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The half-choked exclamation reverberated in the room. Valjean turned, sharply, and Javert was there, standing in the doorway, mouth open and wide eyes fixed on Valjean's naked body -- and Valjean froze, holding the washcloth in one hand, water still dripping off him.
He had not thought Javert would be back until later, and being caught thus, without the safe covers of clothing or darkness, set his nerves on edge. What Javert had only touched in their bed at night could now be seen in the bright light of day, the old scars that marred the flesh of his aging body. "I thought," he started, and swallowed, not knowing how to go on.
"Forgive me, but... My God," Javert said, taking a step closer, not taking his eyes away. Valjean had to force himself not to step back -- and then he finally met Javert's gaze, and the naked hunger he saw there made his breath hitch. He swallowed again, this time at the first stir of arousal deep within his belly.
"You are..." Javert's tongue darted out, licking his lips in what seemed like an unconscious gesture. He reached out a hand, then stopped abruptly, as if checking himself. "May I?"
"Yes," Valjean said slowly, even though he was not quite sure what Javert was asking. But Javert's eyes, the set of his mouth, the tension of his shoulders -- all spoke of unmistakeable, raw need. He could not find it in himself to deny it, especially not since his own body was responding in kind. "You may."
Javert let out a strange sound, something midway between a growl and a whimper. In two long strides he was upon Valjean, his large hands on Valjean's hips, his mouth at Valjean's neck. "God," he whispered in between pressing open-mouthed kisses to Valjean's shoulder and throat and lips, his hands roaming over Valjean's hips, waist, buttocks, slipping on still-wet skin. "If you knew how long I've been wanting to see you like this, in broad daylight, if you knew how much I've thought about it..."
The words were strange to his ears, almost unbelievable, but Javert's fervent touches held no lies. Valjean closed his eyes and gave himself over. "Anything, Javert," he murmured, running his own hands through Javert's hair, down his torso, which was still fully clothed. "Anything you like."
Javert made the strange sound again, this time muffled in the crook of Valjean's neck. Then he abruptly tore himself away, pushing Valjean against the wall behind him as he did so. "Just stay there," he ordered, dropping to his knees.
Valjean barely had time to think before Javert's hands settled on his thighs, pinning him to the wall, and Javert's mouth closed about him, hot and wet, tongue curling over the tip of his arousal, lips tightening. They had done this before, but always in darkness -- had Javert's face always been so intent? Had his eyes always been glazed over thus? Valjean's breath hitched again. His hands moved almost on their own accord to tangle in Javert's hair, and he closed his eyes, desire mounting and unease flowing away with each caress of Javert's lips and tongue.
Then, suddenly, Javert pulled back, flipping him over so he was facing the wall. And then -- oh, God -- Javert's cheek rubbing against his buttock, Javert's tongue sweeping over it -- and further, into --
"Javert," he moaned, bucking wildly in the grip of those large hands. Fervent pleas flew through his mind -- do not debase yourself so, not for me! -- but they were all cut short by Javert's next groan, in which there was no shame, only the same raw hunger and need: "Stay still!"
He obeyed the best he could, though he could not help but moan again, pushing back as Javert's tongue, hot and strong and soft, pressed inside him, Javert's hands tightening on his thighs. "God," he managed as pleasure rippled through him. "God, Javert, I can't believe you are, that you would..."
"Just," Javert gasped, pulling back, "just let me, please. Please. I want..."
He did not finish the sentence, but went back to his task, his mouth more determined than ever, and Valjean felt himself melting, overcome, as Javert reached around and took him in hand, his grip as tender as it was resolute. And after what seemed like a short moment that somehow still stretched into infinity -- a moment when all his existence was filled by Javert's hands and Javert's tongue, Javert's eagerness and his own burning need -- he came, gasping, spilling into Javert's hand, and Javert caught him, and Javert held him, and there was no need or reason to break free.
He slumped against the wall, resting his brow against it, closing his eyes as his breathing slowed down. After a moment he realised that Javert's tongue was still inside him, circling the opening one last time before pulling out slowly, as if reluctant to do so, as if wanting to savour the taste of him for as long as possible. Valjean almost shuddered at the thought. His heart felt large and vulnerable, as naked as his body.
He reached down to where Javert's hand still rested on his thigh, covering it with his own. Javert gave a sigh, a warm puff of air on Valjean's skin. "Thank you," he muttered, pressing his cheek against Valjean's hand.
Valjean turned. Javert was looking up at him, his face flushed and his eyes frank. Valjean moved his hand, letting it splay along Javert's cheek.
"Thank you," he said at last. Javert leaned into his touch. The daylight filled the room, bright and honest and hiding nothing.