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"Never?"
"No," Valjean replied softly, "Never before, at least, not as far as I can remember." he tensed and untensed under the light summer sheet. Feeling the urge to move, to escape the uncomfortably warm knowledge that he was once again the centre of Javert's singularly focussed attention, he turned about in Javert's arms to face him in the darkness "And you?"
Javert huffed a breath against Valjean's nose in a manner which Valjean had come to understand meant that he was uncomfortably amused by something, usually himself.
"Sometimes," he murmured awkwardly, "That is to say..." he seemed to search for a word for a moment before giving up and sighing, "Yes".
Valjean's breath stuttered as he thought of Javert in the solitude of his rooms, hand between his legs, biting back the sounds that Valjean loved to draw out of him, and the embarassment of before was quite suddenly burned away by an entirely different heat. "How often?" he asked, almost urgently, and Javert squirmed a little, clearly embarrassed. Valjean considered taking the question back, but the heat which was burning delightfully through him was now accompanied by a yearning curiosity.
After a moment, Javert answered
"Perhaps every other week"
Valjean felt a little overwhelmed that he could ask such an intimate thing and that Javert would answer, but he felt consumed by his desire to know more. Although he had not indulged in the practise himself, he had heard enough over the years to have an idea of what it entailed. He felt an urge to ask Javert for more details, where and when and how? He knew that this desire was an indulgience, not a true necessity, but he had grown used to Javert indulging him, and so without thought he asked
"What did you think about?"
He immediately regretted it when Javert stiffened, and turned away to lie on his back, to stare at the invisible ceiling.
"Does it matter?"
"No" Valjean felt himself say, almost automatically. "Not at all"
Valjean had felt Javert move away from him, heard the change in his voice, and thought of the awkwardness of before. Valjean cursed himself. He'd known Javert felt uncomfortable and still he'd pressed. In his thoughtless questioning he'd taken something Javert hadn't wanted to give. He had no idea how to apologise. He could speak the words, but he knew that no mere words could mitigate his transgression. He had learnt that Javert would never accept his apologies. He would simply tell him that there was nothing to forgive, that he wasn't in the wrong, that Javert deserved whatever he saw fit to give him. He shuddered to think of what Javert thought he deserved. He never phrased it quite so baldly of course, he had learned to hide it quite well, but Javert had still not learned to love himself, and nothing Valjean could say could change that.
They lay there in the darkness for long moments, barely touching, before found the courage to try a different sort of apology. He leant over and pressed a kiss to Javert's shoulder. Javert didn't seem to mind, so he continued. Slowly and deliberately kissing a line up to his throat. Each kiss, as every kiss, both promise and plea, I love you, please? he scarcely ever knew what he was pleading for please believe me, or please allow me, sometimes, shamefully please don't leave me and always, in the darkest recesses of his soul, the most unforgivably selfish please love me back.
Valjean felt the storm within him calm as he pressed desperate but gentle kisses to the salt of Javert's skin. Javert too, seemed to take comfort in this closeness. He had been relaxing beautifully beneath those worshipful lips, and as Valjean pressed kisses to his strong jaw, Javert turned to capture those lips with his own. Almost all of the ache in Valjean's chest turned to gratitude as he felt fingers brush his cheek in a gentle caress. He leaned into the touch, Javert spread his fingers to cup his face and softly stroked his cheek with his thumb. Valjean took comfort from the hand there even when Javert broke the kiss. He reached his own hand to touch Javert's face, sinking his fingertips in his whiskers and ghosting his thumb over his wet lips. His breath caught in his chest when Javert kissed his thumb, and he was unable to resist sliding his hand round into Javert's hair and pulling him closer for another kiss.
When they broke apart, Valjean reluctantly allowed his hand to slip from Javert's long hair, Javert caught it and gently kissed his knuckles, and held them to his cheek.
"What was that for?" he asked, a trace of something indefinable in his breathless voice.
"I didn't mean to pry before" Valjean answered honestly, "If you don't want to tell me som-"
"It isn't that" Javert said, sounding tired suddenly, "I want to tell you everything"
"Then why-?"
"That is, I want to want to tell you everything, and I never want to lie to you, I never will lie to you, but there are some truths about me that I wish you didn't know, that I wish you didn't have to know."
"Oh" said Valjean softly, trying to conceal the hurt he felt at Javert's words. He wished that Javert would feel comfortable revealing himself wholly to him, but he didn't want to want anything that Javert wouldn't give freely. Had he put unwanted pressure on Javert to reveal his secrets before? somehow expressed a need to possess every detail of his life? The thought of such intimacy was guiltily appealing to him, but he had to reassure Javert that he would respect his privacy "I don't have to know, not if you don-"
"That's not what I meant," said Javert in frustration, "I just wish," he sat up suddenly and turned away. Valjean ached at the sudden distance and wished desperately that he knew what he had done wrong, so that he could soothe Javert's suffering and feel his solid warmth in his arms again. He sat up to better look at him but was careful to leave Javert the space he wanted.
"I wish they weren't true" came the voice so small and soft that it hardly seemed to belong to Javert. Valjean didn't quite understand, but he had no idea of what to say, so he sat, alone in the silence and darkness, hoping that Javert would explain. Javert turned back to face him, his voice rough again with a familiar self-loathing "The truths I don't want you to know, I just... I wish they weren't true. I wish I were a better man than I am. I wish I could deserve you. I wish I could be what you deserve."
Valjean sat stunned. He had known that Javert had a low opinion of himself, but how could he ever imagine himself to be unworthy of his love, when he knew who he was, when he knew that what he deserved was the galleys for the rest of his life? Valjean knew that he was entirely unworthy of all the gifts he had been granted in his life, and so the idea that he somehow deserved more was utterly bewildering to him. He couldn't ponder over that puzzle, however, when Javert had presented him with a much more urgent problem- the thought that Javert thought he could be undeserving of anything which brought him happiness.
"Javert, I know who you are" I love who you are He thought desperately, unable to bear the thought of saying those words and having them be disbelieved. "Whatever you choose to tell me, whatever you don't, I know you to be a good man. You deserve whatever happiness I can bring you." You've brought me more than enough
"You shouldn't say that" Javert muttered under his breath. Then, a little louder "You wouldn't say that if you knew."
Knew what? Valjean didn't have to give voice to the question for it to have a tangible presence in the room, a weight bowing Javert's shoulders. Valjean waited for an answer, his eyes fixed on Javert's silhouette, his ears straining for Javert's agitated breaths, searching for some clue, some sign to help him understand. He shifted on the bed, about to reach out to try and take Javert's hand in his own, when Javert straightened, as if steeling himself, and said in a low clear voice
"I thought of you."
Valjean was entirely uncomprehending. He had understood each word Javert had spoken, he could understand them together as a sentence, but in the context of their previous conversation they made no sense at all. Javert had thought of him? But, how? when? why? And why was he ashamed? Of course, the first, most obvious, answer his terrified heart leapt to, was that Javert was ashamed to be attracted to him, ashamed of all his feelings for him. The distant darkness in his mind calmly told him not to be surprised, that he should never have dreamed that his presence could bring anyone anything other than shame and despair. He shuddered at the old ache turned sharp as a knife and flung about for some light, some memory of grace, some way of protecting himself it couldn't be true! but... no... it couldn't be true. In all they had done together, Javert had shown no more fear or shame than he had. He had touched Valjean without a hint of disgust, with admiration even, in his eyes, and afterward shown no regret. He had not been ashamed of that, why then was he ashamed of this? Valjean thought of Javert's words I wish I could be what you deserve. I don't know what you mean thought Valjean helplessly. He turned his face to Javert."I don't understand."
Javert barked out a harsh laugh "Of course you don't, why should you?" he said quietly but angrily. Valjean was not certain if the words or the frustration were meant for him."I don't understand it myself. I wouldn't expect you of all people to." he sighed and ran his fingers over his head, straightening his hair.
"At Toulon, I never paid attention to the individual prisoners. I did my job, I kept order, I saw to it that the rules were obeyed. I had no reason to see any of the prisoners as indviduals unless they were being singled out to be punished. But your strength, it was extraordinary. I couldn't help but notice you. I couldn't admire you, I didn't see you as a person enough for that, but I admired your strength, and I... I desired you."
Valjean listened to Javert relating in a low, steady voice and was unsure as to what to feel about this confession. He had of course known that Javert had not truly seen him as human in Toulon. He knew that very few people would ever think of convicts like him as more than beasts, and he was almost numb to that familiar sting. The fact that Javert could see him as a man now was a precious gift. A little surprising was the fact that Javert could desire the man he had been in Toulon. But he had known that Javert was attracted to his strength. He waited quietly as Javert continued.
"I used to watch you. I watched you as you worked, I watched as you lifted heavy loads, I watched the way your muscles moved under your skin. And I fantasised about you, about your strength. I fantasised about... about you taking me, about being overpowered, overwhelmed by your strength. I was base, everything I had never wanted to be, filled with lust. I was careful to never let it show, I never let it affect my work of course, I didn't let it affect me at all, not in the light of day. But at night in my bed I would think of bending, of being bent to your strength and..." Javert broke off and turned away, seemingly unable to complete that sentence. He took a breath and continued, "I thought of you less often when you left Toulon, I was relieved you had been released, but then I learned that you had broken your parole. I was torn, there were parts of me that cared nothing for the law that day. I wanted you to escape so that I would never have to see you again, I wanted you to be caught so that I might watch you always. I was a beast, I cared little for right or wrong, and nothing at all for you." Javert spoke this last as though it was the greatest sin he could conceive of.
"Javert" Valjean said softly, not sure what to say.
Javert continued as though he had not been interrupted, getting a little faster and more agitated. "When I saw you again in Montreuil-sur-mer, of course, though there was a certain familiarity to you, I did not recognise you immediately. My attraction to you grew quite naturally. Your intellegence, your manner, and you were physically.... Well, in my fantasies, the memory of you in Toulon became replaced by the reality of you in Montreuil-sur-Mer. And in the beginning I had no idea you were the same man. I felt a terrible guilt because you were my superior, and a man whom I greatly respected, and you should not have been the subject of my ridiculous fantasies. I told myself that at least my desire was nothing like my thoughts of you in Toulon. There was still... submission... a desire to bend, but there was no violence in my thoughts at that time. You know well that I eventually became suspicious because of your strength, and because I believed your kindness to be an act, a show put on to deflect suspicion. I was angry because the very things which attracted me to you were the things which made me suspicious, not just your strength, but your kindness and your quiet manner, your natural authority."
From amidst the indecipherable turbulance of Valjean's emotions, emerged a strange sliver of nostalgia at Javert's description of Madeleine. Natural authority it had never felt all that natural to him, he had always felt a subtle but profound uneasiness as the Mayor of Montreuil-sur-mer, yet it was true that people generally did as he asked. He would have dismissed it as the respect due to his assumed position had he not known of other people of authority not treated with half as much respect. He wondered at Javert's words, his revelation of feelings Valjean would never have suspected for M. Madeleine.
"I felt anger because I feared that every facet of the man I admired was a lie concocted by you to lead me to depravity and enable you to escape prison. I know that I never truly saw you in Toulon, but I think I am right in saying that you were very different to M. Madeleine. I could not have conceived that anyone could change that much- that you might be yourself, and your kindness still genuine. So when the evidence mounted so that I could not ignore it or explain it away, I denounced you, as well you know. When I saw you after you had confessed in Arras... I must admit I hated you. I could not imagine that you were capable of doing the right thing, the idea that you had genuinely gone to prevent Champmathieu from being unjustly convicted never entered my thoughts. I had turned you into a demon in my mind and I was certain that everything you did was for the worst of reasons. I was sure that you had only revealed yourself to torment me. And then, even after you were returned to prison, and I believed all of my worst suspicions confirmed. I still thought of you. Since then, you are all I have ever thought about when I...
"I thought of you as you had been when I had seen you in Toulon. I still thought of Madeleine, a man whose admirable qualities I believed to be entirely fictional, fabricated by you." Javert paused, breathing heavily. His composure had slipped greatly as he had spoken."So you see," he continued, "You have allowed me into your life, your home, into your bed, while I concealed the fact that I have wronged you more severely in my thoughts than I have even by my actions, and I would never understate how deeply you have been harmed by what I have done." Javert seemed almost frantic. "I have accepted your charity, your kindness, your forgiveness, while concealing from you my greatest sins."
"Javert"
Javert fell silent, the rush of self-condemnation stopped, though he still breathed harshly, and wavered as though he might collapse.
Valjean felt strangely detatched from what he had heard. To think that Javert had felt those things. To think that he had felt those things about him. It was too hard to take in. He had never imagined that anyone would see him that way. He thought of Javert's admission that he had found him attractive as a prisoner and as a mayor, and couldn't help but wonder for an instant if that was why Javert was here now, if Javert had never really enjoyed the company of Jean Valjean, if he was just being used to satisfy fantasies of the ghosts of past illusions. But, no, Javert was a poor liar. Though he could clearly conceal his secrets, the idea that every touch, every kiss, every word of affection was a lie, as frightening as it was, just didn't make sense. So... Javert's regret was sincere, his affection genuine. Valjean thought that that was all he really needed to know. He thought of the pain of knowing that in the past, Javert had lusted for and hated him, his shadows. It felt so small and distant, unreal. It vanished entirely beside the thought of living in the present without Javert's companionship. Having worked out what he felt, he still had no idea at all of what to say to Javert. They sat there in silence a few moments more.
"I should... I should leave" Javert muttered, before standing and moving towards the door. Valjean reached out, to stop him, and grabbed his wrist. They both froze. Though they had become accustomed to sharing many kinds of touch, the only other time that he had grasped Javert's wrist like that was just over two years ago, on a starless summer night quite like this one. The image of that terrible scene was suddenly far more real to him than the darkened bedroom. Valjean could almost smell the stink of the sewers and the blood of the barricade, could hear the rushing of the Seine below their feet. He wanted to flinch away from that memory, but found his fingers tightening around Javert's wrist.
"Don't." He said. And he had become a ghost of himself, an echo of the night on the bridge. Javert flinched, but did not speak or try to pull away. Valjean fixed his eyes on Javert, trying to return to the present moment. We are not on the Pont au Change. We are at home, in our room. The danger is passed, we are safe here he told himself, trying to loosen his desperate hold on Javert. But he could leave Valjean realised. He was clutching at Javert's wrist again, asking him not to leave him. The setting was different but the situations were all too similar. Eventually, it was the knowledge that the situations were similar which gave him the courage to speak. He had stopped Javert before, he could do it again.
"Don't go." Valjean said. The words were different, and the tone far softer than the stern command he had managed at the bridge. He slid across the bed and stood up in front of Javert, careful not to pull on his arm, but not letting go or loosening his grip.
"I don't know why you would wish for me to stay." said Javert helplessly. Valjean released his hold on Javert's wrist to take his hand instead. Javert's arm was limp and he stood unresisting as his hand was pulled up for Valjean to press a hesitant kiss to his knuckles.
"But I do," said Valjean softly, speaking into Javert's hand. He lifted his head, "Will you stay with me?" Javert's eyes had widened as he watched Valjean kiss his hand, he started to shake a little.
"How? How can I stay here with you? How can you bear to let me, now you know what I am? How can you stand to lookat me as though I were not the foulest creature ever to live? How can you kiss me?"
"You are not foul," Javert shook his head in disbelief. "Listen to me Javert, you are not foul. What you have thought, what you have done, what's passed is gone. Here and now we are together, and I want you to stay. I forgive you," Javert made a strange gasping sound.
Valjean paused. He knew what he had planned to say, what he had to say, but it was a lot more difficult than he had anticipated. A little pain grew in his chest as he thought about it. It wasn't that it was untrue, on the contrary, the problem was that he meant it more than he'd ever meant anything. It was the purest truth he knew, so why couldn't he say it? It was so revealing though, he'd never purposefully made himself vulnerable like that. It had been easier by far, to hold red hot iron to his arm. It had been easier even to surrender to be arrested. It was not much, not much at all, he told himself. Only his heart. Only everything he had to give, and he had already given it to Javert. So why did it hurt so much to say so?
The pain and pressure were becoming unbearable, he had long since forgotten how to breathe. It seemed that the only real things in the world were Javert's hand in his and Javert's eyes on him.I can bear it he thought, I can do it for Javert. In a rush he spoke the words.
"I love you"
The pain was gone. It had disappeared as he had spoken, as though it was selfishly keeping the words inside which had hurt him. The pain was gone, but the fear remained. How would Javert react? He had only a moment to fret about it though before the cursed distance between them was finally closed and Javert was kissing him.
Javert's arms were tight around him, and his breath was broken with silent sobs, but his lips were gentle and tender on Valjean's. Valjean put his hand up to caress Javert's face and to pull his head closer. Javert made a sound and crushed their lips together, kissing fiercely and desperately. Valjean tightened his grip on Javert's hair and flung his other arm around Javert's back, clinging on so that it must have hurt Javert, but Javert just tightened his embrace and deepened the kiss.
Each touch, each sound, every move Javert made eased the ache inside Valjean and filled him with relief until he felt he could die of it. He felt his own tears join Javert's, and then felt Javert's hand come up to wipe them away. Javert broke away from Valjean's lips to press little kisses to his cheek and temple and brow. Valjean let his hand slip back down to cup Javert's cheek and rested his head on Javert's shoulder. Javert pressed a long kiss to the top of Valjean's head and murmured, just loud enough for Valjean to hear.
"I love you too."