Chapter Text
Every town has a feature about it that is entirely unique.
In many towns, it’s as simple as a cute bed and breakfast or a nook of a book shop.
In Montreuil sur Mer, it happens to be that the mayor is a vampire. It’s a fairly well-kept secret amongst city officials so long as the mayor chooses to uphold his virtuous lifestyle and resist the urge to feed on his constituents…or at least not the unwilling.
Truthfully, the mayor is a good man. Taxes are without issue and in all sense of the word he seems an admirable man. Perhaps that’s what rubs Javert so much the wrong way. The people of Montreuil Sur Mer slumber in their beds blissfully unaware that their mayor hungers for the life in their veins.
Sure, he is a kind enough man, all polite smiles and handshakes, but none of which cover up the nature of his being. Javert is always careful not to get too close, even if it is within his job to do so. After begrudgingly pouring himself over several books Javert came to a terrifying conclusion. If the man is to continue to hold his position, as his superiors made perfectly clear that he will by dismissing his several complaints, he has to be well enough to do so.
The first time he had met the mayor he immediately took notice of his appearance. The man, Monsieur Madeline, is a man of average height with a build wide enough to support a child on each shoulder should he ever take a wife. Though not a chalky pale as he had read, Javert finds that his skin appears a bit dull, lacking the color of an undertone. His smile isn’t sharp or jagged like the drawings. His lips are full, a little less pink and a little paler, but not stained crimson. There’s the slight speckling of a beard across his cheeks, somehow not hollowed by the stilling of his heart. The thing that catches Javert the most is the depth of the man’s eyes. They’re a deep brown, nearly black, but his stare doesn’t feel like that of a killer. It’s that of his own.
Javert is perplexed. He’s disgusted. He’s intrigued. There are nights that he finds himself thinking of the way his eyes crinkled when he shook his hand or the firm, almost calloused scrape of his hand against his own. It steals his sleep and seeps into his mind.
An antithesis to their first meeting, their second meeting was nearly a month later. This time, Javert was taken aback by the change in his appearance. The expanse of his skin was more ashen now, and he worried at his lips incessantly. He seemed withdrawn. Where he had shaken his hand the week before, this time he only smiles quickly and returns to his seat. Throughout the whole report, Javert finds himself having to repeat himself more than thrice upon seeing that the mayor’s thoughts had been elsewhere. He doesn’t have the right to feel disrespected, so he doesn’t, but he certainly is concerned about the…inefficiency. To have a man so suddenly weakened at the seat of power? It’s perhaps more dangerous than what he is in nature.
Perhaps he will die . Can vampires die? Javert begrudgingly forces himself to read again.
The spine of the book creaks in his frenzied hands and every page scritches against his fingertips when he pulls it tight. To look so…suddenly affected? He must be starving. That must be it! Javert knows how that feels, spending most of his childhood empty and licking his own dry lips rather than full. He’s convinced he’d be even taller had he gotten a good meal now and again. Everything on this earth has to eat, so surely Madeleine is no different…even if he isn’t living. To have been so fresh-faced and flushed only a month earlier? There must be someone he could turn to for this, so why hadn’t he?
He frowns, shutting the book on his lap and staring up at a water stain on his ceiling. This cannot go on.
The next morning, Javert makes a special trip to the mayor's office. He dresses as he would for a report, proper and pressed and attentive. When Madeleine ushers him in Javert realizes the stark difference between him and the man that holds the door for him. He is worse now. The poor man, his hands shake. He can’t make eye contact, but when he does, Javert can see the thin red ring tight around his iris. Ah, there it is. The monster he had read so so much about. The demon who would see his throat ripped clean. And yet he sits timidly behind his desk and tilts his head.
“Forgive me, Inspector, had I forgotten we had business today?” He questions and clears his throat.
Javert sits politely across from him and crosses his leg over his knee.
“No, but something has become a concern, and therefore I think it should be business.”
Madeleine pales a little more if possible and raises his brow, gesturing to the table between them.
“I’m concerned about your health.”
“My health?” He acts bewildered and Javert wants to motion to the entirety of him and shout. He sets his jaw and swallows, nodding.
“You seem unwell. Scattered. It isn’t my business, I’m just concerned that things are not being handled properly.”
“Such as?” Madeleine’s tired eyes try to look bewildered.
“You are aware that you are the first mayor of this town without major scandal?” Javert leans in as he speaks, scanning over his face intently.
“You don't know wh--” Madeleine begins to counter, shaking his head. Javert grits his teeth.
“ I’m not finished --I know what you are. I’ve done my research. It’s painfully obvious that you’re starving. You don’t have a … volunteer to handle this? Surely there are several women you could choose from.” He says so almost bitterly like the words are distasteful. He doesn’t dare raise his voice above normal, but his nails are digging into the palm of his hand in annoyance.
Madeleine is quiet for a long moment and Javert fears that perhaps he has gone beyond concern and has instead jeopardized his job. The man across from him swallows and he finally breaks.
“No, not recently. It’s a hard job, I’m afraid. And,” he states matter-of-factly, “The only woman I have ever gone to for that was a dear friend who knew of my situation and with whom I had established trust. Everyone has blood in their veins, but only a few have trust.”
“And what happened to her? The ‘job’ got too hard?” Javert uses the term loosely, assuming that the man was looking for a tactful way to dance around the fact that he clearly killed her.
“Well, no , she had a child to care for and we decided it best. I pay her to live comfortably outside the city with her daughter as gratuity for assisting me for so long. Which--I think you will find appropriate, happened a little over a month ago.” Madeleine crosses his arms with a smug smile and leans back in his chair. Javert wants to twitch.
“I see. Well, it seems you are in the market for a volunteer…and since I fear this could become a…hindrance or a public safety hazard I ask that you consider me.”
Madeleine sits up in his seat and his features become serious.
“Javert. You cannot mean that. Truly, you cannot say that and I cannot ask that of you!”
“I don’t recall you asking me, rather, I offered. It's my duty.”
Madeleine makes a pained sound and flinches when Javert starts again.
“I do mean it. I just ask that you consider it--for your health.” Javert smiles, closed-lipped and yet still awful. He doesn’t want the mayor to die. Oh, what unrest that could cause! But then again, what is that quote about leading a horse to water? Leading a vampire to blood and not having them drink is probably somewhat comparable.
Javert uncrosses his legs and pats his thighs gently before he stands and straightens his uniform. He nods in respect and turns to leave, stinging a little on the inside. It isn't exactly that he was turned away, but he wasn’t exactly chosen either, and it makes his jaw work in aggravation. Is he not good enough? He is healthy enough, puts in the work to keep himself going, and it isn't like he’s going to blab about it either. He doesn’t want the drama of gossip.
Javert hardly gets his hand around the doorknob before something chilled and like a vice tightens around his arm. He smiles a little to himself and looks over his shoulder.
“Monsieur?” He questions, deliberately furrowing his brow at him.
Madeleine looks conflicted. He’s moreso staring at the place where his hand meets Javert’s arm rather than his eyes and his lips part and close a few times before he even says anything. Slowly the hand uncurls and retreats, dropping to his side. Javert turns to him fully now that he can and he tilts his head in question.
“I accept your offer. Thank you. You have certainly lightened a burden that you cannot begin to understand.” He smiles, but there’s a twinge in his eye that screams desperation.
“When should you need me?”
“Normally I wouldn’t be so demanding on your schedule, though I think you should understand when I ask if you’re free after your patrol.”
“Of course. Should I find you here”
“Ah, no. I’d rather my home if you don’t mind. It’s a bit easier that way.”
Javert doesn’t mind, though it does make him a bit anxious. To be inside a monster’s home, alone and unprotected, ready to be eaten. Self-preservation may not be his strong suit today. Besides, the man doesn’t appear to even have the energy to kill by the looks of it.
Madeleine returns to the desk and begins to write his address on a scrap of paper, his neck bent and the pale fan of his lashes distracting Javert from his worry for just a moment. When he looks back up at him and he sees that red ring in his irises, Javert suddenly remembers.
“I only ask that you don't kill me.” He cuts coldly, serious.
Madeleine laughs. Not a chuckle, not a snort, a full laugh that shakes his shoulders and wrinkled his brow. The clean, not yet sharp, outline of his teeth glint, and Javert frowns.
“That isn’t comforting.”
The man’s laughter cools off into a chuckle and he shakes his head, putting a hand against his chest. As if his heart is something to swear on. Javert knows it doesn’t beat.
“I have never killed anyone. Ever. And I assure you that I do not intend on it” He says gently, sincerely.
Javert squints. He is a cop, it's not like he would tell him if he had anyways.
“Remember what I said about trust? Trust that I will keep you safe. You have my word.”
Madeleine’s hand reaches out again and he presses the slip of paper into his hand, pulling it away way too quickly for Javert’s liking. It’s nice, being touched- if even for a moment. God, he feels pathetic.
“I will be there.” Javert adds over his shoulder, turning once again to take his leave. This time Madeleine allows it, quietly returning to his desk and sitting with a tired sigh.
The moment Javert returns to the street he shoves the paper deep into his coat pocket and grumbles at the fact that his hands are embarrassingly sweaty. What has he gotten into for the sake of knowing things? Curiosity killed the cat, but Javert is not a cat. In his own mind, he is a wolf. A collared wolf, nails trimmed blunt, and teeth cracked, but a wolf nonetheless. He will not be killed. The idea is exciting, though.
Javert patrols with half attention for a good portion of the latter part of his hours, far too engrossed in the idea that he will soon know something that many men are not privy to. It’s a strange pride in his chest, knowing that while someone mends the mayor’s clothing, strings together his glass beads, and makes his bed-- Javert will be the one to heal him in a way it seems not many can readily offer. That is the largest devotion he can think of, and for it to be him? He buzzes happily inside as if he’s earned great respect.
By the time his patrol is over, Javert finds that seed of anxiousness settling in his stomach again and tries to ignore the way that it grows with every step he takes towards Madeleine’s residence. He is safe, above all, he is safe. Funnily enough, the moment he is faced with the man as he opens the door, the anxiousness fades away. He’s dressed down, obviously aiming for comfort and familiarity, and Javert feels a little overdressed for the occasion, still in his patrol boots and greatcoat. Madeleine smiles again, stepping to the side to wave him in.
It’s not that Javert had thought him a dandy of a man, but he is rather taken aback by the simplicity of his home. It’s modest, shows signs of living he wasn’t quite expecting. A burnt-down stub of a candle rests on a table across the way, nestled into the dripping wax of its neighbor. There are a pair of shoes by the door, and a coat thrown over the back of a chair. Extremely human, really, and not at all what he was expecting.
“You have a lovely home.” Javert supplies into the quiet, hoping it’ll distract from the way he’s glancing around curiously to avoid addressing the thudding in his chest.
“Ah, thank you, Monsieur. Not the cobwebs and candelabras you were expecting?”
“Mm, no. The coffin either. Though I suppose that’s not a living room sort of ordeal is it?”
“Of course not, I keep that in the cellar.”
Javert makes a face and sincerely cannot tell if it’s a joke. He decides he doesn’t care where the man lies at night so long as he doesn’t kill anyone beforehand. The thought that he was a man once both intrigues and terrifies Javert. He was once a man with a beating heart and flowing tears and now? Now, he supposes, he might not be much different given how it seems he lives. He’s kind enough, just enough, so who is to say he isn’t that way in every facet of his life?
The ball of anxiety roils again at the thought that maybe, just maybe, Javert had misunderstood how this whole thing worked. The books he had forced himself to read in the name of research had made it abundantly clear the process of becoming a vampire. It’s simple really, animal even--a bite. He swallows and clears his throat, turning on his heel to look at Madeleine.
“It won’t…nothing will happen to me will it?”
“No, you won’t become this way if that’s what you're asking. You might feel a little tired, maybe a tad dizzy, but nothing more. I can even make you forget if you wish.” Madeleine smiles gently and brushes his back in a more awkward than polite ushering.
“No. I don’t want to forget.” He crinkles his nose as if Madeleine had said something truly distasteful.
“Of course not, that’s quite alright. It’s not something that many really want to remember is all.”
There is a moment of silence and Javert fidgets with his nail. He tries not to make eye contact. One of the books had mentioned the power of a vampire’s stare. He’d rather not test the theory.
“It will hurt quite a bit at first….you are aware?”
“I’m not a stranger to pain. It’s a portion of my duty to do so.”
“This isn’t your duty to carry, but neither is it mine to decline. If you’re willing then I am grateful.”
“I had offered myself for a reason, monsieur.”
“I realize. Ah!” Madeleine suddenly remembers himself and goes to the chest of drawers at the edge of the room, opening the first drawer and carefully reaching inside.
Once again, Javert expects to die. Would he be any use if he were dead? Probably not, and yet he worries. The worry is quickly amended, however, when he sees the man’s hand withdraw. He’s holding what looks like a white handkerchief and Javert wrinkles his brow. Oh, he really is a gentleman, isn't he? Offering him something to stop the flow with, he assumes.
“Trust,” the man begins “sometimes takes earning. I will try not to make mistakes, but should you ever need to feel as if you can put a complete stop if you feel unsafe…you can.”
Gently, he takes Javert’s hand and slides the cloth into it. He realizes its weight then and raises a brow at him. Carefully, he folds back the fabric to find a simple silver chain resting inside.
“I don't understand.”
“It’s silver. You’ll notice I never touched it directly.”
“You aren’t able to?”
“Oh no, I very much can. It just feels like a brand. Should you ever feel unsafe, you can touch it to my skin and I would stop immediately.”
“I understand. Thank you.” Javert feels over the silver in his fingertips and wraps it around his palm.
Madeline nods and leads him to a chair, letting him sit. He stands there for a moment before he gets to his knees and looks up at him. Javert looks winded just by that action alone and it's quite a while before either of them speaks.
“Where will you…” He gestures to his mouth “Where will you do it?”
“I don’t have too much of a preference…usually a forearm. It’s easiest there and hurts a little less than some other places.” Madeleine explains. Distantly, Javert wonders what other places he might be talking about. Sure, there’s the stereotypical neck, but surely there’s more. The human body can bleed anywhere, can’t it? Hell, if a hangnail can bleed so can other places.
“Ah, I see.” He unbuttons the button at the cuff of his sleeve and rolls it up his arm, just above his elbow. His fingers shake a little as if he’s had too much caffeine or not near enough sleep. If only he could blame it on that.
Madeleine looks at him kindly and inspects his arm with such a precise look on his face that makes Javert wonder if it's that deep of a secret science that he doesn’t understand. There’s much of science he doesn’t quite understand. What he does understand is fear. He’s got goosebumps down his arms and legs and his chest rises and falls a little quicker than he would hope to be seen.
Javert flinches—not when Madeleine’s teeth puncture his skin, but the second his lips gently press to the inside of his forearm. He watches intently, his eyes anxiously flicking between his lips, his own skin, and the pale fan of his eyelashes on his cheeks. He kisses his arm. Kisses it like it’s something meant to be kissed. He feels captivated and disgusted as he would towards watching a pickpocket make his daily wage across a crowd. After a moment he notices the lack of warm breath on his skin, and instead finds the cool press of lips.
“You don’t breathe.”
“No, of course not. Well, not naturally of course. I can fake it. Does it bother you?”
“No, not terribly. It’s different.”
Madeleine’s hands are rough and large, Javert realizes the second he finds that one has secured itself around his wrist and the other on his upper arm to hold him stable. It should scare him, being held by a man with the ability to kill him in moments…but he isn’t afraid. He feels alive. Madeleine smiles and looks up at him again like he isn’t some sort of monster in the mayor’s clothes.
“It’s sharp, a deep sting, and it’s over. The rest is easy. It’ll feel warm…then euphoric.”
“Euphoric?” He muses, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes, or so I've been told. Calm, warm, some have even said it’s quite a nice feeling if you let yourself enjoy it.”
Javert sighs through his nose and he presses his lips into a line, nodding. Euphoric. He severely doubts it. It’s an injury, it cannot possibly feel like anything other than that.
“Are you alright? I won’t do anything until I have your permission.”
“I suppose, I’m just a little nervous.” he tightens the silver chain in his hand.
“I know exactly how much to take. You’re safe the whole time, I assure you. If you feel you need to stop at any point, you can tell me and I will be able to or you can use the silver. Does that help?”
“Yes. Thank you, Monsieur.”
Madeleine shifts on his knees, his eyes tracing the veins careening down his forearm. He does look quite transfixed on it. His cool lips are still hovering only inches from his skin and occasionally his tongue comes to wet his lips patiently.
“You can go ahead, it is clear you have been waiting far too long enough as it is.”
Madeleine wets his lips and his head drops low, bringing his lips to actually touch his skin. It is a quick flash, like being struck by lightning, and Madeleine is upon him, burying his teeth into his skin.
Javert’s eyes go wide for a fraction of a moment and his mouth parts in a gasp. Oh, Madeleine hadn’t lied to him. It hurts. A horrible, deep stab of pain that stings the whole while with such anger that his hand twists into a tight fist and he debates whether or not to look down to see. His curiosity gets the best of him and he dares a peek down at the man fastened over his arm.
Madeleine looks like a starved man now. His eyes are a deep maroon, partially hidden behind his eyelids and his nostrils flared as he works. There’s another sharp pain, and he draws back for a moment before he bows his head to seal his lips back around the wound. The pain resurfaces for a bit, though far less intense than before. It's quiet for a moment, aside from Madeleine’s shaky sounds through his nose and the slight creak of the chair as Javert leans back in it. Javert makes a little sound at the ebbing pain, but otherwise, it's bearable.
It is in this silence that Javert notices a creeping heat through his body like he was warned. He isn’t much of a drinker himself, but from what little experience he has with it, he finds it's much like having taken several gulps of whiskey. The heat, once minimal and steady, begins to settle over him like a burning blanket, and soon he is panting quietly in finding his clothes too warm.
“Oh…”
Madeleine’s grip on his arm remains steadfast, and it is at this moment that Javert realizes the magnitude of the situation he has put himself in. Javert has no standing friendships, no next of kin that he is aware of, and no one who might come looking for him should he not return to his apartment that night. Certainly, the prefecture’s police will wonder where he has gone and in such a way that he has left his post uninhabited without notice...surely they would search for him. Surely.
As strange as it is, he doesn’t feel afraid of this scenario. It is not that he doesn’t feel as if he could die here, it is that he is simply underwhelmed with the prospect of this death. Self-preservation is replaced by a sudden sense of apathy for the order of his life, a detachment from all that isn’t the warmth settling in his body and the lips fastened to his forearm. His eyes feel heavy and glossed, like polished marble, and he lets them fall shut with a small sound building in his throat.
He would be ashamed of the noises bubbling from him, but he can’t find the shame within him at the moment. It feels good. Very good, actually. Not too dissimilar to...well, more base and animalistic pleasures. Carefully, his free hand settles on the wiry white of the other man’s head--not pulling away or guiding downwards, still all except the thumb smoothing over his hair. He isn’t certain of how long he has been sitting like this, but for all he cares it could continue for eternity without upsetting him.
Absently, he arches a bit in the chair with a sigh.
“So this is the euphoria, then?” His sentence ends more with a raised chuckle than with a need for an answer, “You’re a man true to your word.”
He feels the drag of the man’s tongue across his forearm for a moment and his eyes roll behind his eyelids with how unnecessarily good it feels. Goosebumps break out across his skin and the hair at the back of his neck stands up straight. His thighs part and he slides down into the seat partially, actually moaning quietly. Madeleine does it again and he whines, finally opening his eyes only a fraction to look down at him.
Madeleine looks up at him with bewildered eyes and streaks of crimson smeared across his cheek and running down over his chin. He didn’t realize it would be so messy. Nor did he realize that he liked messy.
The man is gentle for a few moments, loosening his grip and gently going over his arm with his tongue. It’s red, Javert realizes. Red, wet, and…and he really should sit up in his seat shouldn’t he? His arm doesn’t sting, it’s numb almost, tingling in his fingertips. The rest of his body feels like a ship at sea, rocking along with the motion.
He catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a mirror across the way and his throat tightens. He looks a mess. He lies back in the chair, his head pressing into the back of it as if he’s asleep, but his chest rises and falls with such a panicked rhythm. He doesn’t feel panicked. He feels good, and his face shows it. He’s flushed and he finds such an absent look in his own eyes. He can hardly bear to look at himself for a moment longer. There’s a sharp pain as the man bites at him again and he moans, having to avert his eyes from his own reflection. Jesus Christ. Is he shaking? He feels like he's shaking. The heel of one of his boots is uncontrollably tapping against the ground. His legs are quivering.
“What’s it like?” Javert’s voice comes across as a parody of the one he usually uses. Once so sure and strong, it’s quivering and soft as if he’s said something awful.
Madeleine makes a noise of satisfaction against him and in a moment of horror, Javert realizes that he’s throbbing. Oh, this is bad. Madeleine will notice, there’s no way he won't. It’s not even a full foot from where he sits. A bead of sweat trails down his back and he bites into his bottom lip to try to will his body to behave. He hasn’t so much as had someone hold his hand in years, so having another person make him feel so nice? Surely it isn’t his body’s fault! Any man would react the same. There’s a long stretch of silence where Javert finds himself sleepily blinking and staring at a speck in the wallpaper across from him in an attempt to stay awake.
Javert’s head hangs so that his chin is nearly tucked to his chest as he watches the man before him. There’s something beautiful in this process. It’s like taking a deep breath before falling asleep after a stressful day. The tension in his neck and shoulders has melted into nothing and the rigid posture he holds has become nothing more than a memory. The man’s hand steadies on his other thigh and Javert makes a sound of approval, lifting his head just enough to nod at him. He doesn’t know why he’s nodding or what he wants, but he’s annoyed when Madeleine pulls away from his arm finally and brings a hand to his mouth as if to hide it.
Javert raises his head sleepily and furrows his brow.
“You’re finished?”
When Madeleine speaks his voice is so rough and so animal that it almost scares Javert more than it excites him.
“I should’ve been finished before the second bite. I...got greedy.”
“Mm.” Javert sighs through his nose and tilts his head to the side. He could’ve taken it all and he wouldn’t have a care in the world about it right now. His eyes feel so heavy and it takes a great effort to sit up in his seat again. He hisses a little when he realizes his arm is sore, and he looks down at it to assess the damage.
“I didn’t mind. You were hungry”
It’s not the worst injury he’s ever seen, but surely the worst he’s had. It’s mostly dried blood anyways, and the actual wounds themselves aren’t too deep that he’d need to be concerned. Still, such a beautiful gift looks quite ugly on him. He frowns at his arm and then looks back up at Madeleine.
“You look dazed, are you alright? Tired?”
“Lightheaded.”
“Well, I would assume so. You...don’t exactly taste like you prioritize yourself. Not a bad taste, but noticeable. You’ll need a nap. And dinner, something with meat.”
“I should go home. Before I fall asleep in this chair, that is.”
“I can’t have you lying in an alley by my fault. I have an extra bedroom. You can rest there as long as you need. You’ve done me a great service.”
“It’s what I’m meant for.” There’s a yawn and Javert’s body shakes with it.
“Enough of that, now. We need to get you cleaned up and horizontal before you find yourself that way.”
Ooh, that maybe isn’t what Madeleine is proposing, but for a split second Javert smiles like a schoolboy who had just learned what a breast is. He wouldn’t mind terribly if he found himself horizontal right now, not while he’s being helped to his feet by the strong, caring, man who just brought him to the edge by just biting at his arm. Distantly he thinks there must be something wrong with him. There probably is something wrong with him, with how he’s hoping Madeleine liked it enough to ask for it again. He hopes it was good, that he tasted good. How does he taste even?
He leans a little into the man as he is helped down the hallway, not trusting himself or his legs enough to keep himself from lying on the nearest surface. Madeleine smells nice. It’s like clean skin and warmth--funny considering how chilled his skin feels to the touch. Javert sighs against him and closes his eyes, not thinking for a moment.
“How was it?”
“Hm? Come again?”
“How did it taste? It wasn’t bad was it?”
“Certainly not, no. It’s…not something I think you will find comparable. Like something raw, but without the cold taste. Raw and hot. The taste lingers.”
Javert feels his face go hot at that, but he isn’t sure if it’s from the wording or the fact that he feels dizzy. He isn’t even aware of the fact that they’ve stopped stumbling along the hallway and turned into a room until he’s being helped up onto a bed to sit. Every single bell and whistle of self-preservation goes off in his head, screaming that this is a horribly dangerous decision. He squints sleepily and shuffles the thoughts away with the assumption that the mayor is a good man. He must be.
Madeleine stoops to his knees again and Javert tiredly looks down to watch him gently set each foot on his knee as he unties the laces to his boots. Jesus, his arm aches.
He wants to pull it to his chest and sleep until the next week, but before he can begin to nod off, he’s awoken by the gentle way that Madeleine helps him lie back into the bed—leaving his arm above the covers.
“You can rest as long as you’d like. I’ll clean this in the meantime…you ought to take care of it yourself too if you don’t want it to scar.”
“I want it to.” He mumbles and turns his head into the pillow. His brow wrinkles.
Madeleine makes a pained face and shakes his head. It doesn’t make sense. He’d wished he hadn’t been scared. A raised, nasty thing above the jut of his collarbone on the right side. Sometimes it’s still angry, dark, and painful against his skin. On those days, he ties a cravat extra tightly around his throat and ignores the insistent itch.
Usually, the ones he’s fed from in the past had been concerned about markings or scarring, and to have Javert so blatantly accept it as part of this? It’s odd, but he allows it. It’s the least he can do for the man that has already given him so much.
Javert gives a sleepy shudder and exhales against the pillow when Madeleine’s hands gently leave his arm. The man is asleep by the time he returns with things to clean and dress the wound, and for a moment he debates doing much of anything at all if it means he gets to rest. He’s pink in the lips and has that youthful shine beneath his skin, but age shadows him. There’s the darkening of bags under his eyes and the slight twinge of a wrinkle between his brows, so deep that it hardly disappears even in sleep. There’s such a peaceful mask over his features, the slight part of his lips, and the slow rise and fall of his chest and shoulders.
He is so alive. Beautifully alive.
If only he’d eat some meat.