Daily Deviant
- there is no such thing as 'too kinky'
Commenting To 
9th December 2012 22:00 - Kinky Kristmas Fic: Over By Christmas (Dumbledore/Grindelwald)
Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: [info]centaury_squill
From: [info]inamac

Title: Over By Christmas
Characters/Pairings: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Included: first time, bj, rimming
Other Warnings/Content: antirobinasticidia (scar fetish)
Word Count: 2140
Summary/Description: Christmas 1899, Bathilda invites the newly bereaved Dumbledore siblings to share Christmas Day with herself and her visiting nephew.
Author's Notes: The prompt was Albus Dumbledore's scar (which is "...a perfect map of the London Underground.") In the 1890s the London Underground consisted of only two lines – the District and Metropolitan – which makes the scar rather more believable – though less useful for navigation purposes in 21C London, I have therefore speculated on the use to which Dumbledore is referring. I have interpreted Rowling's timescale for Kendra's death and the subsequent events – on the assumption that Bathilda and Elphias's memories are not to be trusted, and Rita Skeeter's reconstruction is certainly not reliable. Happy Holidays to my giftee. And thanks to my long-suffering beta (who may be scared for life).

December 1899

Ariana had always loved Christmas. As the days drew shorter and colder she blossomed like a Christmas rose. She had loved trips down to the village, bundled in her warm red wool coat, and her fur-trimmed hat, holding tight to her mother's hand in case her boots slipped on the wet cobbles.

Yes, she loved Christmas. But Mother's death meant that more than Christmas trips into Godric's Hollow would have to change. Albus recognised that. Although Aberforth had protested that he could look after their sister, it was impossible for a fifteen year old to throw away his education. With Mother gone, and Father's imprisonment there was no 'family honour' to be upheld. No, Albus decided, Ariana would have the best Christmas ever. And in the New Year he would arrange for her to go to St Mungo's. It was the best place for her. They might find a way to control her wild magic. And it would not be for long. When his and Gellert's plans were complete their world would have no need to hide what they were from Muggles. Ariana could take her place in a new world. Father would be released and the Wizarding World would embark on the new Century as masters of their own fate.

And it would not only be a Christmas to remember for Ariana. Excitement coursed through Albus as he re-read the letter again.

Dear Albus,

Please forgive my intrusion upon your family affairs. I know that this has been a traumatic year for you, and for Aberforth and Ariana. I always welcomed your visits at Christmas when your parents were with us and would like to assure you that the invitation remains open. Indeed, as my nephew, Gellert, will be staying with me for the Christmas holiday, and I know that you and he have been corresponding since his visit here last summer, I should like to invite you all to join us for Christmas dinner. Christmas is a time for families to be together, and as I have no close family I do hope that you and your siblings will be able to come. Please say that you will.

Yours sincerely,

Bathilda Bagshot.

Albus' lips formed a name, though he did not speak aloud. Gellert. It was what he had scarcely dared to hope for. Ariana would have a proper Christmas, and he would have the opportunity to spend time with Gellert without the stress of school and exams, or of Mother's disapproval. It really would be the best Christmas ever. For everyone.


The weather itself on Christmas morning was perfect. There was a hard frost and he found Ariana kneeling on the window seat in her bedroom tracing the icy spirals and ferns and flowers blossoming on the frozen panes with enchanted fascination.

The sky was a clear, cornflower blue as they left for church, wrapped in their Sunday best, with Ariana smiling and dancing between the frost-rimed hedges. Even the detour to lay a posy of Christmas roses on their mother's all too new grave did not dim her spirits. Aberforth had also set aside his usual grumpiness as he joined his sister in admiring the swags of holly and ivy and sweet smelling pine that adorned the church.

Gellert and Bathilda joined them in the Dumbledore family pew, with its carved bumble bee on the door. Albus, as excited as his sister, though unable to show it, helped his friend with the unfamiliar responses, and took secret pleasure in listening to Gellert's light baritone chorusing the Hallelujahs, and admiring the way the winter light through the high gallery windows haloed his bright hair, making him look like one of the gilded medieval angels flanking the centerpiece of the altar triptych.

Now let us all rejoice amain, still echoed in his memory, a reflection of his thoughts, as he shook the vicar's hand on their departure and answered his automatic enquiry about the family's fortunes with an equally automatic platitude. His thoughts were elsewhere. Were halfway along the path where Gellert had stopped to wait for him in the dark patch of shade beneath the spreading branches of the churchyard yew.

"I need you, Albus," he said.

Albus nodded. "I know. I'm sorry about our plans. But in the New Year, when Abe is back at school and Ariana –"

"No!" Gellert stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I need you! I've been going mad thinking about you. About our lost opportunities."

"Now? Here?" Albus looked around. Bathilda, with Arina and Aberforth in tow, had moved further along the path and now stood by the lych gate chatting to a group of fellow villagers. She was such a gossip that he knew it would be some time before he and Gellert were missed. And it was quiet here, dark and secret beneath the down-swept branches of the ancient tree.

Gellert answered by reaching out and pulling Albus into a close embrace. "I've been dreaming of this," he whispered. The edge of his fur-lined hood brushed across Albus' cheek as he leaned forward to press their lips together. Albus shivered, and realised, an instant before Gellert's hand pressed into his fork, that he was hard. "And so have you," he added, fondling what he held.

For two months they had made love by letter, penning endearments and promises that neither had expected to go beyond parchment. And now....

Gellert's hand had slipped beneath the waistband of Albus' trousers. It was cold, momentarily, on his fluttering stomach, and then firm and warm. And he could no longer feel Gellert at all. All his sensation was focussed on self; on the bright flash of winter sun through the branches, on the scent of yew, the brush of fur, the silken slide of Gellert's fair hair under his fingers as Gellert knelt on the frozen ground and took Albus' aching cock in his mouth. The surprise that Gellert would do this was overwhelmed by the orgasm that was its result.

And then Gellert was on his feet again, swallowing and smiling that impish smile that had first captivated Albus. "Well?" he asked, "What did you think of your Christmas present?"

"I... I don't...."

Gellert kissed him. He tried not to visualise where those lips had just been, tried not to taste... himself... on his friend's (lover's?) mouth. He failed.

"Well I liked it." Gellert stepped back and readjusted his cloak. "And I'm sure that I'm going to like what you're going to give me. Tonight." He took Albus' hand and pulled him out of the shadows under the tree and into the bright Christmas morning.


The rest of the day had been perfect. Bathilda had prepared a magnificent feast, with the Christmas goose set out with all the trimmings and the new Christmas crackers by every plate. Ariana's delight in the excitement of pulling the crackers together, and seeing the shower of sweets and toys that emerged, was infectious. Their hostess had deferred to Albus', as oldest male present, to carve the bird. He had been very conscious, as the knife slid through the dark flesh, of Gellert's eyes looking on with approval. He had scarcely noticed the others, until the debris of the meat was vanished away by Bathilda's house elf, and Ariana and Aberforth applauded as the flaming pudding was brought out. With the lights dimmed the flames added blue highlights to Gellert's blond hair and Araina's white lace collar and cuffs. It was, thought Albus, remembering the azure glow cast by an enrapture charm, quite literally enchanting. When the meal was over they gathered by the glittering tree beneath which there was a pile of gaily coloured boxes ready to distribute among the company. The last had been Ariana's duty, as the youngest in the party, and no gift could have been greater than the excitement in her eyes.

They had walked home by wand-light. Ariana and Aberforth, both tired out by the excitement of the day, had gone almost immediately to their rooms. Gellert had accompanied them, on the promise of a nightcap with Albus before he apparated back to his room at his aunt's house. Unlike his siblings Albus was more awake than ever. As his father would have insisted, he poured brandy and conjoured coffee for them both, settling by the fire where the yule log glowed.

"I met your friend, Doge, when I was in Bavaria, this Autumn," said Gellert, "he told me you'd given up your plans for the future to look after your sister. Is that true?"

"I gave up my intention to travel Europe," Albus said, turning his glass in his fingers. "But your letters convinced me that the best way to secure her future is to make the world safe for her. I won't give that up." He smiled. "And I won't give you up."

Gellert set aside his own glass. "Good. I think it's time for my present now." He rose and crossed to where Albus still sat, as if petrified by enchantment. He propped himself on the arm of the chair, took Albus' glass from unresisting fingers, set it beside his own on the hearth, and then began to unbutton his friend's shirt, and then his trousers. When Albus' clothing had been sufficiently loosened he drew them both to their feet and shed his own garments. Albus followed his lead. He was shivering, and Gellert turned back to pick up his wand and cast a warming charm, though he knew that Albus was not shivering with cold, but with anticipation.

"Frightened, Albus?" he asked. "Of me? When you've done so much – and have the scars to prove it." His fingers ran down the line of a fire-hex scar on Albus' arm, over the mark of a sting from a Venomous Tentacular over his hip, and stopped at a point above one knee. "This is new," he said, tracing the rough oval with his finger."

Albus nodded. "I got that recently. The night Mother died." He swallowed, convulsively, and sought refuge in inconsequentiality. "It's exactly the shape of the map of the new London Underground railway lines."

Gellert grinned, not recognising the tragedy behind Albus' words. His finger continued to caress the scar. Albus trembled, anticipating what else he might do with that finger. And then Gellert bent and followed the touch with his tongue. Albus came undone. Were his partner not holding the scarred leg locked under his own, he would have thrown himself onto his lover. Pre-come leaked down his leg and onto the scar. Gellert's tongue did not pause in its journey around the raised white track. Moorgate Street to Brompton. A slow, sensuous journey. And then back to trace the lower scar from Mansion House to Earls Court. He paused; licked full wet lips, and then used his fingers to spread the last of the mess along the forked curve to Hammersmith and Kensington, and the sensitive skin in the crook of Albus' knee.

"How useful," he said, moving away to give Albus some space to control his aroused state. "To have a map to your destination." He picked up his wand again and performed a complicated charm that burned heat into the scar before he reached behind himself to press the wand-tip against his anus. The room was thick with magic. Gellert turned and threw himself down on the rug in front of the fire. The flames painted his naked body with festive red and gold highlights. "It's time for you to give me my present. Just follow the map. I'm looking forward to this."

Aching with arousal, Albus knelt over his friend's prone body. His fingers gripped and parted the other man's buttocks. And then he hesitated as he understood what Gellert had done. Circling his hole was a double trail of colour, blue as the flames of the brandy, a duplicate of his scar. The dimples at the base of his spine over Blackfriars and Aldersgate, and the detour to Swiss Cottage curving round and into dark desire. As Gellert had done with his own scar, he bent and followed the lines with his tongue. Gellert shivered under him. Albus had never done this before, was unsure of his skills, but the map Gellert had provided gave him confidence, as did Gellert's moans of encouragement. When he had licked his target to openness he leaned forward, positioned himself, and thrust, past the lubricated sphincter of St John's Wood Road, through the ring of tightness at Marlborough Road, and into the warm, welcome haven of Swiss Cottage.

It was, he thought, as they both drove to climax, the best Christmas present in the world.

Gellert had replaced the tragic reminder of the scar with a new memory of pleasure.

In the New Year they would begin to remake the world.

The End
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