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“You always look so beautiful like this, my dear,” Valjean hummed contentedly as he plucked open the last button of Javert’s shirtfront, his chin propped on top of Javert’s shoulder. He slid one hand past the fabric of Javert’s shirt to idly thumb the puffy nipple of one milk-heavy breast, his other hand trailing over Javert’s swollen stomach, angling for the fastenings of Javert’s trousers and Javert’s half-hard cock. “Round and full with life, with our children.”
“Hah,” Javert muttered, attempting to twist more comfortably in Valjean’s arms and bring his erection closer to Valjean’s wandering hand. Eight months pregnant, it was difficult to find a position that did not twinge or ache or feel otherwise awkward and uncomfortable in some way, and he was feeling especially slow and bloated today.
He huffed at Valjean. “Empty flattery. I look fat and ridiculous; you’re just trying to convince me to keep doing this. As if three children—” he glanced pointedly at his vastly protruding stomach, “—weren’t enough already.”
“I can’t want you to have more children without thinking you look especially lovely like this?” Valjean gently pinched the nipple he had been rolling absentmindedly between his fingertips of his right hand, just as his left pulled Javert’s hardening cock free of his trousers and drawers.
“Not denying that you do want more,” Javert observed wryly, but then Valjean’s fingers were wrapping loosely around the head of Javert’s length, tugging lightly at his foreskin before drifting downward to hold the warmth and weight of Javert’s cock in one broad palm. He could feel Javert’s cock flex against his hand, the first small drop of fluid beading at the tip.
His heavily pregnant husband shifted against his chest again, letting out a small, relaxed sigh. Finally seeming to find a position he found comfortable, Javert’s body fairly melted against Valjean’s. In turn, Valjean tightened his arms briefly around the other man; a wild, fevered tenderness swelling in his breast.
So many years together, two children with a third on the way, and sometimes Valjean still wondered at it—what he could never have predicted, what he knew he would never take for granted. Javert, his former jailer, tenacious and unforgiving; the man who had so dogged his steps those first few years here in Montreuil. Javert, his husband, his family; soft and open and vulnerable in his arms, in his bed, in his life.
Javert, who would never want anyone to see him as anything less than irrefutably, unarguably strict and upright and irreproachable in his bearing, his manner, his duties. Javert, heavy with his seed, full of Valjean’s progeny, relaxed and comfortable as Valjean held the younger man close, stroked his soft brown skin, touched Javert in love and pleasure.
Valjean rained kisses along what parts of Javert he could reach as he reclined against Valjean along the sofa, ending up with a great deal of long dark hair pressed against his mouth and not minding in the least. “Truly, you are magnificent, dear heart.”
Javert’s hips were thrusting shallowly in the loose ring of Valjean’s fist, his breath coming shorter and faster as he sought the friction of the rough calluses of Valjean’s hand. “You’re being absurd, even for you.” But Javert’s cheeks were warm and his touch gentle as he raised one arm up to drape behind him, lightly clasping the nape of Valjean’s neck. “You’re going to spoil me, carrying on like this.”
“I should like to see that,” Valjean said, grinning into Javert’s hair. “I am attempting to imagine what that would even look like. The fearsome Inspector Javert, spoiled rotten.”
“Now I know that’s pure flattery,” Javert replied, or tried as much; Valjean had fallen into a rhythm, massaging one full teat with one hand, firming his grasp around Javert’s leaking cock with the other. Valjean’s own erection pressed suggestively against Javert’s back, but Valjean was not concerned with that just yet. Right now he wanted to just feel Javert against him, his skin beneath Valjean’s hands, his round and heavy body squirming within Valjean’s arms.
“What flattery is that?” Valjean asked, tightening his grip around Javert’s length, increasing the speed of his strokes.
“‘Fearsome,’” Javert said, the word dragged out on a long exhale as Valjean encircled the base of Javert’s cock and pulled callused fingertips up the velvety skin of his shaft. “I don’t think anyone has found me fearsome since our first. Not even the criminals.”
“I seem to recall the crime rate in Montreuil being particularly low that year,” Valjean said, amused. “Did you not receive that letter from your patron congratulating you?”
“Bah,” Javert tossed his head back against Valjean’s shoulder and rocked his hips, caught between the warm tunnel Valjean’s hand provided for him to fuck into and the intimate weight of Valjean’s cock against his back. Javert knew he was too sore for Valjean to take him just then, but he spared a moment to imagine, if they had the time, if they had the entire afternoon stretched before them, what they might do—perhaps relocating to the bedroom and finding a comfortable enough position for Javert to get his mouth on Valjean’s beautiful cock—
Javert blinked as he felt Valjean tug lightly at his swollen breast, toying distractingly with the reddened, puffy nipple; a familiar pressure building, begging for release.
“I think there was more to my argument,” Javert tried to grumble, but it was difficult to remain irritable—or indeed particularly focused on anything but Valjean’s clever fingers—when Valjean’s hand was a perfect, slick warmth wringing him closer to his orgasm, and trying to milk his breast besides. Javert turned his head and laid it against those strong shoulders he knew so well, panting as he admitted, “but I’ve entirely forgotten it.”
“I’m sure it will come back to you sooner or later,” Valjean assured, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. He was sure Javert didn’t mean to be so charming when he was grouching; perhaps it was only Valjean who thought so.
He dragged his thumb over the delicate slit of Javert’s cock, feeling the other man buck under his touch, pre-ejaculate soaking his wrist at the same time Valjean gently pinched at the heavy breast beneath his hand again. Valjean’s length throbbed against the curve of Javert’s arse in time with the whimpers Javert could not stifle; Valjean’s thick fingers and broad palm grasping and squeezing the dusky swell of Javert’s teat, round and fertile to feed their children.
Javert squirmed against Valjean’s chest, the intimate embrace of Valjean’s arms, his back arching as far as his body would allow—unconsciously pushing his chest toward Valjean’s slow tugs and soft kneading, his hips toward the smooth glide of Valjean’s fist pumping along Javert’s cock.
“Beautiful,” Valjean repeated, unwilling to concede this point no matter how fond he was of Javert’s often surly protestations to the contrary. “So beautiful for me, and bringing life into this world…”
“Fine, very well,” Javert gasped, in the tone of voice Valjean knew had very little to do with agreeing with Valjean’s point at all and more to do with Valjean carefully lifting the weight of Javert’s sac in his hand, or the light touch of Valjean’s fingers as they slid along the length of Javert’s hard and leaking cock. Javert’s thighs twitched, nudging against where Valjean’s thicker, muscular legs tucked against his own in their recline along the sofa. “Just please, keep doing that.”
“‘That’?” Valjean murmured into the spot just between Javert’s ear and jaw, and the other man shivered against him in response.
Valjean pumped Javert’s shaft with one hand, and Javert shuddered; with the other he massaged Javert’s swollen breast and Javert’s round, heavy body jolted upward in his arms, Javert gasping, “Please, please, they’re—” and his cheeks darkened, his lashes fluttering as he groaned, “They’re full, please, Jean—”
Unwilling to make Javert suffer any longer, Valjean quickly gave Javert’s pulsing length several more rough, ragged strokes before releasing Javert’s cock entirely and allowing his hand to drag along the swell of Javert’s stomach, reaching up to cup Javert’s other breast, Valjean’s palms hefting the soft, drooping weight.
Valjean’s fingers clamped down on one of the ripe, puffy nipples already beginning to leak thin and sticky rivulets over Javert’s massive stomach, staining the fabric of his half-open shirt. Valjean pinched the swollen nub between thumb and forefinger, increasing the pressure while his left hand massaged at Javert’s other breast, toying with the aching teat until it too was leaking and Javert was moaning—broken, breathless little noises that made Valjean’s trapped cock ache to hear. Javert’s hips rocked back against Valjean’s length while Valjean milked Javert’s breasts, Javert’s large hands clenching down on Valjean’s forearms.
Javert cried out at the first spill of liquid over Valjean’s fingers, the tender pressure in his breasts lightening with each pulse of milk over Valjean’s hands. Valjean’s cock pressed insistently against the placket of his trousers, desperate for a firm touch or the wet heat of Javert wrapped around him with each fresh pull of milk he tugged and squeezed from Javert’s breasts. Valjean rubbed and kneaded the soft flesh and reddened nubs as Javert thrashed against him, his pregnant body a pleasant weight in Valjean’s arms, the milk dribbling from Javert’s breasts a visceral reminder to Valjean of the love and joy that Javert had brought into Valjean’s life and Valjean’s home.
Javert’s cries gave way to soft groans as Valjean massaged the final few drops from Javert’s sensitive nipples, groping and rubbing the delicate skin until Javert was panting, patting clumsily at Valjean’s hands and shaking his head, flyaway strands of hair stuck to his cheeks, his whiskers.
Valjean reluctantly pulled away, releasing Javert’s breasts before bringing his left hand to his mouth, lapping at the milk dripping down his fingers and tasting the underlying salt of Javert’s pre-ejaculate still clinging to his skin.
Glancing at Javert’s neglected length lying dark and weeping against the open flap of his trousers, Valjean took his milk-stained hand and slid it back around Javert’s cock, thumbing beneath the gland where Javert was particularly sensitive and pressing his lips to the cascade of Javert’s dark hair. Javert’s lungs heaved, his head tilting to the side to brush a kiss against Valjean’s chin, Valjean’s beard bristly beneath Javert’s mouth.
Valjean worked his fist along Javert’s cock, thinking briefly of teasing Javert for a little while longer yet; just to enjoy Javert writhing against him that much longer, lost to the world but for the pleasure Valjean alone could provide. But even more than that, Valjean wanted to give Javert comfort; wanted to soothe and touch and see Javert unravel, as he only ever had for Valjean.
So instead Valjean curled his fingers around Javert’s cock, pumping Javert’s rigid shaft until Javert was flushed and sweating. Javert pushed his backside against the prominent bulge of Valjean’s clothed erection, grinding down on the warm, tented line of Valjean’s cock in time with each thrust of Valjean’s hand. Valjean grunted and met the jerk of Javert’s pelvis, far more rounded and padded than it had once been, rutting the clothed line of his cock against Javert’s arse in time with his strokes along Javert’s shaft, knowing Javert was close—wanting to finish with him—
Valjean slid desperately along the shallow dip of Javert’s cleft, the friction of several layers of cloth and the soft press of Javert’s body both too much and not enough. Valjean felt Javert’s cock throb and twitch beneath his palm, Javert’s balls drawn up tight where they bumped against the heel of Valjean’s hand—and Javert was coming; spine bending as much as he could in his condition, rounded stomach jutting out as he fucked Valjean’s hold through each spurt of his release, his seed spilling over Valjean’s hand and across the lower swell of Javert’s stomach.
As Javert’s hips shook against Valjean’s hand while Javert chased the final remnants of his orgasm, his backside dragging along Valjean’s cock, Valjean felt himself tip over the edge, his climax sweeping through him with a crashing wave of blazing synapses and an exploding firecracker of nerve endings. Heedless of the sticky mess in his trousers, Valjean shoved helplessly against the plush, generous curve of Javert’s buttocks until he was sensitive and shaking and they were both panting, Valjean wrapping Javert in his arms once again.
For several minutes both men lay boneless and sated, slumped across the embroidered sofa cushions while they caught their breath and tried to convince one another to stand up and find a clean cloth or water jug, lest the fluids clinging to their skin and clothing became decidedly unpleasant. But before they could rouse themselves into some semblance of respectability, they heard sounds begin to pour in from the foyer, beyond the locked door of their parlor: their housekeeper’s friendly chatter as she corralled the children inside, the clatter of small feet like a stampeding circus, and finally two excited, raised voices calling, “Papa! Father! You will never guess what we saw at the market today!”
Valjean and Javert vainly struggled to raise themselves enough to look over the back of the sofa, glancing in the vague direction of the rise and fall of lively noises filtering in from the entryway. Images of sneaking down side hallways back to their bedroom and hastily shoving on clean clothes flitted through their heads, before Javert sighed and sank the entirety of his long, sprawled body and very, very pregnant weight against Valjean, his eyes sliding shut.
“Just a few more minutes,” Javert pronounced, his head dropping back down to land at Valjean’s collar.