Author's Notes: Written for the Wish Pot at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Forum.
I wrote for Paradox bookjunkie, who requested realistic Dumbledore slash with someone other than Harry.
)O(
Gellert Grindelwald was a beautiful man, and never more so than when he was absorbed in his research. Albus could think that without guilt only because to say Gellert was beautiful was a matter of fact, detached from his own feelings for him. He told himself that when he sat beside him at his desk while he poured over pages of historical documents, none of which had the decency to be written in English, and found himself more absorbed by the way Gellert's brow furrowed or his lips moved to sound out foreign words than by any knowledge those foreign words might be imparting.
Albus leaned slightly against Gellert's shoulder, under the guise of pretending to read the pages of runes spread out on the desk before them. Gellert stiffened slightly, but did not push him away.
"Does it say anything about ancient rulers being wizards?" he asked, hoping that the observation would ignite Gellert's fondness for waxing poetic about the natural superiority of the Wizarding race, and so prevent him from making any sharp comments about keeping a distance of at least six inches between them, as both of them had been ordered to do in their youth.
"Of course they were." Gellert took the bait immediately and with vigour. He remained bent over the parchments and did not look up, but Albus could sense his excitement at the subject. "Those ancient people recognized superiority when they encountered it, and were modest enough to recognize when others had what they did not."
Albus was familiar with many parts of his friend's speech: with his theories (supported only tenuously by anything Albus had ever read, though Gellert presented them as fact) that Egyptian Pharaohs who were said to be chosen by the Gods were, in fact, wizards, with his denouncement of Medieval Christianity as an ideology that made any sort of power seem evil, with his vitriolic ideas about what modern Muggles – arrogant creatures that they were – would think or do if they encountered magic. Impressive as his rhetoric was, Albus had developed a habit of allowing it to fade into the background and focussing instead on Gellert's face, the way his eyes lit with a near-euphoric fervour, the way his breath became fast and shallow, the flush that came to his handsome face...
"Albus."
Albus sat up straight, pulling away from Gellert quickly. "Yes?"
"You stare when I speak about ancient wizards." He set down his quill and turned upon the bench to face Albus. "If I did not know you better, I should think you might be less interested in the history than in..." He trailed off and arched one eyebrow pointedly.
Albus felt his face growing hot. "It is a mercy you know me well, then."
"Do I?"
"Of course."
Gellert regarded him skeptically. "I have my doubts, dear Albus." He picked up his quill again and twirled it between his fingertips, examining it. "Sometimes I believe you are dishonest with me."
"Never!"
"Albus..." He set the quill down again and leaned in slightly. Now he was the one violating the prescribed six inches, and Albus felt as if he should pull back. Of course, he did not.
"Albus," Gellert repeated, voice soft, gentle, but cold beneath, always cold beneath. "I have never had so close a friend as you. Let us have no secrets between us."
"There are no–"
Gellert's hand was upon his shoulder, holding him still, and he was so close now that Albus could barely focus through his spectacles to look into his eyes.
"No secrets, Albus?"
"None," he rasped.
"No perverse feelings?" Gellert's eyes gleamed wickedly, and his lips twitched up into a tiny and momentary smile.
Albus swallowed hard. How could he look at Gellert and lie when his whole body was humming so strongly with want that he must have felt it? He searched for words, for a way to deny the obvious, for something he could say to excuse his perpetual wish for proximity, the way he spoke, acted–
As it happened, Gellert did not wait for Albus's stumbling denials.
Albus had never been kissed before, and he had certainly never expected to be. There had never been a woman for whom he felt even the faintest stirrings of want, he had no expectations of ever being married – without his mother or father to press him into it – and, of course, that sort of contact with another man was strictly impossible. He kept his deviations under wraps, as was right and sensible to do – he was at enough risk from Muggles for being a wizard, and from wizards for his family history, without the blight of deviance to make him an even greater target.
And yet – yet! Gellert's kiss was so forceful, so confident that Albus did not for a moment think that he should stop and alleviate the risk he was putting himself at. And he might have rationalized it in his own mind – told himself that he was only startled – but, in truth, there was a part of him that he usually silenced very forcefully that was rejoicing at the contact. It was that part of him that stopped him from pushing Gellert away, that dismissed all thoughts of shame or morality or even illegality, that made him arch his back when Gellert gripped the angle of his waist and drew him towards himself more forcefully.
When Gellert broke the kiss, the blood was rushing in Albus's ears and he felt dizzy, disoriented in a way that he never had before.
"No secrets," Gellert repeated, with a calm that was truly unnatural. "We shall never be able to achieve anything if we are busy keeping secrets from each other."
)O(
Fin