That word sent an electric little thrill spiking through Gellert's spine and his breath shuddered in the back of his throat, his knuckles going white at the desk. It would be so easy, wouldn't it, to get himself back into Albus's bed? Even now, with Albus so charged with anger, Gellert doubted the man would be able to much resist Gellert if Gellert put any real force behind a seduction. The images blazing across the inside of Gellert's eyelids were impossible to suppress.
"No," Gellert retorted, leaning in just a bit closer despite his best efforts, feeling the flush that rose in his cheeks--part arousal, part irritation, and part sheer exhilaration. "No, I would have you stop being so horribly melodramatic, self-victimising, and accusatory. I would have you tell me the truth without trying to make me feel guilty for it." As if Albus ever could. "I want to understand, really, I do--but I cannot do that when you continue to fixate on how we ended."
And that was just the half of it. Gellert wanted to know everything Albus knew, not just about the two of them but about his own life after his expulsion, and after his time in England. His rise to power. And he wanted to turn Albus's thoughts to everything Albus had loved about their time together, not just everything he hated, not just how it had all fallen apart.
Gellert's hand found its way to Albus's cheek, pressing against that soft skin, thumb grazing Albus's jawline. "I do not want you to hate me," he said, his voice a bit quieter this time. "Please believe me, on that."