After about the sixth explosion, Albus believes it might finally be time to admit defeat.
“I think we have to face the facts, Gellert,” he says, as he makes his way across the tiny kitchen to crack open a window. “There may only be eleven uses for dragon’s blood.”
He waves his wand in a rough figure-eight pattern, attempting to siphon out at least some of the thick black smoke that’s issuing from the cauldron.
Gellert slams his fist down on the table, making their instruments rattle. His face is streaked with soot and his hair is dark with sweat, standing up slightly in the back. All in all, he looks quite mad. Utterly brilliant and undeniably handsome, but still quite mad.
“We’ll crack it, Albus!” Gellert insists. “We will. We just have get the components right.” He reaches for the vial of dragon’s blood, the one they’d saved up for months to buy.
Albus puts a hand over his. “Gilbert.” His fingers are smooth and shockingly warm. Gellert looks up and blinks at him, surprised.
“We’ve got all summer,” Albus tells him, though he can feel his cheeks heating up. He isn’t really sure what he meant by grabbing his hand. “No need to rush. Besides, your aunt’ll have our heads if she comes home to find the kitchen like this.”
For a moment, Gellert looks angry, eyes wide and intense. Then it’s gone, and he smiles.
“You’re right, Albus. Of course.”
Neither of them wants a repeat of last time, when Gellert’s aunt had come home to find them attempting to charm a divan into dancing the waltz with an easy chair. She had shouted about how they were ruining the house, and about how sixteen-year old wizards should be out racing broomsticks and meeting young witches.
Gellert’s hand is still in his.
“Come on then,” Albus says brightly, making to pull away. Gellert’s grip just tightens. “What’s—?”
Gellert leans across the wreckage of their experiment and kisses him. Up close he smells of sweat and sulfur and magic, the slightly acidic tang of dragon’s blood. His lips are chapped, but Albus doesn’t think he can recall feeling anything so perfect.
Gellert’s mouth opens warm and soft against his, sending shivers running up and down Albus’ spine. He puts a hand to his cheek, cupping his jaw, sliding up to thread fingers in his hair. Gellert laughs, pulling back, eyes glittering with the same sort of excitement they hold before he suggests one of his daft plans, the ones that involve things like changing the world and building a better tomorrow. Becoming more powerful than anyone before them.
“Let’s get this cleared away,” he says, softly, putting a stopper in the dragon’s blood. “We’ve got all summer.”
Re: Filled! Dumbledore/Grindelwald
----
After about the sixth explosion, Albus believes it might finally be time to admit defeat.
“I think we have to face the facts, Gellert,” he says, as he makes his way across the tiny kitchen to crack open a window. “There may only be eleven uses for dragon’s blood.”
He waves his wand in a rough figure-eight pattern, attempting to siphon out at least some of the thick black smoke that’s issuing from the cauldron.
Gellert slams his fist down on the table, making their instruments rattle. His face is streaked with soot and his hair is dark with sweat, standing up slightly in the back. All in all, he looks quite mad. Utterly brilliant and undeniably handsome, but still quite mad.
“We’ll crack it, Albus!” Gellert insists. “We will. We just have get the components right.” He reaches for the vial of dragon’s blood, the one they’d saved up for months to buy.
Albus puts a hand over his. “Gilbert.” His fingers are smooth and shockingly warm. Gellert looks up and blinks at him, surprised.
“We’ve got all summer,” Albus tells him, though he can feel his cheeks heating up. He isn’t really sure what he meant by grabbing his hand. “No need to rush. Besides, your aunt’ll have our heads if she comes home to find the kitchen like this.”
For a moment, Gellert looks angry, eyes wide and intense. Then it’s gone, and he smiles.
“You’re right, Albus. Of course.”
Neither of them wants a repeat of last time, when Gellert’s aunt had come home to find them attempting to charm a divan into dancing the waltz with an easy chair. She had shouted about how they were ruining the house, and about how sixteen-year old wizards should be out racing broomsticks and meeting young witches.
Gellert’s hand is still in his.
“Come on then,” Albus says brightly, making to pull away. Gellert’s grip just tightens. “What’s—?”
Gellert leans across the wreckage of their experiment and kisses him. Up close he smells of sweat and sulfur and magic, the slightly acidic tang of dragon’s blood. His lips are chapped, but Albus doesn’t think he can recall feeling anything so perfect.
Gellert’s mouth opens warm and soft against his, sending shivers running up and down Albus’ spine. He puts a hand to his cheek, cupping his jaw, sliding up to thread fingers in his hair. Gellert laughs, pulling back, eyes glittering with the same sort of excitement they hold before he suggests one of his daft plans, the ones that involve things like changing the world and building a better tomorrow. Becoming more powerful than anyone before them.
“Let’s get this cleared away,” he says, softly, putting a stopper in the dragon’s blood. “We’ve got all summer.”