And Gellert could not recall -- not really. His first several sexual encounters were a blur of beds, and cocks, and floors that made Gellert's knees ache, and Quidditch showers. There was the memory of a few women there as well, perhaps further into his thirteenth and fourteenth years, testimony of Gellert's experimentation branching out from the sexual practices he'd cleaved to since he was twelve. But before that...before that, he wasn't sure. He was reasonably certain that it had been a fellow student at Durmstrang, though he had slept with more than enough adult men (especially in those early years) to remove the note of decisiveness from his memory.
"It was four years ago," Gellert said at last, shrugging his shoulders. "How should I remember?"
Gellert was beginning to get the sense from their interactions that even when Albus knew him in Godric's Hollow, he had very rarely been honest with him. But little gifts of candor were useful. Small shocks, just to keep Albus from settling too easily into some sort of rhythm. Telling the truth, sometimes, was what kept people from ever getting to know you too well.
He caught Albus's eye and grinned, the expression crooked and mischievous. He reached out and refilled Albus's glass without asking: a matter of hospitality, he thought to himself with no small degree of amusement.
"One of the earliest I can remember, though, was going to the locker rooms after swimming one day. The timing happened to coincide with the end of Quidditch practice, and by the time I got out of the shower, there was only one player left in the room -- I think he was the Keeper, but I'm not positive." Gellert had been beginning to learn to relish the power he held over men, a learned talent that he had dedicated himself to improving with every boy he fucked or let fuck him. "I expect he thought he was alone; he was touching himself and moaning, and when I got down on my knees in front of the bench and took him into my mouth, he didn't complain at all."
Gellert's gaze remained lightly trained on Albus, curious to examine whatever reflexive response would catch on Albus's expression. Envy, or anger, perhaps. Something delicate and magnificent.