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Passion

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The room is dark and the air hot and heavy as he is laid down on the soft bed. A shiver runs down his spine as gentle hands begin to explore his body over his clothes. They feel too tight altogether, but he doesn't dare to take them off. Not yet.
He has to bite his tongue--hard-- to keep from moaning out loud as the confident hands rub across his nipples which are already standing at attention, though they have barely even begun this game.
“You're beautiful” His eyes widen at the words whispered into his ear. He cannot quite hold back the gasp escaping his lips as warm, moist breath tickles his neck. He whimpers and turns his face away.
“No. I’m not”

“Look at me.” It comes as a command, though spoken softly and without any malice. Still he feels obliged to obey and meets the other’s eyes.
“Are you afraid, Emile?” He nods.
“Of me?” A silent shake of his head.
“Then what is it?” He keeps silent, but in the dim light he is certain to see a flicker of concern in his lover's eyes. It is followed by a sigh, then the other draws back.

Involuntarily his hand shoots out and grasps his wrist.
“Stay. I want this. Please.”
The man nods and leans back down, catching his plump, full lips in a kiss, soft at first, but with passion steadily growing. As a tongue licks at the seams of his lips, he can’t help but to open them up, granting the other access. The first contact of slick muscles makes his toes curl and his back arches ever so slightly as heat starts to pool in his lower regions. To him it is both frightening and exhilarating.
His hands seek purchase, anything to hold on to and prevent him from losing his balance, already feeling like falling down, deeper into the abyss that his thoughts had only ever strayed to in the loneliest and most desperate nights.

In retrospect he feels guilty about thinking of silver curls, a slim mustache above even lips, so very kisseable, and soft dark eyes. It is his greatest shame to admit to himself, that he had always longed for this. Yes, he had hunted the man for more than a decade, but now that his desires are finally to be fulfilled, he is not certain anymore, whether he had been purely motivated by his will to pursue the law, or the underlying wish to see the man again.

He shakes off the thought as his attention is drawn back to the current moment by a gentle nip on his bottom lip.
“I love your lips. So full and soft” It brings a blush to his face and he is grateful for the half-darkness as it covers up his embarassment.
“Y-you do?” He immediately quietens again, horrified by his nervous stuttering.
“Indeed” The other smiles, a kind and warm smile that brings even more heat to his already flushed cheeks, and slowly unbuttons his shirt.

He wants to turn away, curl into a tiny ball, for he is aware that his physique is lacking in so many aspects, his stomach plump and distended, not a hint of firm muscle but soft, pliable flesh, the scarce hair covering his chest coarse and greying, rough to the touch. He had never cared much about his appearance before, but now that he has to reveal his most intimate secrets to another, he wishes that he had not been as negligent.

His stream of thoughts is once again cut off and turned into a desperate whine as a hot mouth closes around one of the rosy buds, tongue lapping at it in a soft caress. He feels boneless, lightheaded, as he is carried away by the sensation, so unfamiliar and yet all he has ever dared to dream of in his weakest moments.

“Val-jean” The name slips from his lips like a prayer and he can more feel than hear the other's soft chuckle against his skin.

“Do you like this* The small gust if air and the melodic voice evoke goosebumps to crawl all over his body.

“Yes” He breathes out, unable to say anything else, though he wants to spill all his secrets and longings and fears to the man hovering above him in this instant. If his body is already laid bare to curious eyes, why should his soul not follow it's lead?

Dexterous fingers find their way to the waistband of his pants, swiftly undoing the button there and then-

His mind goes blank, ecstasy taking over in a cascade of intense pleasure as he spills his essence into waiting hands at the first touch.
He wants to scream, cry, moan, crush the other to his chest in an attempt to stay anchored in reality, but he can do none of it, his hands instead burying into the sheets beneath him with a ferocity strong enough to tear the fabric.
He will have to apologize for it later, one of so many failures he needs to explain, for he knows his letting go came far too soon.
No grown man should have as little self-control, break apart at the simplest touch, like he did.
So finally, when the spasms of his muscles subside enough for him to move again, he rolls to his side, drawing his knees up to his chest, wishing that the ground could open up and swallow him whole.

The gentle caress on his cheek startles him and he ducks his head, frightened that it might turn into a harsh slap, punishment for his obvious shortcoming. His memories are far too vivid to ignore what had been beaten into him so long ago, trained like the pathetic dog they told him he was. It is exactly how he feels right now.

“Javert?” He can hear the words, but his broken mind will not pick up on the meaning.
“Emile?” There is his name, spoken softly into the dark. “Did I hurt you? I'm sorry”
Uncertainty, regret even, maybe a little hint of fear--it makes no sense to him, and yet he cannot deny what is evident in the all too soft tone.

“F-forgive me” He presses out between his teeth, almost wants to bite his tongue as it comes out as nothing but a hoarse croak, his full lips quivering with suppressed emotion. It is stilled by another kiss, bringing tears to his eyes, before the other draws back.

“There is nothing to forgive” He can feel the his lover lay down behind him and tenses as he is wrapped into a gentle embrace. It is hard to tell how long it might take him to ever get used to someone touching him with care instead of anger.

“S-shouldn’t I” He swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. “Re-return the favor?” His prominent stuttering is infuriazing, but his tongue refuses to obey him, so he gives up on speaking eventually.

“No” A tender kiss is placed on the nape of his neck, making him shudder almost violently. “Not now. Maybe come morning we can try this again” Valjean sounds shy, as if he himself thought it was uncouth to ask for this, even after granting him an experience so far beyond imagination already.

And somehow Javert finds himself eager to try, for besides all his reluctance, he is beginning to believe, that even a man like him, cast out from society, might be given the chance to be happy.