A hushed, heavy breath escaped Gellert's lips when Albus spun him around, a moan fading into a low, breathless laugh as the strength of Albus's manipulations forced him forward -- Gellert's nose nearly brushing the table. His forearms flat against its surface, Gellert's fingernails were already digging into the grooves in the wood. He could smell the polish the carpenter had used, could see in his peripheral vision the tips of blond curls grazing dark oak.
Gellert had forgotten how much he liked it this way: rough, and demanding, and nearly illicit. Or had he forgotten? Maybe he did remember, but it just suddenly seemed as if it had been years since he'd had sex with anyone at all.
Gellert tilted his head to the side, glancing up at Albus out of the corner of his eyes, grinning. He did not want to hide the way baser instincts were overriding him, lips kiss-bitten and hair falling into his face, pressing his arse back against Albus in a manner that could only be described as wanton.
"If you think I was wrong," he said, tongue tripping over the syllable before last -- and Gellert hoped Albus did not notice, the error in his pronunciation, "then why don't you teach me better?" Gellert's lips curled a little wider. "Professor."