fic: Woven in the Soul

[splinteredstar]

for the lovely @evocating and her wonderful fic All Sinners Crawl

“It’s – an impulse. A sudden idea, the sight of the thing triggering a rush of memory: Javert’s whine, breathless with desire, “I would – I /want/ to-”

So, Valjean buys it. “

Takes place in between Epilogue 1 and Epilogue 2, because the bit with the collar wouldn’t leave my head.

features established javert/valjean, sex, collar kink, praise kink, bondage, and conflicted dom feels


 

 

It’s – an impulse. A sudden idea, the sight of the thing triggering a rush of memory: Javert’s whine, breathless with desire, “I would – I /want/ to-”

So, Valjean buys it. Sturdy leather, long enough to fit comfortably and easy to adjust, a ring at the front. They all come in sets, and Valjean isn’t certain about the other half of the set, but they might not use it.

They might not use either part. They might, yet. The suggestion will not harm either of them, and Javert will not be upset. (He tells himself this.) Valjean carries them home, smiling slightly at anyone who meets his eyes, and does not blush.

No, blushing comes later, when he gets home and Javert smiles at him. Valjean is struck, suddenly, with the image: Javert, on his knees, black leather around his neck – Valjean swallows and he turns away, his mouth dry. His hands twitch as he starts to put groceries away.

(Sometimes, he is ashamed by how much he wants – not sex, but /this/: Javert on his knees, vulnerable and pliant and begging, overcome. Sometimes he thinks of the collar he had to wear, the collar /Javert/ had to wear and the self-loathing chokes him more than either could.

He knows it is not the same. Javert enjoys it, and Valjean knows few greater pleasures than Javert overwhelmed and euphoric, writhing with pleasure. It would be easier, he thinks, if he were just doing it for Javert’s pleasure. But he isn’t.)

Strong arms wrap around his stomach, and Javert’s chin settles on his shoulder. “What’s got you embarrassed then?” Javert chuckles against his ear, relaxed and happy, and Valjean breathes out through the bubble of happiness in his throat. He turns his head to kiss the edge of Javert’s beard and then looks down, flush deepening.

“Ah.” He chuckles at himself and steps out of Javert’s arms, running a hand over his scalp. He swallows as he reaches into one of the bags, and stops before pulling anything out. “… Javert, I – if you don’t want this, or if it’s too much, just tell me, all right?”

“Valjean, what-” Valjean pulls out his purchase – a black leather collar, matching 3ft leash – and holds it out so Javert can see. “….oh.”

“If – if you don’t want it, of course, we don’t have to,” Valjean swallows again, looking away and running a hand over his scalp again. “But, you’d /said/ that- and I’d thought-” Valjean stops, because he’s finally met Javert’s eyes.

Javert stares at him, open mouthed, a flush spreading down his neck. Javert swallows, once, and then Valjean is being kissed breathless, Javert’s hands trembling on his neck.

“Yes,” Javert gasps out, “Yes, fuck, /please/.”

That last word hits Valjean hard, somewhere in the bottom of his stomach. He bites back a noise and kisses Javert until he has to pull back to breathe.

“Okay.” He breathes out onto Javert’s cheek. “Yeah, okay. Tonight?” He chuckles a bit bashfully. “Or at least after I’ve put groceries away.”

Javert snorts and smiles into another kiss. “Tonight, yeah.” Javert’s expression is fragile and incredulous and adoring, and Valjean decides then and there that the purchase is already worth it.

~

The evening comes slowly, and dinner is a haze of distraction for them both. Valjean keeps catching himself staring at Javert’s neck, where the collar would rest – Javert notices him staring each time, and each time the blush spreads a little further down his neck. Javert watches him back with a cautious, disbelieving hunger that is so familiar and so precious to Valjean.

When it is decent to retire, when the dishes from dinner are clean and everything is ready for the morning, Valjean picks up the set and starts removing the packaging. He hears the hitch in Javert’s breath and smiles at him.

“Go upstairs and get undressed, I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Javert smirks, a crooked half-smile that doesn’t disguise how breathless he is. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

Valjean doesn’t –all he does is check that there aren’t any rough places on the collar that might hurt Javert’s neck. He nearly sets the leash aside, but pauses, and tucks it into one of his pockets with the collar. He stashes a new bottle of oil into his other pocket, and heads upstairs to their bedroom. He pushes the door open – and stops. Swallows. Blue eyes meet his own and then jerk away.  

Javert is on his knees. Javert is naked and flushed and waiting on his knees. Javert meets his eyes again, breathes out, and then closes his eyes and tips his head back. Offers his throat, and waits.

Valjean takes a moment to shut the door behind him, and then approaches as carefully and reverently as he has done anything. Javert’s trust in him is holy, blessed – his submission as precious and cherished as silver candlesticks. Valjean reaches for his beloved’s face with one hand and with the other, pulls out the collar.  

“Javert, open your eyes.” Javert obeys, and stares at the collar. Valjean strokes his neck. “If it’s uncomfortable or too tight – or if there’s something you want, or don’t want – tell me.” Javert nods, presses a kiss into Valjean’s palm. Valjean gently tugs his face back. “I will not force this on you. You can take it off whenever you wish.”

Javert chuckles and kisses, this time, the shackle scars at Valjean’s wrist. Valjean draws in a breath.

“Yours. Freely and willingly.”

It’s not “I love you,” but Valjean smiles just the same. Warmth blooms in his heart, gentle and precious. This is blessed, this is a blessing, and Valjean breathes through the force of emotion in his throat. He kneels, to kiss him properly, and gently wraps the collar around Javert’s neck.

Watching for it, Valjean notices the change instantly. As leather slides over skin, Javert shivers and his breath deepens. The ever present tension in those broad shoulders starts to drop away, and Valjean marvels as he clothes the latch. He runs his finger underneath, to make sure it’s not too tight – the leather presses lightly against Javert’s throat and Javert moans behind his teeth.

Valjean smiles and strokes that spot on the back of Javert’s neck a bit longer, just to keep the collar tight and hear Javert pant into his shoulder. He slips a second finger under the collar, makes it a little tighter, and the noise Javert makes is a breathless whine. He pulls his fingers out and kisses Javert’s ear. He thinks about just not asking, pretending the leash isn’t in his pocket – and then chides himself, and thinks about trust instead.

“Do you want the leash?”

Javert nods, once, into Valjean’s shoulder. He licks his lips and asks in a breathless whisper, “…use it to tie me to the headboard?” Valjean draws in a sharp breath at the image – it’s good, /good/, better than he wants to think about – and Javert keeps talking, crossing his hands behind his back, “Or – use the leash to tie my hands, like this-” Like the martingale, Valjean thinks with a shudder that is both distaste and something else.

Valjean tugs Javert’s head up and kisses him. Javert asks for things so rarely, and Valjean always, always wants to indulge him. But to tie his hands behind his back…

It’s difficult to plan with Javert panting against his lips. Valjean thinks he could spend all night this way, stroking Javert’s neck and kissing him. Valjean pulls back and forces himself to think of what he want to do.

(Sometimes he is not sure he wants the answer. Sometimes he thinks of Javert on his knees and the image folds onto violent fantasies of revenge from prison – sometimes the smear of spit or come on Javert’s lips looks like blood.

He is not that man. Javert has convinced him of this, at least. But he /remembers/.)

He nods, decision made. “I won’t tie your arms behind your back.” He presses a thumb to Javert’s lips to forestall any objections, and then has to draw in a shallow breath when Javert’s licks at it. He swallows and drags his thoughts back. “Not tonight. I will tie you to the headboard, though.” Javert moans, muffled by Valjean’s thumb, and Valjean swallows again.

Valjean stands and pulls the leash out of his pocket. Javert stares at it and lets out a breath – tips his head back once more. Valjean strokes the collar and tugs on the d-ring, just to make Javert shudder. He then clips the leash on with trembling fingers. It is – more, somehow than simply putting the collar on. It is not a silver chain. Javert wants this. It is not the same. It /isn’t./

“Hey.” Valjean blinks. Javert smiles hesitantly at him, and tugs on the leash. Valjean lets it go without thought. Javert looks down and rubs his thumb over the leather of the leash. “We don’t have to, you know,” He gestures with a loop of the leash, “If you don’t want to.”

A bit guilty, Valjean huffs a short laugh and smiles back. “No, no, I want to,” and he does, a shiver of heat along his skin, a string of anticipation wrapped so tightly around his spine he was almost afraid. (Almost.) “…Just remembering the last use I clipped a lead onto you.”

He’d hated the chain from the start – more than the collar, and he’d /hated/ the collar. Looking at Javert now – in a blasted /dog/ collar, what was he thinking – Valjean cannot help the old familiar taste of self-hatred in his throat. He is better now, but –

Javert looks down at the leash and guilt flashes through his expression.

“Oh, hell, I’m an idiot,” he mutters. Before Valjean can say it was his idea, and if anyone’s an idiot here its /him/, Javert unclips the leash from his collar.

They both still, only realizing the significance of the action in the moment after it’s completed. Javert looks up again, his hand still on the clip.

“If it bothers you, I’ll take it off.” Valjean shakes his head but Javert continues, “But this isn’t the chain. I can take it off whenever I want.” He puts the clip to the D-ring but does not attach it. “I have chosen this.”

Valjean quirks a smile with warmth blooming in his throat once more. “Freely and willingly?”

Javert snorts and smirks back. “Always.” He taps the clip onto the d-ring. “Are you okay with…?”

Valjean considers for a moment. “Yes, I think so.” He watches Javert fiddle with the clip a moment longer without attaching it. “Do you want me to…?”

Nodding, Javert hands him the leash. So Valjean does. This time, his fingers do not tremble and the memory of the silver chain is far away. Valjean tugs on the leash, just to test the give – Javert /moans/ and Valjean suddenly can’t breathe, anticipation and want wrapped tight around his throat. He licks his lips, because he wants –

He bites the inside of his lip until he can breathe again, until he’s able to think, and there’s a brief internal debate before he takes the leash and /pulls/.

Javert rises half off of his knees, half stumbling into Valjean’s stomach – Valjean catches him in an instant, an apology dying on his lips when Javert looks up with so much desire, so much sheer /adoration/ on his face that Valjean is struck breathless again. Before he can doubt himself he pulls on the leash again, just to see Javert’s eyes slide half-shut and hear him make that breathless whine again. He strokes Javert’s cheek with his free hand and Javert leans into the touch.

Then those blue eyes – usually sharp, now hazy with want – flicker forward and Javert licks his lips. Valjean suddenly notices how /hard/ he is, his own arousal a net of heat wrapped his body. It would be easy, he thinks, to tug Javert forward again with the leash, press into that willing mouth – control Javert’s movement with the leash, maybe, or hold him in place and thrust into his mouth, like Javert always encourages and Valjean rarely does…. Valjean breathes out and those beloved eyes flick towards him again.

Valjean drops the leash and runs both of his hands through Javert’s hair. “On the bed?” If he gets Javert’s mouth on him, he’ll never be able to focus. “Face up, I think, with your hands above your head.”  Javert stands, kisses him breathlessly, and obeys.

Valjean takes a moment to catch his breath, overwhelmed with love for his man, and strips off his clothing. The bottle of oil gets dropped on the bed and Javert quirks his eyebrows at it.

“Have we already finished the bottle up here?”

Valjean shakes his head and does not answer. Standing at the side of the bed, he takes another moment just to /look/ - Javert, waiting for him, flushed and hard, stretched out with his hands crossed above his head, pale skin and black leather. Beautiful and trusting and so, so precious.

(Satisfaction, anticipation, curls around his spine and he does not doubt this any longer.)

Javert shifts on the bed, looking away. For someone so fearless he can be endearingly shy, though Valjean never intends to tell him that. Valjean climbs onto the bed, straddles him and gently tugs his head back and pulls the leash free from where Javert laid on it.

“Remember, if you don’t like this, or if it’s uncomfortable or too tight, say so and I’ll untie you, all right?” He waits for Javert to nod, and starts to wrap the leash around crossed wrists. One loop around the wrists, and then one between – Valjean wraps it carefully, minding the tension so that it doesn’t dig into Javert’s skin. After a few loops, Valjean tugs on the leash and this close, he can hear the soft noise Javert makes.

“Comfortable?” Javert nods, his breathing deep and steady. “Good. I’m going to tie you to the headboard, now.” Again, that soft whine of breath makes Valjean smile, makes satisfaction tug a little tighter around his spine. Valjean makes sure to leave plenty of room between the Javert’s crossed wrists and the knot on the headboard. Then he leans back, and smirks at Javert hiding his face in his shoulder and tugs on his chin. “I want to see you.”

Javert flushes harder – but he obeys, this stubborn, tenacious man /obeys/ and Valjean is again struck with how precious and impossible this is, by the enormity of what he has been given. He feels selfish, craving for anything more, but Javert always insists that he is not.

Gently, he strokes Javert’s neck below the collar. Javert presses up, against the tension and towards Valjean, and lets out a shuddering breath.

“Do you want me to take you, like this?” Valjean feels the sharp, indrawn breath under his fingers. “Collared and tied?” The thought makes something inside of his stomach shiver and clench, but Valjean won’t, not unless Javert wants it. “I would, if you want it-”

Javert groans, his hips jerking. “Yeah, do it.” Those blue eyes are hazy with want and Valjean is breathless. “I want it, I – do it.” Valjean kisses him properly and deep until they’re both gasping. Then he shuffles down the bed and settles between Javert’s spread legs – Javert spreads them wider, hooking one of those long, beautiful legs around Valjean’s shoulder. Javert is always so eager, when he lets himself be. Valjean licks a stripe across the leg on his shoulder and grabs the oil.

Looking at Javert now, hard with a smear of fluid on his stomach, flushed and squirming and open, Valjean thinks that Javert wouldn’t mind if he was quick, rough. Javert often tells him more, faster, harder. Valjean opens the oil, and smirks.

At the other end of the bed, Javert catches his expression and drops his head back onto the pillows with a groan.

Valjean is not quick, slicking up his fingers with care. He spends long moments stroking skin, coating Javert’s thighs with oil but not pressing in. Javert cants his hips, spreads himself wider, makes himself even more open to Valjean’s touch.

Valjean lets out a breath and presses a finger into that familiar heat. Not matter how many times or how often he does this, Valjean never tires of it – of the warm softness at the center of iron and stubbornness, the way Javert gasps at the first touch inside of him.

Valjean’s own arousal wraps around his mind, desire and affection and love rushing thick inside of him – but it’s… it’s not muted, not when every breathless noise Javert makes sends flames shuddering down his spine. But is an arousal that does not demand – not a hunger but a satisfaction of its own, drawn out and extended with every shiver in the long legs on his shoulders and every bitten-back moan. He will take his pleasure, eventually, but even if he doesn’t, this is enough.

It is enough, to slip a second finger inside of him, and then a third, and hear that breathless whine and feel the jerk of muscles around him. It is enough, finding that spot inside of all that soft heat that makes Javert writhe and blaspheme in a voice normally reserved for prayer. Valjean smothers his own moan in Javert’s trembling thigh and presses in, twisting the pads of his fingers against that spot.

“Oh, fu – fuck,” Javert pants, sweat dripping down his face. “If you keep – fuck, if you keep doing that I’m going to- oh /god/…”

Valjean swallows, his fingers stilling. Javert can come just from this, he knows. He knows the feeling of Javert coming apart around his fingers, driven by nothing more than fingertips and the faintest touch to his erection. It’s beautiful, always, being able to watch the moment Javert surrenders the last scraps of his iron self-control and lets himself /feel/.

But Javert has offered himself up, made himself vulnerable and Valjean does not want this to be over yet. Maybe it is selfish to want more, to draw this out as long as he can. Surely, craving Javert’s surrender is an indulgence far greater than white bread and Cosette’s affection. And yet, everything he once called indulgence is offered to him, given willingly. And yet, all he wants is to make Javert happy and languid with pleasure, pamper him with all the affection he has been denied. Is that selfishness, to want to give?

Valjean looks up, catches Javert’s eyes and finds nothing but acceptance and desire and trust. A new idea twists through the back of his mind – and oh, it /must/ be selfish, to want so much – but perhaps…

“Javert.” He waits for those hazy blue eyes to focus. “I think there’s something more I’d like to do to you.”

“Anything,” Javert pants instantly, “I’d let you do anything.”  Desire and satisfaction tangle around each other and Valjean’s spine. He smiles, rubbing at that spot inside of Javert for another moment just to hear Javert choke on a groan. Then he withdraws and grabs the oil again, pours more onto his hand.
Javert is bound, at his mercy – he cannot push his own fingers inside of himself to hurry things along, cannot straddle Valjean’s stomach and ride him. He cannot use his mouth to drive Valjean mad, or bring himself off before Valjean has the chance to touch him properly. Like this, he has to sit still and accept all the pleasure Valjean wants to give him until he is overwhelmed, all of his stubbornness washed away by relaxation and ecstasy and love. Orgasm would be enough, but Valjean wants more.

So he runs his hands down Javert’s leg, indulging himself with long strokes to strong muscles and stiff tendons, and starts to rub the oil into the unscarred skin. Javert is less scarred than he himself is, but each one was a scar chosen and taken willingly. Valjean, who still has to force himself not to tense if Javert pays too much attention to the lash marks on his back, has no problem lavishing affection on these old wounds. Javert’s head drops onto the pillows again and he squirms at the touch. 

“What’re you-” Valjean presses his thumb into the thick muscle of his thigh more firmly and Javert groans. “…oh.”

“I’ve got you all to myself.” Valjean only realizes how possessive he sounds as he says it, but it makes Javert shiver, his eyes dilating. Valjean swallows. “So I’m going to pamper you for as long as I want.” He smiles into Javert’s thigh.  “Indulge me?”

Javert laughs breathlessly. “You think /I’m/- yes, always.” Valjean chuckles along, kissing oil covered skin, and starts massaging the oil into Javert’s other leg. “Will you still take me like this?”

Valjean groans, flames licking up his spine. “Yes, yes, I will, just let me…” He rubs oil into Javert’s kneecap, into old scars and tendons. “Let me touch you.”

Javert nods, squirming and twitching at every stroke on his skin. Valjean spends long moments on those beautiful legs, slowly stroking them into a limp relaxation. He rubs oil into Javert’s feet, chuckling when he tries to jerk his feet away from the ticklish touch.

He leans up, over Javert’s stomach, and pours more oil. He very intentionally avoids Javert’s erection, even as the flesh beneath his hands heaves with Javert’s breath. He touches Javert’s nipples with the same care, teasing them until Javert arches his back, and then lets go.

Then – and he cannot help it, he never can, so choked with love and admiration – he kisses the bullet scars on Javert’s chest. Almost the same place as the brand is on his own chest –and almost as near a death sentence.

Almost, only almost, and every day Valjean thanks God for it.

Next, perhaps, those broad shoulders, but… “Javert, can you turn? Onto your hands and knees, I think.” Javert lets out a noise, and obeys easily, without question.

“Good boy,” it slips out, almost teasing, and Valjean wants to apologize– but Javert jerks in his grip, stares at him with wide eyes and open mouth. Javert flushes – and there’s that expression, shyness and disbelieving hunger – so Valjean swallows and puts his mouth to Javert’s ear. “You’re very good for me,” he whispers and feels Javert shiver, “You’re so beautiful, so good, I love the way you open up for me…”

Javert shudders and turns his head, hiding in his shoulder but unable to muffle his groan. Warmth blooms, connected to his arousal but distinct from it, curling through it and around it. Affection - /love/ - tangles through desire like a vine, but instead of choking it out, they support each other, until he cannot imagine one without the other.

Javert accepts compliments so rarely. If he’s accepting them now, then… Well, praise is something Valjean has no problem giving.

He pours oil onto those strong shoulders and starts working it in, and he with each stroke across muscle he keeps talking. “You’re so beautiful like this,” He whispers to Javert’s neck, just above the collar, “Such a good boy…”

“Oh god, just, fuck.” Javert’s head drops onto his crossed wrists. “Fuck me already, /please/.”

Valjean bites down, groans into Javert’s neck. “You don’t have to beg,” he whispers, no matter how good Javert sounds when he does, “I’ll give you what you want, just…” he pulls back and swallows, forcing himself past the desire to stare at gleaming muscles and trembling skin. Instead, he tugs Javert’s hips back, up, grabs a spare pillow to support his hips.

Javert spreads his legs, his shoulders dipping and his head resting between his arms. Submission, and beautiful with it; trust, precious and beloved. And desire, wet-hot and intense, wrapping around Valjean’s spine until he can barely breathe, every nerve alight.

More oil onto Javert’s entrance – then, oil on himself – and oh, but that alone is almost too much, and Valjean has to look away from the gorgeous sight before him while his breath trips over itself.

He wants, he wants – he drags in a breath, and then another, and puts a hand to Javert’s back. “Are you,”

“Yes,” Javert interrupts, “/please/ just fuck me.”

Valjean lets out a breath and – Javert is tight, always, heat and pleasure and – Valjean drags another breath in, trying to wait, he doesn’t want to hurt him – Javert jerks his head up, glares over his shoulder as impatiently always, and Valjean chokes on a laugh as he begins to move.

It’s harder to resist, harder to control himself inside of Javert – Valjean leans over Javert’s back and whispers praise into his shoulder, feeling muscles twitch under his lips with every “you feel so good” or “just like that, be good for me, you’re such a good boy…”

Javert squirms, and whines, and strains against the leash but makes no move to escape it. Sweat pools on his flushed neck. He’s /beautiful/, and Valjean says so and tastes the sweat on Javert’s skin.

This act is holy, this is blessed and a blessing – this is weaving them together, body to body and soul to soul, affection and pleasure and desire and love, so much love, enough it might wash away every scar and wound and doubt.

Valjean bites his lip, pleasure searing the inside of his eyelids, he can’t, not until Javert – his eyes open again, and settle on the collar.

Oh.

He shifts, balancing – reaches forward, and hooks his fingers into the collar. Pulls.

Javert’s head jerks up, dragged by the collar – he moans, loud and desperate and pants through a throat squeezed half shut – “Oh god, Valjean, yes - /yes/-”

Javert comes, untouched but from the collar – and then, only then, does Valjean let himself be lost in the flames of pleasure, only then does he give in to himself and let himself burn.

It’s good, it’s always good, and Valjean muffles his own shout into Javert’s back as he comes.

Valjean forces himself to move long minutes later, pushing up on shaking hands and sitting up. He can’t help but press awed kisses to Javert’s closed eyes and the places where the leather wraps around his crossed wrists. Even now, Javert is relaxed, trusting, and Valjean feels as though his heart has been filled to the point of bursting. So much trust, so much /love/ - Javert has poured so much into him that Valjean is overflowing with it, cannot do anything but pour it back onto this beautiful, precious man.

One blue eye slides open, and Javert smiles, shifting on to his back again.

He starts to stretch, but his hands are still tied.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll-” Valjean unclips the leash from Javert’s collar and starts on the knot at the headboard. “Just give me a moment.”

“Take your time.” Javert mumbles, relaxed and languid. He sounds half asleep, perfectly content to lie as he is, but Valjean isn’t going to leave him tied. Valjean gets the knot undone, and makes quick work of the leather around Javert’s wrists.

Javert rubs at his freed wrists and a spike of guilt goes through Valjean’s throat when he sees the red imprints of the leather. He hadn’t thought he’d tied it too tightly…

His hands fold over Javert’s, around one wrist. “Do they hurt?” He holds the wrist up and runs his fingers over the marks. Just pressure, it looks like, no more than from tight clothing or an uncomfortable position held too long. Nothing at all like his own shackle scars, and unlikely to even bruise – even as he touches them they start to fade.

“Not at all. Not even sore.” Valjean inclines his head, and kisses the wrist in his hand with a smile. Then he reaches for the leather still wrapped around Javert’s neck – but Javert stops him with a hand. “…leave it on?” Javert swallows, looking away. “I mean, I’ll take it off later, but – leave it?” Javert swallows again and the leather collar shifts. “Just for now.”

Valjean is not sure he understands why Javert asks, what need besides arousal the collar fills in him – but it is a need, or Javert would not ask. So he lifts his hand away from the latch and strokes the leather instead. “All right. If it’s comfortable.”

Again, that fragile disbelieving smile – again, Valjean is overfull with affection and love, so much so that he can’t do anything but kiss him. He should clean up, wipe the remaining oil from Javert’s skin and change the sheets – but Javert settles on top of him, sleepy and warm, and Valjean decides that he doesn’t want to move just yet.

~

Valjean wakes to an absence in his bed and the faint smell of coffee. The first is not unduly surprising – Javert sometimes wakes even before he does, though he usually stays until Valjean awakes…

Valjean pulls on loose pants and follows the smell of coffee downstairs. As he gets closer to the kitchen, the smell of coffee mixes in the air with his favorite tea and the warm aroma of toast. A suspicion curls in the back of his mind, coated in so much warm affection he has to smile.

He reaches the kitchen and stops, leaning against the doorframe. A plate of toast with jam and a cup of tea sit waiting at Valjean’s normal seat by the window. Javert stands at the counter, slicing an apple with one hand and sipping from a mug with the other. He is shirtless, wearing nothing but sleep pants and the leather collar wrapped around his neck.

Javert turns, blue eyes widening. “Oh, uh. Good morning.” He gestures with the hand holding a mug, wafting the smell of coffee through the room. “I made breakfast. Obviously.”

Valjean walks over and kisses Javert on the nose. “Good morning, and thank you. It looks good.”

Like last night, the praise makes Javert flush and look away, smiling almost bashfully.  Valjean reaches up to stroke the leather of the collar, and the skin underneath it. Javert swallows under his fingers.

“Still?” Javert doesn’t ask him what he means, and covers Valjean’s hand with his own.

“I – yeah. I…like it.” He turns back to the counter, but doesn’t pick up the knife again. Valjean leans against his back, wraps one arm around his stomach, and waits. “It’s – I mean, I’m yours, the collar doesn’t make that any more true than it already was, but.” Javert lets out a breath. “It’s nice, having something… concrete. Something I can /touch/ that says I’m yours. Like my badge used to be, except, you know.” His shoulders shift underneath Valjean’s chin as he gestures vaguely with one hand. “It’s – comforting? No… Satisfying, maybe. It’s – right.”  

Valjean smiles into Javert’s shoulder. Warmth blooms in his throat like a precious flower, dripping sweet nectar down into his core. They are tied together, bound soul to soul – but symbols matter, and Valjean will not begrudge Javert his. That being said…

“Hm. We might have to get something a little more subtle for going out, though.” In his arms, Javert goes very still.  Valjean taps the collar with a fingernail. “This is a little attention grabbing. Maybe a necklace, instead? We can pick one out this weekend.”

Javert turns his head and smiles a beautiful, surprised smile, then kisses him and smiles into the kiss.

“Yeah.” He breathes out against Valjean’s lips, sounding as overwhelmed with love as Valjean feels. “I’d like that.”

Their drinks are cooling and breakfast is only half made, but for long moments they stay like this: entangled, in love, and happy.