Chapter Text
Javert stared at Valjean’s naked back, marked with scars from previous whippings. He could see how tense he was, clenching his muscles to stop them from shaking. He’d suffered this before, he knew what was coming.
The damn fool! He’d made another escape attempt in the night, but they’d caught him after only four hours.
He let the first lash fall on the man’s back, leaving a red welt.
It should not be him doing this, he was hot with anger when he should be cool and impassive. But the lot had fallen to him and he could not back out without looking weak. Sweat ran down his neck as he performed his duty. The convict’s moans and screams were loud in his ears.
Administering this punishment was odious to him at the best of times. Today he hated it. He hated Valjean for forcing him to do this to him. Why could the man not accept his sentence and serve his time?
He knew it was irrational, their relationship had always been physical, nothing more, but he felt betrayed. He should not have expected anything else from a convict, no matter how well he fucked him.
Javert stared at the bloody mess after he’d given the last blow.
Valjean was shaking, his breath laboured, he thought he could hear him sob quietly. He deserved it. It was the proper punishment for an attempted escape. He ground his teeth together, making himself watch as water laced with vinegar and salt was poured over the convict’s back. Valjean’s body jerked violently, then slumped as he lost consciousness.
Valjean lay on the hard floor, every breath, every motion agony. He’d spent the last few days in the infirmary, until they’d been sure he would make it — he wouldn’t have been the first prisoner to die under the lash — then he’d been locked into solitary confinement. The darkness didn’t bother him yet, when all he could think of was pain, but the despair would come, he knew it.
He heard the key in the lock and opened his eyes a little, squinting against the light.
„Unless you’ve come to inspect your handiwork, you better leave right away,“ he growled through gritted teeth. „I’m not in the mood for a fuck.“ He knew immediately it had been the wrong thing to say and retribution came quickly. A sharp blow with the baton to his side, that made Valjean cry out, because it had also graced the fresh wounds on his back.
„Do not disrespect me, 24601,“ Javert snapped. „Up.“
Oh, he was angry, Valjean could see it in the stiffness of his posture and the way his face was almost too devoid of emotion. He wondered if he’d asked to be the one giving him his punishment. Valjean rose slowly, his back screaming at him, head swimming. He wasn’t sure how long he’d manage to stay upright.
„Four hours, you damn fool! Were they worth those thirty lashes? Were they worth three months in solitary confinement? Where they worth another three years?“ Javert’s voice had risen until he was shouting. „And you are damn lucky you won’t spend the rest of your time chained with the rebellious convicts.“
Valjean had never seen him like this. Passionate, yes, when he held him in a bruising grip and fucked him roughly and pleasure tore away his impassive facade. But never furious. Javert did not show his anger to the world. And what right had he to be angry at him anyway?
Valjean felt his own simmering rage break into flame. „Lucky?“ he roared and gripped Javert by the collar, slamming him against the wall. „You have no idea what you are talking about!“
He saw a motion from the corner of his eye, Javert had lifted his arm to strike.
„Go on then,“ Valjean hissed into his face. „Hit me. You’ve already done an excellent job on my back, no need to hold back now.“ The quick motions had ripped his wounds open again, he could feel blood seep through the bandages.
„Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? You brought this down on yourself!“ Javert growled back, but the blow didn’t come.
„Oh yes, your precious justice!“ Valjean ground him into the wall harder, if only to be able to slightly lean against him, his legs were shaking. „Do you think it just that I have spent more time here for my escape attempts than for my original crime? Yes, it was worth it! Each one of them! Every second of breathing the air outside these cursed walls is worth the consequences. But you’ll never understand that. You are the fool here, Javert. I am doing this for myself, at least. You are licking the hand that would think nothing of striking you down, if you misstepped.“
He was breathing heavily, cold sweat making him shiver, there was a ringing in his ears. He let go of Javert and sat down on the floor. When the spell of weakness had passed and he looked up, Javert had left.
He hadn’t intended to come back. He’d told himself he would forget about Valjean, let him turn back into just another convict — a number. But he still woke hard and aching, the ghosts of rough hands on his skin and a large cock spreading him lingering.
And there were worse dreams.
He was holding the whip, screams in his ears, the taste of blood on his tongue, cold sweat on his skin. Waking with a queasy feeling in his stomach. Executing a punishment had never lingered with him like that.
He was under the lash, back in flames, Valjean behind him, mocking him -- he'd never told him about his origin, but in these dreams he knew, calling him a traitor and an impostor -- as the whip cracked down on his back. He was not feeling guilty. He wasn't. He mustn't. He caught himself wondering how it would feel to be beaten.
He worked himself to exhaustion, hoping for dreamless sleep, but he couldn’t get the damn man out of his mind! So he’d come back here, to this cell, even though he was sure Valjean would likely want to kill him more than anything else.
Valjean rose quickly when he saw him and there was a resentment in his face that Javert hadn’t seen him direct at him for a while now. He felt guilty for striking him in anger that last time. That had been wrong. Very deliberately he put his baton down beside his lamp and the satchel he’d brought. He stepped forward and it pained him to see the wary look on Valjean’s face. They’d come to trust each other in a way. That was gone now, but maybe, just maybe, he could save some of it.
„Let me look at your back,“ Javert said softly, not an order, a request.
Valjean opened his mouth to say something, but then he just shook his head and turned around. He still moved stiffly, stripping to the waist. It had been some weeks and the bruising had almost gone, but the scars were red and raised and some deeper wounds were still scabbed over. Javert’s hand trembled when he followed one of the scars with his fingertips, he could feel Valjean’s muscles tense.
„Are you pleased with yourself?“ Valjean’s voice was full of venom. „Did you enjoy whipping me?“
„No.“ Javert let his hand fall to his side. „I hated every moment of it.“
Valjean turned around, a look of surprise on his face.
„It was just punishment, that doesn’t mean I have to like it. The law is there to keep order, not to please.“
„Don’t preach at me,“ Valjean growled. „You mean to tell me it was pure coincidence, that it was you whipping me?“
„Did you think I asked for it?“ In a way it relieved Javert that this was one reason why he was so angry. This was a misunderstanding, this he could mend. „I did not. Regardless of what you might think, most of us don’t look forward to deal out this kind of punishment. So we draw straws. The lot fell on me and I couldn’t get out of it without losing face.“
„You were furious. I could see it.“
„I was. When I hit you the last time I came here, that was done in anger and I apologise.“
There was a glimmer of humour in Valjean’s face when he answered. „That’s something you don’t often hear, a guard apologising to a convict.“
„Don’t expect me to repeat that in public,“ Javert answered dryly.
„But why did you come then. If not to admire your handiwork?“
Javert’s mouth went try. This was it, then. „In part to apologise. It’s been bothering me. But also… I’m having dreams and I need to get this out of my head before it drives me insane.“ He turned around sharply and opened the satchel. Valjean stared at him when he offered him the whip handle first. „Take it.“
Javert stripped quickly, motions jerky. He’d given him a weapon and he wasn’t quite sure how Valjean would use it. It would be damn hard to explain how the convict had gotten hold of a whip, if he hurt him so much he wouldn’t be able to hide it. Javert searched his face but Valjean followed his movements with disbelief and he couldn’t see anything else.
He stepped towards a wall and braced himself against it.
„You don’t want me to do that, Javert,“ Valjean said with a tone in his voice that sounded oddly like gentleness.
„I do. Show me how it feels.“ He needed to know, it would continue to haunt his dreams otherwise. Valjean was silent for a long while. It made Javert shiver with nerves. „Come now,“ he growled, before he could think better of it. „Don’t you want to?“
The first blow hit him across the shoulders. The pain tore through his body a moment later, drawing a pained sound from his lips. He panted, the welt a searing white burn on his skin. His heart was racing.
„Still so sure about this?“ Valjean asked.
„Continue,“ Javert answered, hoping his voice sounded even vaguely like he meant it.
By the third lash he was screaming and quickly lost count after that. You needed strength to give a proper whipping and Valjean certainly had no lack of that. Everything was pain and he just wanted it to stop. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood so he wouldn’t give in to the temptation and ask for a halt. Because he could and Valjean had never had that luxury. God in Heaven, he could see why this was thought effective as a deterrent.
When it finally stopped a relieved sob tore itself from Javert’s throat. He was trembling uncontrollably and he knew he would crumble if he tried to raise himself up. A large hand came to rest on his chest an helped him upright.
„Careful,“ Valjean said softly when Javert stumbled backward and his back collided with Valjean’s chest. They were both drenched in sweat and it stung on his sore skin. The thought of having salt water poured over it made him feel faintly sick. It was done to prevent inflammation of the wounds but he was sure in that moment that most convicts would only see it as an additional cruelty.
Valjean helped Javert down to sit, careful not to put pressure on his back. His own back was smarting again, the motion had been tugging at the fresh scars.
„You said I don’t understand,“ Javert said leaning his shoulder against him. „And I don’t. Why would you risk that for such a slim chance of running?“
He was still shaking and Valjean held him gently. He’d given him nine, the last blow drawing blood and that had stopped him, because he knew Javert would have to hide this. He should have stopped at five, he’d seen him struggle. But he’d been angry, deep down, had wanted to pay him back in kind for his suffering. And a part of him had been curious to see if Javert would make him stop eventually. He’d hurt him before, but not like this. He should have known better, Javert was stubborn as a rock. He slid his thumb over his bloody lip.
„I know you don’t,“ Valjean said tiredly, nothing of the ire left he’d felt last time. „I can’t give up. If I stopped planning, if I stopped looking for opportunities, if I stopped taking any chance that presented itself, I’d lose all hope. I’d die, inside, if not in body. Keeping that hope alive is worth everything.“
Javert regarded him with wide, dark eyes, his hand came up to stroke is cheek. „I’m sorry I called you a fool. I thought… I don’t know, I thought you were obstinate just for the sake of it.“
„Of course that’s what you’d think.“ He said it without bitterness. Javert was a rigid, harsh man full of preconceived notions of what was going on in a convict’s mind. But he was fair in his own way, he strictly followed the law and his punishments were never unnecessarily cruel. And whatever they had, this odd agreement between them… it had been one of the things that had kept him going these last few years. Valjean kissed him and Javert melted against him.
They were never gentle with each other, their coupling rough and fast and intense. This was different, sweet and slow, tender in a way he’d never been with anyone. Javert let him rearrange their limbs until Valjean could lean his back against the wall and Javert faced him, straddling his lap. Usually, when Javert felt like he was going too easy on him, he’d rile him up, fight him until he was forced to tighten his grip on him and make it hurt. But not today, not now. He’d stopped trembling, lying boneless against his chest. There was an open softness in his face that Valjean had only glimpsed a few times after they’d been particularly rough.
He kissed him again, drawing out the sweetness, his hands stroked Javert’s thigh and neck. He barely knew how to hold him without touching his back. Valjean shuddered when Javert bucked against him, their cocks brushing. He could hardly believe Javert would be in the mood, but the signs were rather obvious. He reached down between them, cupping Javert’s hardness in his palm. Javert moaned against his lips, rocking into his hand and Valjean felt his own cock swell against the fabric of his trousers.
He lifted Javert up, so he could wiggle partly out of his trousers, the cold stone floor not bothering him right now. Javert had pushed his own trousers down, his cock springing free and Valjean gripped his ass, pulling him flush against him, and nibbled at the soft skin of his throat.
Javert moved against him, building a slow rhythm that made them both gasp and moan. Valjean kneaded his ass and thighs, nuzzling his neck and jaw. Javert’s hands rested on his shoulders for balance, nails digging into his skin as his motions became more jerky.
„Please,“ he gasped into his ear. „Touch the welts, just once.“
Valjean was already shaky with his own oncoming release, but he fought to keep his hand steady when he let it glide very gently along his spine, feeling the raised, hot skin under his fingertips. Javert shuddered against him, muffling a moan against Valjean’s shoulder. Valjean pulled him close as they came shortly after one another.
Javert leaned heavily against Valjean’s broad chest, the pain in his back was overwhelming, mixing curiously with the aftershocks of pleasure running through his muscles.
He tucked his head under Valjean’s chin, just for a moment, he’d get up immediately. He should have already, their agreement was entirely carnal and he shouldn’t indulge in how good it felt to be held by Valjean. It shouldn’t feel so good to be held by the man who’d just beaten him. A desperate laugh bubbled up in his chest. At least he’d asked Valjean to do it, that couldn’t be said of the other way around. But Valjean didn’t seem in a hurry to put distance between them either.
„Why?“ Valjean said quietly.
„I told you, I’d been dreaming about it and I hope experiencing it for real will stop that.“ He wouldn’t tell him that he’d felt oddly guilty — not exactly for the punishment, but for his anger, for the way he’d treated him after — even more so now that he’d heard why Valjean tried to escape again and again. It was nothing petty, that reason. He could understand the need to cling to something for dear life, for him it had been the law that saved him.
Javert felt his eyes droop and quickly disentangled himself from Valjean’s arms. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep against his chest, however good it felt.
„Is it bleeding?“ he asked, turning his back to Valjean. He wasn’t entirely sure if the wetness he’d felt was sweat or blood.
„The last one broke the skin, but it has stopped bleeding.“
That relieved him, one bloodstain, he would be able to talk away as a simple injury. Javert gritted his teeth as he dressed, moving at all was painful and when he pulled up his braces, his knees became weak. Damn, it would chafe badly and he knew it was only going to get worse when he gingerly slipped into his uniform coat. The heavy wool pressed his shirt against the sore skin, the intense pain made him shiver, cold sweat beaded on his brow. He leaned against the wall, trying to get a grip on himself and saw Valjean hovering with something like worry on his face.
„Don’t look at me like that, I’ll live,“ he ground out and righted himself.
„One more thing.“ He stepped closer and held Valjean’s gaze. He hadn’t thought before about telling him, but he needed him to know now. „I heard what you said about why you are running, but… It’s been four times, if you try again, it might be turned into a life sentence.“ He let his hand slide over the brand on Valjean’s shoulder. „Don’t risk that.“
He could see the fear in Valjean’s eyes and knew he wouldn’t. He turned around, but before he could leave, Valjean called him back. „Javert…“ He turned around again. Valjean was looking down, shoulders hunched. „Will you be back? You… you know how I get in here.“
Yes, he’d seen how the darkness, the loneliness, affected him, but Valjean had never before admitted it in so many words — and he’d never asked him outright to see him.
„I will,“ Javert said gently. „I’m not sure when I’ll be able to, but I’ll come.“
The gratefulness on Valjean’s face made his heart clench. Something had shifted between them, he didn’t know how or where to and he was too scared of it to look at it too closely, so he pushed the thought far away.
It was easy, staying upright and moving like nothing was wrong with him required all his attention.