Pain blossomed in the forefront of his awareness, but it was made convoluted by the simultaneous relief that swept through him. The throb in his lip matched the one along the length of his cock, and it was all Albus could do to keep rutting mindlessly against Gellert. As familiar, as intoxicating as it was, Albus's every appetite was only further goaded. There was more to this. Albus was accustomed to being able to perceive far more of Gellert-- to feel and see and skim his senses along the vibrant tones of Gellert's aura itself. As if attempting to fill the void left by Albus's diluted perception, his hands eagerly set to occupying his senses with the eager quest for Gellert's flesh.
Pulling the tails of Gellert's shirt free of his trousers, his hands swept up Gellert's sides, his senses igniting. Gellert's perfect skin against his hungry fingertips was so singularly enthralling, he'd somehow lost sight of the fact that his mouth was busy against Gellert's for a moment. All too quickly, however, the swipe of Gellert's tongue across the tender break in his skin was sending a shudder down his spine. Moving with swift precision his fingers recalled all too quickly, he was parting Gellert's shirt, not entirely restraining the impulse to lightly rake his nails along pale flesh to leave a visible, if fleeting, evidence of his touch.
Albus would hardly deny that he felt old beyond his years most of the time. Few things filled him with wonder that erred anywhere near simplistic innocence. Like this, however, with his hands greedy and his mouth nipping back at Gellert's, he felt years younger. Realisation of that came murkily at first, and then with jarring clarity as it gave way to something else: part of what ensnared his attention and his proximity was that Gellert was younger than his crimes. But just how much younger? And young though Albus felt, he wasn't seventeen, or even eighteen anymore.
Something in Albus tripped and stumbled over the epiphany that he had students Gellert's age.
Turning his head, he tore his mouth from Gellert's, though he didn't have the will to relocate his hands from Gellert's hips. "How old are you?" he heard a voice ask. It couldn't have been his, however; that voice was too rough, too low, and too wholly saturated with desire.