Pairing: Javert/Jean Valjean (background Cosette/Marius)
Disclaimer: Not mine
Word Count: 2642
Summary: Jean Valjean is more than happy to have Cosette and her young husband spend the holidays at his house, but he had not anticipated the problems posed by such thin walls and Marius' fondness for, ah, roleplaying. Fortunately Javert is more than willing to aid him in giving the newlyweds a taste of their own medicine.
Warnings: Humiliation, Accidental Voyeurism
Notes: Written for the kinkmeme: Javert/Valjean, Cosette/Marius. Thin walls lead to one pairing overhearing the others sexytime roleplaying, who then decide to reciprocate in an attempt to scar the other for life.
This comment was also rather inspiring: "I can just picture J/VJ overhearing Cosette/Marius roleplaying cop/convict, and being all "...are you fucking kidding me."
No blood bound them together, but Jean Valjean absolutely, whole-heartedly considered himself the father of Cosette. It was with fatherly affection that he invited his adopted daughter and her young husband to stay with himself and Javert for the Christmas season, and it was with a truly parental love that he gifted the young couple the use of the master bedroom during their stay; taking the smaller bedroom adjacent to his typical sleeping quarters was a small price to pay to have his beloved Cosette near him once more.
“Surely we can take the guest room,” she had protested sweetly. “We would not wish to make anyone feel, ah, uncomfortable.” Marius had nodded, dutifully attempting to ignore the way Javert was scowling at him.
Such a thoughtful girl, his Cosette. “We won’t hear of it. Take the room and make yourself at home.” They had hugged then, Valjean and his daughter, and enjoyed a night of glowing smiles and warm conversation. Once Marius assured them of having thus far lived a law-abiding, rebellion-free existence, even Javert took part in their merriment. After a splendid dinner the newlyweds departed for their room, while Javert and Valjean went off to the smaller, spare room (Javert, bless him, had relented in his attempts to pretend to be “merely a lawful renter” after Valjean pointed out that Cosette, being gifted with both eyes and ears, had already figured them out).
Valjean settled into bed easily. He wrapped an arm around Javert, who stiffened immediately but quickly relaxed; it had taken months for the former inspector to ease himself into a routine of touch, but he was gradually becoming more comfortable with these soft intimacies.
“I will never find sleep if you insist on smiling at me all night,” Javert stated. At his severe expression, Valjean grinned wider.
“Then you will never sleep again,” he declared. A corner of Javert’s mouth twitched, as if he were holding in a smile of his own. “Truly, Javert, I have never been happier. I am surrounded by those I love most—you cannot fault me for my good cheer.” He leaned in and kissed Javert once, quickly, square on the mouth. A blush bloomed high on the inspector’s cheeks and Valjean was reminded how very fondly he regarded this man.
“Cease your affection at once,” Javert hissed, face still flushed. “The walls in this place are far too thin for—”
A moan, low and muffled, reverberated from the wall adjacent to their bed. Whatever Javert had been protesting was quickly forgotten as both men craned their heads around to regard the offending wall.
“Perhaps I should check on Cosette,” Valjean started, leaning up in the narrow bed. He shifted, bumping against Javert’s knees. Another moan pierced the air, this time pitched higher and with a distinctly feminine edge. Valjean sat up completely, blanket falling to pool around his waist. He had gone very red.
Javert snorted. “I don’t know what you were expecting; any child of yours is surely lacking in even basic self-restraint.”
Valjean wrenched his gaze from the wall, regarding Javert coolly. “I’m rather surprised at your indifference.” He kept his stare level even as another moan assaulted his ears.
“I’ve slept in places with thinner walls and louder neighbors,” Javert admitted quietly. “Do not pay them any mind, Valjean. They are young and enamored with one another; this noise will end soon enough.” He reached up and laid a hand on Valjean’s shoulder. The gesture, an intimate, gentle touch, surprised Valjean enough that he allowed himself to be coaxed back against the pillow.
Javert gave him a very small smile before turning on his side, content to sleep through the clamor next door. Valjean rolled behind him, grabbing him about the waist and tucking the man against his broad chest. Spooned together like this left him feeling content in a way he would not have thought possible, years earlier. It was so comfortable, in fact, that he could feel his breathing even out, growing steadier and deeper. Why, even the noise seemed to have stopped...
Valjean was just beginning to fall into what promised to be a peaceful rest when a man’s laugh broke the spell.
“Cosette, at last, we see each other plain!”
What a peculiar thing to say. The absurdity of it woke Valjean fully. He did not stir, fearful of waking Javert, but his attention was focused completely on the wall behind him. He heard Cosette let out a small, breathy laugh; at the noise, Javert shifted, evidently beginning to wake himself.
“You will never escape the hand of the law, my dear. You must not resist arrest,” Marius purred, and it had to be Marius, it couldn’t be a police officer, but it didn’t make any sense, what in God’s name was he—Oh.
Valjean felt Javert grow rigid in his arms. “I fear I am in a terrible waking nightmare,” he ground out, and even in the darkness Valjean knew with absolute certainty that Javert was gritting his teeth. Before Valjean could attempt to console the man Cosette had picked up Marius’ thread, escalating their game.
“Officer, please, you mustn’t arrest me! I’ll do anything,” she murmured, and despite the barrier between their rooms Valjean could see the smile in her words.
“Of course you’ll do anything,” Marius fired back, “you are my prisoner.” She laughed again, but before Valjean could hear anything else Javert had somehow wormed his way out of Valjean’s firm grip and sat up, spine like a bow-string, straight and long and so tightly-wound Valjean feared he would snap. His expression was determined but clearly uncomfortable.
“The law is not a joke,” he stated, staring fixedly at Valjean, who for his part simply sat, waiting for elaboration. Giggling from the adjacent room was heard, and Javert’s eyes flit to the wall before returning to his companion. “You must remedy your daughter’s flippant attitude regarding the pursuit of justice.”
“She does not have a flippant attitude,” he protested.
“Oh Officer, I have never known such hard justice,” Cosette sighed dreamily as she and her husband fumbled about. Valjean blanched.
“I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Valjean argued, trying a different tactic. “It’s not as if I can barge in and demand they stop.”
“A little embarrassment is a small price to pay for an end to this lunacy.”
But Valjean could not, could never, humiliate his darling daughter so overtly; he had done everything he could to spare her even the smallest amount of discomfort. Why, he would rather suffer tenfold humiliation than have her...
That was an idea.
“I cannot contest your claims, Javert,” he agreed solemnly. Valjean inched closer to the man, who seemed as if he had expected an argument. “Apparently I have not taught Cosette the importance of respecting the law.” He slid an arm around Javert’s waist and pulled him close. “And what better way to teach,” he whispered into his ear, “than by example?”
Javert swallowed audibly. “We are more than qualified, you and I,” he murmured, and it sent a little thrill down Valjean’s spine to realize how breathy the man sounded; Javert had always responded rather well to the idea of humiliation, and now seemed like a wonderful time to explore that concept.
He gripped Javert’s bicep, a little harder than strictly necessary, pulling them down together in a tangle of limbs. In a moment Valjean was flush atop him, Javert’s wrists pinned together beneath his hands and stretched tight above the inspector’s head. It was a show of strength more than anything, and it had Javert immediately hard beneath him. Valjean leaned down to press a bruising kiss against his mouth, holding Javert’s wrists with one large, strong hand while the other clutched at his waist, fingers digging into the hollow of his hip.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable with a little humiliation?” Valjean whispered. Humiliation—at the word he felt a distinct twitch in the cock trapped beneath him. Javert nodded, wide-eyed.
He needed no more encouragement.
Valjean ground their hips together, a thin layer of nightclothes all that separated flesh from aching flesh. “Is this what you want, Inspector?” he growled out, loud and deep enough to pass through the thin plaster that separated the couples. He pressed forward, hard, and Javert let out a strangled sort of moan. Emboldened, he bent forward, close enough to whisper in his ear. “What would they say, to see you had by a convict?” The word was punctuated by Valjean squeezing Javert’s waist hard enough to bruise.
Javert’s head snapped backed. Valjean leaned down to kiss the bare white throat that presented itself; he was rewarded with a satisfied groan. The noise coming from the master bedroom had ceased completely, but Valjean was sure that a little more humiliation could put a permanent stop to the newlyweds’ games, at least at Valjean’s house. He pressed forward.
He released Javert’s hands and waist and set about divesting them both of clothing. Finally bare to each other, Valjean was struck with a bit of creative brilliance. Careful to project toward his guests, Valjean announced to the room: “Javert, at last, we see each other plain!” He heard what sounded like a suspicious intake of breath from past the wall.
Pleased, he returned his attention to Javert, who lay flushed and trembling with arousal beneath him. Valjean sucked at his neck, leaving the stubbled skin angry and red beneath his mouth. He felt Javert’s hands wrapped tight around his back as his manhood pushed against Valjean’s thigh. The choked noises Javert was making lit a fire in him, kindling a tight heat low and bright in the pit of Valjean’s belly. Arousal curled over him, bright and fierce, and with Javert looking at him like that all thoughts of his guests’ comfort fled his mind.
But a voice nagged him. Javert likes it, the nasty little voice said. He revels in it. The desire to humiliate pervaded him, the need to see Javert squirm and ache and quake beneath him prompted Valjean to say dreadful, terrifying things. He sat up, straddling Javert, weighing him down and regarding the man beneath him: pupils blown, hair mussed and wild, panting and flushed, cock leaking. In that moment he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to be absolutely ravaged.
“You want me to fuck you, Inspector.”
Javert sucked in air. Valjean had never been so blunt before and the thrill of it spurred him on. “I saw you at Toulon, I saw the way you stared,” Valjean began. Effortlessly, he flipped Javert over and reached to the bedside table. Opening the drawer, he grabbed a small bottle of oil and thanked the Lord for his foresight. “Perhaps it had been your wish even then.” With two fingers liberally coated in oil he entered Javert sharply, holding tightly to the flesh of his buttocks with his free hand. Javert had his arms curled beneath his head. He was quiet, restrained, but with a crook of Valjean’s fingers the man snapped like a twig beneath him, arching his spine. “Valjean,” he choked out.
“What is it you want of me, Javert?” His voice was soft.
Javert turned to look at him once, quickly, before burying his face in the pillow and mumbling something into the fabric.
Maneuvering his fingers, Valjean pressed into Javert, hitting something deep and sharp inside him; Javert’s head jerked up. Valjean noted with satisfaction that his hands were shaking. “Inside me,” he moaned. “Always, always wanted it. Please, Valjean,” he keened, and the whine of arousal in Javert’s voice was enough to suffocate any remaining inhibitions.
Valjean pulled his fingers out and began coating himself in the oil with quick, precise strokes. At the sound of his flesh Javert shuddered and his cock twitched obscenely. It was strangely fascinating, the inspector’s desire for humiliation; moreover, Valjean’s own desire to reciprocate his needs was something that required a deeper understanding.
But now was not the time. Valjean snaked a brawny arm around Javert’s middle and lifted him enough to bring him flush against Valjean’s straining hardness. He lined himself up with his other hand and pushed forward in one long, fluid motion. Javert strained beneath him, hands braced on the bed as Valjean began to move.
The pace was leisurely; Valjean liked to let the pleasure build and bubble into a roar, but Javert, as he so often did, decided to make things difficult. As Valjean thrust forward Javert pushed back, impaling himself further onto the man’s cock. Javert swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I have seen you lift with the strength of ten men,” he stuttered out haltingly. “I know you to be capable of great force.”
Javert would not say it but Valjean had no qualms with the word.
“Shall I take you harder, Javert?” Valjean plunged deep as if to emphasize his point and Javert let out a mangled gasp. The pace of it became brutal and erratic, as Valjean fucked Javert hard enough that the man was all but guaranteed to be walk with a limp for a week. The thought of it thrilled him and he said as much.
“You will ache from this,” Valjean grunted into Javert’s shoulder. “With every step you will think of me inside you.” Javert’s breath was a rapid thing; he had never sounded so utterly aroused.
“I deserve it.”
Something about the admission—the heat of it, the despair mingled with terrible, aching longing—it broke whatever tenuous thread of self-control remained in him, and Valjean found himself spilling into Javert with a burning heat. Spent, he fell upon Javert. He moved his hand to bring release to the inspector, but Javert just shook his head, avoiding his eye.
“I already—when you, when you did.”
Carefully, he eased himself out of Javert, who let out a small wince at the sudden emptiness. Valjean reached for a cloth from the drawer and wiped them clean while Javert failed miserably to will the flush from his cheeks. Satisfied, he collapsed onto the bed and curled around the inspector. “You have possessed me utterly, you know,” Valjean muttered into his hair. “My self-control just slips away around you.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
Sleep crept over him like a heavy fog. With his head pressed into the crook of Javert’s neck, Valjean fell into a deep, contended slumber.
A soft knock on the door some hours later jarred him awake. Javert lay snoring atop him, and it was with some difficulty that Valjean managed to extricate himself from his grip. He slipped his bedshirt on and walked cautiously to the door, opening it soundlessly.
He was greeted by the carefully blank face of his son-in-law. “I had to wait for Cosette to sleep,” Marius started. “She insisted we ignore this whole night, but as we’re staying for the week, well...” The boy left off, unsure. His eyes drifted to the interior of Valjean’s room; spotting Javert asleep in the bed seemed to spur him on. “I understand,” he said finally, eyes again focused on Valjean’s face. “No more nonsense from our side.”
Valjean nodded. “Nor from ours.”
A relieved smile spread across Marius’ handsome face. “Good man. I’ll just, ah, be off to bed then.” He scurried back to the master bedroom, eager to leave such an awkward conversation. Amused, Valjean turned to sneak back into bed.
The snoring had stopped. “What was that all about?” Javert muttered sleepily.
“Marius assures me there will be no more undue noise from their room.”
“Nor in ours?”
“I pledged my word.”
Javert yawned loudly. “Well then,” he murmured, “I suppose I’ll have to gag you.”
He was asleep before Valjean could find his voice enough to ask if he was serious.