Chapter Text
It was a beautiful day in early summer when Javert at last had a chance to accept Delisle’s invitation.
They had taken a carriage to his country estate. They could have made the journey on horseback, but although surely Doré and Noiraude would have been happy for the exercise, Javert had thought it prudent to spare Valjean a journey back in the saddle.
By the time their carriage came to a halt in front of Delisle's mansion, Valjean had fallen silent, tense with nerves.
They would only stay for the weekend. Furthermore, Valjean had already made the acquaintance of Raven, Delisle’s beautiful stallion, and had liked him well enough. Still, this was a first for both of them.
It was less public than the gathering of Delisle’s private club, where Javert had shown off Valjean to the discerning eyes of a small crowd and Valjean had stood still obediently despite his nerves as the judges touched him all over.
But that had been different: a public event, and one where they had been surrounded by other contestants. This was something else—a private invitation. It would be just Javert and Delisle. And while Javert rarely doubted himself, this time the sight of the impressive house with its sprawling meadows before him made him feel how out of his depth he truly was.
Valjean turned towards him, as if he could feel Javert’s doubt. “I won’t embarrass you, sir,” he said softly. “I’ll be good.”
Javert felt a smile tug on his lips. He knew Valjean would be good. Javert had worked hard enough to make sure of that. Valjean had learned manners—and had shown it beautifully at the gathering in Saint-Cloud.
“You better be,” Javert’s smile widened. Pointedly, he placed his riding crop across his lap and watched as heat rose to Valjean’s cheeks.
At the gathering, Javert had been forced to discipline Valjean before he’d even been able to take him out of the stable—although that had only partly been Valjean’s nerves, and part the red stallion’s provocation.
Javert hoped that this time, they’d be able to show Delisle just how well-trained Valjean truly was. Valjean’s surrender to him ran deeper than that of any plaything Delisle had ever brought to his mansion, even though Delisle would never know it.
***
They had been expected. As soon as the carriage came to a halt in the courtyard, a man opened the door of their carriage and welcomed them, taking the luggage Javert had brought for the weekend and guiding them to a room that was large and tastefully decorated, the windows overseeing a large garden stretching behind the house.
“There is a stall prepared in the stable for you, sir,” the man said once Javert’s luggage had been placed in his bedroom. “I can show you there now if you want to take the time to make your stallion comfortable. Monsieur Delisle will come and meet you in half an hour.”
By his side, Valjean had flushed, and Javert as well was taken aback at the realization that this man knew exactly what they’d come here for. But then, Delisle could hardly keep his preferences a secret. It was reassuring to know that they wouldn’t have to fear discovery from Delisle’s closest staff.
“Monsieur Delisle keeps only a handful of staff here during the summers,” the man explained as he led them back outside, as if he knew what Javert was thinking. “At this time of year, the mares and foals are out on our southern meadows—you might have seen the farmhouse on your journey here. That is where most of the work of running his estate is done. The manor only sees use when Monsieur Delisle needs a holiday from Paris or he invites his friends. So you need not fear any disruption. The staff that remains knows not to disturb Monsieur Delisle or his guests.”
Javert inclined his head, understanding what it was the man hadn’t said—that he knew exactly why Javert was here, that he knew what Valjean was to him, and that Javert didn’t need to fear exposure.
“Thank you,” Javert said. “It’s a beautiful house—and a beautiful garden, from what I’ve seen.”
“No doubt you will have a chance to explore it soon, sir.” The man smiled at him, then opened the door to the stable.
The stable was small—meant to hold only the master’s saddle-horses and a visiting carriage or two, no doubt, with Delisle’s broodmares and stallions stabled in the large farm they’d passed twenty minutes ago. The building was filled with light that fell in through high windows, illuminating generous stalls. The air was fragrant with the warm scent of hay, and the stall that had been prepared for Javert was large and clean, prepared with straw.
“I will have to excuse myself now,” the man said, “and see to the preparation of this evening’s dinner. Monsieur Delisle will be with you in half an hour. Please make yourself at home, sir. My master says that if you lack any equipment, his tack room over there is at your disposal.”
That was an offer Javert had a hard time resisting, and as soon as they found themselves left alone, he turned towards Valjean and nodded towards the tack room with a smile.
“Let’s see if you can find something you like,” he said.
Javert had carried the riding crop with him—a piece of quality work which Valjean had selected and purchased himself, well aware that it would be used on him instead of their horses.
The leather was smooth and soft with use, the grip fitting perfectly into Javert’s hand. Even now, after Valjean had been with him in Paris for almost three years and Javert had tried out a multitude of implements on Valjean’s hide, the crop remained his favorite tool. He liked the way it felt in his hand, he liked the way Valjean’s eyes would return to it again and again when Javert carried it with him—and he liked the lines it left on Valjean’s luscious, round backside, as decorative as they were painful.
Still, having a favorite tool didn’t mean that Javert wasn’t curious how another man handled his own stallion. And a man of such wealth and taste as Delisle was certain to have a collection that would dwarf anything Javert had collected for his amusement.
The tack room did not disappoint. Much of it was obviously in use by Delisle’s real horses: saddles, bridles, harnesses, ropes and brushes, all of them gleaming, clean and well-oiled.
The tack room was large. To Javert’s right, an open door led to another chamber. It was a door that could be locked, but today was left ajar. No doubt the key would be turned and hidden when the wrong sort of person came to pay Delisle a visit—but today, for the occasion of Javert’s visit, the mysterious door had been thrown wide open in invitation.
Javert smiled, intrigued. Was it a desire to impress, or perhaps mere hospitality? They would find out soon enough, he thought and nodded at Valjean, who was the first to enter.
The second tack room was nearly as large as the first. Here, too, polished leather gleamed—but the bridles hanging on the wall were not of a shape that would fit the head of any horse, and the variety of whips and crops would have made Javert seriously doubt Delisle’s horsemanship.
It was that wall that drew Valjean. Javert watched, amused, as Valjean gazed at the whips. To speak the truth, Javert couldn’t quite imagine Delisle wielding one of these. He’d seen Raven’s back, after all, and his skin had been smooth and unmarred while a few of the whips displayed were certain to yield scars much like those that crisscrossed Valjean’s back.
Was that what had drawn Valjean to this wall?
“You’ve never used one of those on me, sir,” Valjean said quietly.
Javert tilted his head. He didn’t answer at first, watching as Valjean began to reach out for a curled, cruel length of leather, then flinched away at the last moment.
He could have said many things in return—You never gave me a reason to, for example, which was true enough.
But that wasn’t the whole truth. Javert had often used crop or belt for no reason other than wanting to see Valjean’s backside quiver, or because he was in a bad mood and Valjean’s tears were an easy cure.
“Would you want me to?” was what he said at last.
Valjean was silent for a long moment, still staring at the whip—scared, or fascinated, or perhaps both.
“I don’t know,” he admitted at last.
“No need to think about it this weekend,” Javert said gently. “That’s not what I brought you here for. You’re here to entertain me and our host.”
Valjean exhaled and then nodded, accepting the answer without argument, which would not have happened a few years ago. Then he moved on, his gaze running over an assortment of riding crops of varying lengths, and then various paddles.
“Look at this,” Javert said, admiration and sudden want kindling inside him as he inspected a set of bridle and harness that looked familiar.
It was what Raven had worn the day when he had won the championship. Soft calfskin polished to a honey-gold shine, the steel bar of the bit gleaming as if it had been newly forged—and beneath the bridle and harness, a glorious tail hung, raven-black hair attached to a plug of smooth, shiny mahogany.
Valjean reached out—almost shyly—and drew his fingers over the buttery leather.
“It’s beautiful.” Valjean turned to look at Javert, his mouth twisting into the wide smile that had become such a familiar sight over the past few years. “But not as beautiful as your harness, sir.”
Javert had worried, at first, when he’d been asked to infiltrate the private club of other such enthusiasts. He was painfully aware of his own standing, and although the position of the prefecture’s chief inspector was more than Javert had ever dreamed of having as a young man, he’d keenly felt the gulf dividing him from the other men attending with their stallions. While many bridles had been studded with gleaming gems, Javert had carved and polished the wood for Valjean’s tail himself.
But when it came down to it, Javert’s own simple harness suited Valjean. And when Valjean wore it, he shone without jewels, decorated with obedience and the breathless, yearning way with which he surrendered himself.
Another wall lined with shelves held various dildos and plugs, and yet another chains and shackles and ropes. Javert surveyed it all, satisfaction and jealousy still warring within him when he compared the room to the small chest of toys he had at his own disposal at home—without Valjean’s harness, it would all fit into a drawer of his nightstand.
One dildo stood out even in this collection. It had been crafted in the likeness of a stallion’s erect cock, as thick and long as Javert’s arm. It was this toy that had caught Valjean’s attention, who was staring at it with equal parts dread and fascination.
Javert stepped closer to examine it as well. It was thicker than Javert’s wrist—but not as thick as his fist. Valjean could take it, though they had not worked up to such a depth of penetration yet.
Looking at Valjean from the corner of his eye, Javert took hold of the enormous phallus and stroked it thoughtfully.
It was not made of wood. There was a little give, the phallus soft and smooth—not unlike an erect cock. Smooth, stretched leather, he thought—not wood. That would make it easier for Valjean to take.
“You like this one?” he said. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Valjean’s eyes were still riveted to the enormous length. He swallowed at Javert’s words.
“Surely no one could, sir...” Valjean’s voice sounded shaky, though Javert knew him well enough to know that it wasn’t from fear. “It’s too big.”
Javert ran his hand over the phallus again, stroking down from the tip. Then he shook his head.
“You can take it.”
Valjean shivered, his eyes still on Javert’s hand. This time, he remained silent. Javert imagined him stretched out, his limbs tied and his hole revealed to their audience, red and swollen, as the enormous cock sank so deep inside him that Valjean couldn’t take it without tears.
“But I’m not going to ruin your hole before we’ve met our hosts,” Javert said, his smile widening a little. “That would be rather impolite, don’t you think?”
Valjean swallowed again and looked up at him. “Will you let Raven fuck me, sir?”
Poor Valjean didn’t know what the plan was, although the idea had formed in Javert’s mind as soon as he’d seen Raven lovingly fuck Valjean to orgasm in front of an audience. Raven had been skillful and affectionate, his performance breathtaking, focused more on Valjean’s pleasure than his own. It was a skill Valjean lacked so far.
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Javert laughed softly. “Or perhaps it’s what you’re hoping for?”
An anxious line formed around Valjean’s mouth, his eyes uncertain. Was he afraid that Javert was testing him?
“There’s no correct answer to that question,” Javert said, amused. “Because it doesn’t matter, does it? If I want him to fuck you, you’ll let him.”
Valjean inclined his head, and Javert reached out to curve his hand around his nape, letting it rest there, heavy and reassuring.
“I think it’s time we stopped exploring and got you ready. That will settle your nerves.”
“Yes, sir,” Valjean said, and then he leaned in to brush his lips against Javert’s and kissed him, sweetly asking for reassurance in a way that never failed to move Javert.
Javert buried his fingers in Valjean’s hair and drew him close, sliding his tongue deep into Valjean’s mouth until Valjean moaned and relaxed in his arms, eyes closed, his nerves forgotten.
“Come,” Javert said when he pulled back, breathless and smiling. “Or they’ll find us still here when they return. I want you looking your best.”
This time, Valjean followed Javert into his stall as obediently as Valjean’s own Spanish gelding, stripping off his clothes at Javert’s command and holding still when Javert began to rub oil into his skin.
This wasn’t new, either—Javert had prepared Valjean just like that for the trials in Saint-Cloud. But now they were no longer among fellow enthusiasts at an event dedicated to showing off a plethora of stallions. Right now, they were all alone in another man’s stable, and although they’d been promised that no one would disturb them, Javert still found himself listening for sounds in the quiet building, uncertain how he’d react should one of Delisle’s stable hands enter.
Valjean looked beautiful in the golden summer sunshine that filled the stable. His bare body gleamed with oil, hard with muscle. He truly was an impressive sight, as powerful as the massive white fire horses he took care of during the week.
Valjean’s cock had already begun to harden, and Javert quickly smoothed the large steel ring into place around the base of his cock and his balls.
The sensation made Valjean groan, but he held still for it, even when Javert’s hand returned to thoughtfully close around his swollen balls, weighing them.
It had been two weeks since he’d last allowed Valjean to come. It hadn’t been good for Valjean’s temper, despite Valjean’s efforts to control himself these days, and Javert had been forced to use the crop to correct his manners more often than he usually had to.
Still, Valjean had remained unfulfilled, his balls now heavy and swollen in Javert’s hand.
Javert patted Valjean’s backside, then let go of him, ignoring the pitiful sound Valjean made.
“Turn around.”
Valjean knew what was to come. With a deep breath, he leaned slightly forward and spread his legs. Javert watched admiringly before he retrieved the tail he’d brought.
It was the same tail they’d used at the trials: the wood polished by Javert himself, the tail made of genuine, silver horse hair that fell past Valjean’s knees and swished as he walked with the plug inside him.
Javert had been generous with the oil; the plug slid in easily, although Valjean hissed and rose to his toes to escape the pressure.
Javert smiled as he watched Valjean tremble. He could only imagine the pressure in his balls, Valjean’s cock now hard and red. Javert’s plan seemed to be working well.
“Don’t even think of finding release,” he said. “If I catch you touching yourself...”
Panting, Valjean hastily shook his head, his eyes wide and wild—already overwhelmed by sensation although they had barely started.
Javert smoothed his hand over a buttock again, kneading the firm flesh.
“Turn around,” he said. “Let me see you walk.”
Valjean walked back and forth in his small stall, his painfully swollen cock bobbing in the air.
“Beautiful,” a deep voice suddenly said from the corridor behind them.
When Javert turned around, he saw that their host had arrived. Delisle wore a dark red hunting coat, in his hand a pair of reins, loosely held.
Behind him stood Raven, the dark-haired stallion perhaps twenty years his junior, with soft, slightly curly hair, his skin a warm, golden olive, as if he’d spent lots of time in the summer sun. Like Valjean, he was wearing a tail.
Raven’s tail was black just like his hair, whereas the harness he wore today was made from soft, brown leather and polished steel, unlike the showy harness and bridle he’d worn at the competition.
Despite Delisle’s hold on his reins, Raven eagerly strode forward. Delisle gave him his head with a laugh.
“It’s been a while since he had company,” he said. “And he rather liked that fine stallion of yours.”
Javert hadn’t yet put a bridle on Valjean, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but remember Valjean’s reaction to the aggressive, red stallion who had cornered them in the stable before the trials. But while Valjean still seemed a little alarmed when Raven moved straight towards him, he held himself still and at Javert’s signal, warily came forward.
“None of your tricks now,” Javert told Valjean and gave his thigh a light, warning tap with the crop. “Be nice to our hosts.”
Knowing Valjean, the problem was that Raven was too nice. Valjean didn’t know how to react to that. Still, Javert’s warning was enough to make Valjean hold still when Raven came closer, and once Raven had eagerly rubbed his cheek against Valjean’s shoulder and breathed against his cheek, Valjean relaxed a little—perhaps remembering how good Raven had made him feel last year.
“Shall we let them get to know each other again?” Delisle asked, reaching out to lightly thread his fingers through Valjean’s hair, gently stroking him.
Valjean exhaled with a surprised huff of air, but held still for it, although he was watching Delisle cautiously as well.
“After that long journey, he must want to stretch his legs.” Delisle’s hand released Valjean’s hair at last to stroke down his chest, feeling his muscle. “He seems in fine form.”
Valjean shifted uncertainly, only to immediately flush and stand still before Javert even had to remind him—the pressure of the plug alone sufficed for that.
“Do I need to put a bridle on you?” Javert asked quietly. “Or will you behave yourself?”
Valjean looked up at him, still uncertain, but then seemed to come to a decision and lowered his head in submission.
Javert smiled and, instead of the bridle, simply attached a lead to his harness.
Delisle took them to a meadow surrounded by a hedge, hidden behind the mansion and far from the eyes of any casual observer. Delisle truly had arranged things very well—was all of this just a diversion he indulged in every now and then when he invited a friend from his club, or did he and Raven spend much of their time here?
Javert took off the lead and set Valjean free in the small meadow. The grass stood high, fragrant with wild flowers, the ground soft. At the far end of the meadow, trees arched over the hedge, offering shade beneath the branches.
“Behave,” Delisle said, laughing, Raven already champing at the bit when he saw Valjean take his first, hesitant steps into the meadow, silver tail brushing against the long grass.
“Don’t scare him.”
Raven snorted playfully in answer, looking as if he was very much enjoying himself. Delisle reached out to open a buckle and gently took off the bridle, easing the bit out of his mouth.
Javert watched Raven stalk straight towards Valjean, who seemed torn between his desire to be good or to flee from handsome, affectionate Raven whose attentions he’d always found overwhelming, even when Javert had kept a firm hold on his reins.
Now, Valjean watched warily, taking an instinctive step back before he caught himself.
“He’s so shy,” Delisle said in delight. “Raven, behave!”
Javert felt a smile tugging on his own lips. Valjean, hard muscles gleaming in the sunlight, exuded an almost brutal strength. He wouldn’t have seemed out of place in a collection of Roman statues; all he lacked was a spear and a shield.
Raven was very handsome, his body firm with muscle, a man in his thirties, graceful and athletic, who was no doubt used to long hours in the saddle or perhaps the fencing school. Next to Jean Valjean, there was no doubt at all who was the stronger and who should feel threatened.
Still, Raven moved straight towards Valjean, every step exuding confidence and eager curiosity, and Valjean would surely have chosen to flee if he hadn’t wanted to please Javert.
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing these two play together again,” Delisle said. “What a pretty picture they make.”
Raven had now reached Valjean and was circling him in delight, pausing once to bury his nose in Valjean’s hair and scent along his nape before he playfully bared his teeth and bit Valjean, just like a horse trying to exert dominance.
Valjean flinched and made a shocked sound, but Raven had already danced out of his reach, tail swishing against his thighs while Valjean still watched him in confusion.
Javert watched, amused. The sight should have been hilarious—and yet, how often did he have a chance to admire Valjean’s naked body in the sunlight, surrounded by green grass and flowering trees?
Javert leaned against the fence and smiled at Valjean, who’d turned to give him a helpless look. Finding no help from Javert, Valjean turned back to face Raven when the other stallion mischievously came closer again.
This time, Valjean was prepared and moved out of the way just when Raven teasingly leaned in to nip at him once more. Perhaps he’d assumed that Valjean would challenge him in return—but Valjean wasn’t used to such a playful companion. Instead he stood waiting, confused and uncertain, while Raven kept approaching and teasing him until at long last, minutes later, Valjean finally seemed to understand Raven’s invitation and began to hesitantly run after him.
“There. That’s more like it,” Delisle said with a laugh. “Raven always gets his way in the end. I know I spoil him… But can you blame me? “
It was a charming sight to watch the two stallions running together, bare skin gleaming in the sunlight. Raven was no doubt very handsome, but Javert couldn’t look away from Valjean, who had finally lost all inhibition. It was a rare sight indeed to see Valjean abandoning his fears just like that.
It had been the right choice to come. Even if Javert would never be able to compete with Delisle’s mansion and his tack room, it was worth anything to watch Valjean let go and allow himself to play.
Once the two men had run until they were breathless, they returned to their owners. A light sheen of sweat was visible on Valjean’s body now, his hair tousled by the wind, an uncharacteristic smile on his face as he looked at Javert.
Javert reached into his pocket and fished out a treat, but when he held it out to Valjean, it was Raven who shouldered him aside playfully and hastily took the sugar cube from Javert’s palm, eyes laughing up at him while Valjean watched, stunned and unhappy.
“You’re spoiled indeed,” Javert said dryly and reached out to bury his hand in Raven’s hair, giving his head a little shake. “If you were mine, my riding crop would see a lot of exercise.”
Raven made a shocked little sound—this time, Valjean had at last dared to come forward and nipped at his shoulder while giving him an indignant look.
“None of your sullenness.” Javert released Raven at last to turn back to Valjean with a stern look. “Come here.”
Valjean reluctantly came closer, his eyes on Javert’s riding crop—expecting, no doubt, to find himself pushed against the fence for a few swats.
Instead, Javert curved his hand around his neck and held him in a tight grip, and after a few moments, he felt Valjean relax.
Only then did he reach into his pocket for another treat, offering it to Valjean who took it from his palm with soft, hot lips, the tip of his tongue swiping gently, apologetically, against Javert’s palm.