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Graves is thin and scared and helpless. His body shakes as soon as Gellert appears and his eyes are wide like a spooked horse. Rolling, looking for danger.

The dark wizard kneels, pulls Graves close. Coaxes Graves to sink into the warmth he's forbidden in the cell. Kindness draws him in, traps him with need as Gellert comforts him. Soothing touches, gentle and careful to avoid the worst wounds. Graves' breathing is fast and heavy. Disoriented, clearly, from the lack of pain. Graves sinks into the warmth, as if he's trying to get under Gellert's skin. 

Gellert calms him with a soft voice, leading Graves to the master bedroom. Into a hot bath that hurts at first, but magic fades away the fresh injuries and filth. Graves cries in relief. Clean and dry, Graves joins Gellert in the bed. He allows Graves to savor the bedding, the soft mattress.

"Won't you thank me, Percy?"

Graves does, eagerly. Desperate, even. With a mouth tasting of mint and a weak body moulding to Gellert's. It's… satisfactory. Graves' mind is a soup of panic and desire and loneliness. Gellert lets him try before taking the lead.

Graves' hands won't do well with broken bones, but his mouth is fine. Gellert is firm as he guides Graves' head down. No resistance, only a spark of uncertainty. It disappears when Gellert doesn't become rough, so Graves relaxes.

"Good," Gellert praises, eyes locked on Graves, voice low with pleasure. He follows the words with a stroke through Graves' hair.

Graves shudders, makes eye contact. Brief, obedient. The director didn't used to look small— here, bracketed by Gellert's stronger form he looks like an alley-lurking prostitute. Tight skin over bone and scarce muscle. Bruises and old marks of previous use. Sickly pale.

Graves is trying his best to please him. It is a nice change of pace from the fear, the struggling. Gellert makes him take his time so he can enjoy himself. All it takes is a word, a touch and Graves obeys.

When Gellert finishes and has Graves clean him up, he switches attention to the director. He's nervous, unsure what Gellert will ask of him. As he guides Graves to straddle his lap, Gellert takes a pill from the nightstand drawer and opens a tube. A tug on the back of Graves' head has him bend down, tucking his head against Gellert's neck, hands sliding under the pillow on either side of his head. Weight resting on his forearms and knees. 

"Don't move unless I tell you, darling." Gellert says without bite, as he coats his fingers. He drags his slick fingertips along the back of Graves' thighs to tease him.

Graves twitches, gasps. He's not aroused yet, only scared. Gellert will change that soon enough.

"Let me know if it's too much, Percy."

Graves mumbles, incoherent. Gellert inches his hand closer to Graves' hole— the director trembles, swallows hard.

"Easy, easy." Gellert wraps his free hand around Graves' neck, keeping him close. A shaking, heaving breath catches in Graves' throat.

"We've done this before; you always enjoy it, Percy." Gellert soothes, then slips in a finger to test. Graves lurches— out of surprise, not pain.

The muscles around Gellert are weak from old abuse. Good. Gellert pushes in further, listening to the weak moan that stays in Graves' chest. The director is starving for pleasure. As always.

Before Gellert, he did not know what it was. What he was missing in his life of monotonous work and lack of sexual partners. It is amusing to watch Graves' emotions battle his body's needs. The director's lack of experience was a perfect surprise of a discovery.

Graves shifts when Gellert removes the intrusion. Already Gellert is recovering with the help of a charm. He presses in again with more, deeper. Not wanting to waste time to help Graves acclimate.

It drags a proper moan out this time— Graves' breathing rate increases. Gellert smiles, kisses the side of Graves' temple. Rewards him with another wordless stroke. Another addition.

Graves takes it— an audible gasp. Gellert prepares him as little as he needs without being cruel. Some stretching is not unbearable, even though Graves twitches and makes faint noises in the back of his throat.

A break to add more lubricant. Graves tries to squirm, oversensitive when Gellert returns to stretching him out. He checks himself at the click of Gellert's tongue. Stops himself, restless and starting to sweat.

Still not aroused. He will be.

That should be enough work. Gellert strokes himself until he's ready, and guides Graves over him. It is a common moment of hesitation for the director, a part of him shying away—

"Percy, Percy. That's enough." Gellert's grip on Graves' hips tighten in warning. Graves returns to being pliant with effort, pressing his face against Gellert's chest. Remembering his place.

A tearful whine falls from Graves' open mouth when Gellert enters him completely. Gellert's groan is louder.

"Merlin, you're perfect." Gellert closes his eyes, lets his mind wander down its usual paths while he eases Graves further down. Graves' thighs are shaking. He continues to make confused sounds of pleasure.

Gellert rolls his hips— Graves sobs— and settles himself until he's comfortable. Starved as he is, Graves weighs similarly to a young man. Close enough.

Just as reluctant, as if it was his first time. A stolen moment in the dorms.

Gellert tangles a hand in thick hair like he always did, guiding. Controlling. He starts slow, gentle. Listening for the involuntary gasps of pleasure. He takes pride in pleasing his partners. 

Breathless moans as Gellert skillfully gets them on a good rhythm. Not too deep yet, just at the edge of teasing. He wants this to last. They have time.

"Ready for more, darling?" Gellert raises the intensity, refusing to hear the shaky moan. He replaces it soon enough with a lustful whine of need. 

Gellert works for the following one, chasing their pleasure until they're both panting and sweating. Gellert has to steady his partner from rocking too much, knowing he is unable to control himself.

"Not yet, you can't." Gellert says through gritted teeth, eyes clenched shut. "Almost, darling. Almost."

A breathless sob, quickly followed by a groan. Another groan as Gellert goes harder. He grabs ahold of tight balls, to prevent an early climax as Gellert changes his angle to find the prostate.

A scream— Gellert seeps magic through his fingers, forcing him to enjoy it. A choked sob, then rapid heaving gasps. Moaning.

"Don't talk, darling." Gellert growls. He'll ruin it if he does— and Gellert will make him pay. Viciously. It's happened before.

Whines, edges of desire in it. Better. Gellert returns to his rhythm, evading his partner's orgasm while Gellert seeks his own. 

Magic keeps him from spilling over onto Gellert's stomach— Gellert tightens his hold and gets a pleading cry in response. Good. He wants to take his time. It needs to be perfect.

Gellert uses the auditory feedback he receives and the contracting of muscles around him to guide him to his target. Each subsequent sound grows more desperate, less controlled.

"Easy, Albus. Easy, you're so close." Gellert feels himself slipping but pushes through. He wants the climax to rush through them like floodwater. Send him out of control so Gellert can bring him back.

"Ah… ahh…"

"I know, darling." Gellert has to force the words out through the golden haze at his mind's horizon. He squeezes his hand— and gets a strangled cry for his teasing.

"Ahh… aaaahhh…!"

Gellert loses control.

"Aaaaahh!" Albus comes with a scream, suddenly able to climax when Gellert releases him in favor of using both hands as anchors to slam into his prostate.

His own climax is powerful and mind-quieting. Wiping memory and irritation to replace it with old emotions. Messy, faded love.

Albus shakes and trembles but remains on top of Gellert as he finishes riding out the wave of bliss. Absentminded, Gellert strokes twitching skin and threads his fingers through sweaty hair. 

His partner curls against him, knowing better than to pull himself off without being told. Choked cries and sniffs start in Gellert's ear.

"None of that." Gellert quiets him with a wordless spell as his senses return to him. Without opening his eyes, Gellert turns off the light.

"Off."

He scrambles to the other side of the bed with a whimper. Gellert hisses, sensitive. He cleans himself up and prepares to sleep for the night without looking. 

He does not want to ruin the fading fantasy by catching sight of dark hair in the place of rich auburn. 




No matter what Percival does, Grindelwald wakes up with a wild temper and brutal spells on his lips. Percival always pays the price for a night in the bed.