It still struck Gellert as a little odd, that Albus had invited him to stay in his bungalow at all after his own had been so thoroughly destroyed. It seemed a bit masochistic, actually, for Albus to want to have Gellert in such close quarters with himself after all that he had confessed had happened between the two of them in his past. In Gellert's future. Because if he knew Gellert, then surely he knew how little Gellert would be able to resist any opportunity to learn about his own future, and any option put before him that could possibly entail causing Albus misery. That Albus had such intense feelings for him only compounded that urge.
He had been organising the few clothes he'd managed to make for himself in the empty space in Albus's dresser when Albus spoke. He lifted his gaze, fingers absently flattening out the collar of a shirt as he caught Albus's eye. "Everything I need?" He paused for several seconds, letting the words drift through the air and take on form of their own, meaning and insinuation born all out of silence. And then-- "...Yes."
The implication that Gellert still lacked everything he wanted was obvious.
He pushed the drawer closed and turned around to face Albus, fingers grasping the edge of the dresser as he leaned back against it, legs crossing at the ankles. It was still a little overpowering, what he'd been experiencing ever since his luggage had opened itself a few days ago. It was nothing he had not felt before, of course, but never had such things existed at the constant forefront of his mind the way the seemed to for most other boys his age. And Albus made such a perfect target of himself, he really did. He was practically begging for it, with the way he'd spoken of what had happened between them, his stiff and aloof tone, his excellent arse, and the way his eyes seemed to catch on Gellert's body whenever he thought Gellert wasn't paying attention.
If Gellert wanted to learn the truth, he had to break Albus down. He had to take apart his defenses and his principles, one by one, and let them fall unraveled through Albus's long, perfect fingers. It was not hard to identify Albus's weakness. That it coincided with Gellert's predicament was but fortunate luck.
He did not hide the gleam to his eyes, or the way they'd narrowed slightly as they dropped down Albus's form to linger however briefly on the curve of his throat before it dropped beneath the cloth of his shirt.