InsaneJournal

By his own modest admission, Albus was a genius, an individual of exceptional cognitive capacity. He could sense the very fibres of existence humming along. He could literally perform magic in his sleep. And yet, for all his intellectual prowess, he could not, for the life of him, remember precisely what was so funny. His cheeks ached, his breath was short, and his entire system felt far too overrun by endorphins. Something had been absolutely hysterical, that much he could recall. Or perhaps it had been spectacularly un-funny. He was equally unaware of just how long they'd been rendered so entirely useless. Lingering amusement huffed out of his chest in a breathy sort of laugh as his mind spun, trying without much hope of success to wind itself back to whatever they'd been discussing. Maybe it was music.

The record player lay momentarily forgotten on the floor nearby. The trouble with so many centuries of music was that there were now centuries of music to listen to. Albus had taken to collected records, the more obscure the better, for the Bubbling Cauldron. Before he passed them along, however, he listened to them. At present, the floor of the upstairs common room was littered with records, both his and Gellert's, all of which seemed to have required immediate attention. It was the simplest, most endearing sort of pleasure, to sit on the floor, with his back against the sofa, listening to music with Gellert. His smile too wide, too languid, Albus reached for the glass of wine near his hip. After brushing his hair back from his forehead and smoothing his free hand down the length of it, Albus took a small sip.

Fingertips catching the longest fringe of his hair as they so often did when Albus's thoughts were wandering, Albus asked, "What on earth were we laughing about?"

Gellert laid sprawled across the floor, his cheeks still flushed red with mirth, arms spread wide across a sea of vinyl, the ceiling spinning dizzily overhead. Brian Johnson was singing from the record player about American thighs, the volume turned up loud enough that the bass line vibrated faintly through the hardwood floor beneath Gellert's spine, threatening to draw up another round of giggles if he let his guard down for so much as a moment.  He tilted his head toward Albus, unable to erase the smile that still tugged at the corners of his lips.  "You know," he said, "I quite frankly have no idea.  I...I think it might have been one of the Queen songs that started it.  And then--just--" he choked back another laugh.

It had been far too long since the two of them had sat like this, completely overcome with an emotion so light and so unhindered by any of the darker undertones that seemed to linger beneath almost all of their interactions as of late.  Ever since...no, it had been long before the fight.  The fight had simply been the culmination of weeks of growing tension.  But this--this recalled more the early weeks they had spent in Godric's Hollow.  Even despite the lust (and on Albus's part, unrequited love) that saturated their carefully platonic interactions, most of Gellert's memories of that time were full of jokes and laughter and passionate evenings spent hunched over Albus's desk with inkstained fingers and whirling minds.  Gellert had been surprised to find how much he missed it.

Gellert lifted a hand, gesturing in the vague direction of the record player.  "But, really, what do you think?  Something for the club?"  He kept his gaze fixed on Albus, once more acutely aware of how much he had come to value Albus's opinion.

A pleasant sound hummed in Albus's throat. If he were inclined to be perfectly honest, he'd spend much of his early weeks at the club playing whatever he so chose, which, at the time, had been something of an old-fashioned mix. An incredibly old-fashioned mix. There was little viable point in trying to cater to the tastes of so varied an audience, so Albus had taken to playing whatever he pleased. And this? This most certainly pleased.

"Most definitely," Albus agreed, the words warm, and soft, and entirely fond.

The things Gellert could find, the things Albus hadn't found for himself, they were really quite remarkable. But then, what about Gellert was not? With each passing day Gellert spent with him, again, Albus was more and more dismayed by how long he'd gone without Gellert's company. The world was vibrant and full of lustre, in a way he hadn't been aware that he'd missed. And in that instant, Gellert seemed just a little too far away. His movements slowed by a merry sort of dullness, he leaned forward to brush his hand against the back of Gellert's. The feeling it inspired had Albus all too certain that he'd play the record again, in the club, if for no other reason than to remember this moment. Not wanting to break it, wishing to stretch it on a little longer, Albus lapsed into a sated silence.

On instinct, Gellert turned his hand palm-upward to press his fingertips against the underside of Albus's wrist, thumb grazing against his pulse point.  It occurred to him, in that passing second, that the perfect, unburdened calm of this situation lent itself well to the introduction of a play that Gellert had been considering for quite some time now.  The details were fixed, his script already prepared.  Gellert had simply been waiting for the right moment to present itself.  And this moment--this was it. 

At first, Gellert had considered the advent of this, the use of his final ace, with some trepidation.  It was a major move, after all, and one that would have repercussions for years to follow.  Repercussions that could be good or ill, dependent on the slightest variation in tone, the slightest misstep in phrasing.  But any reluctance that Gellert had possessed was gone.  He had analysed this scene to within an inch of his sanity, polished it, smoothed out every last flaw.  And apprehensive though anyone might be to use such a volatile card, Gellert trusted his judgment enough to be certain of its effectiveness--and certain that now was, indeed, the time to use it.  He had waited until the fight was but a memory.  A recent memory, to be sure, fresh enough to still cause Albus some lingering pain, but distant enough that what Gellert intended would seem spontaneous rather than calculated.

He let the silence linger, and as the minutes passed Gellert let his free hand begin to fidget slightly with the edge of a record, picking at the cardboard case with his thumbnail, his gaze sliding away from Albus to instead gaze unfocused at the ceiling.  His breaths went shallow and Gellert chewed on his lower lip, forefinger tracing the familiar mark of the Hallows against Albus's skin.

Albus had been mere moments from lacing his fingers with Gellert's, from settling onto the floor alongside Gellert and teasing at Gellert's lips with his own- but the climate had begun to shift. Slowly at first, and then much quicker. The comfortable, companionable silence grew heavy. Restless. Apprehensive. None of it, however, came from Albus. Gellert was the cause of the shift in the weather. Although the buoyant sensation in his chest remained, some of the carelessness of the moment began to wane. Because what could possibly be troubling Gellert?

There was, however, little to be done but wait. Albus didn't care for the uneasiness of the moment, his mind spinning out in too many directions as to its impetus. The myriad of possibilities, some outlandish, others too trivial, were all considered before they were dismissed. As he thought, he let his senses be lulled into a pleasant stillness by the repetitive geometrical symbols taking form against his skin. Albus only exposed more of his skin for a canvas, waiting. And yet the silence held. Adopting a tone exquisitely devoid of significance, Albus asked, "Everything all right?" if only to call to Gellert's attention the fact that he had let some hidden worry begin to show.

Gellert blinked when Albus spoke--twice, in quick succession.  And then he turned his head toward him once more, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, fingers falling still on Albus's wrist.  He did not answer at first, but instead kept his eyes locked on Albus's, utterly focused, as if searching Albus's gaze for the answer to some unspoken, impossible question.  Suspense--how much, how quickly it was built, how long it was sustained--was paramount in the execution of Gellert's plan.  Not enough, and Gellert's words might seem flippant.  Too much, and he risked melodrama--risked making this all appear to indeed be the scheme that it was. 

So it was a few seconds before he spoke again, his voice soft, the words fit together slowly as though Gellert was considering each and every one with great care.  "I have...something of a confession to make," he said.  There was apprehension, anxiety, and the hint of something else--something complex and subtle that Gellert intended to eventually be identified as an inkling of hope.  Though perhaps hope of the more desperate variety.

It was a rare thing when Gellert hesitated.  Albus was hard pressed to recall when Gellert had ever done anything reluctantly.  A dozen or so possibilities sprang into bloom, though Albus refused to focus too narrowly on any particular one.  He knew that his mind too sentimentally strayed to that period of time, those weeks when there had been no word, no sound from Gellert.  It wasn't unreasonable for Albus's thoughts to slip into considerations that something had happened, something had been done, during that period of separation that Albus might not have noticed.  Not unreasonable, but not the only possibility.  So Albus deferred his expectations.  He simply kept his eyes, open and devoid of preemptive judgement, on Gellert's.

Albus moved a little closer, stretching out along his side so that he lay facing Gellert.  One bent elbow tucked against the floor had Albus almost sitting up, but not quite.  "You can tell me anything," Albus said, his voice a little quiet. He had mulled over the idea that Gellert might disagree, after the fight, after Albus's reaction to Gellert's demands, after the threat Albus had made. That would have to be dealt with, of course, when the opportunity prevented itself.  Albus had no intention of summarily dismissing any idea or option without discussing it, but Albus was too aware of the risks involved in letting Gellert fall sway to his every whim.

Gellert paused for several more moments, though not to build nerve--to recall the expression on Albus's face the first time he told Gellert that he loved him.  To ruminate on the way the light flickered in his eyes, the way his lips faltered just slightly before he spoke, the utter devotion written across his expression.  Gellert had no knowledge of what love actually felt like, making it close to impossible to simply say the words and hope that instinct would fill in the rest.  This was acting.  Every microexpression had to be perfectly planned and crafted and executed without flaw.  Because Albus would be looking for flaws.  He would be searching for the signs that this was a ploy or that Gellert did not completely understand what it was that he was saying.  Gellert could not allow that to happen.

"I...."  Gellert twisted his hand to weave their fingers together, gripping perhaps a little too tightly.  'Don't Stop Me Now' was playing on the Victrola, but it seemed to have faded in Gellert's mind to mere background stimulation.  He did not blink--kept his gaze fixed wide, eyes alive with the movement of too many shadows just behind the irises.  And Gellert forced his accent to increase just the slightest bit.  Just enough to make it clear that there was emotion in these words.  Enough emotion that it blinded Gellert to his ability to control the lilt of his voice.  He swallowed, hard, and tried again, his words little more than a whisper.  "I love you."

For a moment, Albus went entirely numb.  There were too many things to feel, too many thoughts, too many ways to pry apart every fibre of that moment for Albus to feel instead of think.  But those painfully simple words incited a frenzy, even within his mind.  Buried in the torrent of at all was the discarded desire that he could just reflexively feel elated, but such thoughtlessness was not to be encouraged.  Or desired.  Even if he wanted to.  The moment hung heavy and enormous in the air between them.  He had too long told himself that this would never happen, that he was comfortable with never hearing the sentiment aloud from Gellert.  He knew that there were reasons, plenty of reasons, Gellert might say it now when he never had before.  Some of those reasons he might have been ashamed to have considered, if it weren't for the intellectual immunity imparted to every consideration of All Possibilities. 

Some, however, were perfectly natural.  They'd almost lost each other.  Again.  Might that not serve as sufficient motivation to call Gellert's feelings to the forefront of his being, even when years in German solitude had not?  And, might it not just as easily be misunderstood happiness over being reconciled.  This feeling that Gellert was feeling in that instant, it might fade.  For all that, however, Albus seemed to have stopped breathing, a fact called to his attention by the sudden protest of his lungs.  A soft breath shuddered out of him.  Eyes practically electric with the activity behind them, he finally managed to say, "... Gellert-"  The word was wrapped in every feeling that came crashing into with the draw of breath: hope and want apprehension over fear for too quickly for something Albus perhaps desired too much.  He still felt as if he were holding his breath.

Was it too soon?  For the first time, a shot of something like trepidation seared through Gellert's veins and he was pulling himself up, sitting up, staring at Albus with a look of utter anguish on his face.  He dragged Albus's hand to his chest and pressed it over his heart, clutching it there, his fingers trembling slightly.  "I do not know how long it has been this way," he said, breathless, inching closer to Albus so that his knees pressed into his side.  "Perhaps always."  He could feel his heart beating even faster than usual, though he hoped Albus would interpret it as nerves, as passion.  One of his hands crept forward to rest over Albus's chest, to feel his pulse throbbing at odds with his own. 

"But I didn't...I couldn't.... I have been trying to find a way to tell you for weeks," he said at last.  He let his voice pick up a bit, his pace increasing until he was barely breathing between his sentences, cheeks flushed and his lower lip red from how many times he managed to bite it.  "But it was almost like you did not want me to tell you. Like you didn't want to hear it.  I thought that you might not believe me--not that I would blame you--I've never felt like this before, not about anyone--  But it's true."

Something awful bolted through him at the expression that washed over Gellert's features.  It was unfortunate, regrettable even, that Albus's precautionary measures to protect himself, to ward off the resentment that grew in the shadow of disappointed hopes, might ever have given the impression that Albus wouldn't want to hear such words from Gellert.  In truth, had Gellert tried to say so before, Albus did not doubt that he would have stopped Gellert, would have found some way to trap the words inside his mouth before they were spoken into being, before they had the chance to be made a lie.  Even a kind, well-intentioned lie.

But this- to feel Gellert's heart thrashing within his chest, to perceive Gellert's overwhelming desire that Albus... understand, it was dizzying.  If Albus was entirely honest with himself, perhaps he'd never really expected to find... this.  Someone to love, perhaps, but someone who could love him in return?  Gellert had been remarkable enough- a true peer, who wouldn't be alarmed by the magnitude of his power or held at a distance by the complexities of his mind.  It had been enough, for Gellert to care for him.  To want him, all of him.  Was it really so hard to believe that Gellert could truly love him?  Albus had believed such feelings to have been there, buried far beneath the surface of Gellert's awareness, and now, to have those words echoing in his ears in a rhythm that matched the beat of Gellert's heart-

Albus grabbed a fistful of Gellert's shirt, dragging the other down atop him until their mouths collided and Albus caught Gellert's lips with his own.  Sometimes, Gellert could talk entirely too much.  And it was so much easier to pour his own love, his devotion into that kiss than it was to paint their picture with words.  Albus believed him.  Albus believed that Gellert loved him and he absolutely had to pull Gellert's body halfway atop his own or Albus was absolutely certain that his body would float itself clean off the ground.  Every sense of Albus's buzzed and hummed as he wrapped his free arm around Gellert, all but crushing the other down against his body as he found himself suddenly devastated by how much divided their bodies.

Gellert inhaled sharply when their lips met, unable to help feeling somewhat strangely incredulous that it had actually worked, that Albus had believed him with so little struggle--but he supposed that was the nature of the man beneath him.  Or at least, the nature of the helpless, desperate love he knew Albus had for him.  Gellert knew he'd already half-convinced himself of Gellert's denial, wanting to believe that Gellert secretly loved him despite all evidence to the contrary....  Remarkable, what one could believe when one so badly wanted it to be true.

He cupped Albus's face in both hands, his touch both gentle and needy at the same time, caressing Albus's mouth with his tongue as if he had never truly explored it before.  Every movement, every touch was infused with a replica of everything Albus had ever shown to Gellert--all the examples Gellert had as to what love was supposed to look and feel like.  He released a soft, hushed sound against Albus's lips and one hand slipped back to thread through Albus's hair.  And then--once more, for good measure--"I love you."  Gellert let it sound almost unsteady, dizzy, as though the mere realisation made him giddy with happiness, as if he were about to break into helpless laughter.

It was nothing like scenes he'd seen in Gellert's memories.  Nothing like the fantasies in which Albus had gone on to indulge.  This- this was like absinthe.  This was like too much wine and too clear a head and when Gellert spoke again, Albus couldn't contain the gasping sort of moan that welled up in his throat.  He simply didn't know how to cope with the terrifying tightness in his chest, or the way his skin felt too tight and too hot, or the way none of the seemed to matter at all when Gellert was touching him like this.

Albus had experienced perhaps seven truly perfect - crystalline and ethereal - moments in his life.  This one seemed to burn far brighter than all those that had come before.  Lips, soft and velvet-wet, had fixated on the corner of Gellert's irrepressible smile.  He tilted his head, and drawing Gellert closer still, Albus pressed his cheek insistently against Gellert's to breathe out, "And I, you."  And saying even just that was enough to make it intolerable that their lips were separated again.  Yet, for all their fervor, for all their possessive want, his kisses were neither harsh nor fast.  It was as if Albus's lips and tongue couldn't stand to miss a single detail of Gellert's mouth. Part of Albus wanted to just forget the risks and his roommate and just vanish Gellert's clothes, and it was set at odds with the part of him that wanted to peel away the layers of Gellert's clothing piece by piece and kiss how much he loved Gellert into every inch of slowly exposed flesh.  Unable to yet decide, Albus simply clung to Gellert, overrun by the way love and lust knit themselves together within his core.

Gellert had to force himself to keep his hands steady and soft on Albus's skin, to resist clenching his nails tight into the other's flesh like the growing, throbbing lust in the pit of his stomach so badly wanted him to.  His smile grew even wider still--how was that even possible, Gellert had to wonder, when it felt as though his lips were about to split open?--at Albus's words.  And then he was falling into the kiss again, amazed by the sheer emotion and passion that laced everything Albus did, every swipe of his tongue.  And it was--all of it--for him.  How enthralling, how fantastic, the impact three simple words could have.  And with those words, Gellert had secured Albus forever.  There was no doubt in his mind as to that fact.  For how could Albus let him go now, when he loved him?  When they loved each other?  When they were surely bound to live out the rest of their lives together?

It was several minutes before Gellert finally pulled out of Albus's grasp, though he locked his hand around the other's wrist and pulled him up behind him as he stood.  Their lips met again, even softer this time, Gellert's finger tracing circles on the back of Albus's neck, and he whispered, "I need you."  He took a small step back, and then another, tugging Albus after him into the hallway.

Albus was steadily forgetting how to breathe if it wasn't around Gellert's intoxicating lips.  His hands hand only just begun to truly, properly survey Gellert's overdressed form when Gellert began to slip away. The sensation had Albus's eyes, their pupils blown wondrously wide with the absurdly euphoric sensation coursing through his veins, instantly falling open.  His body understood what was happening a few beats before his mind caught on, and it followed, all too easily, in the direction Gellert pulled him.  Because of course, that was right, they couldn't, not in a barely warded common room. Not splayed across a carpet of albums.  The image of it, though, of Gellert's fair skin and golden curls stretched out across a sea of shining black- and it was all Albus could to keep himself from pulling Gellert's body flush against his own.  But why should he?  The bedroom- yes, the bedroom, the impossibly far off bedroom.

His hands found their way to Gellert's cheeks, to his hair, and Albus was kissing Gellert again.  Because his heart just seemed to beat better like this.  He did manage to realise, however, that it would have been impossible to both walk and ensnare Gellert properly in his arms.  Albus reminded himself that he was a patient person, and that he would somehow endure how very long it seemed to take to get to the other end of the hall.

And that corridor did seem interminably long.  Gellert could scarcely catch his breath, his arousal already beginning to strain at the fabric of his trousers, begging to be released.  Pulse stuttering, Gellert glanced at Amelia's closed door and his body seemed to come to a decision before his mind barely had time to process it.  He stopped midway down the hall and turned around, grabbing Albus by the belt loops and yanking him closer to crush their lips together again.  There was a bit more roughness in this kiss, though it was neither harsh nor rushed.  It simply felt as though Gellert were holding very tightly to the reins of his patience, his hands sliding up from Albus's hips to smooth along his chest, the buttons of his waistcoat already beginning to undo themselves.

Gellert pushed forward, backing Albus against one of the walls, his head hitting the frame of an unfortunately-placed painting.  But Gellert kissed his cheek, his ear, the corner of his mouth to soothe the pain.  His fingers glanced down Albus's arm to find his hand, guiding it to rest on the small of Gellert's back.  "So this is what it feels like...." Gellert murmured between kisses, his breath hot against Albus's mouth.  "To love someone.  And for them to know it."  He let his lips fall along the line of Albus's jaw, to his throat.  "It feels like every fibre of your body hurts.  Needs to become a part of your other half."

The moment Gellert had drawn his body closer, Albus's own was surging out to meet his- Albus couldn't sort out how to do much of anything else.  His head swam and the familiar sort of undertow Gellert typically inspired was magnified to downright dangerous levels.  Albus was going to drown in this.  He barely even noticed when the side of his head hit something sharp, he was far too grateful for the press of something behind him, something to let him feel grounded and contained because it still felt as if his heart was attempting to beat beyond the limits of his chest.  He clung to Gellert, snatching at shallow breaths of fresh air.  If he were to take the time to compare this to excessive drinking, this would have been the part that immediate preceded the way darkness had settled onto the rim of his vision before swallowing him up.  But as his hand mussed through Gellert's hair, as his pulse danced under Gellert's enslaving lips, the sight of Amelia's door was just the barest bit sobering.

"Gellert," Albus gasped out, though it dipped into something more like a moan, because at that moment he'd shifted his hips every so slightly, and he could feel the hard length of Gellert pressed perilously close to his own. He was, however, not to be be deterred.  "Amelia," he reminded Gellert.  For once, it wasn't so much for the sake of image and reputation that Albus craved as caution.  Albus simply could not tolerate the notion of an interruption.  And it would have been an interruption, if she suddenly appeared.  Had she simply arrived as an audience, as some kind of silent, uninvolved observer, Albus entertained the wild notion that he might actually not care.  Either way, Albus found himself unable to even want to try to pull himself from Gellert, even if it was to complete the journey to the bedroom.

Gellert almost said--the door's closed--but somehow the words would not form themselves behind his lips.  Instead his hips were arching forward to meet Albus's, the hallway feeling too enclosed and too hot but Gellert was far too impatient to care.  He thought that if he had to move, his body might break into a million glittering pieces and he would have no way of putting them back together again.  Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, he suddenly thought, the idea rising bright and giddy in his mind.  He almost laughed again, but the sound was silenced by Albus's tongue. 

Too much clothing.  Too much fabric.  Gellert found his hands craving the touch of bared flesh, and Albus's braces immediately vanished, reappearing on the floor at their feet.  Slow.  Down.  Gellert knew he was moving far too quickly.  This needed to be slow, gentle, delicate--everything that Gellert was usually not.  He needed to emphasize what could appear to be true about his lie. So it was without rush that Gellert untucked the back of Albus's shirt and slid his fingers against cool skin, whispering into the beautifully-smooth skin of Albus's cheek, "She already knows.  It slipped out.  The other week."  His words were disjointed, barely managing to form true phrases at all.

Albus's spine arched at the way even that small contact of Gellert's hand against his skin sent electric chills coursing over his skin.  It was as if he'd never been touched before.  And he hadn't, not quite, not exactly like this- like he was something utterly precious.  Gellert was always passionate, sometimes possessive, and sometimes bore trimmings of tenderness, but this was something else.  Trapped between needing Gellert to keep touching him, just like that, and needing more, Gellert's second confession of the afternoon registered in Albus's mind.  It was hardly a grand offense, to confirm what someone already suspected, but that had been Gellert's doing, also.  Exhausted with the weight of his thoughts, especially thoughts that had nothing to do with the way Gellert's hair felt like spun silk or how even the barrier of Gellert's clothes couldn't obscure the relentless heat of his body, Albus resolutely set the matter aside.  The could return to it (and they most certainly would) later. Much later.  It wasn't an entirely suffering groan that left Albus.

But they still couldn't remain in the corridor.  And before Albus realized what he was doing, his shoulders began sinking through the wall.  Then it was just a simple step back, and he was pulling Gellert through the barrier of the wall, into his bedroom.  For a moment, in that permeable, transubstantial state, parts of Albus's body seemed to skim into Gellert's and Albus had to remind himself that some metaphors ought to remain metaphors.  Quick to shy from the temptation, Albus's wandless spell cut a bit short, leaving swath of Gellert's waistcoat trapped in the wall.  His lips smiled against Gellert's cheek when their progress was abruptly arrested, but his hands were instantly lifting to part the enclosures to Gellert's waistcoat and shirt.  His skimming fingertips and adoring lips wandered down the path of Gellert's neck, breathing in the scent of him as the buttons continued to unfasten themselves.  Where, exactly, Albus had to wonder as he tongued the hollow of Gellert's throat, were the stains of ink that had to be splashed across Gellert's skin?

The laugh finally surfaced, irrepressible now that Gellert was caught--literally caught!--in such a position.  He felt both impatient to free himself from the wall and somehow enthralled by the way it felt to be so truly trapped, so utterly subjugated to Albus's will.  When the final buttons were at last undone, Gellert quickly slipped his arms from the sleeves of his shirt and wrapped them instead around Albus's neck, ducking his head to catch Albus's lips once more.  He stepped forward, pushing them away from the wall and toward the bed.  For a brief moment, Gellert considered changing the location--the desk, perhaps, or the floor, or even right there against the wall--but no.  Not for this.  He had plans, and those plans would not go as smoothly as he would like if too many obstacles were thrown in the way.  Everything about this night needed to be smooth and perfect, unhindered by pain or discomfort or anything but perfect, clarion happiness on Albus's part. 

Gellert pushed Albus gently down onto the bed, pausing long enough to undo his belt and toss it onto the floor before crawling after him.  "You are still far, far too dressed," Gellert muttered, grasping Albus's waist to rearrange him on the mattress so that his head faced the pillows.  He could barely keep his lips away from the other's neck, gliding along soft skin as his fingers began to make slow work of the buttons on his shirt, treating each and every one like it was part of some secret, sacred ritual.  The ritual of exposing Albus, of binding Albus to him forever.

Albus went easily, effortlessly, ignoring the part of his brain that mustered halfhearted warnings about how much he might be willing to give over for Gellert's love.  But so much of life was harsh and cruel and vicious, and love - real love, true kinship, the ability to see and be seen - was so rare.  Preciously rare.  It was rare enough for ordinary people, whose minds were simple and whose wants were few.  Albus had never expected to find love- at least, not love that could be truly returned.  Because how could someone really love what they did not understand?  But Gellert. Gellert saw him. Understood him. Knew him and all of his contradictions and loved him anyway.

And gods above, and below- Gellert loved him.  Normally, Albus was able to distance himself from his emotions, relegate them to but one thread amidst a woven pattern.  But the mere idea given life and form and voice, not to mention the way Gellert's hands upon him were reverent and careful, propelled Albus from the calm eye into the hurricane of his feelings.  He was impossibly hard but he simply couldn't bear to rush this.  Even if he was shrugging out of his shirt, even if every bit of his skin positively ached for Gellert's hands or lips.  And yet, he hadn't the heart to move Gellert's mouth from its residence above his pulse.  Overrun, a gasping, moaning breath escaped him as he tried to make a vague sound of agreement.  But he just too much enjoyed the sensation of Gellert dispensing with his clothes to do anything to rectify the situation.  Perhaps daring Gellert to keep up, Albus's hands wound their way to Gellert's trousers, unfastening them slowly, pausing from time to time to trace his touch along Gellert's clothed pelvis.

Gellert had been half-hard already, but Albus's touch gliding between his hips made him stiffen entirely.  He pressed forward into Albus's hand, his own fingers spreading wide on Albus's bared chest, trying to cover as much skin in their span as possible.  A soft, anxious sound was muted against Albus's throat and Gellert could not restrain his desire any longer; his hands slipped down Albus's torso to undo the buttons of his fly.  "Tell me again," he said, a little surprised at the breathlessness of his voice.  "I want to hear you say it."  And the more Albus said it, the more he heard it tonight, the better the apparent reality of the situation would sink in.

He pulled Albus's trousers down, drawing out of Albus's grasp long enough to tug them over his knees and finally off completely, tossing them to the end of the bed.  Gellert's journey back to Albus's mouth was slow.  He brushed his lips over the bridge of Albus's foot, along the slender curve of his ankle and up his shin, his hands caressing what his kisses did not.  He tongued the indent beneath Albus's hipbone, dragged the smooth backs of his nails along his ribs, kissed every ridge of his sternum.  Just before their lips met once more, Gellert's hand curled around Albus's shaft and he paused, holding the other's gaze, his own perfectly open and perfectly adoring.

A memory jolted in Albus from not so very long ago, of Gellert, making a similar request.  Then, the request had clung just a bit to Gellert's tongue, weighty with something Albus hadn't understood.  And that had been before- before they'd gotten sick.  Before Albus had known about Jamie.  Albus still frequently found himself reasoning his way out of feeling angry, out of feeling hurt.  At first, it had been enough to take consolation in the clinical comfort that Jamie had survived.  But the thought still festered, the hazy images conjured in for his mind's eye.  Practically every time Albus had Gellert's body beneath his own (or in the bath, or against the wall, or even that reckless morning in the kitchen) the back of Albus's mind stung with a relentless line of questioning- When had it happened?  Where?  More than once?  Did Gellert's eyes cloud in the exact same way?  Did his nails bite into tanner flesh all the same as paler skin?  Had he sighed Jamie's name amid a torrent of German endearments?  Albus's mind had gotten quite efficient at walling off such inquiries whenever Gellert reached for him.  It was easy enough to justify.  Perhaps Gellert intended to tell him, and was simply calculating the timing.  Perhaps Gellert feared Albus's reaction, though that thought was altogether more disturbing. 

But not, Albus realised, entirely dismissible.  Not when Gellert seemed so hungry for affirmation of Albus's feelings- or was that simply the natural way of things?  When Albus had first said the words aloud, it had felt as if the whole world had hinged on hearing them returned.  It crashed over him with renewed force: Gellert loved him.  Enough to say it.  Enough to practically worship his skin.  A slow, needy tremor wound its way up Albus's spine as Gellert ascended his body.  And when Gellert looked at him like that, when the entirety of the universe seemed perfect even if it wasn't, Albus found the grace to forget about Jamie.  If it had taken Gellert sleeping with someone he did not love to find his own feelings in the contrast, then Albus was very close to being glad it had happened.

His lips parted around a softly throaty moan, eyes fluttering as his hips rocked reflexively into Gellert's grasp.  When he managed to open his eyes again, he found his hands cupping Gellert's face.  "I love you- all of you." And then, wanting to touch some part of Gellert that somehow felt more privately his own, "Ich liebe dich." 

Fearing Gellert might withdraw again, Albus removed any temptation, a quick tug of magic sending the rest of Gellert's clothes to the floor.  And then all of Albus's body was clamoring for Gellert's skin.  His legs aimed to tangle with Gellert's, his chest arched upward even as he pulled Gellert's lips down to crush against his own.  One of his hands skimmed and stroked its way down Gellert's body, straying to brush the smooth back of his hand along Gellert's arousal before moving onto his hip, intending to draw Gellert's knee up so that he could straddle Albus's hips.

The sound that escaped Gellert's lips was caught in Albus's kiss, his pelvis tilting forward to press himself against Albus's own erection.  "Ich liebe dich auch," he said, gasped, between the movements of their mouths and tongues.  It felt like more of a lie to say it in German than in English, for some reason.  Not that it mattered.  Albus would believe him because he wanted to believe him.  Because he thought that he could reduce Gellert's feelings to a list of 'proofs of love,' never mind their manipulative intent.  An ordinary man, Gellert would have despised for it.  But Albus was no ordinary man.  His affections were rare, and made all the more valuable by the quality of his mind and his ability. 

Gellert grabbed Albus's wrist, stopping the progression of his hand down his thigh.  "No," he murmured, kissing the corner of Albus's eye, the ridge of his cheekbone.  His own hand found the back of Albus's knee, pushing his leg up and tilting his head to graze his lips along the inside of his thigh.  "Like this." 

Albus had always been the penetrating partner in their relationship.  There had never been any particular reason why, other than the fact that was how it had been their first time, and in Godric's Hollow Gellert had seen no reason to attempt otherwise.  He had enjoyed the odd play of power, of submitting for once.  And after all, he thought they had all the time in the world.  But then, in Lockewood, after what had happened on Valentine's Day--their positions finally switched, and Gellert had lost control--he had remained the passive partner ever since.  It seemed as if it might have been too much to ask, for Albus to go through that again when his memory of it was of little else but extreme pain.  But now...now, Gellert may actually be able to convince him.  The look in Albus's eyes, the look that Gellert made sure was mirrored in his own eyes--it spoke of complete and utter devotion.  Right now, in this moment, Gellert was certain Albus would do almost anything for him. 

"If you...are all right with it," Gellert added, letting a note of anxiety creep into his tone, as if the thought of hurting Albus again pained him.

It was not a request Albus had been actively anticipating.  Not a shock surprise, but the bolt of unease that ran reflexively down his spine was irrepressible.  His mind simply could not amend delirious sort of pain that had come with the first time Gellert had driven himself so relentlessly into his body.  Something the back corner of his mind protested reason, warned that Albus ought to know that it hadn't simply been Gellert's agitated state, begged him to remember that some part of Gellert, even if it might at the moment be diminished, enjoyed Albus's pain.  Albus didn't ignore such cautions.  They were considered in the thick, nearly soundless moments before Albus's leg relaxed compliantly in Gellert's grip.  Because it did not matter.  Gellert loved him.  Fiercely, perhaps.  It was easy enough to accept the idea that even Gellert's love had barbs.  So Albus simply tried to brace himself for it, for the severity of sensations he suspected were coming.  If Gellert needed this, then Albus was going to give it to him, and without bemoaning it.  That was simply how it ought to be between people who loved each other, he endeavoured to remind himself. 

"Yes."  The exhaled word used its lack of volume to conceal any vestiges of doubt that might have somehow worked themselves into an actual tone.

After all, he'd denied Gellert quite enough things already.  Albus still hated that he'd had to.  He might not be able to refute the necessity of it, or truly wish to go back and do things differently, but he could lament the extent to which it had frustrated Gellert, had hurt him, had divided them.  Any opportunity Albus could seize to draw them closer together again, he would.  And so Albus's hands were trying to tug Gellert closer again, his leg starting to curl over Gellert's hip, and he tried not to indulge too heavily in the hope that this time would be so very different.  "Yes," he breathed again, perhaps a little more insistently.

Gellert's breath became heavier at those words, his pupils dilating just slightly.  He had to force himself to exert some control over the rabid need that abruptly clawed at his chest, inspired by the memory of too many sounds and images and sensations from the last time it had been like this.  He could not let himself become so impassioned again.  Not in that way, at least.  Too much was at stake.  He had placed too much on this moment to let it slip from his fingers like water through reeds.

But there was no disguising the way Albus's acquiescence had made him grow even harder still, his arousal thrusting into Albus's thigh, throbbing once.  "We should..." Gellert's voice was too soft, too throaty.  He wet his lips before pressing them, however briefly, against Albus's once more.  Suddenly, his senses on high alert, he became keenly aware of the precise shade of auburn that was Albus's hair, splayed across the pillows.  The way the afternoon light shining in from the windows made it look like liquid garnet.  He felt--truly felt--Albus's skin beneath his touch, cool and smooth and supple, his body malleable to Gellert's will.  And the taste of Albus on his tongue--oh god, the taste of him, lemon candies and cigarette smoke and something else that was completely, uniquely Albus.  Albus did not even have to touch him to elicit another low, shuddering groan from Gellert's throat. 

"We should--" he tried again, only now his tone was thick and roughened by want and by his accent.  "We should...like this."  Gellert released Albus's cock instead grasp his hips, withdrawing enough to be able to push him over to lie flat on his stomach.  "It might hurt less," he reminded him.  And then his fingers were smoothing long hair out of the way, his mouth placing a kiss on each knobbing vertebra of Albus's spine, making each bone into something treasured and sacred.

Had there been any doubt that yielding to this particular request was the proper course of action, the way Gellert seemed to come unlaced with desire would have banished it.  It was catching, and intoxicating, and having Gellert practically unable to speak very nearly made it entirely worth it on its own.  Perhaps it was a little reckless to do anything to further goad Gellert, but Albus couldn't help meeting his lips with a fervent sort of need.  And it was more than simply trying to wring every drop of pleasure from the moments before the world exploded in pain; each abandoned word caused pleasure to pulse through the core of his body as surely as if Gellert were stroking his cock with each one.

This time pragmatism set Gryffindor bravado aside and Albus rolled easily onto his stomach.  He'd been as unable to keep in the furtive sound of deprivation when Gellert's hand had left his cock as he was completely uninterested in doing anything to stop his hips from grinding just a bit into the mattress when Gellert's lips took to cataloging his spine.  The need for friction, for movement, was nearly overwhelming.  He craved the weight of Gellert's body atop his own, for more of this searing tenderness.  The gentleness of it left Albus's nerve endings pensive, on edge, and confounded in their expectation for something harsher, something sharper.  His back arched up against Gellert's mouth, his skin feeling almost violently sensitive.  Gellert's name left Albus's lips as a moan, as something low and needy, as his knees inched apart.

The sound sent electricity sparking through the bundle of nerves at the base of Gellert's brain and his lips temporarily abandoned their progress down Albus's vertebrae, instead resting his brow against Albus's back as he struggled to collect his self-control.  It was so much more difficult, like this--being the giving partner, rather than the recipient.  It dragged up baser desires than lust, made him crave too many kinds of release all at once.  He would have to recondition himself and learn to see this as little different than the other sex acts in which they engaged.  It was little different, except for what it would mean, when everything was over, that Albus had let him do it.  Let him do it and--Gellert would be sure of it--had enjoyed it.

The jar of lubricant from the nightstand was in Gellert's hand in an instant, the cap already unscrewed.  Gellert whispered encouragement in German and English alike into the small of Albus's back as he dipped his fingers inside, wetting them with the silky half-fluid.  He did not penetrate Albus with his hand--not yet.  He merely kissed the curve of his arse and began to massage a finger between his cheeks, slow and gentle, persuading that tight ring of muscle to relax.  He was almost tempted to tell Albus to let him know if anything hurt, but decided against it.  That would be excessive.  Albus knew him too well; knew that Gellert could not bring himself to offer Albus the option of eradicating what little pain would exist tonight.  Putting in the effort to make this as painless as possible, Gellert could do.  But beyond that, his act may become a bit too visible. 

So instead Gellert kept moving his fingers in increasingly smaller circles as his cheek rested against Albus's back, the lashes of one eye fluttering against his skin.  He pulled back after a moment to wet his fingers again; more lube was better than less, almost always.  This time he let the tip of one finger slide into Albus, but only halfway, testing.

Albus's senses felt positively strung out- stretched and twisted and teased over until the careful, lulling ministrations of Gellert's touch blurred into a constant overlap of sensation.  How easy it was, to let be himself lured into such a dreamy state.  His mind swayed under Gellert's methodical, devoted affection and Albus plunged his mind deeper still.  He no longer even had to focus on keeping his muscles relaxed, to hold them in proper place when his whole body seemed most inclined to curl protectively in on itself.

Well. Nearly his whole body.  Albus's erection, pinned between his body and the bed, dug sharply against his abdomen.  Vertigo warped through his grasp of universe when his cock only seemed to get harder while the rest of him was melting into the mattress.  Every inch of Albus's pale skin felt flushed, though the warmth of it was but a dull echo of fever still fresh in his mind.  Under the surface of his skin - skin that felt inconceivably aware of everything: the heat that radiated from Gellert's body, the softly silken curls splayed along his back, even the shadows cast across his flesh seemed to have a tangible presence - his muscles strained languidly.  None of it seemed to be enough.  All of it seemed to be leading up to something, building toward something that had Albus's pulse fluttering through his veins.

That slight, barely-there penetration was perfectly devoid of pain.  It was more of an tickle, more like an itch- more like a tease than real contact.  Nevertheless, a guttural sound tore itself out of Albus, his hips rocking back, tilting toward Gellert's hand and his softer, slicker, gentler hand. 

A wave of dizzy desire flooded Gellert's brain as Albus pushed himself back against his finger and Gellert obligingly slipped it the rest of the way in.  Albus was more relaxed around his knuckles than the last time Gellert had done this, but he was still beautifully hot and brilliantly tight.  Gellert kissed his need into the side of Albus's hip, his free hand smoothing over his arse as the sole finger began to move.  Slowly at first, and then a bit more insistently, working Albus's muscle the very way Gellert had found to be most effective in his own experience. 

When Albus was relaxed enough, Gellert added a second, though only after slicking it with more lubrication and going as gently and as carefully as possible.  "Are you all right?" he asked after a moment, faltering on the third word, the English syllables suddenly seeming foreign and strange on his tongue.  He massaged Albus's hole, reaching in deep in search of that one perfect spot, curling his fingers upward.  And there it was--soft and a little warmer than the rest of him--Gellert pressed down and smothered a smile against Albus's skin.

He kept expecting his body to tense, to constrict.  Perhaps he knew better than that.  Perhaps it was like expecting a sudden flash of light, where foreknowledge diminished the flinch.  Perhaps it was the fact that one finger was a feeble comparison to the length and girth of Gellert's cock. 

Dragging in what he had planned to be a steadying breath when it was clear that another digit was be added, it left Albus as a vaguely surprised keening sound.  It was tighter.  Tighter-better-fuller.  And when Albus's vision flared white - when his nervous system was flooded with a euphoric wash of pleasure - Albus tried to speak, but the words and his breath seemed caught in his throat.  All of his perhapses fell out of the back of his fraying mind and Albus's core seemed to relax just a little more, as if actively trying to draw Gellert's slender fingers a bit deeper.  At the same time, his body went just a bit rigid with the sudden onslaught of sensation.  The muscles of Albus's lower back bunched, but instead of raising his hips, they tipped back Albus's head and drew his shoulders up off the bed a bit.

His expectations kept snagging, and it was getting more and more difficult to ignore the possibility that this might be different.  Belatedly, it occurred to him that his lack of response might be taken... inaccurately.  His tongue, however, still felt leashed, as if concentrated attention on his prostate severed the link between his mind and his mouth.  All he produced was a breathy, affirmative noise.  His body, however, was more obedient.  Experimentally, Albus tensed himself around Gellert's fingers, intensifying the sensation but incurring no flash of pain.

That heat tightened around Gellert's fingers and he was struck with the thought of what it would feel like, for Albus to do that around his cock, which gave another pulse at the mere idea.  One hand still moving within him, Gellert pulled his own body forward and reached out to turn Albus's head enough that Gellert could kiss the corner of his mouth even as he massaged Albus's prostate with a little more pressure. 

"Brauchst du eine andere?" he asked, giving in to the German that surged forward when he opened his mouth to speak.  He knew that adding a third finger may help, may make Albus more relaxed still, but Gellert's own desire was almost overwhelming him.  He was not entirely certain that he could wait much longer...a part of him thought he may well come the moment he pushed himself into Albus.  But he had to remind himself that Albus was not as experienced as him.  Albus needed more preparation.  Albus was nervous.  Even if he could not empathise, he had to take that into account.

It was very nearly too much.  Every smooth, small stroke of Gellert's fingertips wound a little tighter than heady tension mounting beneath his stomach.  Every shift of Albus's own hips drove his cock against the mattress.  And the added press of Gellert's lips had Albus immediately turning his head.  However, the twisting of his spine as his mouth sought Gellert's only made Albus jarringly, haltingly aware of Gellert's fingers within him- as if Gellert were touching every part of him at once.  He managed to messily pull his lips across Gellert's before the angle and the practically disorienting assault on his senses became too much an impediment.

Gellert's question rattled around in his mind as he tried to sort out the answer.  It was difficult to consider wanting anything apart from this.  Albus was absolutely certain the he could find release on this alone, but that wasn't what this was about.  Not exclusively, anyway.  Caution had him hesitating.  On the one hand he knew it would have been prudent to say yes, to delay just a little longer.  And on the other, his own endurance felt entirely too thin.  Like this, with Gellert pressed in so close, with his hands positively wicked and not the least bit cruel, it was easy to want Gellert to crush their bodies together, to thrill at the idea of coming with Gellert's length filling him completely, to shudder at the mere thought of feeling Gellert spending himself inside-

"No," the word tore raggedly past Albus's lips.  So long as things kept on like this, Albus was quite certain he could take the pain.  And the first time, it hadn't been all bad.  It had smacked of violence and something near frenzy, but it had been honest, in its own way.  It had bound them closer together.  Literally.  It had given Albus a tool, a sway over Gellert.  A tool he had used, though Albus would hardly have been surprised if Gellert had called in an abuse.  But here they were again.  Was that what this was?  Reinvention?  Beneath the haze of it all, he couldn't escape the sense that some meaning hung in the balance. Vague, alluring, but paling utterly next to the urgent want in Albus's body. "Dich- Ich will nur dich."

Something like relief exploded through Gellert's veins and he withdrew his fingers, taking care not to be too rough in the movement despite his mounting anticipation.  Albus's hole was still slick from Gellert's fingers, so all that was left was to lubricate himself--which he did liberally, smoothing as much of the satin gel onto his shaft as possible.  A quick, almost thoughtless charm dried his hands and Gellert gripped Albus's hips, tilting them upward a little more.  Honeysuckle and myrrh hung thick in the air, the scent of Albus, of his hair and skin and lips.  Gellert had to close his eyes for a moment and concentrate on self-possession.  On ensuring that he had his urges completely under control.  Like that, with all visual stimuli completely cut out, Gellert could feel his arousal more potently than ever.  And the threads of Albus's magic woven through his own felt tangible, rising up to glow beneath his skin, calling out to be reunited with Albus. 

Gellert opened his eyes but the desire did not fade.  If anything it heightened.  Seeing Albus like that--his arse in the air, his hair tumbling across the pale expanse of his back and gleaming, fiery, against the white bedsheets--the flush that stained the highest line of Albus's cheekbones--there was never a more enthralling sight in the entire world.  Gellert spread Albus's legs a little more with a nudge of his own knee and directed himself to Albus's entrance, the head of his cock pressing against that tight, now-wet ring.  "Bist du bereit?" he asked, the forefinger of his left hand slowly tracing the Hallows symbol onto Albus's shoulder blade.

In a rather distant sort of way, it was a little difficult for Albus to understand why this was such a difficult thing for him when it was so easy for Gellert.  Well, he supposed it helped, that Gellert was more frequently in this particular position.  It was a distant, muted thought, the idea of Gellert in someone else's bed.  Albus was insulated from it by the fog that clouded his mind.  He didn't have to think about Jamie.  He didn't have to think about the nameless, faceless ginger boys in Germany whose chief misfortune was to too closely resemble himself.  The awareness of such things felt too utterly irrelevant; it paled entirely against the crushing, intoxicatingly primal need to be joined with Gellert.

There was something soothing, something... perfect, about the way Gellert drew designs across his skin.  He would have known them in his sleep.  Albus let loose his breath, sounding thick enough to be a moan, and the muscles of his body relaxed.  It bent to his will despite its autonomic inclination to tense up, to brace itself.  He wanted to see Gellert, wanted to watch him as they did this.  Of course it was going to hurt, but Albus's nerves had ceased their jittering, overrun and overwhelmed.

"Bitte," Albus all but groaned, his hips tilting, attempting to encourage legitimate penetration instead of his light, maddening teasing.  He was as ready as he'd ever be.

That one word was all the permission that Gellert needed.  Bracing himself with one hand on Albus's hips, he began to slowly push himself into Albus's body, that white-hot brilliance enveloping him inch by inch.  His hand trembled with the effort of keeping his nails from biting into Albus's flesh and instead he released a harsh, desperate sound, head falling forward to press his lips to the base of Albus's neck.  Nearly completely within him, Gellert released his grip to instead smooth both hands up Albus's sides, the fingers of one catching in his hair and the other pressing between Albus's chest and the bed to clutch him even closer. 

His mouth traveled upward, kissing just behind Albus's ear, then his tongue, flicking out at its crest.  Every part of Albus, every tiny seemingly insignificant part, seemed so entirely perfect in that moment.  So integral to the universe's continued existence.  Another second and then he was completely buried within him.  Gellert let out a soft breath, pressing his body flat against Albus's.  There was no immediate desire to move.  He simply laid there, in that glorious, spinning perfection, lust spiraling up his spine and glowing between his hips.  He could not bring himself to ask after Albus's well-being again, but he waited, silent, for the other man to protest.

The instant a little more pressure came, Albus's head and shoulders were tipping back toward the bed.  Quick, shallow breaths trembled out of him as Gellert began sinking himself in.  And somehow... the world did not erupt in pain.  Oh, it hurt.  The burning stretch, that tenuous tight.  But those sorts of pain weren't so terrible.  There was no sense that he was being ripped to shreds, that he was being torn apart.  The hurt of it even ebbed a bit, tangling together with the waves of want and need and Albus couldn't figure out what was missing until at long last Gellert was buried to the hilt within him.

Surprise and relief faltered over Albus's lips.  He could barely stand the way Gellert seemed to be absolutely everywhere.  Inside him.  Around him.  Albus had never felt so utterly possessed in all his life.  And that overshadowed everything.  Breathing out Gellert's name, Albus couldn't help the way his body began to shift, and then to writhe, nearly desperate for something.  Anything.  It took him a moment to turn his needy whine into something intelligible, and more a challenge to get it out in German.  "Bewegen. Ich will dich fühlen, bewegen."