It took nearly a week before Javert was willing to join Valjean for breakfast again. He was content to start sitting beside the mayor and drink his water. After Casper had died, Valjean had watched as his dear inspector had retreated into himself again. It had been sad to watch, but apparently the horse had been 27 years. Valjean had not even known horses could live so long. The animals he had encountered, dogs and cats mainly, never seemed to live beyond 14 or 15 years at the very most.
Javert was currently refusing to eat anything with meat in it; the sight of it in a broth yesterday had set him off, vomiting violently. It almost hurt that Javert was in his home so often now. He seemed at a lost with himself, unsure of what to do, as though not having to tend to his horse had left a gap in his life. Valjean felt a certain amount of guilt about his enjoyment of Javert's company. He enjoyed spending time with the man.
They still spent every night together. They spent every night curled into one another, exchanging a few chaste kisses. Valjean pulled the man into bed with him, and they settled against one another; it was difficult not to find too much enjoyment at Javert's weight resting on top of him.
He spent the nights without Javert, when the man was patrolling the streets, trying to find satisfaction. He dreamt of kissing Javert more thoroughly, of rolling over in the night and pinning him to the bed, of thrusting their hips together... he felt more lust than he could ever remember having before, yet he also felt love.
This love was different to anything he had experienced before. He wanted to hold the man each and every night, he wanted to kiss away his distress, he wanted to press kisses to every inch of Javert's skin; more than that he wanted to see every inch of his skin. He could understand lust. He had seen it often in jail. Sometimes, in that place, they had called it love. He could understand love, to an extent. The Bishop had given him an unconditional love that had changed him. He knew the difference between the lust convicts felt, and his love for Javert. He even believed that he understood the difference between real love and the attachment that men felt to each other in close confines.
He had spent time examining his feelings, but it wasn't until Javert's stallion fell ill and the man showed such fear, such concern that Valjean felt it in his own heart. He had watched the man slowly fall apart, forgetting to eat more often than not and only nibbling when he did eat.
But a week later the man started to sit beside him while the mayor ate his food. It was a week after that that Javert made a real advance. He began to eat a slice of bread when he came down on a morning. Valjean had struggled not to beam at the man whenever he saw him for the rest of the day, pride for his achievement bursting from his chest. Javert was now eating something for breakfast, something for lunch and something for tea. Admittedly, lunch was still a slice of bread and tea was a cup of soup of broth, but it was a decided improvement.
Valjean enjoyed watching Javert eat. There was something delicate about the way the man nibbled at his food that you did not see in his every day actions. At meal times, Javert would slowly chew his food, putting small amounts into his mouth and working them between his teeth for a great length of time. When he saw Valjean watching him, Javert flushed a beautiful colour and gave a shy smile.
Valjean took great pleasure in watching Javert at any point in the day, not just when he was checking the man was eating rather than feeding the wildlife. At work, Javert was strong, bold and fierce. He could scatter the criminal population in a heartbeat. He did not quite understand compassion; Valjean had listened to his struggles on more than one night. Just yesterday, the man had been debating between a fine and a prison sentence for a young man named Michel who had been caught stealing. Javert had wanted to send him to jail for a short while, but he was a widower and his children would be unable to feed themselves, but fining him would have the same result.
It had sparked an idea in Valjean. He could set up a sort of food kitchen for the children. It would give people work, and it would feed children who were on the streets. He knew it would mean that men like Michel would be imprisoned, but Javert had assured him it was better to allow people to be imprisoned briefly and learn how to obey the law than to be continually fined. He had not been convinced, but Javert informed him that the widower was a drunkard since his wife had died, and jail would be more effective in correcting his ways than a fine.
They had eventually left the matter alone, as the matter had been discussed over breakfast and Javert had wanted to head out to the office before they had finished it.
That evening, Valjean took a step he rather regretted. He had pulled Javert into his arms and kissed him thoroughly, exploring every inch of his mouth. He ran his hands up and down that strong beautiful back and down to his buttocks.
Javert had groaned loudly and gripped his shoulders. It had been fantastic. It had been terrible. Javert had been kissing Jean Madeleine. Javert had not known he was kissing Jean Valjean.
Valjean had managed to pull himself off Javert before heading to bed. His prayers had been difficult. He had not wanted to reflect on the day past, he did not want to thank God for the good parts of his day, and the bad parts... he had spent a long time on his knees, trying to find order in the chaos of his mind.
Javert had smiled when he had gone to bed, lying himself down in Valjean's blankets and snuggling in. Valjean had stood and watched him from the door frame, trying to decide whether or not to lie down with him. When his dear inspector had turned over and presented his back, leaving a large enough gap for Valjean, he had been unable to resist. He moulded himself to Javert's back and kissed his nape.
With the comforting feeling over Javert's back rising and falling with each breath, Valjean settled down, desperately hoping for inspiration in what to do. He wanted to take the man; he wanted to love him, and to show the younger man that he was loved. He hoped that Javert would be content to keep their interactions fairly chaste, for if the man pushed for more, Valjean feared that the lie he lived every day would become overwhelming and he would be unable to keep it up.
He did not want Javert to find out he was an ex convict; the man had certain insecurities and it would likely be painful for them both and Javert would decide he affections were false. They were not false though.
Jean Valjean loved Javert; he would do anything for him.