Work Text:
His knuckles rap abruptly on the door. He can hear the timbre of the oak’s echo through the room on the other side. Something twists in his chest; confusing and uncomfortable but wonderful. It stretches down into his gut, tense and elastic as he awaits a response. No voice rises in reply. He wraps his hands at the small of his back, straightening a fraction more. A long second passes as he considers the possibility of receiving no answer at all. But abruptly footsteps sound, purposeful and growing louder with every step. Rather than a summons to enter, it seems he will receive an escort. He just manages to slip the surprise from his face before the door is thrown open.
The expectant face of the Maire of Montreuil-sur-Mer appears. The warmth of the man’s brown eyes slide over Javert like a summer shower of rain. His hands tighten around themselves behind his back. He sees something change in Madeleine’s face. What it is, he can’t name, but his features soften and a youthfulness comes to his face.
“Inspector Javert,” he greets, stepping aside with a welcoming wave.
Javert removes his hat and gives a respectful nod. He pauses a moment, meeting the Maire’s eyes before striding inside with a confidence he does not necessarily feel.
Madeleine watches the police chief sweep into the room with his familiar imperiousness. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he gently presses the door closed. The morning had been interminable. A series of painfully dull meetings, steeped in twisted politics and bland banalities had dulled his senses to the point of sleep. His mind had begun to wander dangerously to more virile pastures. A strong pair of hands on his shoulders; the press of lips against his throat; heat and strength wrapping around him, drawing noises from his mouth he had no name for.
He cancelled his afternoon appointment. He would do the town no good in this state. His mind was unfit for politics today, and there was only one thing he could think of to cure it.
“Javert.” He turns to regard the man he has summoned to his home. “I hope I have not disturbed you from any matter too pressing?” The Inspector has not made it as far as the centre of the room. The Mairie’s library is vast, bookshelves stretching high to the ceiling and Madeleine prefers it as his study and also assembly room. The books calm his nerves when politicians inflame them.
“Of course not, Monsieur le Maire,” another small nod of the head. Madeleine is unsure whether he can see the tension thrumming through the body of the other man, or whether he simply knows it from experience. “A minor infraction.”
“Oh, yes?” he poses, stepping from the door and beginning a slow step towards the Javert. The movement is predatory in a way he doesn’t consciously intend. Javert does not miss it.
“A theft. Nothing my constables cannot handle.” The words almost make Madeleine pause, but years of hiding the truth of his emotions means he does not falter. His footsteps seem loud in the heavy, warm air.
“Good. I know your Force can be always relied upon,” the carpet passing under his feet muffles his steps. Javert stands close to the centre of the elaborate pattern, halfway to placing himself in front of Madeleine’s desk. A deference; a capitulation that he may have been summoned here on business. It is wrong of course.
“They are the best men in the arrondissement, Monsieur le Maire.” Madeleine is almost upon him now, the conversation merely a bridge for him to cross the room upon.
“Indeed,” Madeleine muses, finally reaching Javert and squaring himself to the police chief. “You would accept no less.”
Javert proffers another respectful nod at the blatant compliment. His lips thin slightly, either in expectation or apprehension; Madeleine can never quite tell.
“How might I aid you today, Monsieur?” Javert asks, but his voice has dropped, quieter and darker than anything he has said before.
They are only words, but Madeleine has suffered a host of dull ones all morning, and these are enough to kindle something deep within him. He feels a heat growing between his legs. Mere anticipation, or the sight of Javert in his study; summoned here solely for this purpose; it is obscene, it is brutal and improper.
His eyes drink in the man before him, refreshing Madeleine and reawakening him from the claustrophobic dullness of the day. His immaculate appearance, his pristine uniform, his flawless queue; piercing eyes regarding his every twitch; flinch and jerk. Now the Maire is exposed.
“I have an issue I cannot hope to resolve without you, Javert,” he answers, matching his voice to the other man’s; low and expectant. Teasing himself as much as Javert, he reaches out and takes the man’s hat from beneath his arm. Javert surrenders it without protest, his eyes never leaving Madeleine’s face.
“I will do my utmost, Monsieur.” The inspector’s voice is only a murmur now, though holds no less conviction.
A pause. Madeleine will wait no longer. A strong stride forwards closes the gap between them. One hand rises to press against Javert’s broad chest, the other still holding the Inspector’s hat. His lips, he moulds to Javert’s with an unmatched hunger. He has them travelling across the room, pushing the man forcefully backwards towards the bookcases that line the walls. His lips devour Javert, sliding hungrily over the other man’s, drinking down the taste of him with each step.
Javert is startled, eyes wide in surprise. Although he has half-expected something of the kind, he has never experienced or imagined the usually restrained Maire to be like this. All he can do is keep his feet as he stumbles backwards beneath Madeleine’s lust-filled onslaught. The small part of his mind that is not consumed by desire wonders at what has happened to inspire such actions from the man. The lips upon his are warm, smooth, full, sliding across his own with a frantic need. It is almost an attack; would be except that Javert’s lips move across Madeleine’s in return. Except that he opens himself and allows the Maire to drink his fill from him; palms his jaw and slides his fingers into gentle waves of hair. Steadies himself. The surprise now wearing off, he lets his lips part and feels the blissful heat of Madeleine’s tongue rolling sensuously across his own.
After what feels like an unending fall, he finally thumps against the bookshelves. The impact is hard; the edges harsh against his back. A grunt escapes him as a sparkle of pain fizzles up his spine and across his shoulders. He tastes a tint of blood; whether it is his or Madeleine’s, he cannot tell. The taste is bland in comparison to Madeleine’s lips.
The Maire lets Javert’s hat fall from his fingertips. A flick of his wrist drifts it out of the path of shuffling boots. Now, with his hands free, Madeleine grips the shelves of the bookcase Javert is pinned against, using the leverage to press himself hard against the man beneath him. Their bodies flush, pressed against each other is an ecstatic relief to his itching nerves. His parched mouth from hours of boredom feels refreshed by the delicious slide of Javert’s tongue against his own. The chest beneath his own heaves, gasping for breath between kisses. Madeleine does not give much opportunity for the Inspector to recover himself, pressing the man harder against the bookshelf, grinding against him and sliding his tongue even deeper into the encompassing warmth of his mouth. He swallows Javert’s grunt, greedily.
Hands released, needing more, he eases the pressure – Javert gulps down air - and moves them to slide across the plains of the man’s body. Over a strong chest, down a tapered waist where he squeezes a moment, then around over the perfect ass that he has been dreaming of, wishing for all day. A sharp jerk easily shunts Javert’s hips forward from his flushed position against the innocent books. It pulls them flush together, growing erections meeting suddenly through layers of fabric.
Javert’s hands grip the edges of the bookshelf, trying to steady his stance. His back lies against the book spines while his hips meet Madeleine’s in suspended air; their legs entangled on the wooden floorboards beneath.
Low, and on his breath, “I have thought of nothing but this all day,” Madeleine whispers. His lips press a solid kiss before lifting and floating to Javert’s jaw. The Maire kisses a path up the chiselled bone till he reaches the soft, bare spot just beneath his ear. Javert’s body rolls into Madeleine’s at the touch of lips. His senses still reel from the sudden attack and his mind, overcome by immediate lust struggles to catch up with the events unfolding.
It is not new or unknown; the Maire had found the spot beneath his ear several weeks ago; learnt how it made him twist beneath him, press into him and shiver nearer to his lips. What is new is Madeleine’s fervent surrender to what was obviously an undeniable desire.
Another kiss pressed to the spot, another whispered confession; “Thought of nothing but you, all day.”
Rushed hands move to divest the Inspector of his immaculate uniform. Madeleine trails the edges of his teeth over the soft skin of the man’s ear as he unbuttons the summer jacket. Javert’s body straightens and he rises from the bookshelf. His fingertips deftly brush over the tips of Javert’s shoulders, taking the unwanted vestment with them. It meets the floor with a soft thwump.
Javert’s hands move to Madeleine’s formal jacket, but the Maire’s hands wrap swiftly around his hands. “No,” he breathes, denying his exposure to Javert and pressing himself flush against the Inspector once more.
The growl in the base of Javert’s throat is so deep he almost misses it. Madeleine’s heavy-lidded eyes meet Javert’s; present and fully aware for the first time since Madeleine’s advance.
His voice when he speaks is low and dangerous. “I am not some whore that you can summon here when you please.”
Madeleine’s hands slide from Javert’s hips slowly round his waist and up his sculpted back to pull the Inspector’s chest to his own. He trails his lips across sharp and newly unyielding ones. His hands feel the tense muscles in the man’s back. Madeleine’s eyes remain open; locked though hazy with Javert’s. “But you came.”
He sees the flare in Javert’s eyes, tempered slightly by realisation of this truth; feels the man’s hands tense on his back however he does not let it catch. He presses his lips again to the Inspector’s. It is passionate, but the kiss also holds something else; something that they do not acknowledge openly; a gentleness born from-
The kiss breaks, Javert’s lips which seem now to respond naturally to the press of Madeleine’s pull away, drawn into a thin line. “I came as your Chief of Police.” Their eyes meet again. Javert seems to see something that frightens him. Undeterred, the Maire deftly unwraps Javert’s cravat with one hand, never breaking their gaze. Madeleine kisses him again, bored of talk. But Javert pulls back again. Madeleine’s hands hold them together with a deep-seated need, almost a panic that he might pull away completely. “To the Maire.” Javert’s eyes dance across the Maire, taking in every aspect so familiar; dark eyes, warm gaze, tanned skin, He feels a familiar twitch in the back of his mind, deep in his memory. “Not to you.”
Valjean begins to slip open the buttons from his shirt.
The room is warm, the air welcoming as Javert’s skin is gradually bared to it. The beat in his chest quickens as lips return to his neck, sucking the flesh there, hard and tight, nipping with insistent teeth. The tails of his shirt slide from the high waistband of his trousers. Valjean’s hands are on the bare skin of his back now, fingertips roaming. His neck is released from the bruising kiss. The colour will be high, placed above his collar; tough to hide; purposeful.
Lips freed. “You came to me,” Valjean murmurs on a breath but it drifts just far enough for Javert to hear. A truth spoken that they both have known for some time.
Javert’s mouth meets Valjean’s in a bruising kiss. Sucks on his lower lip which is already full and wet with lustful kisses. His tongue delves forwards and meets Valjean’s and they press and slide and fight. Javert feels the other man’s moan reverberate through his entire body until it reaches his mouth and Javert takes it from him in an open-mouthed kiss.
The Inspector’s shirt floats to the floorboards, a mere whisper of their misdeed. Hungry hands rake over his bared skin, possessing and stealing and feeling. He jerks forward into Valjean’s bigger frame as a nail presses into his nipple, helpless to his body’s reaction. Valjean takes the opportunity to plunder his mouth, tongue momentarily subdued by pleasure.
Before long, he’s stumbling again, staggered steps to the side, led somewhere else that in that moment he cannot bring himself to care about because a hand has slid between his legs and presses and he is held by Valjean his mouth is full of Valjean. A groan shudders through him.
They have had each other before, many times, but never like this. Never with such hunger, or disregard. Never before without some give and take, some understanding or mutual exchange. As much as Javert wanted to and as much as he tried, he was finding it impossible to fight back, his attempts swallowed or shackled at every turn.
Javert’s boot collides with something and Valjean’s body barrels into him, sending them both tumbling backwards. But whatever he tripped over, Valjean had expected; his arm catches them both just in time, lowering them away from broken bones with an easy grace and onto steps. Javert realises the sharp wooden edges digging into his back are the gently angled steps of a ladder, climbing into the upper echelons of the library. It is uncomfortable but Valjean is already on top of him. It seems there will be no negotiation on location. His back will have to bear it.
Together again, their lips meet. Javert’s hands move to cup Valjean’s face. The kiss is still passion-filled but more sensuous now that release is near. Valjean’s arm snakes around behind him, pulling his back into a sensuous arch. His hands are mischievous; one scrabbles at Javert’s belt with clear intent, the other slides into his hair at the base of his neck. Javert can feel long fingers threading through behind his queue, loosening the band further with each movement. It makes his back arch higher at the sensation, a fizzling pleasure down his spine. He lets his head drop back into the touch. Lips move to the spot on his neck again. Still tender, pulsing beneath wet lips. Javert drags in a deep breath and when it escapes he’s ashamed at how it shakes.
There is a suspicious rattle. Javert’s eyes open reluctantly but are too slow. The cold metal is around his wrist in less than a second, deft fingers screwing the mechanism shut.
“No-!”
“-Shhh.” Valjean’s mouth swallows his plea. The man is atop him, much of his body weight pressing down upon him. The kiss is hard, but does not distract the Inspector from his arm being raised above his head.
Javert tries to pull away but he is pressed against the steps with nowhere to retreat to. He mewls into the kiss, but the only response he receives is his bottom lip being captured between sharp teeth. He feels Valjean’s hand on his other arm, pressing it upwards to meet the other in incarceration above his head. His lip slips free. He tears his head to the side.
“Stop,” he insists, breath hitching “– you mustn’t-“
“-The door is locked and no one will disturb us,” the voice is smooth and soothing, reminiscent of the one the Maire uses when talking statesmen around to his side without them realising.
“I do not-“ Javert tries, but Valjean may as well have gagged him too.
“-Do as I say, Javert,” the voice is stern and something inside Javert slips and he struggles to find breath for his chest. Those eyes stare through him, eyebrows lowered elegantly over dark eyes, pupils blown wide with need but gaze steady. “I want you like this.” Confident in his superiority. “And I shall have you.”
Javert’s eyes slide closed, head dropping back against the step. A jolt of pleasure runs into his cock, making it strain against tight fabric. It is enough encouragement for Valjean. He dimly hears the rattle of metal on metal. Cold against his other wrist, his arm stretching, twisting a little awkwardly to where the short chain is hung over the rail of the ladder, trapped at an intersection, pulling him upwards. A pause.
“Look at me.” The command is still powerful but less controlled than before.
Javert forces his eyes open and sees Valjean of the Bagne towering above him. The sound of appreciation rumbles low in the man’s chest, eyes raking over Javert’s bared body. The Inspector’s hands clench into fists above them.
Valjean wastes no more time looking. With an animalistic crouch he tears Javert’s trousers from his incarcerated form, tugging boots off with them with an urgent alacrity.
Now utterly exposed, a twisting shiver runs the full length of Javert’s body. He can feel Valjean’s eyes devouring every inch of him in seconds. His dick is solid and erect against his stomach. At Valjean’s eyes, a bead of wetness spills from him and trails a slow descent down his length. His back aches against the harsh wood. He bends his knees, putting his feet on the bottom step and trying to shift position before the weight of Valjean traps him again.
He just about manages before he feels the expensive wool of Valjean’s trousers against the virgin skin of his inner thighs. He may have managed to shift position slightly on the stairs, but he has also inadvertently exposed himself further; knees bent and legs open. Valjean swiftly removes his jacket and then bends low to trail a line of kisses up Javert’s torso from where he kneels between his legs. The kisses leave a trail of fire along his body. He grinds his teeth against the noise that grows at the back of his throat but regardless of his efforts it still escapes a little with his breath; once then; twice. His head drops back in frustration at himself; hard against the wood, the noise loud in the quiet of the room.
A hand grabs his dick suddenly and he jerks upwards, a shout escaping unhindered by his teeth or conscience. Another hand moves to his hair, urging up enough to slide between his head and the wood. He hears Valjean make a sound of displeasure. He worries for a moment that its directed at him, would be embarrassed to admit even to himself that he did so at all. But then the hand moves on him and everything he has is focused onto the feeling of the rough heat around him.
He feels the fabric of Valjean’s shirt against his chest, senses heightened to breaking point. Lips slide over his own and he feels the man’s thick erection through wool pressing against his balls as Valjean’s hips begin to thrust. The sensation is heavy and makes his arms jerk down against the handcuffs. A natural reaction to the assault on soft flesh.
“Sshh,” Valjean whispers.
From the depths of his mind, a lucid Javert wants to bite a protest at being shushed like a wild animal. But that Javert is buried beneath layers of sensuous touch and burning arousal. All the captive Javert manages is a small frown, lasting no more than a second. It is smoothed away by Valjean’s hungry kisses.
Valjean’s need is unbearable now. He feels as though he has been rock hard all day and straining against these heavy trousers. He relinquishes Javert’s head back to the hard wood of the step and uses his freed hand to pull open his trousers. Even the sensation of being freed makes him groan in satisfaction and he cannot help thrusting forward into his own palm. The feeling is sublime and he opens his eyes to look down upon the feast spread beneath him. His eyes drink the Inspector in. All hard lines and tapered muscles, straining and taunt and shivering with need; chest labouring to draw enough breath through reddened lips, torn at and then soothed again. His hand tightens on Javert’s cock in unconscious response and the man’s thighs strain even more, his head falling to the side. He thrusts again into his own hand, feeling the wetness of Javert seeping around his hand, between his fingers like liquid silk. He twists his hand upwards, spreading it over Javert’s sizable length. Then, swaps hands, and spreads the wetness over his own length. He slides his fingers over Javert once more before lifting his hand and tracing slick fingertips across the man’s parted lips. He feels the warmth of Javert’s tongue touch tentatively and then pushes his fingers gently but insistently inside the Inspector’s mouth. Javert takes them willingly, tongue sliding around the slick intrusions eagerly, tasting himself on Valjean’s fingers.
Valjean thrusts harder into his hand, squeezing himself as he hardens even more at the sensation of Javert’s tongue wrapping over his slick fingers, sucking them deeper, sliding them between his lips. He removes them, licked clean and shining wet. Without warning or deliberation he moves his hand between Javert’s already spread legs and presses his fingertips against his hole. No pause before he slides two swiftly inside, the ring of muscles quickly giving way to his advance. Javert’s voice escapes in a shout from the back of his throat. The rattle of metal is loud as the man’s entire body jerks with tension at the sudden intrusion. His arms ripple, muscles and veins standing in relief as he surges upwards, holds the weight of his upper body on the metal cuffs. Close enough now, his head drops forward onto Valjean’s shoulder, leaving his arms pulled awkwardly behind his head in a mockery of a satisfying morning stretch.
For Valjean it is heat and closeness around his dick and everything he has been wishing for all day. His breath escapes in a voiced huff of pleasure at the tightness around his fingers, his cock twitches in his hand eager to replace them. He feels Javert’s groan against his shoulder rather than hears it.
“Let go,” Valjean husks. He moves his hand from his cock to Javert’s arm, smearing his pre-come where his hand wraps around the man’s forearm. He feels the shake of straining tendons beneath his hand. He clears his throat. “Let go,” he repeats, trailing his hand down the plains of Javert’s arm and heaving side, pressing him backwards. The Inspector goes, does as he is bid and lays himself again upon the stairs. He groans, eyes flicking down to his own cock where it brushes against his stomach, weeping with need. Instead Valjean slides his fingers deeper, moving his hand to lift one of Javert’s legs, darkened with soft, hair over his shoulder, opening him further.
Valjean can feel the shift of muscle around his fingers as Javert tightens on him. A breath and then an easing, and he takes the moment to slide another finger deep inside. His own hips jerk his cock forward through the circle of his hand. Valjean needs more, needs to swallow him.
A sobbed “ah” from the back of his throat escapes through Javert’s open lips, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white. Valjean leans down and captures Javert’s length between his lips. The hips beneath him jerk; a failed thrust, Javert’s form suspended too awkwardly for him to gain enough purchase for such a movement.
Valjean’s tongue laves at the head, slickly caressing the swollen crown, flicking across the top and tasting another salty bead of come on his tongue. He spreads it with the body of his tongue while sliding his lips down, feeling the throbbing vein underneath against his bottom lip. He hollows his cheeks and Javert cannot help but release a long, low moan at the sensation of being swallowed and sucked. Valjean keeps his tongue flat and wide, cupping around Javert’s hardness and begins to slide his lips up and down. He begins to move his fingers inside Javert’s heat, moves them in time with his mouth on the man’s cock, swallowing and stabbing his Inspector simultaneously. Javert starts to breathe with the movements, every out-breath a small but voiced grunt. The sounds above him fan the flames already burning deep inside Valjean’s gut. He grunts around Javert’s thick length, letting his teeth catch a little on sensitive skin this time, each swallow and each thrust taking more and more from the Inspector.
Javert’s hands wrap around the chains in an attempt to gain some purchase, but his body is betraying him and his limbs do not seem to be attentive to his commands. From a far off place, he sees his toes curling, spasming where they lie over Valjean’s shoulder. He is spread beneath the man like a wanton whore from the street, but the mouth around his prick convinces his legs to open further, wrapping around Valjean’s powerful body, pulling him nearer where he kneels over him. He can feel his throat rasping, thinks he must be shouting, but he cannot hear it. His hands tighten on the chains as Valjean’s fingers crook inside him and a blissful energy shoots through him, up his spine and shatters through his mind until he sees nothing but distant speckles of flickering light.
Valjean swallows every pulsing drop from Javert’s prick. Moves his mouth around the hot, spending flesh, dragging every last inch, last drop last morsel of pleasure from the body beneath. He moves his fingers still, plundering Javert’s body even in release. He drinks it down like a man in the desert, his tongue searching for more. Javert’s prick does not soften. Valjean opens his eyes. The Inspector’s face is damp with sweat, hair falling in strands from his ruined queue around his shoulders, sticking there to damp, still straining skin. The powerful chest heaves, dragging in each breath desperately. His eyes are open but heavy-lidded staring at nothing. His body shakes and back arches with an aftershock, the movement rattling the chains that still hold him to the ladder. Valjean swallows once more and pulls his mouth off, licking once at the swollen tip.
Valjean’s need is far from quenched; indeed it has only been whetted and seems to grow.
That Javert is still hard is enough to break the last inch of Valjean’s considerate resolve. A quick adjustment of his knees on the hard wood, grabs Javert’s ankle and holds it at his hip and he slides his dripping length inside Javert in one long, deliberate thrust, right to the hilt. A muffled grunt sounds as Javert’s body permits him entrance. The wool of his trousers presses against the smooth skin of Javert’s ass. His movement was unexpected and halts the steadying breaths Javert had been managing to steal, stutters them again. His eyes widen and then squeeze shut as his jaw tightens.
Valjean rests a moment, enjoying the feeling, moments and he has settled and then starts to move, allowing a long moan of long-awaited satisfaction. “Yes,” he grunts, shunting his hips forwards and sheathing himself inside Javert’s tightness. The Inspector spasms around him and his rhythm stutters for a moment before he regains it again with another voiced breath of pleasure. His hand, still wet and messed moves to Javert’s thigh, come matting the dark hair there together as he lifts it higher, pulls it wider to try to slide further inside. Javert shouts in either pain or pleasure. Perhaps both. The Police Chief does not fight against Valjean’s hand so he continues to slide in and out, taking his pleasure from the now limp body beneath him.
He leans down nipping a line from Javert’s ribs to his chest. Takes a nipple between his teeth and bites. A groan, a twist of Javert’s hips sends him entering at a different angle and his cock twitches in ecstasy at the new pressure. At the pinnacle of his thrust Javert’s body jerks beneath him with a small cry and Valjean knows his prick has found the perfect spot. He speeds up, carefully maintaining the angle and pressing Javert harder into the steps. The man’s knuckles have gone white around the chains again.
Valjean tries to think, tries to decide whether he should spend himself here or if he can bear to draw this out even longer. He groans at the thought of shoving his straining prick between Javert’s lips, fresh from his own hole. A shudder runs through him. Javert’s body is spasming around him now on every thrust. “God, yes,” he breathes, licking a trail up the man’s neck.
Javert’s teeth fasten tightly on his shoulder, the pain sharp and sudden and florid. It springs from his flesh and shatters down his body, making his prick jump and he feels himself on the edge. Javert’s teeth do not release the muscle from between them, but bite harder again and Valjean hears his own cry of pain. His next thrust is merciless, deep and sharp and he spills himself inside Javert with a growling shout. His head drops to the man’s shoulder as pleasure surges through him in roiling waves.
His breath is coming in great gasps. He shakes with effort, thighs twitching at the merciless pace he had forced them to adopt, now struggling with his own weight. Javert is hot beneath him, body still heaving and shaking and sweating. It isn’t until Javert’s teeth release his own shoulder that he feels the pain blossoming sharply that he had been numb to moments before. A grunt of pain escapes his lips and he lifts his head. A few more breaths to steady himself. He can still feel the pulsing heat of Javert around his prick. Shivers at the realisation that he’s still inside him. Straightens himself and feels his thickness slip free. Their breath each falls heavy at the loss.
His mind begins to return to him. He reaches to his pocket and pulls out his handkerchief. A glance to Javert’s face and the man is slack jawed and bleary eyed, face damp with sweat. He leans forwards and gentles the soft cotton of the handkerchief along Javert’s dampened brow. The Inspector’s eyes rise to him at the gesture. Not altogether surprised but still startled by the consideration. Only then did the handkerchief move to himself, cleaning his own spend off his softening length with cursory strokes. He throws it to the side and tucks himself back into his trousers.
“You are a little overdressed for the occasion, Monsieur,” Javert’s voice drawls. It has regained its sense of composure, regardless of his own dishevelled and exposed position, but for a slight rasp that lingers.
“I regret that I did not have time to change, Inspector,” Madeleine replies seriously. “You’ll forgive me if I have made you uncomfortable,” there is a rakish quirk to one eyebrow now.
Javert’s eyebrows lower and he shifts, wincing. “I am rather uncomfortable, Monsieur.”
“Oh!” Madeleine exclaims, standing suddenly. “Forgive me, of course you are, one moment.” The Maire moves away from Javert’s prone form, half held in place by handcuffs and half by the stiffness taken residence in his back and limbs. Madeleine moves to Javert’s discarded trousers and belt and begins to sift through the items.
“Monsieur-“
“-I shall not be a moment more – where are the keys?” he says, moving to Javert’s jacket by the bookcase.
“That is what I am trying to tell you, Monsieur. What I tried to tell you earlier,” his voice is authoritative and stern once more. “I do not have the keys.” Javert states it matter-of-factly; as though he is not handcuffed to the Maire of Montreuil’s bookcase, nude, with no escape in sight.
In contrast, the statement gives Madeleine great pause. “I beg your pardon, Inspector?”
Each of them knew he had heard Javert perfectly well. Javert gives an impatient shrug, shaking his head. An unpleasant tingling sensation has begin in his hands and is slowly spreading down his arms.
Madeleine looks to the pile of discarded uniform on his antique carpet, then to Javert’s naked form on his bookcase, then to the Inspector’s hat and jacket by the shelves. Then back to Javert. His body may not be clothed, but his face is dressed in his familiar stern facade.
Madeleine’s face heats. “What in the name of God are you doing carrying a pair of handcuffs with no key?” he exclaims, brow furrowing in epic confusion. “Is there not some kind of regulation against that?!”
Javert’s face darkens even further. Madeleine knows he has gone too far questioning Javert’s diligence. “Indeed. However, as I was using them earlier this morning to apprehend a brawling drunkard and subsequently had the key knocked from my hand in the fray, I was simply carrying them to return them to Prefecture in order to be issued with a replacement.”
Madeleine regards him stiffly. “Well...” He looks again at the piles of uniform and then back to his handcuffed Inspector; still hard, then to the door. “Well then, how do we proceed?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Monsieur le Maire.”