How Gellert had ever managed a virginal farce seemed utterly baffling. And it discouraged Albus from being the least bit rushed. Looking back, years after Gellert had left, it was easier to see how he'd been manipulated, and it did soothe his pride to know that he had, in fact, been strung along by someone well-practised. He still wasn't entirely certain if Gellert had delayed, had rejected him at first out of a careful calculation or for his own amusement. There was, of course, no discounting the possibility that it had been both. And now, Gellert could wait a few mere minutes.
It would have been a good deal more comforting if he could pin his feelings for Gellert on such machinations-- if he could only believe that he'd simply been tricked into thinking he'd loved Gellert. That he still loved Gellert. Enormously capable as Albus was at self-denial, he couldn't ignore the fact that it was more than just lust, more than just physical craving wracking through his senses. But he didn't want to give voice to that. He was fairly certain that something inside him would be irreparably damaged if he said, out loud, that he still loved Gellert, despite everything.
He let his hand release Gellert's hip, let his fingertips pull light designs along the small of his back-- as if he was trying to get Gellert's body to relax, as if he were so very concerned about hurting Gellert. In truth, he knew Gellert wasn't nearly so fragile, but nevertheless he took his time as he stretched Gellert. As he added a third finger. As he slowly slipped them almost entirely free of Gellert's body before sinking them back in again. Patience, Albus knew all to well, and at least he could tilt his own hips so that his erection pressed against the smooth skin of Gellert's arse.