A/N: Sorry this took so long, guys. I've been busy (and lazy) and I ALMOST stopped obsessing over Les Mis, but then I started reading the book again. So no worries. I've decided to answer yet another question about my portrayals of these two in this chapter. This time is the issue of top-and-bottom. I personally believe firmly that Javert would not be bottom. Mostly because he has issues about giving in to stuff. That, and I really just can't see it myself. Also, many thanks to Yukaido, who gave me the kick in the ass to get this done. I am a bad, bad writer and you may feel free to beat me upside the head with our favourite Inspector's baton.
When Valjean walked into the room, Javert stared at him in a mixture of horror and dawning realization. Valjean stared back at Javert in a mixture of terror and stiff resolution. He walked over, spoke briefly to the blonde revolutionary leader, and then was given permission to take Javert. The ex-convict untied the Inspector, dragged him to his feet, and marched him out of the room. They were soon alone in an alley.
"Kill me, Valjean." Javert whispered softly. "You have the right." even now he used vous instead of tu to refer to his old enemy, even though they could hardly be called enemies anymore. "You've been waiting all your life."
"No." Valjean shook his head and pulled out a knife, slashing the bonds that tied Javert's hands together. "I will not." He pressed the knife into Javert's hands and placed his own hands on the Inspector's broad shoulders, his chocolate brown eyes staring into the unreadable green shards that stared forth from the Inspector's dark face. "Javert, leave."
"W...What?" The gypsy stared at him in horror. "What? You are..." tu. He said tu. Valjean felt his heart pound. He had admitted it to himself long ago that he loved the Inspector, yes, but they were never close. Javert shook his head, eyebrows pressed together in confusion. His hands dropped to his sides. "Letting me...go?"
"Javert, we have not been straight with each other." Valjean looked down, pushing his white hair back behind his ears. He was trembling while he tried to find the words he had to say. Coming out with this was possibly the hardest thing he had ever done. Lifting that cart was easy compared to outing his feelings. "Javert, I could never kill you." he finally finished, and felt the soft press of the Inspector's hand under his chin. The old man looked up into gray-green eyes, where for a moment there was a deep emotion swirling in the depths. There was pain there, horror, sadness. Love, maybe. Neither man said anything, simply stared at each other, and then Javert slowly leaned down and claimed Valjean's lips.
Gasping, he arched his back slightly, pressing against that hesitant kiss. There was a new beginning hiding there, a new path for them to take. Maybe if things had been different between them all along that new beginning would have been there from the start. Maybe, though, their relationship had to go through the frying pan and the fire first. They had lasted in one another's lives for so long showed that deep devotion to one another.
"Javert, go!" He whispered, pressing on the Inspector's chest. "Run, before they kill you. I'll shoot into the air, and you leave." Javert hesitated for a moment, watching both sides of the alley, and then stepped slowly away, his hand lingering on the others' chin. They did not want to break that contact. Both men stood still, and finally Javert took the next step. His hand slipped away from the slight contact with the convict's beard and chin, but he still hesitated to leave. There was something holding him back, making him wait and think before he ran off blindly. There was something holding the two of them together, something that was more than simple need. They had to get all their secrets out in the air, and at the same time neither one would admit to anything.
"No." He finally said, turning back. "I'm not leaving." Valjean, surprised, had opened his mouth with a retort on his lips before suddenly having any words he was about to say cut off by a pair of very demanding lips. Javert claimed the convict's mouth with passion, and pressed Valjean against the wall in an exact reverse of their previous position, growling hungrily. He was claiming the older man as his own. Dropping the knife to the street, forgotten, he wrapped one arm around Valjean's waist and reached up with the other to fist his hand in a clump of pure white hair. Valjean groaned as he felt the hand in his hair and arched his back up, pressing both his hands flat against Javert's chest, closing his eyes and allowing those strong arms to support his weight entirely.
All too soon it was over as Javert grunted and pulled away, leaving the knife.
"Javert, if I survive this...you will find me under the name of Fauchlevent at the rue de l'Homme-Armé. I am yours." He did not say it, but unspoken were the words I always have been. Javert stopped, took one last look at his enemy, and slowly nodded his head.
"I will be there, Valjean. And this time there is no escape."
They both knew it.
The Inspector left before he could change his mind, and the ex-convict stared after him until the retreating back could no longer be seen, then raised the pistol and fired the shot into the air, the noise ricocheting around the alleyway and echoing off of the building walls. He returned to the barricade, many things on his mind, and attempted to forget about the look he had seen for only a moment in Javert's eyes--the look of ownership. The look of the cat finally finding and catching its prey.
The barricade—later Valjean would think back to it and shake in terror at the force of memory. That long time locked in battle, watching men die. When he carried Maurius out through the sewers and brought him directly into Javert's clutches, when they had brought the boy home, when they both suddenly found themselves ousted from the house by the housekeeper and stood outside on the pavement. Javert looked at Valjean, as if to size him up, and slowly opened his hands.
"Any last requests before I take you in, 24601?"
"Yes." He didn't even need to think about it. The old man faced his hunter, opened his arms in invitation, and smiled softly. "Kiss me, Javert."
It was all he had to ask. The request was complied with quite quickly, and Valjean groaned as his lips were claimed with ownership and his arms were filled by the impressive bulk of Chief Inspector Javert. This time, he did not want to feel that weight gone from his arms. It had hurt too much before to feel him leave, but now that he was back—everything was perfect. Grabbing blindly at the wall behind them, Valjean backed up until he felt the rough bricks digging through the soaked and disgusting back of his shirt. The fact that the last time the two men had been together was on a brick wall much like this one did nothing to dampen the arousal already running rampant in his pants. Javert growled, drawing the older man more up into him. It was all that Valjean could do to simply stay upright, melting into the Inspectors arms. He whimpered, arching his back, and opened his mouth to suck in a breath of fresh air as the controlling lips that had formerly been pressed flush against his moved on, trailing up over the sensitive skin that was covered by the convict's beard, ending by his ear and biting there, eliciting a moan. Valjean was completely under his enemy's control, helpless to protect himself. If Javert had tried to arrest him then, he would have met no resistance.
But the gypsy was completely distracted by the body beneath his hands. He was completely distracted by the sensations. Strong fingers started grabbing at his cravat, pulling on it, until the white cloth came undone and fell to the ground, forgotten. Javert responded by breaking the kiss, pulling Valjean's sewer-soaked shirt over his head and discarding that as well. Not like he needed it at that point. Now the old man's back was against the wall, and what was a rough feeling that brought slight pain morphed into pleasure, and it all went straight down to his groin. Javert's hands were making a burning path down his chest, his lips fire against the convict's pale skin.
"Javert!" Valjean gasped the other man's name, and felt large hands fumbling with the buttons of his pants, and then the tight cloth was gone and the open but heated air was sweeping across his newly revealed member. The Inspector, impatient and aroused, palmed the convict's erection and gave a few harsh jerks, leaving his lover panting. It was all Valjean could do to stay standing, he was bucking his hips jerkily against Javert, who relented and gave more tugging friction with one hand while the other worked off his own pants, shucking them down as far as he needed, and then releasing the others' member.
"Valjean—do you need—"
"No." He gasped, bucking his hips. "Just do it, Javert!" It was amazing to him that he was still at all able to get out a string of words. All that he wanted, all that he needed, was the feel of becoming one. Love had turned to lust, anger to need, hate to devotion. It was only in these moments, together, minus all walls. Here, here, they were not the hunter and the hunted. They were simply Valjean and Javert. One without the other was not themselves. Their fates were intertwined beyond any efforts they both gave to break free.
The order or request, whichever it was, did not go unheeded.
Grunting in exertion, Javert lifted Valjean up off of the ground, and the older man locked his legs around his lover's waist in order to support himself, hands scrabbling furiously at the brick wall before he remembered that Javert's shoulders made for a better grip, and clenching his hands there. Breath hissing out from between his teeth, the Inspector pressed their hips together and eased his hips upward, the blunt head of his erection pressing against the others' entrance. Valjean groaned, trembling, and felt the first initial push. Gasping in pain, brown eyes flying open, he arched his back roughly against the wall and bit down on his lip—hard. The scream of pain that had been ripping out of his throat was pushed down and silenced by the feel of lips against his.
"I'm sorry." Javert whispered hoarsely.
Had he just apologized to Valjean?
"No. Don't be." He whimpered back, tensed. "Just—give me a moment, Javert." A soft hum was the response, and the Inspector wrapped his arms around the smaller man, holding him. Javert knew how much pain his companion had to currently be in, and no matter how much patience he usually had...it took all his considerable self-control to keep from thrusting up into the heat of his lover, to allow him time to adjust. After what seemed like an eternity he felt the grip around his arousal lessen, and the soft moan that meant he could continue.
"Yessssss." The word fell from his lips, forgotten, as Javert slammed against Valjean, who moaned loudly, bucking his hips. Soon they were rocking against each other, gasping moans entwining in the crisp night air. The convict tried to keep their pace slow, as if they were enjoying their first time as lovers. But before too long a deep growl vibrated against his neck; and suddenly the Inspector was slamming into him with a furious pace, hitting a place that made Valjean's head spin and moans coalesce in his throat and rip into the night air. The elder man held onto his lover's broad, cloth covered shoulders, groaning. He clenched his legs tighter around Javert's waist, knowing that slipping downward at that moment would not end well. The stress from earlier at the barricades was still pumping through them, the adrenaline rush was still there. It did not take long to reach completion, Valjean gasping, his nails digging through heavy police-issue uniform cloth to leave what would most certainly be bruises later, and his back arching up off the wall.
"Javert!" Valjean's voice was hoarse as he shuddered, wracked by pleasure. The younger man stiffened moments later, the tight heat of his lover too much, and Javert, too, hit his climax.
"Jean..." the name hissed out between his teeth, and in response a hand fisted into his gray-blonde hair, pulling on the strands until their mouths met. Valjean didn't want to let go, not after this long. This time, he wasn't going to let Javert walk away.
The Inspector slowly lowered the older man back to the ground, and they each righted their clothes as quickly as they could, Valjean taking care to not let their mouths part more than was necessary. But suddenly Javert took a step back, gasping, his green eyes wide. They were still dark with lust, but there was terror there in the depths.
"Javert, my daughter." Valjean at last gasped, running a hand through his mussed white hair. There was a scrape on his back from the bricks, and it stung. "I have...to tell her where I'm going. Or at least, tell her about Marius." Javert stood there, his large form as tense as a bowstring, his eyes wide like a deer about to get run down by a carriage. Valjean noticed too late.
"I will meet you at the police station," the taller man finally choked out. He could not believe he was trusting Valjean that much. But...he had things on his mind, things that were almost impossible to ignore any longer. "Be there by midnight." his throat was constricted, words impossible to say. He couldn't stay there. Just couldn't. Javert added the last bit upon second thought, and then turned and sprinted down the street, his boots sending up a clatter from the cobblestones that echoed down the street. The ex-convict felt tears pricking at the edges of his eyes, his heart clenching in pain. Would he never be allowed to stay with Javert afterward? Would there never be anything between them but this? Would the Inspector constantly run away?
Clenching his teeth, the old man wiped the first few tears off of his face. Time was of the essence now, he had to hurry, he knew that. Anything that he and the Inspector had to discuss could wait. For now, he had to speak to Cosette. Valjean stared once more after his companion in confusion, took one look back towards the house where they had left Marius, and then slowly walked off in the direction of his own home to speak to Cosette.
Halfway there, though, the weight that was dragging on his feet became too much. Stopping under a streetlight, Valjean stared off in the direction that Javert had run. It had hurt, been a knife in his heart when he watched the younger man run, but what had it been that had made him run so? Javert had acted like all the hounds of hell were on his heels. He had barely been able to speak to Valjean. He looked like the dead.
What had caused that?
The answer hit Jean Valjean quickly and left him reeling. How could he not have seen the obvious signs? How could he not have known? Javert had been following him for over twenty years, and not once in that long time had he paused, even once, in his administration of justice. And yet, earlier he had listened to Valjean's requests. And then the way that Javert had acted, running, scared, terrified. He seemed to hate himself for touching Valjean, and at the same time couldn't keep them apart. The old convict knew what his friend, enemy, and lover was about to do.
Javert could no longer see a straight way ahead. He no longer saw the right way to justice. So he was going to do the only thing he knew how to do, in a situation like that.
It took Jean Valjean only seconds to figure out which way it was to the river.