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Valjean smoothed the corners of the bedsheets a second time, unnecessarily; attempting to convince himself that the fission of excitement and nervous anticipation building in the pit of his stomach was exactly the same sort he always felt when considering his and Javert’s possible diversions for the evening, and had nothing to do with their frankly indecorous behavior earlier that morning, or their equally shameless conversation a few nights previously.
Moving around the bedchamber, tidying needlessly and very pointedly not looking toward the wardrobe where Javert’s recent acquisition still lay sequestered in anticipation, Valjean felt his cheeks flush with the recollection of Javert awkwardly attempting to communicate what he wanted and how he thought he and Valjean might find the particular object enjoyable together—without being so uncouth as to tell Valjean directly.
And all the while the expertly polished, intimidatingly large, and irrefutable shape of the wooden phallus nestled atop the bedspread; gleaming in the golden light of the early afternoon sun.
Javert had arrived home from his shift the afternoon some days prior looking so frightfully anxious—wringing his hands and sweating nervously, eyes darting around every nook and cranny and corner of their sitting room rather than meet Valjean’s gaze—that Valjean had thought something must have happened, that someone must have taken ill; and Javert had been reluctant to discuss the package he had brought home with him while it was still fully light out, finally pulling Valjean into the additional privacy of their bedroom and allowing Valjean to see the lewd purchase with all the gravitas and wracked guilt of a horrible sinner confessing before a priest.
“But,” Valjean had said, once fully recovered from the peculiar bolt of shock and something far more base that the sight of the beautifully carved and intimidatingly large cock had caused, nestled innocently against the confines of its velvet-lined box, “Do you mean—that is, should I—”
They had never purchased anything for one another that might be used for the intimate time they spent together, and Valjean had never felt any particular inclination toward—what Javert had always been so vocally enthusiastic about in their lovemaking; and much less with such a very large item—but, if there was some new or different activity Javert wished to try—
Valjean had looked again at the wooden phallus, and tried to swallow his nerves.
“God above—no, I didn’t mean that,” Javert had said, and then added quickly: “Unless you wished to, of course.”
Before Valjean could formulate a reply to that particular offer, Javert had shook his head and took both of Valjean’s hands in his own, still not entirely meeting Valjean’s gaze but rather more staring a hole through the collar of Valjean’s shirt as he said, “I had thought… for myself.”
Javert’s grip around Valjean’s tightened, and his deep baritone had grown gruff and uneven as he admitted, “That is to say. I have wanted to try something like this.”
Truthfully, Valjean did not fully comprehend why Javert would wish to purchase such a thing for himself; but it would not be the first time that Javert had wanted something of the time they spent together that Valjean could not altogether see the appeal of. Yet Javert’s reactions whenever Valjean obliged him were invariably rewarding for them both, and Valjean had long since come to trust that Javert did not seek out certain activities as punishment nor penitence for past misdeeds—be they real or imagined—but out of sincere enjoyment, and a wish to experience such things with Valjean.
And while Valjean could not always understand why some things would be pleasurable for Javert, Valjean delighted in being able to indulge the other man, and in Javert’s responses; thrilled by the knowledge that Valjean alone was the recipient of the other man’s desires.
They had done nothing with the wooden cock that night, for all that Javert had been dark-eyed and eager, pawing at the buttons of Valjean’s waistcoat and stripping Valjean of his trousers and tumbling them against the bed, the ridiculous toy bouncing in its box atop the quilt between them before Valjean carefully placed it on the nightstand beside what had, over the years, come to be his side of the bed.
“We cannot use it straight away, my dear,” Valjean had said, biting back his reflexive smile at the downward turn of Javert’s lips that the other man would vehemently deny to be a pout. “I know you are not inexperienced, but it is very large.”
“Not so much more than you,” Javert had murmured, which was rather more untruthful than Javert’s usual wont, because the toy was absurd; but had Valjean blushed a deep mottled red all the way down his chest regardless.
Their evening ended in a more familiar satisfaction and tangle of limbs, and when they had awoken the wooden phallus was still at Valjean’s bedside. Javert had not objected when Valjean tucked it discreetly away in a small drawer at the back of the wardrobe; but he had a thoughtful gleam in his eye Valjean more often associated with a philosophical quandary and several night’s worth of debate by the fire. The day had passed by in a typical manner, and the day after that, and the day after that, for all that Valjean could no more forget the toy tucked back behind their shirtsleeves and waistcoats anymore than he imagined Javert had.
But this morning—between their usual drowsy kisses and several strong cups of coffee for Javert and tea for Valjean, and all the customary habits and rituals that had both men dressed and ready for the day—Javert returned to their bedchamber after they had already risen and eaten breakfast for the day, his face strangely flushed when he reemerged and once again caught Valjean’s hands with his own. Javert’s greying whiskers brushed along Valjean’s skin as he pressed his lips against Valjean’s cheek and said in a low undertone, “I think I shall be… ready, tonight.”
Thereafter Javert needed to leave for his shift, and Valjean was left to wonder, and go about his day as usual—trying not to think of the object waiting in their bedchambers, or how he and Javert might use it together that evening after Javert returned home from work.
It was already a few minute’s past when Javert typically arrived home, and Valjean had called upon Cosette for his daily visit hours before. He had run any errand and seen to any task that demanded his attention, and set about straightening their bedroom as a means to pass the time; but by this point Valjean was forced to acknowledge there was very little else remaining to do but simply wait. He smoothed the corners of the bedsheets a third time regardless, and wondered if Javert meant to wait until after supper—if he meant to wait until the hour they normally turned in for bed—
That would be the most appropriate option, of course. Valjean would not try to hurry Javert off to bed simply for the sake of Valjean’s own excitement and curiosity. The toy had been Javert’s idea, besides.
Valjean fiddled with what he worried might be a frayed edge of the quilt, and was relieved to discover only a loose thread instead, and was just beginning to consider if he might need to make himself another cup of tea and pick up his latest book to pass the time when he heard the front door open, and Javert’s distinctive, heavy tread—but not his usual gait, Valjean thought. There was an inexplicable hesitance to it, not entirely unlike the limp Javert had borne for some time while his leg had been healing after—Valjean frowned. Had Javert been injured somehow?
Moving to greet the other man, Valjean was gratified to see Javert seemed unharmed, if perhaps… Valjean’s flickered over the well-known, much-beloved lines and contours of the other man’s body as Javert turned to hang his greatcoat on the peg by the door. Javert’s face looked a little more sweat-damp and rubicund than Valjean would expect for the early autumn day; his back and shoulders strangely stiff. His steps as he moved from the foyer to their sitting room were measured, careful, and he paused consideringly before lowering himself slowly onto the sofa beside the bookcase.
“Javert,” Valjean asked, because he had to be certain, “Are you well?”
Javert’s eyes flashed toward him, and his cheeks darkened further; he opened and closed his mouth several times before saying, “I am fine.”
Valjean’s lips pressed together contemplatively; Javert was a terrible liar, so Valjean believed him that he was unharmed. But it was equally obvious that there was something more that Javert had yet to divulge.
Noticing Valjean’s lingering concern, Javert beckoned Valjean over to sit beside him on the sofa, tilting his body toward the older man as he said, “Truthfully, Jean, I am perfectly whole and healthy. It is only—”
Javert’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. Valjean’s eyes followed the movement as Javert’s expression grew rueful, dropping the volume of his voice and murmuring, “I am merely anticipating later tonight.”
Valjean drew in a long, juddering breath as he pressed his arm against Javert’s, tangling their fingers together and feeling the warmth of the other man seep through their shirtsleeves. “I had been wondering about that,” Valjean said, and then: “Is your heart set on waiting until evening…?”
Javert tilted his head, looking at Valjean askance—though, Valjean observed, Javert’s expression was more surprised than reproachful; and his tone was mild, almost playful as Javert said, “Jean, it is scarcely a quarter past five.”
“That is true,” Valjean agreed, noting the way Javert angled his body toward Valjean’s, the quirk of Javert’s lips, the way Javert frequently shifted his hips against the cushion, as if he could not quite settle comfortably. “We could sit and discuss our day as usual, and take our supper as usual, and read by the fire as usual, and finally retire to bed in a few hours, as usual.” Valjean paused, smiling faintly as the furrow along Javert’s brow deepened with each suggestion from Valjean.
“It would be more appropriate to wait to resume any intimate activities until we retire for the night, of course,” he continued. “I can understand if you wish to—”
Valjean found himself crowded against the back of the sofa with an armful of a tall and rather heavy police inspector; Javert’s mouth opening against his, the pink tongue Valjean had been helpless to ignore earlier now licking along the seam of his lips.
He relaxed against the comforting heft of Javert’s weight, parting his lips to Javert’s tongue and sighing contentedly as he wrapped his arms around the back of Javert’s neck. He tugged lightly at Javert’s riband until Javert’s long, silvering hair fell free across his shoulders, the better for Valjean to bury his hands in; the better for Valjean to gently tug on, just to feel the rumble of Javert’s answering moan.
Pulling away from Javert’s lips only far enough to pant against Javert’s mouth, Valjean could not help but ask, “So we won’t be waiting until after dinner, then?” while Javert groaned and draped himself against Valjean, close enough that Valjean could feel the languid rock of Javert’s hips against his own; the rigid hardness tenting Javert’s trousers.
“You have no idea,” Javert moaned, pressing kisses to what little exposed skin he could reach: Valjean’s face, his throat. “No idea, what today has been like—how badly I wished to—”
He broke off with a violent shudder as Valjean’s hand reached to cup the curve of Javert’s arse, and Valjean’s eyes widened at the unusual ferocity of Javert’s response as the other man rutted against Valjean’s burgeoning arousal. Javert’s mouth dropped open, face contorted as he ground the length of his cock against Valjean’s before leaning back just far enough to toss his hair over one shoulder and set to attacking the buttons of Valjean’s waistcoat.
“What did you wish to do?” Valjean asked, his hands moving to hold Javert’s juddering hips, his eyelids fluttering reflexively as Javert made quick work of cravat and waistcoat and shirtfront, and spread his broad palms across the heated skin of Valjean’s heaving chest; his fingers twining with the thick white curls carpeting Valjean’s breast. “What were you thinking of, Javert?”
“You,” Javert replied immediately, casting Valjean’s liberated clothing over the back of the sofa, to be tidied—in a few minutes, hours—Valjean’s attentions were swept away from the discarded items as Javert gave another one of those unusually intense spasms, and Valjean dug his thumbs into the muscle of Javert’s arse. The other man was dark-eyed and gasping as he said, “I was thinking of you, and what I—what I wanted us to do.”
Valjean gazed up from his sprawl across the sofa, where Javert had half-crawled into his lap, his hair a curtain around them both. Javert’s knees sank into the cushion on either side of Valjean’s thighs, his palms braced against Valjean’s chest as Valjean anchored his hands at Javert’s waist, grinding their trapped lengths together in irregular, uncoordinated thrusts that tantalized more than satiated. With a frustrated groan Valjean bucked beneath Javert, glancing over his shoulder toward the hallway that led to their bedroom.
“No,” Javert growled, dropping his forehead against Valjean’s, his eyes shut as he scraped his cheek against Valjean’s, his whiskers brushing Valjean’s beard with a soft rasp. “Here, in here.”
Valjean blinked rapidly in surprise—Javert usually complained about being overly sore if they made love outside the comforts of their bedroom—but he nodded slowly, dragging his hands upward along Javert’s ribs, just to feel the fabric move and shift over Javert’s body. “I will grab what we need, then,” Valjean said, tracking the expressions flitting across Javert’s face, gauging the other man’s reaction as he added, “Everything we need.”
Javert drew back enough for Valjean to slide out from beneath him, his movements still strangely ungainly. His jaw clenched and his shoulders shook, simply from the motion of clambering off of Valjean’s lap and settling back onto the sofa cushion.
With a distant, hazy suspicion Valjean did not yet fully register, he trailed his hand along Javert’s arm, slipping along the thin fabric as Valjean retreated toward the door to the hallway. He lit a few oil lamps around the still-bright room in case they were too distracted to do so later, suggesting, “I think you may be overdressed,” as he stepped away; moving somewhat awkwardly himself with his erection pressed adamantly against the placket of his trousers. Valjean saw Javert reach with unsteady hands for his cravat, then hurried for the bedroom as quickly as his throbbing length would allow.
Valjean stripped himself efficiently of what remained of his clothing, breathing out a gusty sigh of relief as his cock bobbed free; already pushed past its foreskin, pre-ejaculate beading at the tip. Within moments he was naked, feeling only slightly ridiculous and self-conscious as he moved around the room on his own with his erection slapping against his stomach. He retrieved the bottle of oil from its typical place on Javert’s nightstand, and opened the doors to the wardrobe with a return of that fluttering, fizzling anticipation that had bubbled along Valjean’s nerve endings all throughout the day.
He pulled open the drawer in the back of the wardrobe and retrieved the polished phallus, its tremendous wooden shaft heavy in Valjean’s palm. He could not help but note, as he held it within his grasp, that its base was queerly flattened and noticeably weighted, in a way that gave Valjean an inkling as to how the toy was meant to be used. And molten heat uncoiled along his spine as he thought again—of the object in his hand, and Javert—
Thus equipped, Valjean padded his way back to the sitting room, experiencing the same nervous, giddy thrill he often did whenever they risked such intimacies outside the privacy of their bedroom. They hardly attempted such actions frequently—they were not young men to constantly give themselves over to reckless passions, and between them they had more than a fair allotment of reservations and beliefs about propriety and upstanding behavior—but it was also not the first time they had made love in the sitting room, and Valjean thought it unlikely to be the last.
Although, as he felt the slick weight of the wooden cock in his grip, Valjean reflected this would certainly be one of their more memorable ventures beyond the confines of their bed.
Stepping into the sitting room, Valjean found Javert standing beside the sofa, his clothes—and Valjean’s own shirt and waistcoat—folded into a neat pile on a nearby armchair. Valjean’s heart ached with fondness at the sight of Javert, fastidious and exacting even here, and now, like this. He smiled gently as he drew closer to the other man; overly aware of the glass vial and obscene toy that he carried, lamenting that he could not currently draw Javert into his arms and kiss him breathless and panting once again.
Javert’s gaze dropped to the wooden phallus, his hands hovering awkwardly in front of himself as if to take it from Valjean straight away. But Valjean placed both items beside the pile of clothing so he could capture Javert’s wandering hands, pressing his palms against Javert’s and tugging the other man closer as Valjean had desired.
Standing naked together in the sitting room felt hedonistic in a way Valjean would have once never even dreamed of, and still blushed to think about even as he released Javert’s hands to slide his arms around Javert’s back, and then his neck instead. He hauled the taller man down to meet his waiting mouth, sweeping his tongue against Javert’s and breathing in the needy whine Javert made in response.
Valjean refused to release the warm body clutched tightly to his own, his pelvis canting forward to brush his heated erection along Javert’s cock; his length pounding between his legs, hard and leaking fluid with every nudge against the other man’s. Valjean’s mouth fell open on a grunt, the brief contact electric after too long trapped by fabric. But Valjean forced himself to pull away from the welcoming heat of Javert’s mouth to ask, breathless, “Are you certain? We needn’t use the toy tonight if you prefer.”
Baring his teeth and sliding his cock against Valjean’s in an unhurried, tortuous drag that had the other man shuddering with arousal even as Valjean groaned, hips pitching forward. Javert reached up to wrap his long fingers around one of Valjean’s scarred wrists, sliding Valjean’s hand down the sensitive skin of his waist, his hip.
He directed Valjean’s hand to curl around his backside until the tips of Valjean’s fingers slipped between the cleft of Javert’s arse, Javert twisting against Valjean—not to get away, but to push closer; to press as much of his skin against Valjean’s as he could reach. Valjean’s fingertips slipped between Javert’s cheeks, and Valjean’s breath stuttered in his lungs, his heart hammering and his cock aching fiercely as he felt something flat and hard brush against the pads of his fingers.
Javert jerked against him, thrusting back toward the tentative touch of Valjean’s fingertips, moaning low and broken into the crook of Valjean’s shoulder as he whined, “There, yes, please.”
“Javert,” Valjean murmured, awed. “What—”
Javert’s lips moved against Valjean’s collarbone, his breath warm and damp where it ghosted across Valjean’s skin. “You were right, of course,” Javert said. “The toy is quite large. Some preparation beforehand was a reasonable first step.”
Valjean traced along the edges of the solid, flat shape pressed tightly against the heated flesh of Javert’s entrance, thinking of his earlier suspicions but scarcely comprehending the reality. Javert trembled against Valjean’s arm where it wrapped around and reached behind him, his hips continuing to press back toward Valjean’s questing fingers as Valjean groped blindly along the firm surface beneath his touch; feeling the contrasting sensations of the hard, sturdy material pressed snugly against Javert’s hole—and the soft, yielding skin of Javert’s furl clinging tightly to the intrusion.
His fingertips stroked around the shape of it, feeling along its edges. He brushed against that small, sensitive muscle of Javert’s rim with every touch and grasp, causing the other man to jolt and shudder and twist still closer to Valjean, pleading senselessly as Valjean slipped one finger beneath the flat disc—was it perhaps made of wood, like the toy phallus?—and pressed down just past the tender, puffy skin of Javert’s entrance; drawing in a sharp gasp as he felt the rigid shape disappear into the clutch of Javert’s body.
“Javert,” Valjean breathed, scarcely able to string together a coherent thought, his hips bucking helplessly against Javert’s. His arm wrapped tightly around Javert’s waist as they rocked together, Valjean’s fingers toying with the unyielding shape wrapped within Javert’s body. “Let me see,” Valjean pleaded. “Let me see.”
Javert nodded jerkily, lifting his head to meet Valjean’s gaze, his eyes glassy; biting down on his lower lip as he observed Valjean’s expression. Valjean did not want to release his hold on Javert’s waist, did not want to pull his pulsating length away from its inelegant slide against Javert’s, did not want to lose the warmth of Javert’s skin pressed soft and yielding against his own, but—Valjean had to see. He needed to see.
Valjean stepped back just far enough for Javert to have room enough to move. The other man’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his voice raspy as he asked, “How—”
Javert paused, licking dry lips. “—how do you want me, Jean?”
God in Heaven, how didn’t he want the man standing before him?
“Kneel on the sofa,” Valjean suggested. “And—show me.”
Javert squeezed his eyes shut as a full-body spasm wracked his tall frame, his cock swaying; smearing pre-ejaculate against his stomach as Javert turned to face away from Valjean. Javert’s legs were shaking and unsteady beneath him, his movements ungraceful with the rigid bulk thrust inside him and, God, it was no wonder Javert had been holding himself so stiffly, so precisely.
Valjean snaked a hand down to grip his length, throttling the base against the insistent throb of his release; building slowly but inescapably as he watched Javert crawl forward to kneel on the sofa again, his hands curled atop the back for support. He settled against the embroidered cushions, his spine arching as he spread his legs and lifted his hips, long hair tangling and cascading down his sweat-damp neck and the sharp jut of his shoulderblades.
“Like this?” Javert asked, breathing rapid and shallow as he lifted his chin, looking over his shoulder at Valjean. His eyes were dark and glittering in the fading afternoon sunlight still sifting through the heavy curtains, painting stripes of gold across Javert’s skin.
“Let me see,” Valjean said again, taking a step closer to the sofa and sliding a little too hastily to his knees on the woven fabric of the sitting room rug; one hand pressed against the floor for balance as he rested on creaking joints frankly too old for this sort of nonsense. But the practicalities of bruised and abraded knees seemed very distant to Valjean then, as Javert ducked his head and released his grasp on the back of the sofa to reach behind himself so Valjean could watch, entranced, as Javert slid shaking hands down his arse—fumbling slightly at the angle—to cup his cheeks and slowly, carefully spread himself open.
Valjean groaned and gripped the base of his cock again, beyond the point of comfort, straining to stave off his release when Javert was—when he looked like—
The round, flattened bottom of the plug was made of the same glossy and expertly crafted wood as the enormous phallus, and Valjean’s thoughts scattered as he considered where Javert might have purchased them—what Javert must have been thinking, and feeling, to select the sleek polished toys and know what he wanted to use them for.
Valjean’s pelvis rocked upward, his cock fucking his hand for a long, fevered moment before Valjean forcibly took his hand away. His hips were still moving in short, aborted jerks as Valjean crawled the final span to the sofa and placed his broad hands on top of Javert’s, where Javert held himself open and exposed to Valjean’s hungry, wondering gaze. The base of the plug pressed against the delicate, dusky skin of Javert’s entrance; a little swollen and dilated around the rigid plug Javert had pushed inside his body—to prepare for the monstrous toy, he had—
Valjean’s fingers clamped down on top of Javert’s, his thumbs pressing into the warm, soft skin on either side of Javert’s plugged hole, feeling the heavy shape shift and jolt beneath—beneath the tight ring of muscle, a delicate layer of flesh between Valjean’s callused fingertips and the thick plug within. Javert squirmed against the sofa, Valjean’s name croaked past his lips, barely intelligible as Valjean bore down on sensitive, puckered skin; his cock heavy and drooling a dark patch on the sofa Valjean could not bring himself to care about at all.
“When?” Valjean breathed, his thumbs tracing nonsense patterns as he circled the other man’s stretched hole, “When did you…”
“This, ah, this morning,” Javert panted, his voice thin and cracking as Valjean dipped a thumb beneath the base of the plug; Valjean’s finger sweeping directly over the silky, twitching skin of Javert’s furl beneath. “Before I—before I left… for work for the day.”
Valjean groaned aloud, pulling at Javert’s hips, digging his thumbs into the swollen, distended rim as his thoughts spiraled; his balls drawn up tight and aching, pulsing in time with his rapid, pounding heart. When Javert had disappeared into their bedroom—when Javert had walked past their garden, his gait unsteady—
“You put this in this morning?” Valjean asked, lightly tapping against the flat base. Javert hissed into his own shoulder at the vibrations of the polished wood, the minute jostling of the thick plug inside him. “You wore this for the entire day?”
Javert nodded—earnest, ardent; his long nails biting into his cheeks as he bared himself before Valjean. He rutted his hips against the back of the sofa, brushing against pillows and cushions and dribbling pre-ejaculate over well-worn fabric as he admitted, “I took the oil—and stretched myself as you would, Jean, I was thinking of you, when I pushed it—inside—”
His words broke away with a wrenched cry as Valjean gripped the base; as Valjean tugged gently at the polished wood, pulling the plug with just enough force to watch skin stretch and spread, dilating over the bulbous shape caught behind the fluttering, crinkled rim.
“Beautiful,” Valjean said, one hand moving to stroke along Javert’s bare flank, as Javert hitched his hips higher, instinctive; encouraging Valjean to thrust the plug again, but Valjean merely held it, callused fingertips dragging along the puffy skin of Javert’s furl as he gripped the base of the plug. Valjean swayed forward to bite a kiss into the soft, supple crease where Javert’s buttock gave way to the lean muscle of his thigh, nibbling at the bronze skin beneath his lips as he murmured, “What is it like?” To wear such a thing, all day—
Javert shivered against the sofa, his thighs widening unconsciously as Valjean’s hands stroked and petted over his backside, and Valjean’s mouth licked and bit along the tender skin of his thighs.
“I can feel it,” Javert sighed, rolling his hips; every push forward nudging his cock along the cushioned back of the sofa, every drag back juddering the base of the plug against Javert’s hole where it was held tight in Valjean’s grasp.
“It’s not the same as, as you,” he muttered, glancing once again over his shoulder at Valjean; his words almost coy. “But it is impossible not to feel. The weight of it—every time I move, every time I sat down.” His hips twitched, drawn toward Valjean’s touch, the persistent tug against his hole.
“Jean—Jean—” Javert gasped. “Feeling it, and thinking of you, I couldn’t—I wanted—”
Valjean tightened his grip on the plug, pulling it against the ring of muscle, feeling the resistance. Javert tried to move himself along the plug, to fuck himself on the unyielding wooden girth. But Valjean steadied Javert’s hips with his other hand, and tugged gently, determinedly on the flat base, indulging in the stretch of Javert’s entrance with each jostling movement until the wrinkled furl gave way—the bulbous bottom of the plug sliding past the squeezing, constricting ring of muscle with a lewd squelch that had both men shuddering and panting heavily; Javert’s body prickling with sweat, his long limbs trembling as he struggled to hold himself upright.
“Good Lord,” Valjean said. “If you could see yourself.”
With the thickest end of the plug free of Javert’s body, his hole pulled taut and obscene around the girth of it—not yet as large as the wooden phallus Javert had presented to Valjean, but easily of a size with Valjean’s own length. Valjean thought of what the other man had told him: of Javert, sprawled out across their bed, oil-slicked fingers stuffed past his entrance, shortly before he would be forced to redress, and leave for work. Javert, fucking himself on his fingers in their bed; thinking of Valjean while he fed the rigid length of the wooden plug inside himself.
That the other man had spirited away to their bedroom with such designs—that Javert had bussed a kiss against Valjean’s cheek that morning, his body sheathed around the crude object. That Javert would have gone into work that day, unable to so much as walk or shift or sit without feeling the thick plug, and what he wished for this evening with Valjean—
Swearing beneath his breath, his cock twitching, Valjean tugged again; noting the resistance, the oil dried over the long hours of the day. Now Javert’s body clung obscenely to the plug as Valjean withdrew the heavy, tapered weight of it, his thoughts blurring along the edges as he contemplated how they might make use of the plug again in the future—and again—if Javert were amenable—
Valjean slid the plug carefully from the wet heat of Javert’s passage, until it was dangling from Valjean’s hand while Javert buried his head against his shoulder and drew in frenzied, fractured, frenetic gasps of air; his hands slipping from his buttocks to brace against the back of the sofa again, fingernails digging into coarse fabric.
His hole spasmed, clenching around empty air, and Valjean watched with flushed cheeks and open mouth for far longer than he could readily defend, before he turned on his stiff knees and scrabbled for the armchair where they had left their clothes, and the oil. He moved as quickly as he could in an awkward half-walk, half-crawl, before Javert could change position, while Javert’s hole still throbbed and fluttered around nothing—
Valjean grappled with the glass vial as he stumbled back into place behind the other man, spilling oil over his fingers and dribbling down his hand. He reached forward clumsily, scarcely giving himself a moment to think as his every nerve ending spiked with riotous desire; three fingers sinking immediately into the pulsing heat of Javert’s body where the thick plug had been moments prior.
“Oh, God,” Javert whimpered, throwing his head back and shoving his hips against Valjean’s hand. His erection twitched with a spurt of clear liquid, and Javert moaned, babbling, feverish, “I want—Jean, I want to come on the wooden cock, please, you cannot, please—”
“You needed more oil, at least,” Valjean chastened, rubbing his fingers over slick walls, marveling at how readily his fingers sank inside, down to the knuckle. He had a wild thought for how many more fingers might fit, and scrupulously set that curious flicker aside for another day—when he would have a chance to talk to Javert about it, first—and again bit at the muscle of Javert’s arse, sucking the bronze skin until it bloomed and darkened beneath his mouth.
All the while, his fingers probed the stretched walls of Javert’s hole; tapping against the spongy nub of Javert’s prostate in senseless, wandering shapes and patterns, just to feel the other man shift and curse and writhe against him while Valjean suckled a scattered constellation of reddened bruises across Javert’s buttocks.
Valjean pulled his fingers free of the throbbing warmth of Javert’s hole, smearing the remaining oil across the quivering, wrinkled skin while Javert tried to chase after Valjean’s retreating fingers. Valjean patted Javert’s haunches, saying, “Sit back down, if you would; rest, while I retrieve the toy. It will need oil as well.”
Javert groaned, this time with a decided note of frustration, even as he allowed his body to relax—his spine untensing, his hips lowering; clambering to settle more comfortably with his backside on the sofa, his bobbing erection still leaking profusely against the cushions with every movement.
Despite Javert’s obvious impatience, Valjean privately acknowledged that crawling over to the armchair again would probably be unwise, and instead pulled himself to his feet as rapidly as his protesting knees would allow; moving swiftly to retrieve the toy.
As Valjean had noticed when he carried the wooden phallus from the wardrobe, it had an unusually heavy and perfectly flat base—not dissimilar in shape to the plug Valjean had pulled free of Javert’s body, but wider and thicker and studier. It was meant, Valjean surmised, to be placed on an equally flat surface. He could only assume—his stomach fluttering at the thought, at the idea of Javert using it as intended—the shape of the base would leave its participant free to move along its impressive length and girth as they might its flesh and blood inspiration.
Valjean’s cheeks flared hotter as he stared down at the polished, finely made instrument and considered how it would soon be put to use.
Swallowing thickly, Valjean turned and stepped back toward the sofa—only to halt abruptly, his heart thumping and his erection flexing against his stomach as he took in the sight of Javert: still sitting where Valjean had instructed, but too restless to remain quiescent even for the scant seconds Valjean had been gone. Balanced unsteadily against the upholstered surface, the other man’s knees were spread wide, his head thrown back. One hand disappeared before him, his hips thrusting raggedly into his fist in a rhythm Valjean recognized as more titillating than in deliberate pursuit of his release. His chest heaved, gleaming with sweat as he said, “My God, Jean, do not keep me waiting any longer.”
Javert cracked open quicksilver eyes gone dark and hazy with need, angling his chin toward Valjean as he forcibly slowed the pace of his thrusts; words scraped thin and rough and jagged from his lungs as he sighed, “You cannot know—to have that weight inside—all day.”
His brow furrowed, his mouth twisting as if in agony. “To think of that… how it would feel.” His hips rocked upward, swallowing a frantic whimper. “To have to, to carry on as if it were a normal day, when I wanted—” His back bowed, his thighs lifting as he yanked his hand off his cock and planted it firmly on the sofa once again. With his legs spread and thighs raised, Valjean could see Javert’s entrance, still constricting and fluttering around nothing but air; still reddened and swollen from the plug Javert had worn all day.
“I want to spend with it inside me,” Javert croaked, his hands clawing into the cushions on either side of him. “Please, Jean.”
Tearing his gaze away from Javert’s arched spine and the crinkled, dusky skin of his furl, Valjean crossed the few paces of carpet separating them and sat beside the other man on the sofa, as Javert carefully lowered his hips back down to the cushions. Valjean wished desperately to kiss and suck and lick every inch of bare skin spread out before him, but wondered if Javert might spend himself before they got any further along.
He slanted his body toward Javert’s, feeling slightly silly as he continued to hold the tremendous wooden cock, glancing around searchingly and spotting the vial of oil on the floor by his feet.
“Aha,” Valjean said quietly, swiftly bending to reach for the oil. “It will need quite a lot of this, I should think.” Valjean’s lips quirked into a wry smile, eyeing the toy’s impressive dimensions.
“Whatever is required,” Javert said, hips still rocking minutely. His knuckles were white in their grip on the sofa, the waterfall of his hair tangled around his sweat-dampened shoulders. “As long as it is quick.”
Having little desire to tease Javert needlessly—not at the moment, at the very least—Valjean squinted at the toy and slopped liquid over the immense, protruding phallus. The wood glistened in the dying sunlight of the afternoon and the few lanterns Valjean had lit previously, its huge girth shining as oil dripped along its length; Valjean’s hands smearing it around the entire circumference, working the oil along the shaft like wood polish.
He poured another generous measure down the sides of the rigid length, coating his hands. Valjean handed what was left in the vial to Javert, murmuring, “In case you have need for it. It has been some hours since the morning.”
Javert’s thin lips parted, and he nodded jerkily, loosening his grip on the sofa long enough to take the now-slippery little bottle from Valjean. He slicked three fingers before dropping the vial onto the cushions, reshuffling the long stretch of his legs until he could snake one arm around behind his back. Valjean promptly became very interested in the movement of the other man’s hand as it moved with long familiarity between the apex of his thighs, brushing past his perineum with a tremor that wracked Javert’s body before slipping between his cheeks to sink all three fingers at once into his stretched hole.
It was difficult for Valjean to focus on spreading the oil on his hands all over the prodigiously sized wooden cock while Javert canted his hips and fingered himself beside him, and Valjean’s erection throbbed and pulsed urgently, absolutely maddened to be touched and stroked. But Valjean would not have Javert injured by a careless mistake, and forced himself to steady his breathing and look away from the other man, even as Javert’s breath hitched; caught on tiny, stifled whimpers as he fucked himself to the knuckle on his own fingers buried within.
“Surely that is enough?” Javert groaned, fingers smacking wet and filthy against his hole. Javert’s eyes narrowed as he peered at the gleaming wooden phallus; impatience tempered by a breathless wonder and nervous, giddy anticipation as his eyes flitted along its smooth surface, where oil was beginning to pool around its flattened base.
“For this, perhaps,” Valjean said. “But how are you—how are your own preparations coming, my dear?” Valjean’s gaze darted back to where Javert’s hand pressed inside of himself; feeling bold, almost vulgar to ask Javert so directly.
But Valjean did not fully believe that Javert’s eagerness would not override his better virtues, and Javert already had a lingering tendency to be worryingly reckless where his body was concerned. He was no more cautious in lovemaking, and while Valjean had often tried to indulge Javert’s desire for a rougher, more primal embrace, he would neither allow Javert to hurt himself—and especially not with this great wooden monstrosity.
“I am fine, Jean,” Javert said, withdrawing his fingers with another wet sound that had them both shivering before wiping his hand along one thigh, heedless of the glistening smear left behind.
There was a pause as both men realized that, as prepared to take the toy inside his body as Javert was likely going to be, there were now the logistics of the act unfurling before them. Javert’s cheeks darkened, squirming against the sofa as he said, voice gruff—“On the floor?”
Valjean eyed the carpet dubiously. “Would that be comfortable for you? We can still return to the bedroom—”
“No, I—” Javert shook his head, long strands of hair sticking to his temples, his jaw. “I think the floor will suffice.”
“If you’re certain,” Valjean said, bending forward to place the slicked toy with its flat and heavy base on the ground, only to glance over his shoulder at Javert in surprise as he realized, “Where do you want me?”
Javert startled beside him, turning to gaze at Valjean with wide eyes. “I did not tell you?”
“I hadn’t wondered what I might be doing until this moment,” Valjean admitted, glancing at Javert, and the toy, and Javert again before breaking into a quiet chuckle that soon passed to Javert as well; until the both of them shaking their heads, shoulders pressing against each other, laughing quietly, breathlessly, wonderingly.
“I do not think we are entirely practiced at some of these ventures,” Valjean said, smiling at Javert.
“We do well enough,” Javert muttered, lips quirking as he caught Valjean’s hand with his own, pressing a kiss to Valjean’s oil-soaked knuckles.
He wound his fingers with Valjean’s and confessed, “I had imagined you watching me.”
Valjean glanced at the jutting phallus, shimmering with oil and still not a little intimidating where it had been placed on the floor. “From here?”
Javert tilted his head, and eventually raised one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Truthfully… I did not examine every detail in my imaginings, but I think—” He sized up the toy, and Valjean’s place on the sofa, and nodded quickly; tucking his chin low. “I think I would like that.”
After a final, tentative moment of deliberation, Valjean patted an oil-slick hand on Javert’s hip, and murmured, “Let’s get you settled, then.”
A visible shudder passed through Javert’s body, and with long, loose-limbed movements he pushed himself off of the sofa and onto his feet. When he turned to meet Valjean’s gaze, Javert’s eyes had been almost completely swallowed by pupil; with only the thinnest ring of silver glittering around the edges. His sweat-damp hair was beginning to frizz, strands of iron-grey grown wispy where they tumbled down Javert’s back.
He wobbled on shaking legs to stand beside where the jutting phallus lay before the sofa, impossible to mistake in its immediate purpose with the sheen of oil still limning the massive phallus. Javert allowed his unsteady gait to lower his knees and bring him down to the ground beside the toy, folding his legs beneath him, knees akimbo, hands resting atop his thighs.
They took another few seconds to consider their arrangement—Valjean shifting to the center of the sofa, directly across from Javert and the wooden phallus; Javert’s breath high and panting, his hands lifting from his thighs to hover awkwardly before him. Finally, Javert nodded to himself, and crawled so that he knelt in front of the toy, positioning himself so that its hefty girth and sizable length lay behind him, aligned with his backside.
After another second of consideration, looking up at Valjean on the sofa, his cheeks rosy, Javert groped unseeing behind himself to place the flat base of the instrument another few centimeters further back, shuffling on his knees. His movements were uncertain and ungainly, facing Valjean as he positioned the toy, but he was doggedly determined as he touched his bare buttocks against the wooden cock, arse hovering just above the weighted base.
“Oh,” Javert said, his lashes fluttering. “It—bumped—”
He licked his lips and unconsciously rocked back against the slick, rigid shaft—one hand still behind himself to feel around for the best way to angle and grasp the toy, his other hand shooting out to the floor beside him for balance; even as his pelvis continued to sway backward toward the beautifully carved phallus.
Digging his teeth into his lower lip, his heavy brow drawn low, Javert lurched back along his knees again, lifting his hips higher. The hand that had vanished behind him seemed to struggle for a moment on how to position the toy; on how to place it against his body. Another slight adjustment and Javert jolted, a strangled noise falling from his bitten lips, and Valjean knew the wooden cock must have touched Javert’s stretched, yielding entrance.
There was a breathless excitement rising in Valjean’s chest, squeezing his lungs and encouraging another bolt of arousal, his cock dribbling freely all over his thigh while Javert positioned himself above the toy. Its thick base and polished shaft was visible to Valjean, tucked between Javert’s parted thighs: ridiculously and ponderously massive where it rose between the spread of the other man’s legs.
Javert was squirming, rocking his hips, and Valjean saw in that face he knew as well as his own the moment the blunt head of the wooden cock breached him; pressed against Javert’s loose, oil-slick furl and beginning to slowly, inexorably sink inside.
Valjean could also see the slight, ashen tinge to Javert’s flushed skin, and the way his desperate erection began to flag, and Valjean cautioned—“Slowly, dear heart. Take your time.”
“I have taken. An inordinate amount of time already,” Javert grit out between clenched teeth.
But he held his hips in place for a long minute, allowing his body to adjust to the large, smooth head of the toy; moving to take it no further until his skin began to regain some of its color, at which point Javert began to lower his pelvis in small, aborted movements that were not quite thrusts, dropping his weight in tiny increments that, bit by bit, took more of the enormous girth and prodigious length further, deeper inside his stretched passage.
His body dripped with sweat, shivering from the exertion of taking the enormous phallus inside his body, even so thoroughly prepared. As Javert sank down on the wooden cock with painful slowness, Valjean’s own erection continued to throb, his balls tight and heavy. He dragged his hands from their stranglehold of the sofa cushions to wander down his chest instead, lightly pinching at his nipples and running through the hair trailing down to his navel, before wrapping thick fingers around his aching length.
Valjean did not want to stroke or pull himself toward his completion yet—he wanted to watch Javert, wanted to see the man fuck himself on the wooden cock until Javert was falling apart; until, perhaps, Javert himself had found his own release—but even with Javert gasping and scowling as he was forced to take the toy inside him more cautiously than he would have liked, Valjean was helplessly affected by the sight of the other man, bearing down on the outrageous size and breadth and length of the carved phallus.
He rucked up into his fist as Javert’s movements grew bolder, his thrusts more forceful. With each press downward, Javert took more of the wooden cock inside him; every time he lifted his hips along the smooth shaft, his lips parted around shattered, startled whines that cut abruptly into jagged, smothered moans as Javert’s body slipped back down the thick intrusion within him.
Valjean recognized when Javert’s juddering thrusts brushed his prostate, the other man bucked fervently along the toy, his nipples hardening, his cock flexing against his abdomen and smearing a glistening trail of pre-ejaculate along his navel. Valjean’s own length ached as he watched Javert rock himself backward and forward several more times, aiming for that buried nub inside him with every wild thrust; before sliding halfway back down the toy, its base wobbling only slightly with Javert’s exertions as Javert pulled his hand away from it to rest both of his palms flat on the rug behind him instead.
“Oh,” Valjean breathed as Javert’s new position arched his spine backward, his knees raised and spread outward. The long line of his body was curved and bared, his cock fully erect once more and bouncing with each movement, slapping against Javert’s stomach as his hips began to fuck himself along the wooden shaft in earnest.
Javert dropped his head forward, bearing his teeth. The muscles of his arms and thighs strained as he dropped his weight down—down—pushing and rocking his hips with steadied, languorous movements until, finally, he stopped, and was seated on the flat base: the entire, unwieldy toy sunk inside his body; back bowed and legs splayed, all the long endless lines of his tall frame caught, impaled on the immense wooden cock.
There was another long, interminable moment wherein Javert held himself in that position, limbs trembling with the effort. His lashes brushed against his cheeks as he rocked back and forth minutely on the massive wooden phallus, and when he looked back up at Valjean his eyes were blazing; his toothy grin wide and fierce and eminently satisfied.
“You’ve done well,” Valjean said, pumping his length in his fist, his thumb brushing over the slit. Valjean felt clear, sticky fluid trickle down his fingers, his wrist as he watched Javert shiver at his words. “So well, taking that toy of yours so beautifully.”
Javert moaned deeply, raggedly, his hips giving an aborted jerk in response; the motion along the toy only drawing another muffled whimper from his lips. Javert’s body was shining with sweat and oil, his hirsute chest rising and falling rapidly in his enthusiasm, nipples tight and flushed and protruding as his limbs quivered with every shift and jostle of the wooden phallus; still adjusting to the massive length within him. By increments, he began to cautiously move along the thick shaft, pulling his hips higher, and higher still—only to drop back down heavily once again, crying out and shuddering as he took more and more every time the toy pushed inside.
The other man was moving more quickly, more easily with each thrust, and Valjean kept his touch along his own cock light, teasing—refusing to seek his release just yet, to the sight of Javert fucking himself on the toy; wanting to witness Javert wholly lost to the sensation of the immense wooden length splitting him open.
Valjean wondered if that moment might be soon coming, as Javert was now raising his pelvis almost to the very tip of the smooth, rounded head, circling his hips without lifting off the toy entirely, before bringing himself back down in increasingly bold, aggressive thrusts. Javert gasped out stuttering little sobs as he sank back further, faster on the wooden cock. He dragged in huge gulps of air, his arms shaking as they held him poised above the carved phallus.
His legs quivered as he forced them to lift, contract—pumping his body furiously along the thick, polished intrusion within him, angling his hips until—there—he was crying out, eyes wide, unfocused; his fingers curling into fists as his hips pounded along the wooden shaft, the toy repeatedly striking against his prostate as he hefted himself along its length.
“God, look at you,” Valjean murmured, firming his touch on his cock for a few strokes; taking in the sweaty planes of Javert’s chest and stomach, the furious tangle of his hair sticking to his cheeks, his whiskers—the strained, dizzied tremble of his arms and legs. Javert whimpered at Valjean’s soft voice, his thrusts erratic. “Taking it so well. You were made for this. You were meant for this—”
“Jean,” Javert cried, tossing his head, moving easily now; the whole enormous length sliding inside of him effortlessly, spreading him impossibly wide. Valjean’s cock flexed in his hand as he bit his lip against a groan, blood pounding in his ears to see how readily Javert fucked himself on the monstrous toy, even as the other man pleaded, “Wait. Wait. If you—if you keep that up—”
“You don’t want to finish like this?” Valjean asked, genuinely curious. He slowed his strokes along his erection again, his length throbbing piteously, his balls tight and aching; it was difficult to string together a coherent thought with Javert breathless and dribbling fluid, pushing back against the carved phallus. “F, fucking yourself on that toy?”
Javert’s eyes squeezed shut for a brief moment, unable to suppress his answering whine, but he shook his head and replied, “Want you—,” his hips rocked, shallow and insubstantial, barely enough to move along that heavy wooden shaft. “Want you—to see.”
Valjean’s gaze trailed along the quivering, slick length of Javert’s body, his lids heavy and his scattershot nerves alight with heat as his eyes lingered where the other man was speared on the wooden cock. “Is that not what we’re doing?”
Javert shook his head wildly, bearing down on the toy several more times, his cock slapping against his stomach, a glimmering trail of fluid left in its wake before he slowed; collapsing forward onto his bruised knees—the phallus still wholly buried inside Javert’s body.
The other man pushed back against the toy twice more—helpless, unconscious thrusts fueled by the desire to chase his own release; luxuriating in the sensation of the massive toy filling him. But Javert forced himself to steady, reaching back behind him and slowly, inexorably pulling at the heavy, rigid length buried inside his passage. He hoisted his pelvis upward, hauling himself along the wooden shaft at the same time he tugged against it.
Javert circled his hips again, his canines sunk deeply into his lower lip, stifling the wounded noises scraped from the back of his throat until Javert was hovering, crouched, over the blunt and bulbous head—and with another surge of movement, the wooden cock popped out of his hole with a wet smack of oil, a wounded cry yanked from behind Javert’s clenched teeth.
Perspiration ran in rivulets along Javert’s skin as the toy slid free of the clutch of his body. He listed to one side, weak-limbed and shivering, his cock flushed dark and still fully erect despite the efforts to slide his body off the carved length. He crawled around to face away from Valjean, placing one long leg on the other side, in front of the toy. He grabbed the discarded vial of oil to pour what little liquid still remained down the tip of the phallus. With a few more fumbled adjustments as Javert’s legs spread intuitively to settle himself comfortably against the waiting intrusion, Valjean could see clearly now the enormous wooden cock jutting against the other man’s bare arse, sleek with oil and sweat; scattered with the reddened marks of Valjean’s teeth and lips.
Groaning, Valjean’s cock jumped in his fist as Javert grasped at the shining, beautifully crafted wood with one hand, and tugged at his cheek with the other. Javert spread his cheeks apart, to more easily take the toy back inside him; and exposing his swollen, abused hole to Valjean’s gaze, every nerve and muscle and synapse in Valjean’s body ablaze as his eyes devoured what a ruin the toy had made of the other man.
Javert’s hole was loose, gaping, clenching vainly around nothing—more stretched and opened and exposed than Valjean had ever seen, more debauched that Valjean had ever thought to imagine, even now, even after everything he had experienced with the other man. Javert’s hands were unsteady, graceless, as he directed the smooth head of the toy cock, unseeing, to rest against his fluttering rim once more. He craned his head over his shoulder, lining himself—and God in Heaven, it truly was absurd, ridiculous:
Even stretched far beyond anything Valjean had witnessed before, Javert’s entrance looked small pressed against the immense girth of the wooden cock; no matter that Valjean had been watching Javert fuck himself on that cock for some long minutes, he still couldn’t believe it could be done.
But Javert was rocking his pelvis again, and balancing himself at the tip of the toy—his movements easier and more practiced now, eager in his expedience; waiting only long enough to ensure that the phallus was in line with the puffy gape of his furl before he was sinking his hips back down.
A contented sigh escaped the other man as the polished wood pushed its way back inside his loose and willing body; Javert almost melting against the toy as it slid forward, as if he had missed its unyielding girth inside him in the few minutes it took to change positions. The relaxation seemed to flow into Javert’s movements—his fevered, hurried thrusting giving way to slow, languid rocking. His hips canted leisurely as his hands slid down his sides, past his waist, before dropping to the ground behind him once again.
He kept his arms held wider than he had when facing Valjean, the better for Valjean to watch the slow rise and fall of Javert’s hips along the wooden shaft. But Valjean knew Javert wouldn’t be able to hold that position for too long without growing uncomfortable—for all that the other man, predictably, seemed intent to ignore any potential discomfort. Javert dragged his hips up the entire long length of the toy cock, so that Valjean could see where the stretched, shining skin of Javert’s furl clung to the slick wood. His rim wrapped snugly around its substantial girth as Javert lifted himself almost entirely off of the carved phallus before slamming back down, buttocks juddering where they slapped against the base.
Javert lifted one hand hesitantly as he fought to keep his balance, sliding along the wooden cock with one arm tenuously bearing his body weight. He reached in front of him, his hand disappearing around his waist—and from the ragged, jerking movements of his arm, half-hidden with the bulk of Javert’s body, Valjean knew the other man was touching himself; was stroking his cock while spreading himself open on the shining, polished monstrosity shoved past his abused hole.
“Could you finish like this?” Valjean asked, wringing his fingers below the head of his own length, slipping slick and easy along the shaft as pre-ejaculate wetted his palm. “On that toy prick?”
Javert tilted his head, chin tucked into the crook of his neck; the hand stripping his length slowed as he slanted a heavy-lidded gaze over his shoulder. “Do you want me to?”
Valjean pumped his cock, slippery with his own fluid; lifting his hips with each thrust and mentally running through all the things he wanted to do while he watched Javert heave his body up the huge wooden shaft again, the red skin of Javert’s hole pulled taut around the hard length. He wanted to come across that stretched and swollen skin—he wanted to turn Javert around again, push him on his back, grip the heavy base and fuck Javert with the toy himself—he wanted to see how long Javert could last, wanted to see what a wreck Javert could make of his hole if he kept fucking himself on the phallus’ girth—he wanted—
“I want,” Valjean said, “to finish inside you. When you’re…” This loose. This open.
Moaning, Javert bounced along the toy for several more jagged, erratic thrusts—chasing the heavy drag of the stiff wood grinding against his prostate and pushed so preposterously far inside him. It was with some effort that he forced himself to slow, the ardent movement of his hips tempered into a steady, shallow rocking along the toy’s immense shaft; until Valjean could see where the carved head of the wooden cock was pressed against the inside of Javert’s hole, red and dribbling oil.
Javert panted as he tipped his hips back and forth, his dilated rim still barely clinging to the toy, and Valjean’s cock surged in his fist with a fierce ache; such that Valjean feared he might have spilled in that very moment, and his fingers slipped down to grasp desperately at the base of his erection, balls drawn up and pounding beneath his shaft.
The other man gave one final, indolent circle of his hips before he hefted his pelvis once more, the wrinkled skin of his entrance sheathed around the toy cock’s hulking circumference. And then the phallus was sliding free, the wooden length popping out of Javert’s spread and gaping hole with a trickle of oil and a broken sob from Javert. The other man only just barely managed to lift his hips away from the massive toy before he was leaning forward to kneel heavily on the ground—his arms braced in front of him, his body curled inward and trembling; his breath punched out of him with great jagged gasps of air.
Valjean could surmise well enough that Javert’s strained position and the extended exertion were catching up with him all at once, now that the enormous heft of the toy was no longer shoved insistently inside his passage and distracting him from the inevitably of being on the upper end of middle age while fucking himself on the improbably-sized wooden cock. He struggled briefly to attempt to stand on wobbly knees that probably wouldn’t have held him even if he hadn’t spent every last ounce of energy on fitting the phallus inside him, before giving up with a groan Valjean was relieved to recognize as one of exhaustion rather than pain.
Javert tilted sideways, rolling toward the ground and collapsing in a sprawl of long limbs beside the toy—spread out in a sweating, panting, beautiful pile along the sitting room rug. He lay there, one knee drawn up, the other leg stretched out before him; his hands folded over his stomach as he caught his breath back, a faintly satisfied smile still on his face. Javert’s length curved insistently across his thigh, red and leaking and barely diminished from his endeavor to free himself of the wooden monstrosity still sitting innocently on the ground next to Javert’s leg.
“If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have either spent myself on that thing, or…” His lips quirked upward, rueful. “Perhaps fallen asleep on it. I’m too old for such things.”
“Nonsense,” Valjean said, leveraging himself onto arms still improbably strong and powerful for a man his age, lowering himself from the sofa to the ground. “You were breathtaking. The next time you wish to do this, I want to watch you spend yourself while riding it.”
Javert’s breath caught, his eyes glittering; lashes damp with reflexive tears and expression soft and tender and so utterly unguarded that Valjean was moving before he had realized his intent to do so—pulling himself across the span of the floor between the sofa and Javert’s sprawled form.
“The next time, hmm,” Javert asked, as Valjean settled himself over Javert’s splayed body. His muscles tensed as he lowered himself until their hard, aching lengths slotted together; wet, throbbing shafts bumping against each other with all the inelegance of haste, before gliding more easily as they fell into a comfortable, familiar rhythm.
Heat pooled in Valjean’s stomach and skittered along his nerve endings, but he pushed aside the roiling tide of his desire; ignoring the pounding ache along his cock. One benefit of their advancing age, Valjean mused, was the possibility to temper the haze of intense passion, to make love for hours; leisurely kissing and touching, arousal building and diminishing and building again many times over again. True, the hours of lovemaking did not usually involve quite so many abused knees or Javert splitting himself open on monstrously oversized wooden cocks—but the idea was not dissimilar.
“You would not go to all of this trouble and expense for something you only used once,” Valjean pointed out, nuzzling his face into Javert’s neck and breathing in the thick scent of salt and sweat and musk. He rutted his length against Javert’s as he slid his mouth along Javert’s clavicle, adding, “And you seemed to enjoy yourself very much.”
“Of course, I got exactly what I wished for,” Javert replied, flashing that smile of his; all teeth and gums. He wound his arms around Valjean’s shoulders and tugged Valjean down to lie flat and heavy atop Javert, their cocks trapped and leaking between their bodies. His thighs parted to make room for Valjean’s hips. “But I recall you had something else in mind for the rest of the night.”
He tangled his fingers in Valjean’s white curls, and pressed his face into the same spot on Valjean’s neck that Valjean had set his teeth to on Javert’s. Valjean pushed himself onto his forearms, shoving his cock forward and dragging his length against the other man’s. He slid his hand through Javert’s hair and cupped the other man’s skull so that he could tilt Javert’s mouth toward his, suck Javert’s lower lip between his teeth and bite gently in time with a sharp thrust of his length; feeling the answering throb of Javert’s cock, Javert’s chest pushing upward against Valjean’s; Javert’s mouth yielding easily to Valjean’s lips and tongue.
“Want to feel you,” Valjean said, when they were forced to part for air. “After taking that toy, I want to feel you, so loose and open.” He jerked his cock against Javert again, and Javert moaned low and deep in the back of his throat as he hooked one ankle over the back of Valjean’s thighs and dragged their pelvises together; thrusting helplessly and grinding their erections together with deliberate intent.
“Yes,” Javert hissed. “Yes, oh—yes, please, Jean—”
And because Javert had stretched himself open all that long day, and then fucked himself on an immense wooden cock, it took Valjean nothing else at all—he did not need to reach for more oil, or further stretch Javert with his fingers. He did not need to inquire if Javert was ready for him, for all that Javert asserted he was ready no matter how much or how little he had been prepared prior.
Valjean lifted himself onto his palms and gazed down at Javert flushed and gasping, his hair spilling across the rug; Javert’s legs parted wide and inviting around Valjean’s hips. And Valjean tipped forward—bumping his pulsing cock against Javert’s, along his slick thighs—nudging at Javert’s cleft, slipping over his perineum—pressing the blunt head of his length against Javert’s furl, stretched wide and loose and puffy from his efforts and damp with oil—
And with a single, solid shove, Valjean was buried to the hilt inside.
“Jean!” Javert gasped, canting his hips; his eyes rolling back as he writhed beneath Valjean.
“You took me so easily,” Valjean murmured, wondrous, moving his hips restlessly. His cock slid and jolted along the slick walls of Javert’s passage, fucking smoothly into the hollow Javert had carved out within himself to take the toy. He could feel the intoxicating heat of Javert’s hole; the wet slide of the oil; the familiar, beloved intimacy of the vulnerable part of Javert’s thighs around him, Javert’s body yielding to the press of Valjean’s cock.
But it was nothing like he had ever experienced before—loose and yielding in a way that truthfully would not provide much friction, but delightful in how readily Valjean sank right to the base; in the smooth glide and jut of his cock as he drove his entire length inside Javert immediately, effortlessly—his pelvis already nestled against Javert’s arse, mere moments after slipping inside.
It was true Javert already took Valjean quite readily as compared to when they first began to make love—but this—the immediacy of Valjean’s cock slotting into place, buried as deep inside Javert as physically possible; wholly engulfed within the other man’s body between one breath and the next…
Valjean looked down, to watch where his cock sank inside the clutch of Javert’s body. His pelvis nestled intimately against Javert’s as Valjean’s hips hovered, rutting in large, sloppy circles against Javert’s backside. Valjean could see Javert’s hole squeezing, throbbing; bearing down futilely to grip Valjean’s length within him, but stretched far too loose for anything more than a desperate, rippling flutter. Valjean juddered against the wet warmth of Javert’s passage, his cock pounding with each easy roll of his hips, stabbing forward into the spread-open space deep inside the other man.
“I don’t think I’m going to last,” Valjean said, his release prickling beneath his skin, alighting along his veins, churning in the pit of his stomach as his hips pistoned against the other man lying pliant and complaisant beneath him.
Javert grunted, lifting his hips higher to meet Valjean’s thrusts.
“I believe that was the idea.”
Valjean pulled the other man closer still toward him, Javert’s legs spread to either side of Valjean’s waist; Javert’s thighs resting on the top of Valjean’s as Valjean pushed forward—and Javert was so—so, loose—and open—and it was so easy—
He released one hand from Javert’s waist to wrap large fingers around his cock, tugging at the silky skin of Javert’s length in time with his heavy, persistent shoves against Javert’s hole, twisting beneath the head the way Javert preferred. Valjean wanted to bring Javert back to the brink; wanted Javert to reach his peak—spend himself on Valjean’s cock with Valjean still inside him; while Javert was yet stretched wide open to accept Valjean’s entire, not-inconsiderable length as easily as Valjean would fuck his own hand.
He shifted the angle of his hips, shoving forward and feeling Javert tremble in his arms when Valjean’s cock struck his prostate. Valjean nudged that buried nub inside Javert in unison with Valjean’s strokes along Javert’s cock, the hot length pulsing beneath Valjean’s palm.
“What do you need?” Valjean asked, grinding his hips in lazy, haphazard circles; hand still tugging at Javert’s length.
“Kiss me,” Javert pleaded, and Valjean tilted his head to catch Javert’s lips against his, thrusting his tongue into Javert’s mouth as he thrust into Javert’s hole. Valjean pounded against that sensitive bundle of nerves, his attention torn between the velvety heat inside the other man; in the weight of Javert’s cock against his palm; in the wet press of Javert’s mouth against his own. It was almost a surprise, to feel Javert’s length spasm within his grip, pulsating as Javert convulsed beneath him, his gaping hole constricting desperately around Valjean’s surging length and empty air.
He gasped at the convulsive ripple of Javert’s stretched hole, as it tried in vain to clench down; Valjean’s hips jerking against Javert’s as he chased his completion along Valjean’s length and in Valjean’s grip, wet stripes of ejaculate landing hot and sticky across Valjean’s hand and wrist, down their stomachs.
Valjean pumped Javert through his release, pulling out the last few pitiful spurts until Javert was writhing and pushing Valjean’s hand away; and Valjean’s movements were unsteady against Javert’s as he anchored one hand on Javert’s hip, thoughtless and impulsive as he brought his dirtied hand up to his lips to lap Javert’s seed from his hand, the other man whining in response.
Javert pushed upward once more, smothering a wet, haphazard sob, still pinned by Valjean’s bulk. Valjean shoved again at Javert’s puffy, abused hole, and again—grasping at the other man as Javert went boneless beneath him, wrung-out and exhausted; giving himself over to Valjean’s last burst of energy. Valjean’s pelvis churned against Javert’s backside as he gathered the other man into his arms, pushing raggedly into Javert’s prone body; his name a weak, keening mantra on Javert’s lips.
Valjean felt his release building in waves, the tide of his arousal building with every rock of his hips; his sac heavy and his cock twitching against the slick walls of Javert’s passage. His length fit so easily, so readily within the other man, with Javert limp and sated and fucked-out, pressed against him by the tight, greedy clasp of Valjean’s embrace.
Javert sobbed at Valjean bottomed out inside him again; so ridiculously, impossibly far within the other man—Javert’s hands grappled weakly at Valjean’s biceps, his shoulders, tugging Valjean closer still, even now, even when surely, they could not burrow any closer than this, not without fusing together completely—and between one thrust and the next, Valjean’s orgasm ripped through him; his seed spurting where he was buried inside, pumping deep and hot, flooding Javert’s passage slick and wet and dripping.
Valjean’s hips heaved against Javert’s haunches as he spent in long, pulsating pulls within the other man, his completion sweeping over him in a dizzying, elated rush. Valjean stilled, for a moment, to feel himself filling Javert, his cock twitching and fluid smearing along Javert’s walls; even as a restless, possessive hunger yet drove Valjean’s movements, drawing back slowly—gliding readily from Javert’s hole through his own semen, his cock still dribbling as he slipped free, his seed oozing out of Javert’s stretched and swollen entrance.
Air wafted between their bodies as Valjean gently lowered Javert back to the sitting room rug, cool against their sweat-soaked skin. But Valjean had little inclination to separate himself from the other man any further than that, as he looked down at Javert splayed out on the floor before him. Javert’s hips were raised toward him, his buttocks pressed to the top of Valjean’s thighs, his legs wide to either side of Valjean’s waist; his entire body unspooled beneath Valjean, slack and boneless from the intensity of Valjean’s arms around him in the final moments of his orgasm.
And Valjean could—see, as he glanced down; inside, inside Javert in a way that had never been possible previously—that Valjean had never thought of, before—and now his spend seeped out of the loose gape of Javert’s hole, and trickled over reddened skin. Javert’s passage was wet and filthy with Valjean’s release, and Valjean could see—everything, everything, more open and vulnerable than Valjean had ever considered—would have ever imagined—pink and wet and so wholly exposed, laid bare, and only and ever for Valjean—
“Javert,” Valjean whispered, his spent cock giving one last weak twitch against his thigh. His hands trailed reverently along Javert’s arms, his neck, his sides; his heart tripping in his chest as he considered the man before him, who had planned this—asked for this—wanted this, to share this with Valjean.
“Oh, my dear,” He said, his callused fingertips light and errant, tracing circles into the bony jut of Javert’s hipbone. “Look at you. What a wonder you are.”
The other man let out a startled huff of laughter, his eyes yet distant with the aftermath of his own release, but the creases around his mouth deepening around a small, genuine smile from Valjean’s words. As they lay jumbled together, Javert’s legs began to slide gingerly from Valjean’s hips; his broad, lanky frame shuddering as his chuckles tapered off into huge, exhausted exhales. His cheeks were tinted red beneath his complexion and his skin was soaked with sweat and oil and semen, shivering and spent and already halfway asleep on their sitting room rug.
The wooden toy had been knocked over at some point during their congress, and rolled beneath the sofa; elsewhere, the last remnants of oil from their little glass vial trickled onto the sofa, the fabric staining. The lamps had guttered low, the room thick with the scent of musk, the golden afternoon sunlight long faded to the dusky mauve of evening. Valjean’s skin yet buzzed with the lingering satisfaction of his crisis, but he could feel some of Javert’s exhaustion seeping through to himself; his limbs sagging, his head dropping back to Javert’s shoulder.
He draped himself over the other man’s body, his thoughts muzzy with a pressing, directionless desire to kiss every single centimeter of Javert’s face in reward for his unparalleled brilliance, to have wanted for and suggested such an experience for them to share.
“You should make such purchases more often,” Valjean said, sincerely, and Javert hummed back at him with a tired, muddled noise of what Valjean recognized as assent.
They absolutely could not stay like this, of course; slumped on the sitting room rug and dirty in ways years of lovemaking had nevertheless not prepared Valjean for. This was the main room of their home—it needed to be tidied, wiped down, aired out—he had no idea what they were going to do about the stains on the cushions—and there would need to be teas and compresses prepared for the both of them, once all of this activity caught up with them. They needed to bathe. They needed to sleep for twenty hours. They needed to put that ridiculous toy away again, safely ensconced in the back of their wardrobe—for another time—
Javert’s hand patted absentmindedly at Valjean’s side, his breathing evening out into something that sounded very suspiciously similar to his snores. Valjean shifted against the other man, blinking dazedly at how easily his softened length slid through the spend still streaking Javert’s thighs and dripping from his stretched, swollen entrance.
—That would be staining the rug, too.
“Yes, my dear, you are right.” Valjean said, rolling sideways to flop gracelessly on his back beside Javert. “I do believe we earned a nap first.”