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“Come here.”
Gellert’s head tilts up at the sound of Albus’s voice. They had previously been sitting in silence, Albus propped against the headboard of Gellert’s bed and Gellert sitting by himself at his desk only a few feet away. The silence between them was always nice, both simply reading and writing in the comforting presence of each other.
Albus’s expression looks determined now, though, as if he has been sitting there the whole evening thinking of something he wanted to do and now is unwilling to not go through with it.
Gellert can feel his face scrunch up in confusion, can feel a warmth spreading across the back of his neck at the strangely heated look in Albus’s eyes, “Why?”
Albus pouts, “Because.”
Gellert sighs, but gives in almost immediately, knowing that he’s not going to be able deny Albus anything, especially with how pink his lips look and how red his hair is under the sunlight streaming in from Gellert’s bedroom window. He pushes up from his desk, groans and throws his head back, pretending as if it’s a horrid inconvenience having to get up.
Maybe he’s throwing on the drama to hide the fact that he can feel a nervous thrum under his skin. Gellert doesn’t get nervous, but ever since he’s met Albus he’s finding that he apparently doesn’t know what he does or does not do anymore.
Albus rolls his eyes at Gellert’s theatrics but pats the place in front of him, gesturing for Gellert to join him on the bed. Gellert looks at him the whole time, tries to conjure up what Albus is thinking, but Gellert has found that Albus is nowhere near as easy to read as one would expect.
“Oh, please.” Albus huffs, trying to appear to look annoyed but a smile twitches at his lips, “It’s not like I’m going to hurt you, Gellert.”
Gellert gives him a dubious look, his lips a mix between a frown and a pout, and Albus rudely laughs at his misery.
“To prove a theory I believe you would do anything, Albus.” Gellert grumbles and manages to dramatically plop down in front of Albus, groaning and petulant for no other reason than because he can.
Albus rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond and Gellert’s chest is traitorously warm.
“Closer.” Albus demands, and Gellert flushes embarrassingly easily at the tone of his voice, and willingly obeys. He turns his back to Albus, follows the movements of Albus’s hands on him as Albus practically pulls him into the position he wants Gellert in.
It ends with Albus’s back against the headboard and Gellert situated between Albus’s legs. Gellert is flushed a color that must be as bright as Albus’s hair and Gellert is ever grateful that he isn’t facing the other boy.
Albus hums, a content little noise in the back of his throat and Gellert is completely unprepared for when Albus begins to run his fingers through Gellert’s hair.
His breath catches and he’s stuck between pulling away and yelling at Albus to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing and pushing into Albus’s gentle, warm touch like some touch-starved puppy.
All he can manage is a small choking noise as his body refuses to move or produce any sort of intelligent speech.
“Relax.” Albus murmurs, voice soft and almost distant, as if he’s sucked into the feeling of Gellert’s hair and is having trouble thinking of anything outside of it.
Gellert breathes out harshly and hesitantly does as he is told, finding it hard not to melt under Albus’s long, deft fingers as they scratch against his scalp and pull through his curls. Gellert can’t help but begin to sigh after a moment, enjoying the treatment much more than he probably should.
He realizes that no one has done this to him before, never touched him like this, never made him feel warm all over with affection with such a small action before. Gellert allows a haze to set over him, focuses solely on the sensation of Albus’s hands as they skim his neck and carefully tug at is hair.
Gellert has half a mind to ask what Albus thinks he’s doing, ask him what sort of strange joke this is, ask why but it feels so impossibly good that he doesn’t care. He’s quiet, and doesn’t allow himself to speak or make too much noise, as if he’s afraid that Albus will stop, will pull his hands away if he’s reminded of who exactly he’s touching.
Eventually, Albus does stop and Gellert is abruptly brought back to reality, his head still tingling with the phantom touches of Albus. His hair feels different, and when Gellert reaches back to check what exactly is different Albus grabs his hand before he can touch his hair.
“Not yet, I don’t want you to mess it up.” Albus chides, and Gellert tries to push away the disappointment when Albus lets go of his hand. Albus has always had nice hands, with long fingers, soft to the touch, and skilled.
“Turn towards me.” Albus says, and Gellert has no time to actually follow the order before Albus is essentially manhandling him again into the position he wants. It isn’t rough by any means, but Albus is firm as he pulls Gellert around until he’s facing him. Gellert feels a brief flicker of heat in his stomach at the feeling of Albus’s hands gripping his arms.
Albus reaches out and pulls a few strands free to fall over Gellert’s face, and when Albus reaches around to place Gellert’s hair on his shoulder he realizes that Albus Dumbledore has braided his hair.
“You braided my hair?” Gellert muses, goes for a teasing tone that comes out far too breathy for his liking.
“Yes, I thought you’d look nice.” Albus smiles, and there’s a heat in his eyes that has Gellert’s heart fluttering and his skin flushing a vivid pink.
“And you really do.” Albus murmurs, reaches out runs his hand down Gellert’s braid.
Gellert is sure that he’s on the brink of passing out he’s so hot, and there is blood rushing in his ears and he has to take controlled, measured breaths that he hopes Albus can not hear.
“Are you blushing?” Albus smiles, his blue eyes crinkling, his own cheeks a pretty shade of pink.
“No.” Gellert lies, scowls defiantly when all it does is make Albus giggle and lean in closer.
“You look so cute I could kiss you.” Albus says in a voice that would suggest teasing or mocking, but Albus’s eyes look completely different. They’re warm and sweet and somehow hopeful, as if he’s begging Gellert for something .
Gellert swallows, parts his lips and words are rushing through before he can properly think of them, “Then why don’t you?”
Albus freezes, and his face is engulfed in color, and his deep blue eyes are comically wide. Gellert would laugh if it didn’t feel like his chest was about to collapse against his heart and lungs.
“Are–” Albus pauses, licks his lips, “Are you being serious?” He asks, and his voice is breathy and grave and pleading all at once.
For one brief moment of cowardice Gellert thinks of forcing out a laugh and spitting out a no, if not only so he doesn’t have to deal with the plausibility that Albus is only playing with him. He thinks for a moment that this is only one of Albus’s experiments, a part of his endless curiosities and he’s going to laugh in Gellert’s face at any moment because he was stupid enough to think Albus Dumbledore feels even a fraction of what Gellert feels for him back.
But Gellert is not a coward and steels himself when he finally answers, “Yes.”
Albus pauses for a moment, searches Gellert’s face, and then he tentatively smiles.
And then he’s kissing Gellert.
Albus frames Gellert’s face, his beautiful hands cupping Gellert’s face and his lips are soft and plush against Gellert’s. It’s soft and hesitant, as if each boy believes the other is going to back out any second. But neither of them do, and Gellert has always been horribly impatient so he immediately pushes into Albus when he doesn’t leave, tugs him closer and breaks the seams of Albus’s mouth with a questioning tongue.
Albus responds with an approving hum, allows Gellert to push and pull and explore as much as he wants. Gellert’s hands eventually find Albus’s hair and he curls his fingers around the auburn strands as he licks into Albus’s mouth.
Gellert can feel Albus’s thumbs rub over his cheekbones, a gentle and absentminded touch that makes Gellert pull away. Gellert looks at Albus, panting and flushed and every bit a picture of an aroused boy that Gellert had seen back in Durmstrang, when he got bored and experimented on a classmate that he had caught staring at him in class.
But Albus looks so much different than them, because he is beautiful and brilliant and Albus looks at Gellert with adoration and love, as if it’s something that Gellert could ever possibly deserve from someone like Albus. And Albus is still stroking his cheekbones, cradling his face like he’s a priceless porcelain doll.
Gellert absurdly feels like crying.
“Are you okay?” Albus asks, and even with how breathless he is he still sounds concerned.
Albus goes to pulls his hands away from Gellert’s face, and Gellert stops him, keeps them where they are, “No, no, I–” He stumbles over his words, and Gellert is not used to this.
His words are like weapons, they are his defense and offense, and he feels so vulnerable and naked in front of Albus without them. But before Gellert can spiral Albus is properly holding his face again, caresses his cheeks and holds him, as if he can understand what he’s asking for even when he doesn’t actually know how to ask for it.
“You’re okay, Gellert.” Albus whispers, leans in and kisses Gellert’s brow and urges him forward. Gellert leans into him, places his forehead against Albus’s.
“You’re so beautiful, Gellert.” Albus whispers, kisses his temple, “I couldn’t stop thinking of you all evening, so effortlessly gorgeous.” He kisses his cheekbone, “You’re breathtaking.” The tip of his nose, “I could never find anyone as brilliant or amazing as you.” His eyelids, “I love you, Gellert.”
Gellert’s breath hitches, catches on something that he doesn’t allow himself to acknowledge as a sob, “I love you too, Albus.”
And Albus’s answering smile is blindingly bright, so Gellert says it’s again.
“I love you Albus.” Gellert kisses him, “I love you, I love you.” He breathes against Albus’s mouth, kisses him again and swallows the noises he makes.
The sun is setting by the time Gellert begins to tire, his countless sleepless nights catching up to him. Albus’s lips are bright red and kiss swollen and he’s flushed from face to chest. Gellert feels himself swell with a hint of pride.
“We should sleep.” Albus murmurs, his hands running through Gellert’s loose hair. The braid had come out sometime during the evening, between Gellert crawling over Albus and Gellert getting Albus’s shirt unbuttoned halfway.
Gellert wants to protest but Albus is pulling him down and nestling him against his chest and any complaints die on Gellert’s tongue.
It does not take him long to fall asleep, huddled against Albus and his limbs tangled with those of the only boy he’s ever loved.