Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: centaury_squill
From: purplefulffycat

Title: Unquestionable; Unforgivable
Characters/Pairings: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: First time, unsure!Albus, confident!Gellert
Other Warnings/Content: Oral sex, slight dub-con
Word Count: ~1600
Summary/Description:

His eyes drifted absently around his too-small bedroom, the ceiling rafters gathering dust that he couldn't be bothered to clean, which floated down in shimmering motes, catching the amber-summer light. Aberforth's snoring and whimpers from Ariana's nightmares drifted up from the floor below. A cuckoo cried outside.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." The voice at the window startled Albus, and he sprung bolt-upright in his bed. The voice chuckled. "Oh, so jumpy today?"

Author's Notes: Happy Kinky Kristmas, dear Mystery Recipient! I hope you enjoy reading this morsel as much as I enjoyed writing it :-)




When Albus had closed his eyes and pictured his life to come, there had been a great many wonderful things. He had seen his Grand Tour, taking in all of the sights and marvels of continental Europe, the Orient, and the Americas. There had been the important academic position awaiting him - or possibly, an advisory role in the Ministry, bedecked with respect for his intellect and honour for his exemplary conduct. And vaguely, in the further future, there had been a clutch of well-turned-out, intelligent children. These children, in Albus' mind's eye, had never really been babies or dependents - but more a group of little acolytes, excelling in their chosen fields, and making their father proud. His imagination didn't feature a mother; it glossed-over how the children had arrived in the first place, favouring instead the formal mantelpiece portrait of a great man, surrounded by his talented brood. Tipped as the highest-graduating student Hogwarts had ever known, the future had looked rosy, indeed.

That was, of course, until everything had conspired against him. Trapped in a rural backwater while his friends sent postcards, with an idiot brother and a damaged sister, Albus didn't know whether to grieve for his Mother, or grieve for himself.

And in stepped Gellert.

It was difficult for Albus to articulate how he felt about Gellert; it was certainly not a set of emotions he had experienced before. There was admiration. There was, despite the miles and the accents and the robes, kinship. There was... something that burned inside him, and made his fingers tingle and made him ache when they parted of an evening, only for the interim hours to be a haven for excitement and agitation that it be morning again, so he could go next door and see Gellert again.

On this particular morning, Albus had been awake since before dawn. His eyes drifted absently around his too-small bedroom, the ceiling rafters gathering dust that he couldn't be bothered to clean, which floated down in shimmering motes, catching the amber-summer light. Aberforth's snoring and whimpers from Ariana's nightmares drifted up from the floor below. A cuckoo cried outside.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." The voice at the window startled Albus, and he sprung bolt-upright in his bed. The voice chuckled. "Oh, so jumpy today?"

"Gellert, what are you?..." Albus crossed to the window, a burst of magic unfastening the latch. His friend was standing there, in mid-air. It was a type of magic that Albus had not before seen; he felt simultaneously impressed, and had a strange nagging feeling that he shouldn't ask about it. Maybe that was just because he didn't want to expose his ignorance. Gellert stepped inside, as easily as if he had been walking through the front door.

"You were thinking about me." It was a statement, not a question.

Albus considered this for a moment. Given that Gellert was so closely entwined with all his waking thoughts, he couldn't refute that as untrue.

Gellert's tongue darted out to lick his lip. "And I was thinking about you." He moved forward, Germanic boots swaggering on the brittle floorboards to close the distance between them. Albus' breath caught as Gellert reached out to cup his face, an elegant thumb running across his cheekbone.

"So tense?" Gellert asked, still with amusement in his voice. "Let me help you with that." He slipped Albus' nightshirt off his shoulder, tracing fingers slowly inside the dip of his collarbone. Albus murmured, barefoot and dumbstruck, and Gellert grinned again as he stalked around Albus, massaging his shoulders and stroking his silky auburn hair.

"Gellert, I..." Albus started, but words trailed away. For all his fantastic vocabulary, Albus did not have words for this. This, extraordinary breath-stealing, word-tunnelling closeness in secret silent hours, while the world was asleep. Moving his hair to one side, Gellert pressed a kiss to the nape of Albus' neck.

"Ahhh!" It was a sharp cry, full of surprise and the opposite of pain.

Again, Gellert laughed - and then kissed Albus’ neck again, with lips and teeth.

A burning sensation coursed into every inch of skin from the heat of Gellert's mouth, making Albus hiss. It was like nothing on earth. When Gellert released him, Albus turned around. "What are you....?" he mustered. In his wide-eyed state, the answer didn't seem at all obvious.

Gellert shrugged, still smiling. "You want me." Again, it was a statement. "And I was getting tired of waiting." He closed the distance between them, and kissed Albus on the mouth, softly claiming.

Albus froze. He had never... not even close to such a... with someone. Sirens sounded in his mind. Even in his abstract knowledge of the whole business, he knew that this wasn't right. Gellert wasn't a girl. Two young men didn't... Apart from Horace and Elphias, of course. But that was different. Albus was respectable. He had to be proper; his future demanded it. If he ever got out of Azkaban, his father would kill him.

And yet... the feeling of Gellert's lips on his was paradise. It was the answer to every unasked question; every hazy pre-dawn thought. It was the balm to his pain and a song to his soul. Far more than the old place in which he stood, it was like coming home.

They broke apart, and Albus looked into Gellert's beautiful eyes - yes, he allowed himself to think it; Gellert was beautiful - and saw... just that smile again, that amusement.

"About time, too," said Gellert, and kissed him again, in a way that drove every other conscious thought from Albus' mind. There was force and heat and a questing tongue and pressure on Albus' shoulders until he was edged backwards and found himself sitting back down on his single bed, with Gellert astride him.

"I...." Albus tried, toppled from a height of ecstasy, suddenly utterly unsure once again.

"Now, don't you worry," Gellert smirked, already shrugging off his own boots and trousers. Unabashed, he pulled his shirt over his head, and stood there in the hazy morning sunbeam, clad only in his underwear. His skin was bronzed and perfect, and the light played in his golden curls. He looked like an angel. "Like what you see?" asked Gellert. The confidence in his tone suggested that an answer was not necessary.

Then, with equal haste, Gellert flicked some wandless magic in Albus' direction, removing his nightshirt. Albus gasped as he found himself naked. His skin prickled in goosebumps, and he didn't know whether to try to cover himself, or to be more worried about his scrawny, bookish form.

Gellert gave him little time to consider, though, stalking forwards, and pushing smoothly on Albus' shoulders. He laid him down on his childhood bed - where Albus' mother had told him bedtime stories and his father had spoken of wonderful futures for bright young boys, in those golden days before the attack and the illness, when promising lads had been assured of their world tours. That bed, where Albus now laid naked and breathless with another boy on top of him, breaking every taboo and rule his bedtime stories would have told.

The shock of Gellert's skin upon his own was like the Cruciatus in reverse. Albus' body screamed and sang. His mind was a knot of fear and repulsion and delight and wonder. Between them, his erection poked up hard into Gellert's torso, and he could feel the sensation of Gellert's prick pushing into his own thigh, at once the most alien and the most natural thing in the world.

Gellert moved down, inch by inch, claiming Albus' mouth once more, and then sucking and biting his way along Albus' throat, his chest and his stomach. When Gellert breathed lightly across the tip of Albus' leaking cock, Albus cried out loud enough to have woken the household, and then bit down on a pillow to silence himself.

"Just you wait..." chuckled Gellert, and then swallowed Albus to the hilt.

Albus thrashed in his bed like a silent fury, panting and squirming and contorting every limb as he writhed beneath a sensation so wondrous-frightening he had not conceived of the existence of such potency outside of the very Darkest magic. He thrust upward into Gellert's mouth; he couldn't stop himself. It was as if his body were out of his mind's control; the Imperius writ large.

And then, just at the moment when it couldn't become any more intense, he was gripped by a convulsion that started in the very pit of his being and shot searing stars right through him. His vision blanked, his ears heard only the sounds of the abyss, and all there was in the universe was heat and tightness and sinful wetness and Gellert.

Slowly, laboriously, Albus came to. His focus swam back to find Gellert regarding him with unabashed hunger, stoking his own cock with one hand, and already teasing Albus' balls again with the other.

The respectable future had crumbled around him. The oil painting had faded, the country pile had become shabby and derelict. The well-behaved brood were no more. It was all swept away by the electric heat of Gellert's mouth on his cock, depraved and wrong and everything that Albus had ached and yearned for.

Gellert started coaxing Albus' legs apart, and, pliant and supplicant, Albus could do nothing but obey.

Every honourable thought had fled; he was lost, now. There was nothing left but Gellert, and this... this searing, white-hot pleasure that he knew was already an addiction. There could never again be anything but Gellert; the rest was dust.

Avada Kedavra.