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A Lesson Taught and Learned

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Montparnasse was not used to feeling shame, and he did not think it was shame that had him pause at the inn's door, but rather some sort of embarrassment. Which was inconvenient enough, for it was a disagreeable feeling altogether, and Montparnasse believed in pleasure only.

So what exactly was he doing here?

"Teaching him a lesson," he muttered to himself as he pushed the door open. Yes, that was it.

The night was dark, and the inn, though lit, was not much better. He wove his way between tables crowded with old drunks, winking at one of the prettier barmaids and wondering how long Javert had rented the room for, and how long he intended to stay there. Perhaps she could be enticed upstairs later, to clear the air of the stench of pig.

The narrow corridor upstairs was lit only by a small lamp in a corner, and Montparnasse wrinkled his nose in distaste as he paused next to a mirror, trying to get a good look of himself. Not for Javert's sake, of course, but for his own; never let it be said that he would let himself go, even in subpar company. Sadly the glass did but little justice to his looks. With a sigh he straightened and went to the last door on the right. He put his ear against the wood and felt his mouth curl at the sound of impatient pacing from inside, then opened without knocking.

Javert spun around, mid-pace, and grimaced. "You're late," he said. He had not removed his greatcoat, merely unbuttoned it. Montparnasse knew from experience that the old man's flag would be at full mast by now, and stifled a laugh at this obvious attempt to pretend otherwise.

"How impatient you are," he said, pulling off his own coat. He dropped it on a chair and turned to Javert, who was eyeing him, throat working. "Have you managed not to touch yourself while waiting?"

"Shut up," Javert growled, eloquent as always. "You are half an hour late. I could have left by now -- in fact, I don't see why I didn't. And then you could have spent the night touching yourself, I'll wager."

Montparnasse thought of the barmaid and smirked. "I'm sure you love the thought of that, old dog. But in the end, you were too hungry to leave, weren't you?" The thought of Javert's prick, ready and waiting for him, was all too vivid in his mind; he'd been hard himself for most of the afternoon, though he wasn't going to tell Javert that. "We both know how well you are in control of yourself; that's to say, not well at all."

It was funny, he thought, how easy it was to rile up Javert, and even funnier to note which things ticked him off the most. The suggestion that Javert was not entirely in control of himself, for instance, had rendered his face a deep scarlet.

"As if you would know anything about that, you little..."

"Slut?" Montparnasse suggested. By now Javert's attempted insults were getting repetitive; he wished the old sod would gain some imagination. The way Javert's mouth pursed in distaste was rewarding, however, and Montparnasse leered, slowly reaching up to untie his own cravat. "Takes one to know one, wouldn't you say? You've been a slut for me for months now, Inspector, might as well admit it."

"Shut up and bend over," Javert barked -- and Jesus God, that should not be arousing, but Montparnasse's prick twitched eagerly, and suddenly he could think of nothing more than that huge cock inside him, Javert's hard grip and angry thrusts.

He was not following orders, he told himself as he bent over the rickety table, bracing himself with hands down. He was merely allowing Javert to think he was in charge, when in truth it was Javert's cock that was -- no, when in truth it was Montparnasse who was holding the reins, cock or no cock. Yes, he could give up these meetings whenever it suited him; Javert would be the only one to suffer for it. If Montparnasse were inclined to compassion, he might have pitied him.

"Though I suppose I'm taking pity on you as it is," he mused aloud, spreading his legs suggestively. "Now hurry up, old man."

Javert stepped close to him, putting a large hand on the small of his back. When he spoke, his voice was rough and low. "You still haven't learned to shut up, have you?"

"You still haven't learned how to make me," Montparnasse quipped, though he felt himself go slack under Javert's touch and frowned. Was he obeying orders after all? Surely not.

He waited for Javert's hand to move, for Javert to yank down his trousers and get on with it. But the hand on his back did not move for several long moments, and Montparnasse had to bite back a whine of impatience. Did Javert really think he could still pretend this wasn't going to happen?

Suddenly the hand disappeared, and Javert took a step back. "Down on your knees. Now."

"What, are you going to arrest me? A little too late for that." After all, this had started because Montparnasse had agreed to work with the police, and he had been guaranteed their protection. Javert could not touch him, at least not in any way Montparnasse did not want.

"Down," Javert said again, his voice a growl, and again Montparnasse found himself annoyingly aroused. It was the contrast that did it, he told himself as he gracefully slipped down on his knees. Javert's unattractiveness set off Montparnasse's own youth and beauty, his big nose and greying whiskers providing a most striking contrast to Montparnasse's jet-black hair and clear white skin. Like a princess and an ogre from a fairytale, they were. No wonder the old man could not help himself!

Javert stepped in front of him this time, tilting Montparnasse's chin with coarse fingers and turning his face upwards. "I have a way to shut you up," he said, opening his trousers with his free hand. Montparnasse wet his lips, and Javert gave a ghastly grin. "Not the first cock you've sucked, certainly, but the first one belonging to an honest man."

"You'd be surprised," Montparnasse muttered, not taking his eyes away as Javert finally got his prick out. Ah yes, there it was, gigantic as always and with moisture leaking from the tip -- Javert must have been walking around hard like this for hours, perhaps all day, Montparnasse thought with a grin of his own.

When Javert let go of his chin, he leaned forward, swiping his tongue upwards along the shaft and enjoying Javert's barely-muffled groan. "Sounds like you're the one who can't shut up, dear Inspector."

The hand came back, this time to grab his hair and tilt his head backwards. He stared up and into Javert's eyes, which were burning now with rage and what Montparnasse felt quite certain was despair. "I'm tired of your chatter," Javert said, voice very low. "And I'm tired of your games. You want my cock, well -- have it. Or I'll leave and we'll put a stop to this."

Though Montparnasse didn't believe the latter for a second, he opened his mouth -- obediently, or so he would allow Javert to think -- and drew the swollen head into his mouth, swirling his tongue along the ridge. Javert let out a groan that sounded almost pained, and Montparnasse smiled around the mouthful of cock, and sucked him further in.

"Yes," Javert was muttering, his hand tightening its grip on Montparnasse's hair in a way that was slightly painful, albeit not unpleasant. Montparnasse let his teeth scrape over the tender skin in retaliation, and Javert grunted, hips jerking. "You devil of a..."

Montparnasse hummed, wishing for a moment he did not have his mouth stuffed full. Replying to Javert's insults, tedious as they could be, was half the fun after all, and he did not like the notion that Javert had indeed found the means to shut him up. However, the large, hot cock filling his mouth was too good to resist -- and wasn't this just another way to make Javert shut up in turn?

He opened his mouth further, willed his throat to relax, and took Javert's cock in as far as he could, swallowing him down until Javert gave another long, pained groan, his hand trembling in Montparnasse's hair. "For God's sake..."

If you can't take it, don't ask for it, Montparnasse thought, rolling his eyes. Steadying himself with one hand on Javert's thigh, he snuck the other one into his trousers and cupped himself, moving against his own hand as Javert started to rock into him with shallow thrusts.

It did not take long, at least not by Montparnasse's standards, before Javert's breathing came in the heavy gasps that signalled he was getting close. His thrusts were growing faster, yet strangely hesitant; Montparnasse guessed he had no idea whether to pull out or stay where he was.

Rolling his eyes again, he drew back, keeping a grip on the root of Javert's cock as he let it slip wetly from his mouth. He looked up at Javert through his lashes and licked his lips. "Please, Inspector..."

A moment later, hot seed splashed across his nose and cheeks, Javert shaking and groaning above him, and Montparnasse almost had to laugh. How predictable the old sod was! How easily manipulated, how --

A final harsh tug at his hair, a sharp sting of pain, and Montparnasse yelped as his own orgasm took him by surprise; making him spill into his hand and stain his trousers. Damnation!

Javert had slumped down on one of the chairs, breathing heavily. Montparnasse got to his feet, staring with distaste down at his groin, where the wet spot was visible. There was a washbasin next to the bed, and he made for it, washing his hands with relish. Before he got to his face, however, he turned to Javert, whose eyes were following him darkly.

"Semen is good for the complexion, old man," he said, making a show of dragging a fingertip down his cheek before licking it. Javert flushed, and Montparnasse smirked despite his somewhat sore throat. "You should try it sometime. I bet you want to."

Javert opened his mouth as if to reply, then shut it, looking away. The flush did not subside, Montparnasse noted with interest as he finished washing. Poor bugger, perhaps he was beginning to realise that he was in deep. Of course, he would not be the first old fool in Paris to be smitten with Montparnasse. Maybe it would not take that much time for him to be ready for another round...

The trousers were an annoyance, however, and the inn no longer seemed as tempting. So Montparnasse fastened his collar, picked up his coat, and reminded himself to come back later for the barmaid. Then he went over to where Javert was sitting, and patted his cheek affably. Javert's head snapped back to stare at him; Montparnasse grinned.

"We'll give it another go next week," he said. "If I can be bothered. Don't look so sad! You can always fantasise about me in the meantime."

"Oh, shut up," Javert said, but he no longer sounded furious, simply tired. "You know nothing."

That was rich, coming from him. But Montparnasse shrugged, pulled on his coat, and left him there in the darkness. He was young and beautiful, the city was his, and Javert nothing more to him than a ruined pair of trousers and a fading ache in his throat.