A groan escaped Gellert's lips as Albus's mouth finally made contact with his cock. And he felt something shudder deep within himself when Albus incorporated his tongue -- and that same think broke into an even louder moan when Albus took him in fully.
It was altogether too much stimulation at once. Albus's mouth was hot (hotter than his cool skin would have suggested), every movement of his hands skilled and calculated to drag out the greatest possible pleasure. And then Albus did something with his tongue that sent something electric slicing down Gellert's spine -- because he recognised it. Because whether Albus knew it or not, that...that thing...it had been Gellert's. Albus had learned it from Gellert. No matter who else he might have slept with in the years that separated them, there were traces of Gellert's influence still lingering in everything Albus did. Because even if Gellert had no memory of it yet, Gellert had been the one to steal Albus's innocence, had been the first person that Albus had ever known intimately.
That was power, in itself.
Gellert's eyes fell closed as his head fell back, exposing his throat to the air as his hands abandoned Albus's hair to grasp the edge of the table. His knees scarcely felt capable of supporting him without some sort of aid, resistance Gellert could utilise to press himself up. His breath was stilted in his chest, his pulse throbbed throughout every inch of his form, offbeat and tachycardic. Every exhale was a moan, every moan was a gasp.
Gellert gave Albus no warning. It did not occur to him that perhaps another lover would have. Instead he simply released the vise one hand had on the table to twist his fingers roughly in Albus's hair once more, holding his head forcefully in place as Gellert's hips jerked forward in a stilted, arrhythmic sort of thrust. It was with the heat of Albus's mouth making him dizzy, nearly blind with desire, and the press of Albus's hands against his skin, that Gellert came.