Who: Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald What: Temporary farewells. When: BACKDATED: Tuesday morning Where: Their rooms Rating: NC-17 Status: Incomplete
That Albus was going to accompany Kastra back to Hogwarts had never really been in question, at least not for Albus. He had, however, not decided on long he would be staying until that morning. It was taxing on Gellert, Albus knew, having Kastra home. It was taxing on everyone, the way Gellert studiously avoided her. Yet, for all the stress of it, Gellert's temper had yet to truly consume him. Albus was not so foolish as to suspect that after so many years, Gellert's impulses were simply beginning to diminish. If anything, they had only increased in recent decades. Rather early on, Albus had dismissed the aim of reining in Gellert's desires, on insisting on restraint. Resolve could always falter, and when it did, it was more likely than not to lash out impulsively, too destructively. People who neither needed nor deserved to be hurt could wind up dead. No, it had become Albus's objective to see Gellert's wants and needs met, in a controlled a fashion as was possible. There was an international trade summit the following week, and Albus could not imagine a less convenient time for Gellert to be so entirely on edge, even if Gellert seemed to take care to conceal it some of the time. No, Albus had come to the conclusion that the best option was to permit Gellert the opportunity to unwind in a fashion that was better served by Albus's absence than his company.
There was, of course, a bit of objective curiosity. Albus couldn't help wondering if the fact that Kastra was the source of Gellert's displeasure in any way mitigated his standard modus operandi. There was no way to know for sure without giving Gellert room, and time, to indulge himself. There was almost a bit of charm in the novelty of now knowing exactly which way he would prefer for things to go. Restraint would be sweet, but might complicate things down the road. Indulgence would be less surprising. It was truly a testament to Gellert that even to Albus, his actions could be difficult to predict.
Albus had waited until he could hear the water running before he set to getting dressed. He didn't want a lot of questions or discussion, didn't want to have another conversation about Kastra when all he wanted to do was tell Gellert his planned itinerary and bid him farewell. Not wishing to look like he was sneaking off, either, Albus strolled into the grand bathroom as he was buttoning the cuff of his shirt. However, the moment he glanced up from his wrist, he suddenly felt as if his plan hadn't been thought through particularly well. There really had to be something wrong with him, with the part of his brain that established thresholds and tolerances. Albus settled on telling himself that it was simply the fact that Gellert's body had not looked like that the first time Albus had peeled away Gellert's clothes, that it was the difference from that original, imprinted memory that struck him so. Not that Gellert's body then hadn't been perfect the first time. It was just... more perfect now.
There was nothing to be done for the way Albus's eyes would sometimes follow the way water would curve along the slopes and lines of Gellert's statuesque figure. Still, at least he managed to keep his tone within a casual realm as he said, "I've got to be going soon. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon." He'd been planning on saying something else, but at the moment he didn't quite trust his tongue to stay on message.
Gellert had been facing the opposite wall when Albus entered, face tilted up toward the showerhead, letting the hot water pound down against his skin and slip along his throat. The temperature relaxed the tension that had built up in the back of his neck and alleviated what had been, over the past few days, a near-constant headache. It was stress, he knew. Stress over managing the small, scattered uprisings in England--the stress of balancing his plan with Kastra and the act he had to put on in order to ensure its survival.
He turned around when Albus spoke, dragging his fingers backward through his hair. The humidity in the shower had brought Gellert's natural curls back into the open, the water elongating each lock and plastering them against his cheeks and brow. "Tomorrow afternoon," he repeated, his tone falling somewhat flat. Gellert could not help but feel that Albus should have spoken to him earlier of his plans. It was not that Gellert could not function perfectly well in Albus's absence. It was that despite Albus's best efforts to portray the contrary, it did strike Gellert as if he was sneaking out. But Gellert had been feigning too much anger over the past week to be able to truly get frustrated over it--and certainly not when Albus's eyes kept flickering down the length of Gellert's body--when Gellert could tell despite his calm tone just how far from casual Albus really was.
Gellert leaned over and picked up the bottle of shampoo from its spot on the low stone table that bore all of Gellert's bath potions. Gellert took great care with what sort of material he put on his hair and skin, even despite the protection against aging offered by the Elixir of Life. Quality mattered. Fifty Galleons could be the difference between dull hair and hair that gleamed. And for someone in Gellert's position, he could not afford to look less than his complete best.
Albus made a vaguely affirmative sound. Perhaps he should have left under the banner of returning home that night, and just sent Gellert a note in the middle of the day to say that he'd come across something of significance to do Wednesday morning. Nothing for it now, though. It would have been easier, he couldn't help thinking, if he'd done something sensible, like snagging Gellert's arm before he'd had a chance to get out of bed. Nothing for that now, either.
"The Ministry in London is overdue for a surprise visit, I think," he said, not bothering to focus too much on what he was saying. It was the truth, or part of the truth, and thus didn't need much tending. Besides, there was no point in hiding what it did to him, the way lather from Gellert's shampoo slid down his neck, shoulders, and chest. For altogether more selfish reasons, Albus was regretting the fact that he wasn't coming back that night. But no matter. Albus was certainly capable of putting Gellert's gleaming naked body out of his mind, so long as said naked body wasn't just a few feet away.
The Ministry in London was overdue for a great many things, Gellert thought. A complete revision, for one. The institution had been corrupt enough when he and Albus were still in England, and though he could appreciate the benefit of keeping the same administration in office as Britain shifted under NAA control, Gellert could not eradicate the sense that it was only a matter of time before corruption led to rot. The social and political unrest in England was perhaps not a function of its essentially-defunct Ministry, but there was no telling how long it would be before the sentiments infiltrated the lower levels of government. Oh, everyone important had been bribed, half of them put under the Imperius for good measure. But the important people could be assassinated by the less-important people. The people that everyone else ignored and disregarded as useless, ignorant, and incapable of effecting real change.
But then again, half of the so-called atrocities that Gellert and Albus had ordered for the greater good had been blamed on the native governments of the countries in which they occurred...often effectively. With so already disillusioned with the British Ministry long before the NAA took control, it was easy to blame them for the minor, smaller-scale incidents. Gellert roughened the movements of his fingers against his scalp and then tilted back to let water rinse the lather from his hair, white foam splattering on the tile floor. He kept his eyes clenched shut; one drawback to using shampoo potions with dragon's blood was that it stung something dreadful to get even the smallest drop in an eye.
"Take a look at our daughter's friends while you're at Hogwarts," Gellert said once his hair was clean, meeting Albus's gaze once more. Gellert had taken to avoiding using Kastra's name, as though he was already cutting her out of his heart and his life. Now she was just "our daughter," or "the girl," or simply "her." Everyone knew who he meant.
"Of course," he said with a nod. There were quite a number of things at Hogwarts that needed a bit of evaluation. After this mess with Kastra was sorted out, Albus was quite certain that the British Ministry could be gently suggested to reform some of its educational principles. Whether he was entirely serious about that, or simply responding out of his frustration had yet to be determined.
Precisely how Albus had gone from finishing with his second cuff to resting a shoulder against the wall but a few inches from the glass that divided them as he simply watched Gellert was a bit of a mystery. Gellert simply had a way of making the terribly mundane seem freshly captivating. The back of his mind reminded him that there was, in fact, a schedule to keep. The front of his mind was reminding him that he was not an infatuated teenager and he could certainly stand to sleep alone in a bed for one evening.
"I've got to finish getting ready," he mentioned, settling his fingertips against the warm glass door that was only just barely starting to fog. "Come kiss me goodbye." It might have been a trivial sort of affection, but it was one Albus craved- though he had no intention of stepping into the expansive shower to steal it.
Gellert just looked at Albus for a moment, a little bit of lather still clinging to his left collarbone. To anyone else, perhaps Albus would have looked controlled and self-possessed. It was not incorrect to call him those things, Gellert thought. If anything, maybe it was a little too correct. Because the way that Albus was looking at him now, with slightly unfocused eyes--his expression a little too intentionally mild--was a far cry from the sharp and penetrating gaze that was so native to Albus's face. And when Gellert stepped closer to the glass, he could see the dilated span of Albus's pupils, the whole effect turning out altogether similar to how he had looked after his first few hits of opium. Alert, but trying hard to conceal the fact that he was just a little less so than usual.
Gellert reached out and pressed his hand to the glass as well, matching his fingers up with each of Albus's, perfectly symmetrical. Even through the rising steam, Gellert could see the faintest of flushes staining Albus's cheeks. Gellert was unable to resist verifying his assumption and his eyes flit down ever-so-briefly to the other man's hips; Albus's tailored trousers made it a little too obvious that he was half-hard already.
"No," Gellert said at last. He kept his features blank, refusing to even let the slightest of smirks pass his lips. "I think you should come and kiss me good-bye. After all, I will be left all alone to--"
It was likely nothing more than his senses playing tricks on him, the way the glass between them seemed to flare so much hotter with the press of Gellert's hand. He made no effort to dismiss the illusion. Albus had not truly realized how much he had come to enjoy having another person he felt he could be honest with - not that he had been as unfiltered with Kastra as he was with Gellert, after all, she was still young - until he found himself compelled to conceal himself from her. It was a none too gentle reminder that of all the people on this earth, it was likely only Gellert who ever truly saw him. Who could read Albus so very well. Perhaps that was the cause for his sudden reluctance to leave. Perhaps he'd permitted his thoughts to linger too long on memories of spending all day in bed, when the world they'd had to manage was a far smaller realm.
When Gellert refused him, Albus's eyes darted up from their contemplation of Gellert's fingertips. Eyes then sharply honed on Gellert, his thoughts went leaping ahead of Gellert's words. Yes, perhaps it was only fair that Albus suffer a little inconvenience for what he wanted, when he was the one leaving, condemning Gellert to a night of solitude as well. Besides, there were charms that could repair any damage done.
Before Gellert could give voice to the entirety of the thought Albus was sliding open the glass door, slipping his hand around the back of Gellert's neck, and drawing his lips against his own. Just a quick kiss, he told himself, would suffice. His other hand was curled around the glass door frame like an anchor, reminding him not to step too far inside. The shower itself was decadently enormous, the shower head still a safe distance away. The water his sleeve soaked up from Gellert's chest would be easy enough to fix, but he took care to try to keep the rest of his body in check as his lips moved sweetly and almost chastely, against Gellert's.
The moment their lips met, Gellert knew that Albus would be late to meet Kastra. It was easy to see the effort that Albus was putting into preserving the integrity of his clothing, but it was just as easy not to care. Curling an arm around to the back of Albus's neck, Gellert twisted his fingers in the fabric of his shirt and dragged him closer to press their bodies flush together. The water that soaked Gellert's skin very quickly began to saturate Albus's clothing, ruining it beyond hope of charmed repair. Drying charms did, after all, have a tendency to unravel hem threads if cast with too much strength.
But if there was ever any doubt in Albus's mind that he was not leaving this room without being quite thoroughly debauched, it should have been rectified the moment Gellert grasped hold of his belt loops and pulled him with no small degree of force into the shower's steaming interior. The movement of Gellert's mouth against Albus's became rougher as well, more needy, the stirring beginnings of his own arousal perfectly evident against Albus's hipbone as he drew them even closer together.
The alluring heat of Gellert's body, wet and racing, seeped into Albus's clothes. Punctuality, his helpful brain reminded him, trying to tug his attention from how absolving it was, the wind of Gellert's arm around his neck. But who would it really inconvenience? Horace would be waiting, but it was Albus's schedule, Albus's convenience that such meetings served. Kastra- well, she wouldn't be permitted to leave, not without him, not when those were the instructions provided to her security detail. And maybe Kastra had earned being made to wait, earned a little uncertainty. Albus knew what he was doing; tying up all the little loose ends in his mind, giving himself permission to do what he wanted to do anyway. His grasp of the door frame slipped all too easily when Gellert pulled him forward.
As much as Albus withheld from taking too many strictly personal advantages of his position, lest it become too much a habit and an indulgence, he was among a very precious few who could properly lay claim to the appellation of most powerful men in the world, and sometimes, the rest of the world could cater to his leisure. Or Gellert's. At the moment, it was a little difficult to distinguish one from the other. His lips parted almost compulsively for the hungry press of Gellert's tongue. He didn't even realise his hands had moved to Gellert's back until he felt long planes of hard muscle gliding beneath his fingertips.
For the most part, Albus had managed to ignore the tendrils of desire that were so easily stirred by simply watching Gellert, but the sudden press of their hips, the way touching as much of Gellert's perfectly smooth skin seemed absolutely imperative, had Albus all to aware of how is own arousal fought against the heavy drag of his increasingly drenched clothes. This was the time where he ought to making the perfunctory warnings and halfhearted remarks about being late, but it simply wasn't in Albus that morning. Actually, it hadn't been in Albus for the past few days. So his hands twined his arms around Gellert, forcing their bodies more snugly together as he rocked his hips against Gellert's. A few steps were all that were necessary to nudge Gellert back, to press him against the smooth stone wall of the shower before his hips tilted a bit more insistently.
Gellert let Albus direct his body, fully cognizant of the fact that a single misstep on the slick shower floor could be disastrous but deciding to trust Albus anyway. He pressed back against the force of Albus's hips, the motion both demanding and needy all at once. He could feel Albus's skin, somehow cool beneath the now-soaked layer of his shirt despite the heat of the shower, as though Albus's body regulated its temperature so thoroughly so as to never increase by a single degree. Come to think of it, perhaps it was just the superiority of their Healing staff, but Gellert did not think he had even once known Albus to spike a fever. Even in Godric's Hollow, that summer, with the noontime sun pounding down upon them, their bodies slowly turning gold, the tiny beads of sweat that rose up on the back of Gellert's neck--Albus had always been a little slip of cool water, perfect and oh-so-necessary for survival.
The buttons that lined the front of Albus's shirt undid themselves with a charm and then Gellert was peeling the white cotton from his chest, pulling it down off his arms, dropping it to let it puddle at their feet. Gellert's hands were touching Albus again a moment later, desperate to caress every inch of his body, to make up for the night that would be spent alone. They were near enough to the showerhead itself that stray droplets caught between their lips, sliding down their cheeks, tasting oddly metallic on Gellert's tongue. On some distant plane, Gellert made a note to have someone check the heavy metal levels in their tap, though he could not help but suspect the taste might be a fantasy conjured by his mind. It recalled too closely the taste of blood--Albus's blood, accidentally spilled in a moment of passion, Albus's hands pressing Gellert's mouth to his throat--to be entirely coincidental.
There was something purely sexual about blood, Gellert thought as he trailed his lips along Albus's collarbone, nipping at the spot where it met his shoulder. Something raw and powerful and earthy, ancient magic quivering in the very taste, the very smell of it. Dark magic, blood magic, begging to be harnessed and used. His hands cupped Albus's arse and drew their bodies even more roughly together, grinding his now-rigid arousal against Albus's clothed one. "You have to write me as soon as you reach the Ministry," Gellert said, slightly breathless as he lifted his head once more. "Tell me everything you find."
Gellert's touch seemed to fall like rain- everywhere all at once. One of the mysteries of Gellert that Albus had no interest in solving centered on how very much like a drug proximity to Gellert could be. It distorted his sense of time and space, while making his appreciation for it sharper and more complex. His senses themselves became practically confunded, too many sensations layering on top of each other to possibly be real.
A fleeting smile blew across Albus's features. "How about you give me leave to find something first, and then write you?" he suggested before pressing his lips to the side of Gellert's jaw. His hands had rise to hold Gellert's shoulder's against the wall. His lips descended to Gellert's sternum, then his teeth to graze against Gellert's left nipple, paying no small amount of attention on the peaked flesh there. "Your warmest regards to the Minister, then?" he smiled along Gellert's ribs, his back bowing, his knee dropping as his mouth worked its way down Gellert's body.
It was hardly a secret between the two of them, after all, the sway held over the British Minister. In the back of his mind, Albus was both disappointed and not the least bit surprised by his own native countrymen. The notion, of course, was a bit antiquated. Albus was gracious and grateful enough for what had once been the German people to accept him as an adopted son- something for which Albus felt a rather sincere degree of gratitude. Although he'd never renounce England, there were bigger things, grander identities, and as his knees met the soaked floor of the shower, as soft lips and gentle teeth traversed the line of Gellert's pelvic bone, Albus was quite certain that his true nationality would be whichever identity they forged together.
Gellert's breath caught in the back of his throat as he felt Albus's mouth--a different sort of heat entirely--brushing against his hip. His hand was curling in Albus's hair almost immediately, the movement reflexive rather than conscious, though some buried part of him still expected his fingers to twist around long strands rather than the more close-cut style that Albus had worn since his mid-twenties. "Fine, fine," he said, though he was already beginning to half-forget what he had just agreed to. "And yes. Do. And to his wife. She was always a pretty little thing." His words were a bit rushed, Gellert finding himself all too eager to eradicate the need to speak at all.
He tilted his head back against the shower wall, turning his face toward faint mist that fell down from overhead. Even if he and Albus had been separated for much longer periods of time before--weeks, even, when they were both scheduled to be in different countries over the same period of time--at least then, Gellert had been warned. He had known in advance when the separation would occur, the exact times of departure, arrival, and return, and the trip had a distinctly recognised purpose. Unlike now, in which the purpose was known but neither of them was quite willing to admit it out loud.
Behind closed eyelids, Albus's eyes rolled goodnaturedly at Gellert's persistent habit of flirting with women. It wasn't something Albus actually minded. In fact, it was only a help when as many people as possible were utterly besotted with Gellert. However, Albus had little desire to blithely condone Gellert discussing women, of all things, at such a time. His teeth bit chidingly against Gellert's inner thigh, though his tongue was just as quickly smoothing over the faint indents left on Gellert's wet skin.
Grateful to be rid of his shirt, glad for the way his bare arms pressed against Gellert's bare flesh, Albus's hands splayed themselves along Gellert's sides as his mouth wandered along the join of Gellert's leg to his body. Albus couldn't help musing that it truly was a pity that the nude statues of antiquity had fallen a bit out of fashion. Gellert would have been a prime candidate. Not that such statues would have depicted the subject in such a state of arousal, though at the moment Albus found it practically impossible to justify that particular artistic trend. His hand palmed Gellert's erection, lightly rocking the heel of his palm before he wound his grasp around the base of Gellert's cock. Letting the pad of his thumb tease up its length, Albus's mouth wandered a bit further north, brushing his lips through the thin streams of water that trickled down Gellert's abdomen.
It really was incredible, Gellert thought, that after almost seventy-nine years he could still want Albus so badly. Usually his interest in men was self-limiting, hedged in by Gellert's inescapable proneness toward boredom, and that none of his lovers ever seemed to be capable of stimulating him in any manner other than the strictly physical. But Albus.... Albus was not most other men.
A soft, halted moan was trapped in his mouth as Gellert grit his teeth, hips pressing into Albus's grasp. He was half tempted to drag Albus back out of the shower and into bed, to keep him there for another four hours at least, never mind what Slughorn might think, or that Gellert would then miss two of his own meetings. In some ways, it was as simple as the fact that Gellert was one of the rulers of the world; whatever he wished to do would almost certainly be overlooked by his internal staff. But the position was inherently one of responsibility, and too much abuse of his authority could mean that important tasks were delegated for later dates, or neglected entirely--files unread, speeches unwritten, reports unheard.
So for now Gellert had to restrain himself to what was being immediately offered--Albus, here and now, very briefly, in the shower while running late. His hand slipped lower along Albus's head to glide his fingers along the back of his neck, pulling his lips a little more roughly against his stomach. He was not entirely certain whether the flush he could feel rising in his cheeks was due more to the steam or to arousal, but it hardly mattered. His cock throbbed in Albus's grip, demanding more, demanding his mouth and tongue.
Albus's fingers dragged reflexively over Gellert's side as that perfect sound went tumbling through his senses. A heavy exhale broke against the taut plane of Gellert's stomach as Albus permitted himself a moment to luxuriate in the press of Gellert's hand against the nape of his neck, in the palpable need that coursed through Gellert. And himself.
His mouth quickly meandered lower until the searing heat of Gellert's cock was pressed firmly against his cheek. Gellert's body had a way of making the steam filling the shower seem cool in comparison. Albus tilted his head, his lips parting along the side of Gellert's cock. As his one had held steady to the base, Albus's other hand smoothed down Gellert's thigh before skimming the backs of his fingers along Gellert's balls, before letting his fingertips pull small circles along the skin that lay just behind them. Lips and tongue and the occasional dull scrape of teeth laved attention upon every inch of Gellert's erection without actually taking him into Albus's mouth.
Gellert's fingers went tense on Albus's neck, digging nails into the slippery skin above his cervical spine and suppressing the urge to force Albus's head forward as his lips grazed the tip of his arousal. There was something very nearly depraved about this situation--something that had nothing to do with the location or Albus's tongue against his cock. But it had everything to do with the way Albus's soaked trousers clung to his thighs, twisting against his own erection, and with the hoarse sound that now ripped its way from Gellert's throat.
"Why don't we do this every morning?" he asked once he had managed to put words to the formless thoughts that spread, blurred, through his mind. His voice was tense, holding the thick low notes of desire, the vowels a little too breathless for such a tone to ever be acceptable in polite company. "No. No, on second thought, don't answer that," Gellert said. His pulse raced, pounding through the arteries of his neck and groin. "Just...just keep going."