots, smiling at what Javert imagines is doltish pleasure painted across his rough features. He fits himself easily back against Javert, sighing as the earthy scent of their bodies and the soft contentment of entangled limbs eases them both to sleep.