Work Text:
The duty-room was empty, the windows dark. Outside, night had already fallen.
Javert had remained longer than he usually did these days—unless a pressing issue needed his attention, he was no longer the last person to leave. Had he been asked about it, he would have blamed Rivette, who had turned out to be a better second than he’d feared and was well-equipped to handle most things that came up.
The truth, of course, was that Javert’s apartment waited for him, and with it Valjean to take his coat and heat the stove for him—and his company, even on his most sullen days, satisfied Javert in a way even the most high-profile arrest did not.
Not that sullen days happened very often nowadays, although Valjean could still be moody. Sometimes the sight of a little Savoyard boy with a hurdy-gurdy sufficed to leave him short-tempered for an evening. But those moods Javert had well in hand, and so far the fine new riding crop Valjean had chosen for him had proved up to the task.
Still, it had been a good week, and Valjean himself had been good, too. Perhaps a reward was due.
Just then a gamin strolled into the room with all the confidence of an old officer, surveying the room and then tipping his hat to Javert.
“Message for you from the Halles, sir,” he said cheerfully, handing Javert a folded letter.
Javert opened it and glanced over it, then nodded and reached into his pocket for a coin before a different idea came to him.
“Do you know where the fire horses are stabled?” he asked.
The boy laughed and nodded towards the window. “You can hardly miss it, can you? Big white horses, as large as elephants. Right across the street.”
“Run there, will you?” Javert said and reached into his pocket for another five sous piece. “Tell the groom responsible for the chief inspector’s horses to come see me.”
The boy’s eyes lit up—five sous for a message that would take no more than two minutes to deliver was good pay. He took the coin and gave Javert a cheerful salute. “Right away, Chief Inspector.”
Javert leaned back in his chair when the boy was gone and gave the message another look. One of his spies seemed to have a lead on a band responsible for a recent spree of burglaries—but the matter would take a few more days of careful observation.
He stored the letter in his drawer, then rose. A quick prowl through the corridor outside revealed that it was just as he had assumed: Javert was the only one left. Even Rivette had gone home for some well-deserved sleep after Javert had made him keep watch all night on the man they suspected of fencing the stolen items.
Javert returned to his desk, relaxing into his chair with a small smile as he waited and filed away a last few incident reports.
It took no more than ten minutes before Valjean arrived.
He could have been faster, had he obeyed Javert’s summons the second the gamin reached him, but Javert did not hold it against him. Valjean would have had a last few things to finish up—tidying away brushes, or drying a horse he’d washed. Moreover, asking Valjean to come see him in the prefecture was a lot to ask. Valjean had surrendered himself to him unconditionally, and Javert demanded obedience in all things—but that did not mean that Javert didn’t understand that stepping into the prefecture’s offices was a terrifying prospect.
That Valjean had obeyed and come nevertheless was all Javert needed to know. Had he wanted immediate obedience, he was certain that Valjean would have come to see him straight away despite his apprehension if Javert had made the message more urgent.
Still, here he was, Jean Valjean warily entering the duty-room, eyes widening with instinctive relief when they met Javert’s.
“Sir. You asked to see me?” he asked softly when he approached.
Valjean wore workingman’s clothes: a white shirt of coarse linen, a gray cotton cravat and a brown waistcoat and coat, simple but not shabby. He looked clean enough despite his day’s work in the fire fighters’ stables that Javert assumed he had used the past few minutes to make himself presentable.
Javert smile with approval and gestured for Valjean to step closer.
The candles in the lamp on his desk were lit, although the lamps on other desks had been extinguished when the others left. The room was quiet, the warm light of his candles bathing Valjean’s approaching form.
Javert’s smile widened.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Everyone has gone home. It’s late; I’m the only one left.”
Valjean exhaled, his shoulders relaxing with relief.
“You’re working late tonight, sir,” he said. There was no reproach in it, although he would share Javert’s fiacre on their ride back home, and thus Valjean too had worked late.
“I’m nearly done,” Javert said, offering no apology. He knew Valjean did not expect any.
Instead, he pushed back his chair a little and relaxed in his seat as he gestured. “Come here.”
There was new wariness in Valjean’s eyes, but he came willingly enough to stand next to Javert’s chair behind his desk.
On his desk rested a pile of old incident reports, pushed to the side. The inkwell in the shape of a bronze stallion, which Javert had once claimed as a trophy from Madeleine’s office, had pride of place once more. Originally, it had been a gift from Robert to Valjean; Javert felt no compunction in proudly displaying it on his desk as his own, and he knew that Valjean did not mind it either. Would he ask, no doubt Valjean would say that the inkwell belonged to Javert just as Valjean did. Displaying it on his desk like this, Javert felt the pleasing awareness of the bond that connected them thrumming warm and heavy in the air.
There were other implements waiting on Javert’s desk—a notebook, a rolled-up map, his phrenology skull and a wooden ruler.
The desk was large enough that with most of the day’s work cleared away, they didn’t take up much space. Even so, Valjean had stiffened momentarily when his eyes had fallen onto the desk, and Javert smiled slowly, well aware of the reason for it.
“Did you think I’d forgotten how much you liked the thought of my ruler?” he murmured, pleased by the way heat rushed to Valjean’s cheeks at his words. “Push your trousers down. Then bend over my desk.”
Valjean shuddered, his eyes instinctively returning to the empty desks that lined the room.
“Here, sir?” he asked weakly, although his fingers were already on the buttons of his trouser flap.
“We’re alone,” Javert said.
With a shuddering breath, eyes still nervously on the door, Valjean opened the buttons and let his trousers fall down.
Javert watched in appreciation as Valjean bent obediently over his desk. The sight was as alluring as he’d imagined it on many occasions.
His desk was large and sturdy, made of dark wood. It had stood in this room already when Javert had first rushed to Paris, Noiraude carrying him here from Montreuil so he could denounce Madeleine.
It was at this desk that Gisquet, then chief inspector, had been seated when he’d stared at Javert with barely veiled distaste. From this desk he’d told Javert to drop his investigation into Madeleine, and the prefecture’s agents had watched with derision in their eyes.
Now that desk was Javert’s, and the men who’d smirked at him lifted their hat when he passed and called him chief inspector with respect in their voice.
Much had changed in the prefecture during the past years—but Javert, who for all of his life had dreamed of the respect such a position would bring, had changed as well.
He had learned that as sweet as that respect was, there were sweeter things still. And one of those things was the sight of Jean Valjean’s backside, beautiful, firm muscle bared to his gaze. Today, the sight was even more appealing than usual, with Valjean bending over Javert’s desk in the prefecture instead of over Javert’s bed or his knee back at home.
Javert reached out and curved a hand around a buttock, squeezing in appreciation. Valjean shivered and spread his legs a little despite his apprehension.
Valjean’s backside was unmarked save for the old, pale scars that covered his body. It had been a while since Javert had been forced to chastise him. The rhythm their life had settled into seemed to suit both of them.
Still, it wasn’t as if Javert needed a reason to make Valjean’s ass blush. He felt like it today, and that alone was reason enough.
Javert took hold of the ruler and drew his finger along its edge. “I’ve been thinking of this all day,” he said. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
Valjean’s breath was already coming quickly. Javert stroked his thigh and waited until he’d relaxed a little, enjoying the sight of the round buttocks before him, spread far enough that he could catch a glimpse of Valjean’s hole. He’d contemplated the thought of fucking him over his desk—the thought was sweet, too, as was the thought of making Valjean use his mouth right here.
But Javert had glanced at his ruler throughout the day, and every time he had remembered Valjean’s intriguing reaction that day when he’d made Valjean pick his choice of punishment. Valjean had been drawn to it—and Javert, in turn, had been drawn to Valjean’s reaction.
He’d save other desires for when they were home.
“Try to keep silent. Everyone has gone home that I know of, but I don’t want you to summon any stragglers by chance.”
Valjean shivered again. “Yes, sir,” he said raggedly.
Javert curved a hand around his hip, stroking him lightly until he could feel Valjean relax once more. Then he raised the ruler.
The first smack made Valjean gasp. The wooden length wasn’t as cruel as the belt or the riding crop, Javert’s usual choice of punishment. Instead of red welts, it left Valjean’s pale skin flushed a lovely shade of pink.
Javert let another stroke follow, and Valjean gasped again, the firm muscles of his buttocks rippling at each stroke.
Javert moistened his lips, fascinated by the sight. He struck again, and again Valjean’s backside quivered as Valjean drew in a shaky breath.
“There were days I dreamed of being able to push one of my junior agents over this desk and deliver an admonishment that might have better results than just harsh words,” Javert murmured, his throat tight at the sight of the blush spreading over Valjean’s buttocks.
He struck again, this time in quick succession—the left buttock first, then the right, then left again, the sound of wood slapping skin followed by the quivering of Valjean’s buttocks.
“Look at you.” Javert reached out, kneading a flushed buttock, and the sound that escaped Valjean was nowhere close to the sound of a man in pain.
“You’re going to be pink all over when I’m done with you,” Javert whispered. “And then I’m going to make you pull up your trousers and walk out with me and sit in a fiacre, and all the way home I’m going to watch you squirm in your seat.”
Valjean gasped again, his hips shifting slightly against the desk. Javert laughed and let his thumb stray into the crease between Valjean’s buttocks, teasing.
“This is the nicest sight I’ve ever had from this chair.”
Valjean squirmed, his blushing buttocks flexing. Javert allowed his thumb to playfully brush against Valjean’s hole before he released him.
“I’m certain Gisquet never got to enjoy such a view.”
This time, Javert aimed the ruler at the upper part of the curve of Valjean’s backside, and Valjean gasped again, buttocks quivering. Javert let a flurry of strikes follow, enjoying the sight of Valjean’s desperately shifting hips and the deepening flush.
Valjean had pushed up his shirttails when he’d bent over Javert’s desk, and with the white linen framing the luscious curve of his ass and the ruler in his hand, Javert felt a delicious sense of despoiling innocence.
It wasn’t something they’d ever indulged in before, for all that he’d been the first to make use of Valjean’s body. Still, with Valjean bent over his desk, his shirt lifted out of the way, Javert could not help but be amused by the view before him—Jean Valjean in the position of an innocent schoolboy, chastised by a strict teacher.
No, that wasn’t quite right—it was hard to keep such a fantasy in mind when faced with Valjean’s straining muscles. Rather, perhaps, a stable lad chastised by a stern master.
Javert swallowed, moistening his lips again as he watched the swell of Valjean’s buttocks shift before him. Yes—that was a better fantasy, an image that made his stomach tighten with hunger.
He let Valjean taste the ruler again, rewarded by another flurry of soft gasps, imagining the heat of Valjean’s skin against his own.
“I’m going to make you ride me tonight,” Javert murmured. “I’m going to watch you while you ride me, your skin burning hot against mine. Do you like that idea?”
The sound that escaped Valjean was undeniably a moan.
“Yes, sir.”
“Maybe I’ll tie your hands behind your back and make you work for it.” A swat, and then another, each followed by Valjean’s breathless gasps. “I’m going to watch you sink down on me again and again. And when I’m back at this desk tomorrow, I’m going to think of the sight of you, all pink and spread open for me.”
This time, when the ruler kissed Valjean’s skin, Valjean made a choking sound, his “Sir!” pleading and desperate.
“Had enough?” Javert ran his hand over the pink skin.
Beneath his touch, Valjean trembled, his breath coming in little pants. Javert knew that this wasn’t even close to what Valjean could bear—Javert was rather partial to the riding crop, and even of that Valjean could bear more strikes than what he’d had of the ruler.
“Yes, sir—no, sir,” Valjean groaned.
He was shaking beneath Javert’s touch, and Javert smiled when he realized what the problem was.
He reached beneath Valjean to find him hot and swollen, his cock as firm as iron in Javert’s hand.
Javert laughed softly when he released him again. “You do like the ruler. I’ll remember that. Just as you will remember that we still have to take a fiacre home.”
Valjean swallowed thickly when he pushed himself up.
“Yes, sir,” he said shakily, shivering when his shirt fell down to cover the sensitive pink skin of his buttocks once more. His face was flushed too, his eyes glazed and dark, his lips bitten.
Javert leaned back in his chair as he surveyed him, satisfaction coursing through his veins thick and sweet like honey.
He palmed himself through his trousers, his own cock swollen and eager.
“Pull up your clothes,” he said. “There’s a wash basin over there. Go and wash your face.”
“Yes, sir,” Valjean said again, and Javert kept lazily stroking himself as he watched.
When Valjean had finished and returned, he slid to his knees before him, his eyes turned up questioningly at Javert as he mouthed at his cock through his trousers. This time it was Javert who groaned before he gently pushed Valjean away.
“You’ll have it soon enough,” he said. “But I want to fill that pretty, pink ass of yours tonight.”
Valjean exhaled, his breath warm even through the wool of Javert’s trousers. Then he nodded and reluctantly rose, the bulge in his own trousers revealing that he wasn’t at all averse to the thought.
Valjean was quiet when he fetched Javert’s coat and helped him into it, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders with reverence. Warmth spread through Javert as they companionably walked outside.
Valjean had been visibly unsettled when he had entered the prefecture. Now he seemed at ease, all of his attention focused on Javert, and Javert felt the thrill of the power he held over him thrumming through him. It was a heady thing, to have the power to make Valjean’s eyes turn soft and dark, to push him towards the point when all else fell away except for the need to please Javert.
Perhaps it had been an unnecessary risk to play with that power in the prefecture’s offices—but Javert had no desire to endanger his own position and would not have summoned Valjean there if he thought that likely.
Valjean knew that, Javert was certain of it.
As the fiacre carried them away from the Rue de Jérusalem, the city dark outside the carriage windows, Javert watched Valjean, who seemed happy to have Javert’s gaze rest on him.
Javert felt a smile tug on his lips. A moment later, he gave in to the urge to reach out and brush his fingers against Valjean’s cheek. Valjean smiled back at him, everything in him gone soft and loose, the harsh lines around his mouth vanished as he rested contentedly against Javert.
“Was that how you thought it would be when you first looked at that ruler?” Javert asked.
It took Valjean a moment to reply, and when he did, his voice was soft, as if he was still halfway lost in the atmosphere of the duty-room they’d left behind.
“Yes, and no,” Valjean said. “The sensation was what I’d imagined—it did not hurt very much. I could bear it easily. And now it is—all heat.”
Valjean squirmed a little on his seat, and Javert swallowed at the sight, thinking of the pink skin hidden beneath Valjean’s trousers, and of the coachman who had no idea of who had taken a seat in his fiacre.
“But it was different than what I thought you might do with it. That day when you made me choose—you were angry with me, sir, and for a good reason. It was to be a punishment. I thought I deserved worse than the ruler, and I think I was right. But if you’d used it on me then, I think...”
Valjean hesitated, eying Javert thoughtfully.
“It would have been different, wouldn’t it? Today felt like a reward, more than anything.”
“A reward for me or for you?” Javert asked.
Valjean shrugged, his smile widening. “I hope it felt like a reward to you, sir. It was one for me. Even though I was afraid to enter the Prefecture. Perhaps now, when I see it in the mornings, I won’t be afraid anymore and think of your desk and the ruler on it instead.”
“It will certainly make my work more exciting.” Javert laughed softly as he imagined himself writing incident reports with the same ruler he’d used to make Valjean’s backside flush.
“But sir,” Valjean then said with another slow smile, “certainly you deserve another treat once we are back home.”
He shifted on his seat again, and Javert drew in a sudden breath as the image of Valjean’s pink ass spread before him rose once more in his mind.
“Afraid I’ll make you wait for it all evening?” Javert asked hoarsely. “What, do you think I have no self-respect, to fuck you as soon as I walk in through the door? You know I have more self-control than that.”
Valjean smiled ruefully. “I know that, sir. I know it well. I was hoping that today, you would have pity on me.”
“Ah, it’s like that, is it?”
Javert glanced down at Valjean’s groin, his arousal covered by his coat so that they’d be able to make it back into Javert’s apartment without scandalizing the porter.
Javert reached out to grasp hold of Valjean’s chin instead, lightly stroking his lip with his thumb.
“You want my cock that badly?”
A flush rose to Valjean’s cheeks, but he didn’t stop smiling.
“Yes, sir,” he said, squirming again on his seat until he stilled with a drawn-in breath.
“Then I will have pity on you today.” Javert slid his hand into Valjean’s hair. “Even though the portress will be scandalized if I send you down for our dinner late.”
“She likes me,” Valjean murmured, his eyes dark and his smile soft and helpless. “If I tell her that you brought a deluge of work home, she will tut and pity you and slip me those pastries you like so much.”
Javert laughed at that. “You have this well planned out, I see.”
“You have worked hard today, sir.” Valjean followed willingly when Javert gently tugged him forward by his hair. “Tonight, I’ll make certain that you receive all the reward you deserve.”