Were he more sensible, Albus might have moved to maintain some kind of distance between them. As it was, however, it took the thin scraps of his ever-dwindling self control to keep himself from stepping out to meet Gellert's advance.
Albus bit his lips over what would have been an all too embarrassing groan under the press of Gellert's hand. There was, however, nothing for the way his eyes fluttered for a moment. The last person he'd permitted to touch him intimately had, in fact, been Gellert himself. If Albus's body hadn't so insistently demanded not just attention but release as well so many times already that day, it would have been entirely possible that such contact would have sent him over the edge.
He wanted to use the slight magic he had to cut away Gellert's clothes. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to crush their mouths together. He wanted Gellert to stop. He wanted Gellert to keep on. Surely humans weren't intended to feel so much so intensely all at once. His hand clamped around Gellet's wrist. To keep him from doing anything else. Or to keep him from withdrawing his hand.
"Gellert," he breathed, his breaths coming too short and too shallow. "I can't-" Because he didn't want this. He didn't wish to be just another in Gellert's roster of meaningless partners. Except, he already was, wasn't he? Or was there even any point to anguishing over the temporal nexus that existed between them as they were? All too quickly Albus found that pausing to think was a poor choice, because as his mind occupied itself, his second hand had found its way to curling around the back of Gellert's neck, pulling him closer. Or holding him at bay. "This isn't a game to me."