Author's warning: contents are typical for a brothel.
The thin brass key slid easily into the door's lock, a feint, muffled click sounding as the lock gently released. The thick oaken door swung open noiselessly, and Javert took a deep breath, examining the setting for his plan's final scene. A quick scan, and his stomach clenched in confusion and anger. The room appeared empty. Muttering a curse beneath his breath, his eyes darted around, searching everywhere for her. Not to be found on the ragged and torn settee, and not in the nearly wrecked winged-back chair; Javert crossed to part the thick drapery curtains of the poster bed. Its pillows and sheets were unsullied and untouched. Just as the earliest vapors of a growl formed in the back of his throat, he heard the smallest of wracking sobs from beside him.
"No need to worry, Inspector," Cécelie said, stepping out from the heavy window drapes, "I am here."
The ball of fiery anger in his core iced over immediately at the single tear that threatened to moisten her cheek. "What is it with you?" he demanded, and, immediately, he regretted the concern that knit through his words. A sneer etched across his chiseled cheek as he crossed the room. "Why is there always something with you?" he bit through grinding teeth.
Cécelie sniffed, drawing her shoulders back and straightening with as much confident authority as she could muster. "I beg your pardon if I seek just a bit of reassurance before the critical moment, Inspector." She looked down for the slightest second, flipping the long locks of her hair over her shoulder as she returned her stare to meet his. The hardened line of his sneer remained unyielding, a sight that made Cécelie release an unbidden sigh from her lips.
She began again, more earnest in her supplication. "Haven't you ever envisioned one moment over and over again, Inspector. That one moment between you and another where triumph overwhelms your past's bitterness. With the sweet taste of victory and justification all melding together in triumph over that one other human?"
The sneer fell sudden away from his face, replaced by a nearly astonished shine to his piercing green eyes. He snarled a laugh, his face darkening and his nostrils flaring. "For once, Cécelie, I can understand exactly what you mean."
Cocking a smile up towards him, she dared two steps closer. "Both daunting and thrilling, isn't it, Javert, to hold such sway over another person?" She could almost sense each contraction, each flex of his muscled body even at her distance. "I believe I know you well enough to understand just how dearly you crave that sensation," her voice rasping softly in her throat as she closed the separation between them. "A sensation that is potent... alluring..." she pressed her body along his "... arousing even..." Her brazen hand caressed his front, tracing lower and teasing him through the coarse barrier of his trousers.
Instantly, she felt the scratches of his whiskers burying into her cheek as he leaned into her cradling, supplicating form. His hot breath seared her skin as he spoke in her ear, the heat of his lengthening shaft increasing and pressing harder into her palm with every word. "Your lack of focus is hardly reassuring, Cécelie," he admonished quietly into her ear. "Thought you should be soliciting a confession from Tournot, not favors from superiors."
"Oh, Javert," she fairly cooed in reply, "what goes on between us would clear my mind and pique my concentration for the remainder of the evening." She nuzzled into the taught crook of his neck, placing a kiss into its pulsing sinews. "Javert," she moaned again.
Thick fingers quickly caught her cheeks, gripping around her chin and clawing into her flesh. He pulled her away by his hold on her, turning the brightness of her eye towards him. "You seem to use my name all too flippantly, Rénauld," his voice barely above an articulated growl, "even after you've seen the fear it stirs on the street."
Her hips ground against his, and a chuckle sounded from her pinched and captured jaw. "It seems hardly appropriate to sigh 'Inspector' as you fill me to the hilt again," her voiced laden with audacity. His grip tightened, and he shoved her farther from him, despite the shiver that raced up and down along his spine at the contact of her body fitting so tightly against his. Blue eyes flashed brighter as she smiled demurely, even with a face so harshly cupped in his fingers. "They say you have no Christian name, Monsieur. And, after all we have done and been through, Javert, I'd be more than filled with pleasure to whisper such a name intimately in your ear." Her smile twisted into that wickedly delicious smirk. "Or pant and scream it as we swell with highest pleasure."
"Do not think that you know me well at all, Cécelie de Rénauld," he sneered mercilessly as he released her jaw. The green of his eyes glowed passionately and his voice trembled with force. "That is a part of me I disowned and abandoned long ago. I warn you not to pry into places you should not dare." The firm line of her cheeks and jaw and the mischievous glint to her eye gave him pause. "Besides," he took up caustically again, "should you not be saving your sultry seductions for Tournot?"
Cécelie strode forward, pressing her body against his once more and brushing the back of her hand over his thickly whiskered jaw. "I believe I am capable of doing both," she fairly sang, leaning in to press her lips into his. She felt the lengthening tightness between his legs jerk and prod harder against her belly. Laughing, she broke away for a moment. "Consider it reassuring practice in seduction. Now, won't you tell me your Christian name, if you please, Inspector."
The firm muscles of his jaw clenched beneath her fingers, and she felt his breath rattle heavier in his throat. "That is not what would please me, Cécelie."
Smirking, she read the smolder in the brightness of his green eyes beneath their thick and rugged brows. With no more hesitation, Cécelie reached beside her, parting the thick curtains of the canopied bed. Her other hand gripped at the front of his shirt, pulling him after her, pulling him on top of her.
He followed her down into the soft folds of the bed willingly, lashing his mouth to hers. She writhed and squirmed beneath him, his hands rapidly and efficiently finding her bodice laces to loosen. Clothing slow began to shed from their skin, until all that remained between them was the final buttons to his tented and strained trousers. With all her gathered strength, she rolled him over, bearing her full weight into his massive brawn beneath.
She relished the half stunned look on his face at her underestimated strength. Pressing her lips into the tickling curls of hair over his torso, she kissed her way down his front, feeling every shortened, gasping breath he took. With the rise and fall of his belly, her mouth drew to a stop at the seam of his pants, her fingers nimbly slipping the buttons and freeing his cock from its confines.
His shaking hand moved towards her, reaching for the length of her silken hair, but she caught his wrist firmly in her own vice-like grip. "Oh, Javert," she sighed dramatically, "if only you made this easier on yourself." Her smirk as she hovered over his swollen shaft twisted his core hard in a swirling mix of detestation and desire.
"How so?" he grunted gruffly, forcing his hand from hers and into the dark gold of her hair.
Her hand wrapped firmly at the base of his cock, eliciting another grunt of satisfaction. "Well, I would be more inclined in certain regards if I only knew your name." Licking the fingers of her other hand, she ran the dampness over his member. "But, it seems I will have to guess instead."
Javert tried to force a steady barking laugh, but his desire already coated his voice with its thickness. "The chances of that are too small, Rénauld," he growled, forcing that simpering mouth towards the source of his need. She took him into her mouth slowly, pressed down by the weight of his hand at her neck. Instantly, she felt him relax his grip upon her, and so she pleasured him into complacency a bit further.
Knowing his attention weakened, she gave his shaft a final suck, crawling to straddle him instead. "It couldn't possibly be André, could it?" she dared to ask despite the flaming irritation that burned darkly over his face. His audible breath sneered his negative response. She ran the peaked and hardened tips of her breasts over his chest, teasing him with a smile. Just as he made to pull them to his mouth, she back slightly away, laughing another guess. "Jehan or Gérard?"
The sudden fury that darkened his eye frightened her, and so she allowed his hands to roughly grasp her. His mouth biting and sucking along the curves of her breasts, he forced her on her back beneath him by brute strength. Gratified, his tongue worked each nipple as he willed, his hands pinning her tightly so as not to risk another taunt. Each kiss, each nip and each caress to her bosom thrilled her.
But none of this deterred her game. Cécelie strained her fingers through his hair, pulling them taught and painfully twisting handfuls of his dark locks about his neck. "Richard?" she asked, pulling his ear to her lips, "or perhaps Auguste?" She bit the soft lobe of his ear hard between her teeth, taking the moment of his hissing pain to try another. "What about Philippe?" she feigned sweetness.
At the final name, he froze, half withdrawing from her, a look of purest disbelief and surprise lighting the hard chiseled lines of his face.
Propping herself up, she ran her lips over his, sucking, tasting and savoring her small victory. "I have guessed it, have I not, Inspector Philippe Javert?"