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Snow had fallen, covering the tracks of any animals or horses that might have passed. Above Valjean, the sky stretched, studded with stars—thousands of them, more than Valjean could count as he paused for a moment and looked up.
It was so cold that his breath formed little clouds. There was a moon, and with its light reflected by the snow, a man could see far.
But Valjean did not have far to walk. He needed only to turn to see the small house half a league behind him, its windows dark but its rooms still warm from the fire that had not yet completely burned down.
He’d return soon, he thought. His cheeks and nose were aching a little from the cold, but he liked the clean, crisp air, and his coat and gloves kept him warm enough.
Snowflakes began to fall again as he walked. With every step, snow crunched beneath his feet. Now and then, ice cracked under his boots where shallow puddles had frozen.
He turned up his face. Heavy snowflakes landed on his skin, sticking to his eyelashes and brows, only to melt a few moments later.
Everything was silent. The snow swallowed every sound. It felt as if he was all alone in the world, walking through an endless whiteness. If he simply kept walking, would he not eventually come to where the world ended?
How seductive that idea would once have been. Once, he would have been tempted to keep walking until the snow swallowed him—tempted to walk out of this world, away from a life that had been hardship after hardship and a loneliness he’d never even been aware of until Cosette had come into his life.
Cosette was gone now to live with her husband, and Valjean was nothing but a foolish old man out for a walk on an icy winter’s night.
He looked towards where the small house’s snow-covered roof reflect the moonlight, then turned back again and walked on.
Snow kept falling, landing on his coat. The snow beneath his feet continued to crunch, his footprints the only track in the snow.
Eventually, he reached a copse of pines, their branches hanging low under the weight of the heavy snow they bore.
Valjean had to bend down to make his way into the thicket. The snow hadn’t reached the ground here, and Valjean smiled as he saw the pine cones scattered beneath the trees. He picked up a handful of cones untouched by snow and stored them in his pocket, then made his way out of the trees again.
As he disturbed a branch, snow came raining down onto him, covering his head. He shook himself and laughed in surprise before he fell silent again, watching the snow fall all around him.
The air was crisp and cold, smelling of pine resin.
Overhead, the moon still illuminated the snowy valley. There was one star, especially bright, that shone above where the small house stood in the distance.
On this night, he thought quietly, men had followed a different star long ago.
And here, tonight, a star shone as well, leading him back to life and to love.
Valjean followed the star as it kept snowing. In the light of the moon, he saw that his own footprints had already nearly vanished as more snow covered them. The cold air bit at his exposed cheeks and nose, but there wasn’t much wind, and the exertion of walking kept him warm enough.
Once, he paused, watching the star that still shone brightly above the small house that beckoned not too far away now. Then, with a helpless smile, he continued on.
The snow was twice as high as it had been when he’d left. Perhaps tomorrow, the house would be snowed in and the door would no longer open.
It wouldn’t be a great hardship. There was food in the larder and enough dry firewood for a few days.
In the distance, the church bells of the village behind the hill rang—three long, clear notes carried through the cold air
It was very late, but Valjean was glad now that when he’d woken, unable to fall back asleep, he’d left his warm bed behind for a walk.
He’d sleep well once he’d returned, and he was glad for the hour of silence in the falling snow. He wasn’t lonely, even though the snow made it seem as if he was the only living being in the world. He knew there was a warm bedroom waiting for him, and as the snow kept falling all around him, he was at peace.
By the time he made it back, there was enough snow on his shoulders and his hat that he had to shake himself before he stepped inside.
Within, it was as quiet as it had been outside in the snow. There was a warm glow coming from the fireplace, where the fire had mostly burned down.
After Valjean had hung his coat near the fire so that it could dry, he added another log of wood to the fireplace. Then he drew the handful of pine cones from his pocket and threw them into the flames.
With a crackling sound, they were soon burning as well, and the scent of pines filled the room as warmth spread.
For a moment, Valjean stood watching the fire. Snow was still falling outside; through the window, he could see it beginning to pile high on the windowsill.
At last, Valjean turned away and pulled off his clothes. He tried to move silently, but by the time he made it to the bed, he found the blankets drawn back and Javert half sitting up, watching him.
“There’s snow on your hair,” Javert muttered.
“I went for a walk. I couldn’t sleep.”
Javert sighed, then pulled the blanket back. Beneath the blanket, he was naked, and Valjean hastily joined him. Javert’s body was warm, and as Valjean pressed himself against him, Javert shivered.
“You’re cold as ice. What were you doing out there?”
“It’s snowing,” Valjean said, which earned him a snort.
“Come here, then.”
Valjean gladly pressed his face against Javert’s shoulder as Javert rubbed warmth back into his arms.
“Think you can sleep now?” Javert asked after a minute or two had passed and Valjean no longer felt quite as frozen.
He’d sleep well, Valjean thought again, still filled by the peace of the snowy valley he’d walked through.
Still, there was the heat of Javert’s skin against his own, and the pleasant rasp of Javert’s whiskers against his cheek. And there, against his thigh, he could feel that despite Javert’s complaints about his frozen limbs, Javert’s body wasn’t uninterested despite the late hour…
“I don’t think I can,” Valjean said, moving so that he sat half atop Javert.
Javert made a breathless sound when Valjean’s backside brushed against his cock.
“Is that so?” Javert’s hand ran up Valjean’s side in contemplation. “Well. I might have an idea how to help.”
Valjean watched as Javert’s hand appeared from underneath the blanket, dipping into the oil that still waited on the bedside table.
Then it returned beneath the blanket, fingers brushing Valjean’s backside as Javert smoothed the oil over his cock.
“Come here,” Javert said again a moment later, his voice noticeably rough, and moved back a little until he was sitting up against the headboard.
Valjean willingly followed. He placed one knee on each side of Javert’s thighs, leaning forward against Javert before he began lowering himself.
Javert didn’t speak, although his breathing had sped up. One hand came to curve around Valjean’s buttocks, guiding him until he felt the heat of Javert’s cock brush against him.
Javert’s thumb drew a circle against Valjean’s skin as Valjean waited, shivering with anticipation as Javert steadied his cock with his other hand. Then, with the slick tip of Javert’s cock pressing against his hole, Valjean sank down, the tight muscle spreading open as Javert slid inside him.
For a moment, the sensation took Valjean’s breath away, his own body aching with sudden need when he’d thought himself patient enough for quiet drawn-out lovemaking before. Still, he ignored the need for now, instead sinking down slowly until he settled on Javert’s thighs with Javert’s cock fully inside him.
Valjean’s forehead had come to rest against Javert’s shoulder, his hands holding on to Javert’s arms. Quietly, he panted for breath, trying to steady his breathing as he waited to grow used to the sensation. In this position, with gravity holding him down, he could feel Javert right there where his body burned with need, his own balls drawn up tightly and aching for release.
Valjean ignored it as he turned his head, hungrily pressing his mouth to Javert’s shoulder.
Javert’s skin gleamed with a thin layer of perspiration. With his tongue, he traced along Javert’s collarbone, licking the salt from the hollow of his throat as he tried to breathe deeply, aware with every single breath of Javert hard and hot deep inside him.
Slowly, Javert’s hand trailed up his back, caressing him as the pine cones kept crackling in the fire, the fragrance of the snowy forest spreading in their bedroom as Javert held him close.
Javert seemed just as content not to move. Breathlessly, Valjean contemplated a warm, cozy Christmas night spent just like this, hearts beating against each other with Javert buried deep inside him; inseparable.
If he turned his head, he’d be able to see the window and the snow piling higher and higher there. Perhaps they’d indeed wake up tomorrow to find the snow so high it would be impossible to open the door.
Held thus in Javert’s embrace, Valjean couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.
“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen asleep like this?” Javert muttered against his ear, surprising a laugh out of Valjean.
“I was thinking how much I’d like to keep you here,” Valjean said.
Javert laughed too, the sound rough as one hand came up to twine affectionately into Valjean’s hair.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he murmured before he wrapped his arms around Valjean’s waist once more. “But you forget I was sleeping perfectly well before you woke me. I have no need of midnight distractions.”
“It’s long past midnight,” Valjean admitted, then gasped when Javert shifted.
“Then let us see if we can get you tired enough to go to sleep.”
Javert’s hands ran up and down his thighs in encouragement. With a soft moan, Valjean rose a little, his cock sliding over Javert’s sweat-slick stomach before he sank down again, his body tightening as Javert groaned in appreciation.
Valjean was burning with a constant ache that had turned from a low thrum into a fierce, sharp need. Still, he kept moving slowly, reluctant to give up Javert’s embrace, until Javert was panting against his throat, fingers digging tightly into Valjean’s arms.
Valjean had wanted to wait, to feel Javert find release inside him first, but it was difficult to restrain himself in this position. Every motion made him rub against Javert’s stomach, his cock aching while the pressure inside him kept building.
At long last, with a breathless gasp, Valjean could not hold back any longer, the straining muscles of his thighs shivering as he surrendered himself to his release. He was wet with sweat, but Javert held him close nevertheless, although Javert’s cock was still painfully hard deep inside him as Valjean trembled through his climax.
After he had spent himself, Javert gently made him move off his lap. With a sigh, Valjean stretched out on the bed next to Javert. The moon was silver-bright, shining in through the window as Javert nudged him to his side before he slid inside him once more.
Valjean moaned with deep appreciation at the sensation, which was pleasant even though his body had been sated. It took Javert only a few strokes, body pressed against Valjean’s, to find his own release: breathing growing harsh against Valjean’s nape, body shivering, then heat spilling inside Valjean.
In the fire, another pine cone crackled. Otherwise, the room was silent but for their breathing.
Javert’s arms were still wrapped around him. Valjean covered them with his own, watching the moon outside while surrounded by Javert’s warmth.
Was the star he’d seen still high in the sky above the house?
It had to be, he thought. He trailed his fingertips over Javert’s lower arm, feeling hard sinew and muscle and a dusting of fine hair.
This night and all nights, there was a star watching over any room they shared. It would always lead him back home.