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Chapter Text

December, 1945

It had taken six months to find the library. Six months of interrogating fairies and digging through scraps of information while simultaneously dealing with the fallout of the Italian Fae Drainings in order to find the location of the Faerie King, and somehow, Gellert ended up walking to a dimly lit, muggle library that smelled of dust, lavender, and old paper. But underneath it all, another smell presided. One distinctly fae— one undeniably familiar.

Gellert sunk into the shadows in the corner under tall shelves, listening to the chatter. The last of the customers ambled to the register, talking quietly under the yellow light or reading. He didn’t need to turn around. He could smell the faerie approach him, even if the telltale sounds of footsteps were silent.

“Can I help you?”

Gellert turned.

He hadn’t known what to expect. He had seen the king hundreds of years prior, shortly after he became the Lord Vampire in Europe. But the King had been regal then, all silk robes, vines, and an intricate crown. Standing in the little library, his long red hair and indescribable beauty were the only signs that he was in fact the Faerie King— the same man that had talked the most prominent werewolf alpha out of the black forest.

The same King who forcibly separated the faerie realm and the mortal realm in a show of magic that not even the most dangerous and powerful wizards from the previous millennium could even dream of.

Noting the way Gellert froze when he turned, the faerie king’s mouth curved into a smirk. He knew Gellert. Gellert knew better than to assume the faerie didn’t know everything about him and his motivations.

“Yes,” Gellert answered.

“Are you looking for something specific? Or would you like some recommendations?”

Gellert shook his head. “You know why I’m here.”

“Do I?”

“Did you know I was looking for you?”

The Faerie King, dressed in mortal clothes, stepped silently closer. His voice lowered and Gellert could feel the air warm when he spoke. “I do not give answers for free. But I will give a piece of advice: leave. Leave and never come searching for me again.”

“I can’t do that.”

If the issue was less crucial. If the wellbeing of the thousands of vampires that resided under his control did not hinge on him negotiating peace with the Fair Folk, he might have left the Faerie King alone. He might have returned to the night and his shadows and forgotten the red hair and blue eyes, the beauty that made him hesitate for the first time in centuries. But thirty-four of his vampires, two of which held high status, had either been killed or had their minds altered by fae magic already, and Gellert couldn’t risk any more.

“Then I cannot be blamed for what happens to you—” the King said. He raised his hand slowly. Gellert caught it mid air. He saw the Faerie King’s smirk shift from one of amusement to one of anger, but Gellert’s unnatural strength outweighed the king’s will to move. He held the faerie in place even as he felt the telltale signs of struggling, and he spoke before he felt any more magic enter the air.

“It’s the solstice,” Gellert said. “No bloodshed.”

“I am not bound by the rules of mortals.”

“No, but you do respect them.”He let go of the King’s hand, confident that nothing would happen. “Besides, you know what would happen if I was found dead at your hand.”

“They would not find you.”

The situation— the threat coming in such a mundane and cozy place— was so absurd that Gellert couldn’t suppress a chuckle, and the King’s confused face that came in response only made it more difficult. It only occurred to him seconds later that his laughter might have been offensive, but when he thought the King might go to speak (or curse him) he raised a hand to interrupt.

“I do not mean to mock you,” Gellert said truthfully. “And I do not come here to force you out. I wish to speak.”

“Then speak.”

“This isn’t a good place.”

“You said you did not wish to draw me out. Are you admitting to lying? There are thousands of rumors about me, but I can guarantee that one is true, I do not tolerate liars. You will talk to me here or you will not talk to me at all.”

There were mortals in the library, wandering between shelves, passing in and out of Gellert’s vision. He could hear them speak, hear them hum, even hear them breath. He could smell them too— their blood, their overly powerful rose perfumes. He did not hear or smell another vampire, faerie, or werewolf. Not even one of the people, half-muggle with only the residue of real magic, who wrongfully called themselves witches and wizards. No one there would understand or even overhear their conversation.

“Your subjects have been attacking vampires all across Europe. Two of those vampires were a coven leader and his second-in-command. I do not want any more incidents.”

“Do you think my faeries would listen, if I told them to stop?”

“Would they not?”

“Of course they would. But I have no plans to. This unrest began in Italy with the Fae Drainings. Your vampire was the catalyst, and I will not stop my faeries from dealing out the punishments they believe to be earned.” The King turned away from him, and though he did not step away, Gellert felt him try to urge their discussion to a close.

“The vampire is not mine,” Gellert corrected. “Not anymore. He was killed.”

The king looked over his shoulder, smirking. “By a faerie, I assume.”

“No. By me,” Gellert said. “I do not tolerate idiocracy.”

“You think him idiotic?”

Faeries used questions to avoid answering questions and to avoid saying lies. They were bound by the truth, which might be Gellert’s only advantage in the conversation. But questions could not be lies, and it would be rude not to answer.

“I think anyone who causes a war with faeries is idiotic,” Gellert answered. “I don’t want a war. It would be devastating for both of our sides.”

“Yours more so than mine.”

“But yours nonetheless,” Gellert said. “You would not be able to tell me you care for your subjects so little.”

Gellert relied on rumors and faded memories of the first Supernatural Summit in Prague after he took control of the European covens— the only summit that the King attended— to guide his words. Faeries liked their King, more than anything. The way archfey and nobles at summits threatened anyone who made even passive comments about the monarch’s absence confirmed as much.

The man in front of him would not seem to be an age old being, benevolent to only his subjects, capable of shifting the very fabric of their realms. But standing in front of him, speaking to him…

“You’ve come to negotiate,” the King said.

“Yes.”

“You lied about wishing to speak.”

“By technicality, I did not. I said that I wished to speak, not that I only wished to speak,” Gellert responded, his voice light, filled with casual humor that did not fit the conversation. “And your kind thrives on the technicalities.”

The King smiled for the first time. Amusement was better than anger, Gellert supposed. Far better.

“Why you?” the King asked.

“I—”

“I know who you are, Gellert Grindelwald,” the King said, his hand raised as he cut Gellert off, “the warlord and Lord Vampire of Europe. I want to know why you came to me, instead of sending a representative. Why do you, someone who only took control in the chaos of war, want to prevent one. Do not lie to me.”

“I came into power because I ended the war. I didn’t start it,” Gellert answered.

“There is something else,” the King said. “There’s a personal motivation backing your decision as well, what is it?”

As to how the King knew, Gellert could not say. He debated not answering the question, or using the faerie loophole of telling only part of the truth. But the king still smiled, as amused as dangerous, and Gellert refused to risk the conciliatory environment between them.

“Curiosity. You’ve been a legend longer than I’ve been alive. I wanted to know more about you.”

“I hope you didn’t prepare a list of questions. I already said I won’t give answers for free.”

“I don’t need a list. I’ve already learned more than I expected just from talking to you, your Majesty.”

The King smirked again, amused. Perhaps flattered. “You were right,” he said. “This isn’t the place to speak. Come along. Let’s find something more suitable.”

February 1946

“You’re here,” the King said. He wore the same glamour, but away from the eyes of the muggles, he dressed like Gellert expected a king of faeries to. Vines curved around his arms, loose fabric fell onto the floor and trailed behind him. “You’re late.”

“I had to wait until the sun set,” Gellert explained, pulling off his coat and hanging it on the rack at the entrance to the library— a different library than last time. Closer to home and far more secluded. Gellert couldn’t smell anyone else, and could almost believe that the King had made sure they would be alone amongst the pristine shelves and ancient tomes. “I’ve heard rumors about you.”

“And what do the rumors say?”

“That you’ve returned to your throne,” Gellert answered. “My coven leaders think you’re preparing for war. They’re terrified.”

Gellert found the King more mischievous than he had originally expected. Instead of regal and serious, chaos haunted the King’s every word. A faerie resided under the silk robes and crown. During their first meeting, the King held still to the mortal world. He wore muggle clothes and, though his power hung heavy in the air, it was subdued for the sake of the muggles.

Here, where they were alone, the King wore his title well. Gellert had met many faeries through his long life, but none of them radiated pure, natural, power like the king. And none of them were quite so beautiful.

“They are?”

“Petrified,” Gellert reiterated. “They know we could not win a war with the faeries, not if you chose to get involved.”

The King looked satisfied.

“Your Majesty.”

“Yes?”

“If you want to be flattered you can ask,” Gellert said. Flirting with the Faerie King might not be his best idea, but the way the King paused, looking taken aback for just a second, and it pleased Gellert immensely.

“That sounds like a dangerous offer,” the King said.

“Take it as you will, beautiful, but I believe we have other more important things we must discuss.” Maps and graphs were laid out on the table in the center of the room, showing borders and cities and little red, enchanted check marks in places Gellert had recorded attacks on both faeries and vampires.

The map of the faerie realm surprised Gellert the most. He didn’t understand most of the labels and landmarks, but he knew that the Fair Folk kept their land as much a secret as they could from the mortal realm. Why the King had brought a map to show the leader of their current biggest enemies, Gellert could not say.

The King followed him over, standing on the opposite side of the table.

“I don’t appreciate the implication that there are things more important than myself,” he said, voice dangerously low.

“I—” He met the King’s gaze, unsure of how to respond until he saw the glint of amusement in the King’s eyes. “You’re playing with me.”

“Of course,” the King said. “I am a fae afterall, but I am not so self centered as the rumors say. You said your people think I’m preparing for war? Tell them what you told me— that vampire would not be able to win the war against faeries if I get involved. Then tell them that I will only get involved if vampires make the first attack.”

Gellert thought such a plan might have worked in a world where his vampires trusted everything he told them, but they weren’t in such a world. They respected him— feared him, even— but they did not trust him so blindly. One did not live so long without mistrust flowing through their veins like blood.

He couldn’t trust the King either. It should have been easier to trust someone who couldn’t lie, but faeries could tell false-truths as easily as they could twist someone's mind. The King had not yet said he didn’t plan on starting a war. And Gellert questioning further would only risk insulting him and making everything worse.

“I don’t want to lie to my people,” Gellert said.

“You wouldn’t be.”

“Let me rephrase— I don’t want to tell my people something I don’t know to be absolutely true.”

“Hmm, I see,” the King said. He stalked around the table like a predator. “I haven’t given you a reason to believe what I’m saying, have I? You’re more clever than I had thought you’d be. What is it you wish to hear? That I will not let my subjects wage war on the vampires? That I have no ill intentions?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

“I cannot say the second one, I’m afraid. I have many, many ill intentions.” He looked up at Gellert through his lashes, and not for the first time, Gellert understood how the King could end and start empires with just his beauty. How many of his conquests were completed without an ounce of magic, just his pretty face and even prettier mouth. “But as for your concerns— I do not want a war between vampires and faeries. And I have no desire to deceive you here, or any other time we might meet. Are you satisfied, now?”

“I’m satisfied enough,” Gellert responded. “But I’m not sure the rest of the vampires will be.”

“They do not trust you?”

“They respect me. And they fear me. And normally that is enough, but they fear you more.” The King smiled up at him, satisfied with his answer. “They would not believe me unless I could prove it. I am not asking for your presence, but I must request something tangible.”

“Of course,” the King said. He stalked back to the other side of the table, tracing the border lines on the map with a finger as he did. “Unfortunately I do not often give things out for free. And you, Lord Grindelwald, have so much to offer in return.”

He should have expected as such. No deception, as the King had said, did not necessarily imply no deals.

“I have nothing I am willing to give.”

“Not even to prevent a war and keep control of your covens?”

“Is there something specific you want?” Gellert asked. Unfortunately, he knew how such things worked. He had made the mistake in the past, of thinking he got more than he gave and ending up regretting making a deal to begin with. Last time it had been a lesser faerie, and he could only imagine what the Faerie King could want.

“There are a lot of things I want.”

Gellert sighed, he had forgotten how frustrating faeries could become. “Are you capable of speaking plainly?”

“Yes,” the King answered. “I chose not to.”

“Can you choose to answer my questions? You said you would not deceive me.”

The King shook his head. “I said I had no desire to deceive you, not that I wouldn’t. But, for your sake, I will not deceive you. That does not mean I will not try and confuse you.”

“Lovely,” Gellert said. The King must enjoy playing with him, and Gellert found it at least a little amusing the way the faerie smiled. Despite the deal that would inevitably form and the tensions between their subjects, Gellert could tell that the King did not hate him. “What is it you are offering? You said proof of your words, but I must ask for something more specific. And tangible.”

“Of course. I’m wearing a necklace right now— one endowed with faerie magic, obvious to even the most insensitive of your people. It is yours, if you give me something of equal value.” As he spoke, the King lifted his hands to the back of his neck and undid the clasp on the too-shiny, gold necklace. When he brought it in front of them, holding it over the table, Gellert could feel the magic around it.

Growing up in the time of real wizards meant that he developed a sensitivity to magic that mortals, or vampires born after the Great Silence, simply did not have. The magic of wizards differed greatly from that of faeries, but he could still feel it surrounding the necklace.

“Is it cursed?”

“No. I created it with magic. Before it was a necklace, it was a wilted flower and a pile of grass.”

“Transfiguration,” Gellert concluded.

“Of a sort,” The King answered. “But that is unimportant because as of now, it is not yours.”

Gellert knew the dangers of asking faeries what they wanted— it set the standards too high. Anything less than what they asked for would fall flat in their eyes, and they never asked for anything a person would willingly give up— but Gellert needed proof. He needed something to prevent his coven leaders from starting a war both Gellert and the King knew they wouldn’t be able to finish.

And the necklace that dangled over the table reeked with faerie magic.

“What is it you want of me?”

“A favor.”

“I don’t give favors.”

“Fine then. A promise,” The King said. “Should a war break out, you will not fight against me. You will not back your vampires and not serve as their leader any longer. You will either sit on the sidelines or at the base of my throne, a coward or a traitor.”

Gellert should not give his loyalty so easily, but if everything went to plan, there would not be a war. There would be no situation in which Gellert would ever have to make good on the promise he made when he reached for the necklace that hung over the table.

His coven leaders could not know of the deal. They would view even making it a betrayal, and it could be detrimental to Gellert’s position (or it would be, if anyone had the power to overthrow him). But they didn’t have to know. It would not be the first time he had hidden things from them for the benefit of their covens.

He wished he didn’t feel satisfaction at the surprise that laced the King's face when he accepted the terms without a word. More than that, he wished he didn’t find it beautiful. Gellert expected the King to be clever beyond understanding, but he hadn’t truly understood how clever making Gellert promise such a thing was until after he left the old library with plans to meet again and negotiate punishments and rules for future dealings between species.

The King had ensured Gellert’s dedication to their negotiations, and had ensured that should he initiate a war, he would not fight in it. The most powerful vampire in the world would not be able to fight. And if he did— it would be for the faeries. The very people the vampires were fighting against.

January, 1947

“Is it safe to assume that we have avoided a war?” The King asked slyly the moment Gellert sat down across from him. They were at a bar this time, an old, unpopular one. The only people there spoke quietly and tucked themselves away into corners.Gellert had chosen the venue with plans to unsettle the Faerie King. Clearly, it hadn’t worked. The King settled into the stained and torn booth across from Gellert like he might have settled into a forest clearing.

He sipped leisurely at a glass of liquid that swirled blue and purple and smelled of alcohol and something much stronger. Something distinctly fae in nature. Gellert liked the bar. He liked the way alcohol burned his nostrils, even if drinking it did nothing for him as a vampire. More than that, he liked the way the people smelled, their blood fresh and buzzed.

“You knew we would,” Gellert answered. The best smell, however, came from the King. Faeries always smelled sweet, and the King appeared not to be an exception. But he didn’t smell of sugar— not in the sickening way but the natural way. He smelled of strawberries and honey, foods that Gellert had not tasted in a very, very long time. His scent overpowered the rest of the bar. “I should thank you.”

“But you won’t.”

“I know better, Your Majesty.”

“My subjects still want vampires to be punished, for draining so many of us of our blood,” The King said. If the faeries that were drained smelled anything like the one in front of Gellert— if they tasted half as good as he imagined the King would— Gellert could understand the desire to drink from them. He could sympathize with them, in part. Of course, he would have never lost control in such a way. He wouldn’t have done something so idiotic as starting a war just for a taste of blood better than anything a mortal could offer.

“They do not think scrambling the minds of dozens of mine was enough? And Killing dozens more?” Gellert asked. “Forgive me. I do not understand what punishment they expect that they have not already dealt.”

“Of course, but not everyone who drank from an unwilling faerie ended up dead or dazed, did they?”

“Not every vampire dead or dazed drank from a faerie,” Gellert countered. “My vampires will not attack. Any attacker is considered a traitor and is thereby exiled from any coven under my control. Your faeries can punish them.”

“You promise us reimbursement for a crime that has not even occurred yet?” The King asked. He placed his drink on the table in front of them with more force than Gellert had expected from such slight arms.

“It has been a year since we met for the first time. And six months beyond that since the original crime had been committed.”

“Time does not forgive.”

“But it does heal, does it not? And how much time has passed in your realm? I know it runs differently than ours.”

“We shouldn’t speak here. There are too many muggles around.”

“They won’t listen to us,” Gellert said. “Even if they did, they would not understand.”

The King’s face betrayed nothing of what he thought about Gellert’s instance, but the way he downed the remains of his drink did. For someone who hid amongst the muggles, he seemed eager to get away from them.

“What is it your people want, specifically?”

“They believe it is fitting for the perpetrators to be killed— or to be forced to serve in the faerie realm for eternity, but I get the inkling you would disapprove of such things.”

“I will not allow you to take vampires out from under my protection,” Gellert said. “But I understand your subjects’ desires. I believe it would only be fair for my coven leaders to determine the fate of those faeries who, in return, killed or ruined any vampires, yes?”

Gellert did not intend his proposal to carry any weight, only to raise the question of fairness between the two species and force the King to see the unfairness of the punishment idea. But the King kept his face blank— completely void of approval or anger. It would have been worse, Gellert thought, if he could see the fury on the faerie’s face. If he knew what awaited him in the King’s response.

Only— the King didn’t respond. He tilted his head and Gellert felt compelled to continue.

“Vampires who drain faeries— or attack them in any way— will be exiled from my covens. They will no longer have my protection. What your faeries decide to do then no longer concerns me.”

The King answered, “Fitting. And what would you have me do to my fairies?”

“I am not one to advise you on punishing your people. I do not know your laws nor your morals.”

At the very least, the King looked to be satisfied with his answer. Still, he was combative. Playful— in the way he had been joking about being flattered and his ego, but combative nonetheless. The King kept trying to startle Gellert, trying to get him to say something he shouldn’t, and Gellert would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

“You say my people deserve punishment, then.”

“For instigating something, yes. For defending themselves?” Gellert hesitated, “Only if you believe my people to deserve punishment for such actions as well. Unequal punishments will only result in animosity, which is the very thing we are trying to avoid.”

“And what if there is a situation in which it is unclear who began the conflict? What should happen if it’s a group of people, or if so much time passes in between the action before the person is caught? What if the perpetrator is not a fae or vampire under our control.”

“There are faeries you don’t control?” Gellert asked. The King said nothing in response. “I suppose we could draft everything out. Fitting juries for every crime, fitting punishments. But still, there will be situations that we are unable to predict ahead of time. We’ll meet, in that case— my leaders and yours.”

“That is bound to end in disaster.”

“It will make it feel more fair,” Gellert responded. “And as for time, let’s say… fifty years? Of exile for my people.”

The King shook his head. “Time passes differently in the faerie realm. Fifty years could be the blink of an eye or much, much longer. If you are concerned about fairness, this would not work.” As he spoke, the king looked around the room. At such a late hour— almost witching hour— the muggles began to clear from the room. The barmaids wiped the counters and collected glasses. “Of course, I could banish unlawful faeries from the faerie realm for that duration. Fifty mortal years seems like a long enough time to learn a lesson.

“As for the less straightforward scenarios— we should meet again. Talk this through with your coven, I’ll talk it through with my court. They will like to believe that they had some input on the laws we will create.”

Gellert nodded, “And will we inform the wizards? They think they should be involved in such things.”

“This does not concern them. They are welcome to speak to me directly if they have an issue.”

“They won’t. They fear you far too much.” The King smirked, pleased. Mortals only ever approached the king if they were dumb or desperate. Gellert did not think himself dumb nor desperate. Nor mortal. The King in front of him had not been surprised at someone seeking him out for reasons such as negotiation when there were dozens of faerie ambassadors and envoys who could carry out the same tasks with less influence and effectiveness— in fact, the opposite appeared true. The King seemed amused. Pleased in a way that Gellert couldn’t quite place.

He could not say for sure whether the King liked him or simply tolerated him for the sake of avoiding a war when the faerie obviously had such practiced manipulation tactics. Either way, asking for the blood, no matter how sweet it smelled from across the table, would not end with his mind in place. He could imagine it— sinking his fangs into the King’s neck, or wrist, or ankle, and drinking his fill. The way the faerie would shiver beneath him when his venom took effect (everyone did, including the handful of faeries Gellert had tasted before. It happened with particularly potent venom). He could imagine becoming quickly addicted to such things.

Faerie blood could be poisonous to younger, weaker vampires. Gellet would be fine. Probably.

“Grindelwald,” The King said, interrupting Gellert’s train of thought. Gellert met his eyes. “I’m choosing the venue next time.”

“I’ll draft a version of our agreement,” Gellert responded. “A placeholder, of course. Nothing permanent yet. Now, if we are finished, I’m quite famished.”

The King tilted his head, not confused but curious. Gellert left him in the booth with little more than an empty glass and a memory, and wondered as he walked across the bar floor, if the faerie would stay and watch him hunt— watch him flirt with one of the remaining patrons, kiss her hand gently, and pull her into one of the small washrooms at the back of the bar with the promise of something more, only to tilt her head back and sink his fangs into the side of her neck.

She wouldn’t remember a thing, but she did get something out of the arrangement— an unimaginable high. Gellert stepped out before she did, and looked over at the empty booth where he had sat only minutes ago. The only proof that the king had ever been there was the remnants of the blue-purple liquid at the bottom of his glass and the sweet scent that hung in the air.

September, 1947

One more meeting to discuss the finalities of their laws— named the Peace Accords officially. Dubbed affectionately the most temptation-inducing laws to ever exist in Gellert’s mind, because the longer he spent in the King’s presence, the more he yearned to lean into his smooth neck and bite— turned into eight encounters spread over the span of ten mortal months.

It was the eighth meeting, the one where the King insisted he visit the faerie realm for the first time in centuries, when the faerie turned to him and said something Gellert almost couldn’t believe.

Call me Albus.

Is that your name? Gellert asked. Albus’s answer came in the form of silence, and suddenly, “Beautiful” and “Your Majesty” were replaced with something much sweeter. Albus. The Faerie King who seemed less and less uptight every time Gellert saw him. Albus laughed more than he had, he smiled genuinely. Any thoughts that Gellert had previously about being manipulated disappeared when Albus looked up at him through his eyelashes, with a playful smile and tilted head.

“Are we signing it?” Gellert asked, referring to the final draft of the accords which laid on the table in front of them.

“No.”

“You don’t want it to be official?”

“It is official, I don’t want it to be eternal,” Albus corrected. His hand hovered over the parchment. Gellert could feel the magic swirl in the air around them. “In fifty years, we might have to change it. Anything I sign becomes permanent for much longer.”

“Fifty years,” Gellert said. “I’ve lived more than a thousand. It should not seem like such a long time.”

“Time can be odd,” Albus said. “To immortals more than most. I’d advise you to be careful, it almost sounds like you will miss me.”

There were many rules to follow when dealing with faeries: don’t make any deals, don’t thank them, don’t insult them, and, most importantly, don’t lie. Of course, lying would fall under the category of insulting them, given their atypical approach to social interaction, but it deserved its own rule because of how important it could be. Gellert would miss Albus. He didn’t know why, but fifty years without the banter and playful talking-in-circles he’d come to expect from the Faerie King seemed almost unbearable. Saying as much would invite unwanted attention. Saying otherwise would be a lie.

In Gellert’s hesitation, he didn’t notice the parchment duplicate itself under Albus’s hand.

“Take a copy to your people,” Albus said, offering the duplicate to Gellert. He stood so close Gellert could see the reflection of his face in Albus’s eyes. “Let them read it. It’s temporarily final.”

Gellert rolled it up in his hand. One side of the Pact Gellert wrote in English, the lingua franca and official language of the mortal realm. He kept that side on the inside, and the intricate and wavy faerie script decorated the outside of the scroll.

“And we will see each other in fifty years,” Gellert said.

“Unless someone does something so outlandish we need to meet before,” Albus responded. “Fifty years.”

It took only a second to lean in close— not to bite, but to kiss.

Gellert had kissed hundreds of people over the years— perhaps thousands. He could not think of a single one who kissed as well as Albus did. The fact that Albus kissed back… it had Gellert lightheaded. More than that, it had him lifting a hand to brush through Albus’s hair. So soft. Impossibly soft. The feeling rivaled that of Albus’s lips, opening against his own.

“I should wipe you from existence for being so bold,” Albus said after pulling away, but not really. His forehead rested against Gellert’s, and his hands ventured to touch Gellert. Gently. Too gently for the threat.

“I think you like me bold,” Gellert answered. Albus pushed him into a wall in response, and kissed him again. Harder, this time. His tongue pressed against Gellert’s lips, and then pushed into his mouth. When Albus’s hands wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer, Gellert remembered how to kiss back.

His thoughts slowed and scrambled, but Gellert’s body lit up. And Albus’s body… he arched into the touch, and one of Gellert’s hands ended up wrapping around his waist, gripping the silk of his robe just to keep them from tumbling onto the floor. Personally, he'd like to make it to a bed first, but with the way Albus’s body responded to each touch, the sound he made when Gellert pulled at his hair, it seemed more and more unlikely.

“Saturday?” Gellert offered, thoughts finally returning for just a second when their lips separated.

“What?”

“Let’s not wait fifty years. Are you free next Saturday?”

“Let’s not wait for Saturday. I’m free right now,” Albus answered. His thumbs stroked at Gellert’s jaw, which distracted Gellert, but when he leaned in to kiss Albus again, Albus stopped him. “This cannot be anything more than an indulgence.”

“Of course not.” Gellert grabbed Albus’s hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed his knuckles then sucked a finger into his mouth. “Nothing more than sex.” He directed Albus’s hand back to his cheek. “With the most beautiful being in either realm. You wouldn’t happen to have a bed available, would you”

“I will not summon a bed, no,” Albus said, but then he looked as though he had an idea. Gellert could recognize many of his facial expressions now after so many meetings. Especially because they were so close. Albus kissed him again, too short, too chaste, and whispered into the too much space between them. “Hold onto me.”

Gellert didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings, too caught up in the feeling of Albus biting at his bottom lip and pulling his face closer, deeper. He only felt himself being pushed backwards again, and a tug at his stomach, and then he didn’t hit a bookshelf like he should have but stumbled back into empty space. When he opened his eyes, only for a second, he saw what must have been a hotel room. An expensive one, at that.

“Did you just teleport—?” He asked.

Albus uninterrupted him with tongue and teeth and hands that guided him backwards. He had never expected the Faerie King to display so much desire. Gellert had grown used to Albus’s composure, and Albus kissed him with just as much passion and heat as Gellert felt. Hands were at his collar, undoing the buttons with skillful fingers and pulling the fabric aside. Albus shrugged his robe off his shoulders and replaced his fingers with his mouth, tongue almost as warm as the skin Gellert found underneath his billowy shirt.

They didn’t exchange words— nothing to signal if they were going to keep going or stop, but maybe they didn’t need to. Albus pressed tight against Gellert, his hands continuing to undo the layers of buttons on his chest as he sucked on the skin beneath Gellert’s ear and sighed with every movement of their hips. It was entirely unfair, Gellert thought when Albus pulled his waistcoat and shirt off his shoulders, that Albus got to see and taste him— that Albus got access to his skin— when Albus still wore clothes that covered all but his head.

Gellert lifted him by the thighs with no more effort than he would have used to lift a feather and carried him into the room. His hands were so far up the back of Albus’s shirt that it became impractical to keep it on. It should have been nearly impossible to remove the layers of fabric while lifted in the air, but Albus managed. Of course he did. He moved with so much grace and control and desperation.

Merlin, Gellert wondered how someone so obviously aroused could be so simultaneously controlled. Their chests were pressed together and Albus kissed him again— harder, deeper— tongue like a vice, teeth as addicting as Gellert imagined his blood might be. All the while, Gellert could feel him hard against his stomach, grinding without caring that Gellert barely managed to keep him steady with only the kissing.

Gellert tossed Albus onto the bed, chuckling when Albus moaned and tried to pull Gellert down after him. He’d never wanted to worship anyone before. He used to be insulted by the thought of being on his knees. But he climbed over Albus and kissed his collarbone, his sternum, each nipple, and every muscle in his stomach with devotion.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands down Albus’s thighs, spreading them just enough to settle in between. He wondered if the King heard over the sound of his own moans and his heartbeat, pounding so quickly even Gellert could feel it. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered besides sliding his fingers under Albus’s trousers and looking up, asking a question he couldn’t ask aloud.

No, it would have been impossible. How could Gellert begin to ask for so much from someone so divine; the closest thing to a god in their universe.

“Grindelwald…” Albus said for him.

“Your Majesty.”

“Don’t make me wait.”

Gellert pulled at Albus’s trousers and didn’t look at him until he had thrown the fabric to the side. Good thing he did, because the trousers would not have made it all the way off otherwise. The moment he looked down at Albus’s pretty cock, he found himself unable to focus on anything else. Gods, Albus leaked and twitched. Red, hard, and as beautiful as the rest of him. If Gellert never got the chance to taste his blood, he might be satisfied by being in between Albus’s legs, licking Albus from base to tip and moaning at the sweet, sticky release on his tongue.

Albus surrounded him, his taste, his scent, his hands in Gellert’s hair guiding him down. Gellert pulled off just for a moment to put two of his fingers into his mouth, getting them properly slick, and then began opening Albus up.

They probably should have discussed who would be in what position. Truthfully, Gellert would have been fine with giving or receiving (either way he got something out of it), but he’d expected the King to want to be on top, simply because he didn’t seem the type to give up even the illusion of control so easily, but Albus’s legs fell further open and Gellert’s fingers slipped into him like they belonged there, and doing anything but what they already started seemed like treachery. Based on the way Albus rocked into it, he might have seriously considered Gellert even thinking of halting a crime worth punishing.

With a hand in Gellert’s hair and another under his arm, Albus lifted Gellert and collided their mouths together once again.

“Take— fuck. Take these off,” Albus said, pushing at the back of Gellert’s trousers with his heel. Gellert found it difficult to comply with one hand, his other unwilling to leave the warmth of Albus’s body , but still he obeyed the King's orders. And once he had, he pulled one of the fluffy, white, about to be ruined pillows to prop Albus up on.

“Fuck,” Gellert moaned. Albus’s soft hand sought him out and stroked him slowly.

“Yes,” Albus answered. “Fuck That’s the idea.”

“You aren’t—”

“I’m the King of the Fucking Faeries, Grindelwald. You don’t have to finger me like I’m fragile.”

"Alliteration.” Gellert said sarcastically, raising an amused eyebrow. “Nice.” For a moment, looking at Albus’s face which returned his stare with disdain Gellert had not before considered possible, he thought he might be killed. But then he curled his finger, and Albus seemed to forget Gellert’s rudeness. “Do you have—”

Albus interrupted him with a groan. “Stop delaying.”

“I’m not delaying, I don’t want to hurt you,” Gellert countered. His fingers continued thrusting and stretching, and Albus could not be considered tight by any means, but still—. Gellert couldn’t say why he cared so much. It’s not like he cared as much about Albus’s wellbeing as much as he cared about chasing his own pleasure.

“Grindelwald,” Albus warned, arching upward, lower body colliding with Gellert’s just rough enough to make Gellert moan at the friction. “Spit.” He held a palm in front of Gellert’s mouth, and Gellert complied only because his curiosity outweighed his aversion to something so uncivilized. All thoughts left his head when Albus began stroking him, covering him in his own saliva, and guiding him into position.

He’d never been above making people beg, and if Albus weren’t the most tempting creature Gellert had ever happened across, he might have drawn it out. But Albus’s hands gripped his thighs and guided him forward and for a second Gellert contemplated begging himself. Albus burned— hot, warm, loose. Better than anything Gellert had ever felt before. Better than any person he had laid with.

“Gods—” Gellert moaned. “Fuck. You feel like heaven.”

“Move, I’m fine, move.”

Albus set the rhythm as much as Gellert, and he felt ignorant for believing, even for a second, that a position could take away any of Albus’s power— any of his control. Albus met every thrust with a roll of his hips, pulling Gellert deeper. Harder. Faster.

Albus rested his ankles on Gellert’s shoulder and Gellert kissed them as he trusted. With too much force, enough to bruise, he dug his fingers into Albus’s thighs and redoubled his efforts into making Albus moan and whimper in pleasure. The noises— the collision of their skin, the groans that echoed through the room, even the sounds of the bedsheets shifting with every thrust— brought heat to Gellert’s stomach.

Albus brought him to the edge too quickly, but the faerie king did not look unaffected either. For the first time since they met, he looked disheveled. His pupils were dilated and his hair spread across the pillow as bright as wildfire. Sweat shone from his skin, and if Gellert could spare attention to anything but the heat surrounding him, he might have leaned down to lick it up and kiss Albus hard after.

“That’s it. Mm~ just… oh— yes, keep going. Fuck, just like that,” Albus murmered. Gellert had gotten the King of Faeries to a point where he couldn’t even manage a full sentence, and he ached. Not only his cock, but his head. His toes curled and his fingers dug further into Albus’s thighs.

Thoughts were impossible. Only— “You’re so perfect.”

For just a moment, Gellert thought that Albus could ruin him completely, and Gellert would thank him for it. He’d thank him, against his better judgment, for anything if it meant he could keep doing this; keep fucking him until they were both no longer kings and lords, just them.

He pressed open mouthed kisses against Albus’s ankle, fangs grazing the skin but never sinking in. No matter how lost he felt in pleasure, he could keep his instincts in check. Geller had too much pride to let himself come first, but he struggled to maintain control. When Albus’s fingernails dug into his thigh, encouraging to thrust deeper, Albus groaned. At the very least, it satisfied him to know Albus felt just as much as Gellert did— to know that Albus wanted to keep going as bad as he did.

“Grindelwald,” Albus choked out between moans. Nothing sounded sweeter than Albus stumbling over Gellert’s name while in the throes of pleasure. Gellert lifted Albus by his thighs, supporting his weight with little effort and shifting the angle ever so slightly. Albus lost whatever he planned to say next because of the new position and Gellert reaching so deliciously deeper.

“That’s it, beautiful,” Gellert whispered.

Albus let go of Gellert’s thigh to wrap a hand around his cock and stroke so quickly his hand became a blur. He moaned and keened and arched. “I’m gonna—”

When he finally came, he gasped and shuddered and tilted his head back onto the bed. He trembled around Gellert for many seconds while he painted both their stomachs with his release and came back down from the high, and by the time his body relaxed once again, Gellert had slowed his thrusts down considerably.

He debated between continuing to fuck Albus, finishing inside and laying a claim on the king that very few, if any, had, and pulling out, straddling Albus’s chest, and taking his mouth— his too perfect, too good at talking mouth that Gellert found himself loving more than hating. Both options were beyond appealing, but Albus made it for him. His hands, sticky with his seed, took their places back on Gellert’s thighs, and encouraged him to fuck forward. Hard.

Gellert pushed Albus’s legs from his shoulders and spread them wider, making room for himself to lean down and cover Albus’s body like a blanket. He buried his head in Albus’s neck and bit, hard enough to mark but not enough to break skin— not enough to taste his blood.

It only took a minute surrounded by Albus’s scent, the feel of him tight and warm, the taste of his skin under Gellert’s tongue, for Gellert’s thrusts to become more and more unsteady. The pleasure spread from his pelvis up through his chest and down his legs like a forest fire.

Although he wanted to, finishing inside of Albus seemed rude. At least, it didn’t seem like something he should do without asking, and disrespecting the faerie king would never be a smart idea. He pulled out, free hand immediately wrapping around his cock.Gellert came on Albus— on his pretty, softening dick and his smooth stomach.

By the gods, he came hard. His entire body rocked with it, and he made a noise nothing short of embarrassing in Albus’s ear, but through it all, Albus’s hands stayed on his thighs, holding him close. Gellert had never had an orgasm quite as gratifying. He could not remember pleasure being so all-consuming. But—

“Fuck,” he mummered as he rolled off of Albus onto the empty side of the bed beside him.

“Fuck,” Albus agreed, voice too calm for Gellert’s liking. As easily as he spoke, he disappeared from the bed.

Gellert looked at the empty bed beside him and sighed. The imprints in the sheets stayed there for many, many minutes.

December 1947

Gellert hated Paris. He hated the smell, the crowds, the way people spoke English at him like he hadn’t been speaking French for longer than they’d been alive. The city belonged to Vinda Rosier, the most loyal of his subordinate coven leaders. She established her division of his coven in the wretched city, and he cared too much about her satisfaction to request she move to a different, more tolerable place.

Paris has its benefits after all. Crowds allowed their vampires to blend in better and hide from the overwhelming presence of the Ministry, and blood could always be easily accessed. So he put up with it, when the French coven hosted him annually. Someday he’d never have to visit Paris again, and when the French wanted his presence they would have to travel to him at Nurmengard, but until then, he could put up with the dreadful city in order to keep the favor of his most loyal, most powerful assistant.

He had his own room in the old, supposedly abandoned hotel Vinda had chosen as the headquarters of her branch of Gellert’s coven. His room used to be one of the luxury suites, back before the hotel shut down. He would have quite the view of the Eiffel Tower if the heavy, blackout curtains didn’t remain perpetually shut over his window. He didn’t particularly care, either way. The Eiffel Tower annoyed him.

No one entered his room except him. The door remained locked tight for the majority of the year, only opening for the two days he spent in Paris. Gellert hesitated when he found the door unlocked, the knob twisting easily beneath his hand. There shouldn’t have been anyone inside. No one in the coven had nearly enough gall to even attempt going through their Lord’s things, which is why Gellert’s surprise eased when he opened the door and saw the Faerie King.

“This is surprising,” Gellert said. “Infiltrating my coven? We kill people for lesser crimes."

Albus remained leaning against the window, leg suggestively exposed beneath his robes. He had opened the curtains that Gellert had thought were permanently shut, and looked down at the streets beneath. Unlike Gellert, he didn’t appear to despise them. He tilted his heat and let the moonlight dance on his eyes.

“I thought it would be more difficult to find you,” Albus said.

“I don’t bother with hiding.”

“You’d think for a place you value so much, you’d put more effort into security,” Albus continued. “I practically walked through the front door.”

“We didn’t have faeries in mind when we designed it.” Gellert walked to stand behind Albus, not yet touching him. Twice now, they had spent part of their nights together. Both times, Albus disappeared. Gellert didn’t mind all that much. They had incredible sex and then without a word, Albus left. When Gellert had kissed him the first time, he hadn’t expected anything more. Anything… emotional. The less than professional detachment didn't bother him.

Yet still he didn’t touch, unsure if initiating would speed Albus’s departure along. It remained a fickle process, determining how much Gellert could take from the Faerie King before being punished for assuming he could have too much while simultaneously providing Albus with,and stealing for himself, as much impersonal, wonderful pleasure as he could.

“Besides, I do not value this place so highly.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t like Paris.”

“But you are here anyway.”

Albus turned to face him, leaning in. His soft hands landed on Gellert's shoulders and he stroked the edge of Gellert’s collar with his thumb, barely scratching skin. His hands were warm, his breath close. He toyed with the button at Gellert’s throat and the knot of his tie.

“I made a promise to one of my vampires,” Gellert answered. “That I’d visit once a year.”

“And you keep your promises,” Albus whispered, leaning in to place his warm lips on Gellert’s neck. His hands drifted, one pulling Gellert’s tie away and the other drifting lower, to the front of Gellert’s belt. Albus’s voice dropped dangerously low, and caressed Gellert’s ear like honey. “I like that”

He hummed when Gellert met his lips, hands on either side of Albus’s face, thumbs on his pulse where he longed to bite, content for a moment to be kissed. Albus kissed phenomenally, and though it hadn’t even been but a couple months since they began indulging in each other, he had learned Gellert. He'd learned how to drag his teeth along Gellert's lip when he pulled back from every kiss. He'd learned where to put his hands to steal the thoughts from Gellert’s head.

Albus took a strange pleasure in seeing Gellert lose his composure. Gellert knew it well, and indulged in it often. He had not the position to refuse the Faerie King anything and wouldn’t even attempt to deny the enjoyment he felt when Albus decided to drive him mad. Albus didn’t need magic or deals to play with Gellert’s head, his lips and hands were enough.

He lifted his hands from Gellert’s clothes and tilted his head away, breaking their sweet kisses, nails forcefully digging into the sensitive skin beneath Gellert’s jaw leaving faint red imprints that wouldn’t even last ten minutes. His hands wandered again, deft fingers undid Gellert’s belt. Albus kissed him again when he reached into Gellert’s pants and took Gellert’s hardening cock in his hand.

His tongue teased delightfully, brushing at Gellert’s teeth, pressing against his lips. Messy and warm and beautiful. Gellert did his best to kiss back, to try to regain an ounce of control, but Albus’s hands were distracting. Devastating. And for a moment, just a moment, Gellert forgot his own name.

Albus looked up at Gellert, leaned into him, watching. His eyes were distracting. His hands even more so— one cupping Gellert’s balls, the other stroking slowly, down the entire length of him, drawing it out. Even if Gellert wanted to, and he desperately wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to look down at Albus’s hands on him. He couldn’t muster the strength to look away from Albus’s eyes. They hypnotized, tempted. He couldn’t even bring himself to wonder how many people had found themselves lost in Albus’s eyes before, that would involve tearing his mind away from the moment.

“I wonder if you taste as good as you feel,” Albus pondered. His lips brushed against Gellert’s as he spoke. “You’ll let me have you like that, right? In my mouth?”

“I’m not capable of denying you anything like this.”

“Good,” Albus said. His hands drifted from Gellert’s cock to push the fabric of his trousers and pants down his legs. His mouth pressed against Gellert’s neck, his collarbones, his sternum, and the moment before Gellert thought he would drop to his knees, he pulled away “Lay on the bed.”

Gellert, mind too distracted to function quickly, hummed in confusion. He had thought Albus would take him in his mouth like he had taken Albus the last time. Albeit more gently— Gellert had no desire to take control, no desire to grasp Albus's jaw like Albus had held his and use his mouth like he owned it. If Gellert had been mortal, he would’ve been near the point of passing out with how deep Albus had taken his throat, but he didn’t need oxygen and Albus’s moans were worth it. Gellert would do many, many terrible things just to hear Albus moan like that again.

“I don’t kneel,” Albus said. “Especially not for indulgences. On the bed. Shoes off.”

Never would Gellert admit to anyone that the demanding tone of Albus’s voice made him harder. It wouldn’t be good for his reputation, but Gellert raised an eyebrow and followed Albus’s instructions, kicking his shoes and trousers off and reclining on the bed. Albus didn’t waste any time. He followed Gellert down with a smile that looked more like a smirk, and his hands were pressing down on Gellert’s hipbones.

Albus did not have strength like Gellert, or like vampires. Faeries were many things, including slender and delicate. If Gellert wished, he could have flipped them over or taken control. But more than anything, he wanted to know what Albus planned on doing to him. So he laid still when Albus bent over him and placed a chaste kiss on his mouth.

Slowly, Albus slid down his body. His hands remained demanding on Gellert’s hips, but his mouth brushed Gellert’s skin as he moved, inch by inch. He didn’t draw it out, didn’t tease, but every second watching Albus smile appreciatively at the muscles in Gellert’s stomach felt like minutes.

Then Albus settled down against Gellert’s side, bending a leg up over Gellert’s, resting his head deliriously close to Gellert’s cock. He didn’t use his hands— barely moved his hands— just dragged his tongue along the length of Gellert’s cock and proceeded to take the tip in between his lips.

Gellert let his head fall back against the pillow, and made his approval known with a loud groan. Albus’s lips curved around him. Albus didn’t take him deep, not at first. He circled his tongue around Gellert’s slit, let Gellert’s cock drag along the soft inside of his cheek, and let it bump against his chin when he pulled his mouth away. And despite Albus’s kitten-like tongue never quite giving Gellert enough, it had been a long time since anyone had treated Gellert so lightly.

Albus readjusted, finally moving his hand from Gellert’s hip to help him take Gellert deeper. Albus didn’t cough or sputter, even when Gellert felt himself hit the back of Albus’s throat. All things considered, he kept it as clean as such an act could be. He made eye contact and Gellert felt the slightest brush of teeth on the sensitive head of his cock. Albus’s eyes were the only reason Gellert’s head didn’t fall back in pleasure.

Albus’s hair, as fiery and long as ever, fell into his face, in front of his eyes, and caught Gellert’s attention as the long strands tickled the base of his stomach. Standing just barely on the right side of the line separating romantic from indulgent, Gellert held Albus’s face and brushed the rogue strands back behind Albus’s ears. His thumbs trailed gently along Albus’s cheeks as he did. He rubbed the smallest circles into Albus’s cheekbones and then withdrew.

Before Albus let his head fall forward and bumped his forehead against the lowest of Gellert’s ribs, Gellert swore he saw Albus’s lips curve upwards. For a moment, he just used his hands to stroke Gellert, slowly. Meant to distract more than to pleasure.

Gellert doubted Albus would admit to the smile pressed against Gellert’s stomach, and Gellert wouldn’t bring it up. But they both acknowledged silently the following gentle kiss right below Gellert’s naval before Albus lifted his head back up and, with both hands now wrapped around Gellert’s cocked, swallowed him whole.

He didn’t look at Gellert again, not directly. But there wouldn’t have been a point anyway. Albus’s newfound passion, the determination with which he bobbed his head up and down, again and again, had Gellert rendered nearly useless. The most Gellert managed were chocked, unbecoming moans.

Albus’s mouth felt heavenly wrapped around Gellert. He removed his hands every time he lowered his head, taking Gellert to the hilt, and then grasped him again as he rose. Not a single inch of Gellert’s length went un-pleasured. He could barely form his mouth into the shape of words, let alone speak them. But he didn’t have to warn Albus that the heat in his lower back built and built, Albus took him down and swallowed around him and Gellert knew the unspoken demand and his entire body responded.

He came hard, harder than he could ever remember coming before. Albus’s throat and tongue and lips worked in tandem, holding Gellert in his mouth and drawing out every drop Gellert had to offer. His hands were back on Gellert’s hips, instructing him to remain still. They stayed there until Gellert had completely softened.

He pulled away slowly, and Gellert nearly flinched with how sensitive he had become.

“Fuck,” He said, it being the only word he could think. “Fuck.”

Albus smiled again, more amused than genuine, and climbed back up Gellert’s body to kiss him. Gellert could taste himself in Albus’s mouth. Faint, but there. Where normally Albus tasted sweet, Gellert instead noticed something bitter. Something that pleased his possessive mind, not his exhausted body.

“I’m going to ride you,” Albus said. His robes were shed with magic.

“I don’t think— mmph!” Albus interrupted him with a desperate, hard kiss and Gellert decided that a little bit of oversensitivity would be well worth being inside of Albus again.

“Don’t think.” Albus straddled him and sat upright. He didn’t bother with talking, just positioned Gellert’s soft length and sunk down upon it. Gellert bit back the pained groan that threatened to escape his throat and dug his fingers into the flesh of Albus’s thighs.

“I’m not as young as I used to be,” Gellert complained, biting his lip. The sensitivity bordered on pain, but Albus settled down anyway, shifting gently to take Gellert deeper. Gellert’s body could handle pain. “Fuck, it takes me a minute to—”

Albus rocked up and down and moaned happily when Gellert twitched inside of him. “You underestimate yourself.” And he did, Gellert realized when he grew hard again within the minute. That, or he underestimated how arousing Albus would look, bouncing up and down on Gellert’s cock, flush spreading from his cheeks to his neck, down his chest.

Gellert dragged his hands up along the sides of his body, catching Albus by the throat and pulling him down into a kiss. Albus responded vehemently, switching his rhythm, grinding instead of bouncing. His lips curved, and Gellert wrapped an arm around his lower back. They were too distracted by the stimulation to worry about the accuracy of their kisses, and Gellert ended up with Albus’s lips on his chin.

Albus rocked backwards hard, and Gellert groaned appreciatively, pulling on stray strands of Albus’s hair.

“You make Paris infinitely more bearable,” Gellert said. Albus’s teeth caught on Gellert’s bottom lip, and his distaste for Gellert’s talking became obvious as his tongue invaded Gellert’s mouth. And merlin, how sweet he tasted. Gellert very rarely got the opportunity to taste anything other than metallic blood.

He hadn’t had sex with anyone— hadn’t even kissed anyone— since they began the negotiations more than two years prior. Gellert knew he could have, that they didn’t consider themselves within the same realm as monogamous. But every time he saw someone pretty in a bar, on the streets, visiting his castle, he could only compare them to Albus. He only noticed the ways in which they could no longer live up to his expectations.

He didn’t have to kiss them to know that they wouldn’t kiss like Albus.

Maybe in fifty years, when he couldn’t quite remember the exact way it felt to be inside of Albus, when the scent of his blood and skin had faded from Gellert’s mind, he’d be able, once again, to find pleasure in others. But he hated the thought because he didn’t want to forget Albus. In fifty years, he didn’t want to be enjoying anyone else. He wanted to still have Albus appearing in his life at random.

Gellert enjoyed indulging with Albus, more than he should.

Albus moved to nip at Gellert’s neck. His moans turned softer, breathier, and he muffled them in Gellert’s skin. Gellert couldn’t claim to be in a better state. Not with the way Albus squeezed around him. He pulled Albus’s body closer and propped up their combined weight on his heels.

Albus’s moans beneath his ear and weight on Gellert’s body were beyond distracting. He wouldn’t have been able to time his trusts if he tried, and could only hope that it felt as good to Albus as it did to him. Albus’s cock leaked between their stomachs, where it remained trapped as Gellert’s arm wrapped tighter around Albus’s lower back.

Gellert lost control first. His hips stuttered and his eyes screwed shut as he shivered hard and came inside of Albus. Albus clenched around his cock rhythmically, milking him dry for the second time that night. Gellert’s body didn’t warm naturally. He didn’t feel the heat he suspected orgasms were supposed to bring, but Albus’s body burned on top of him. Not in the way a mortal did with illness. Albus radiated warmth. And Gellert thought Albus’s warmth superior to whatever heat his body could have produced in life.

Albus sat up again, pulling away from Gellert’s neck. He focused solely on himself, hand on his cock, thighs flexing as he rode Gellert like he needed it. When Gellert recovered from the temporary overwhelmed state that Albus put him in, he grasped Albus by his hips and fucked upwards.

He took pride in his stamina even when his legs felt more like jelly than muscle. For an entire minute his thrusts were relentless. He had Albus screaming and clawing at Gellert’s shoulder in an attempt to stay upright. Albus’s back arched dramatically. His head fell back as his eyes fell shut. His hands went behind him, to hold tight to Gellert’s thighs, and Gellert took over stroking his pretty, aching cock.

Gellert adored seeing albus overwhelmed and on the brink of tipping over the edge.

“That’s it, beautiful,” Gellert whispered. He didn’t know if Albus could hear him over the sound of his own pleasure. “Come for me.”

Albus moaned and painted Gellert’s stomach with white lines that Gellert suspected tasted nearly as good as his skin did. His body rocked with it. One set of nails dug into Gellert’s leg, breaking skin, and the other hand came around to stop Gellert’s stroking. Albus held Gellert still, as if any more stimulation would ruin him.

By the time the orgasm had ended its reign on Albus’s body, Albus slowly raised himself up off of Gellert. They were both wrecked. Gellert couldn’t be sure he had the energy to move, and Albus sat bonelessly on Gellert’s stomach. Had they been so exhausted last time? So well fucked? Gellert’s couldn’t remember. He could barely remember his own name. He could only remember where they were because of how much he loathed Paris and wanted Albus in his bed at Nurmengard.

He could imagine it well, Albus in his bed. In his room. He thought about having Albus there every night, in his arms when he woke up, warm and loose and perfect. His subordinates would like him more, if he came to every meeting and governed with the memory of Albus’s skin on his and the lack of anything bad in his head. He didn’t have space in his head for anything but Albus.

Albus looked to be in a slightly better head state than Gellert, looking down like he couldn’t quite understand the situation he had ended up in, but at least knew how he got there.

“So—” Gellert began, eyes wandering up and down Albus’s still flushed body. His chest rose dramatically with every deep inhale that he took, and his eyelids fluttered open and shut. Gellert assumed it would only be moments before he disappeared again. But before that happened… “Did I end up tasting as good as I feel?”

Albus left without a word, without a sound. His beautiful body sat on Gellert one second, and empty air replaced him the next. But before he left, Gellert caught the exasperated smile on his face. The bed didn’t feel as cold when he rolled onto his side and fell asleep.

April, 1949

Gellert’s hands were coated in blood. By no means was it an abnormal occurrence, but Gellert didn’t particularly enjoy the feeling. Not when the blood dried and cracked as he flexed his fingers. Inevitable, he thought. Being Lord Vampire meant challenges, and challenges meant fights that weren’t really fights, because they always ended with Gellert covered in the blood of his opponent (who he didn’t kill this time, but severely hurt. He would never let insubordination go unpunished).

He walked into his chambers, shutting the door, locking it behind him. How he would love to fall straight into bed; preferably with the Faerie King Gellert grew increasingly fond of with every meeting. But his hands were bloody and he didn’t want to wash the sheets. Such things required effort, and Gellert did not particularly feel like doing anything at the moment.

Fights exhausted him. Not because they were difficult, but because they were unnecessary. No vampire had the power to beat Gellert. No being. Except one.

But that single being had apparently taken up residence in Gellert’s washroom. He could smell the lavender wafting from the other side of the door, and underneath that, he could smell the warmth and sweetness of Albus. Gellert stepped into the room, pleased and not at all surprised to see Albus reclining in his bathtub, body hidden by milky water, smirking like he owned the place when he noticed Gellert at the door.

“Good evening,” Gellert said, stepping up to the sink to begin rubbing at the blood on his hands.

“Morning,” Albus corrected. “Good morning, Gellert.”

A mirror appeared above the sink after Albus’s second visit. To Gellert, it served no purpose. And he thought Albus had little need of it either— Gellert thought himself very good at reminding the Faerie King how devastatingly beautiful he was. But Albus insisted, and Gellert couldn’t deny him something so small.

“May I ask why you are in my bath?”

“You may,” Albus responded.

Gellert rolled his eyes and rolled his sleeves up to his elbow. “Why are you in my bath?”

“The faerie realm has exhausted me today. Too many people trying to catch me on my words like I don’t know exactly what I am saying. Sometimes I wish I could speak plainly— or rather, speak less plainly. I’m here because it is the only place I wanted to be at the moment, only I was rather disappointed when you weren’t in your chambers. I assume that it has something to do with the blood all over you?”

“Someone thought they were capable of challenging me for my position.”

“Foolish,” Albus commented. “You fought them?”

“As is tradition.” An outdated tradition, but one Gellert respected nonetheless. The only reason he kept his position for so long is because he was in equal parts respected and feared by the vampires he governed. And because he knew how to tear a hole in a vampire's stomach without killing them.

“Grousome. Invite me next time, I’d like to watch,” Albus said. A wine glass appeared in front of him, and Albus took a long sip, eyeing Gellert over the edge the entire time.

Gellert turned to face him, leaning back against the edge of the sink. Albus’s hair floated around him like an auburn crown. He wore it longer than usual, and down. Gellert thought him stunning. Nothing less than perfection.

“Why?” He asked.

“I think it would be entertaining,” Albus answered, but Gellert was learning how to read his voice better, and laughed.

“Arousing, you mean?” Gellert teased. “Do you like seeing your paramours bloody?”

“I like seeing my lover powerful. The blood is just a bonus,” Albus answered. Gellert noted and appreciated the implication that Albus only had one lover, at least currently. Gellert’s insides lurched whenever he thought about Albus taking someone else. He could not say why. “Right now, I’d like to see my lover undressing and climbing in this bath with me.”

Gellert unbuttoned his vest, then his shirt. He might not have seen his reflection in over a thousand years, but he knew he looked attractive enough for Albus. He knew Albus watched him appreciatively, and though he did not consider himself one for performance, he found himself too willing to entertain Albus.

Gellert toed off his shoes and worked at his belt, abandoning his trousers and pants on the floor. He bent down to kiss Albus, and licked the taste of wine off his tongue before he stepped into the opposite side of the bath..

The water burned him at first, and Albus laughed when Gellert flinched. But he grew accustomed to the temperature quickly, and settled down across from Albus with a content sigh. He had never been more glad to have a large bathtub. Both he and Albus could fit comfortably.

“Satisfied?” Gellert asked, closing his eyes and tilting his head back.

“For now,” Albus answered, while pressing his foot gently against Gellert’s upper thigh. “You are very handsome.”

“Not nearly as handsome as you,” Gellert responded, hardly even opening his eyes. The lavender scent calmed him, the warmth of the water eased his muscles. And Albus’s curious toes were slowly and slowly moving further up Gellert’s thigh.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Albus commented, but Gellert caught his ankle before Albus pressed his heel between Gellert’s legs and lifted it to kiss Albus’s ankle gently.

Gellert preferred hands to feet and wrists to ankles, but Albus was beautiful all over. He trailed his hands up Albus’s legs, feeling the expanse of warm, soft, and clean skin and inhaled Albus’s scent. He did not want to deny Albus sex, not when Gellert so obviously desired it too, but it seemed pointless to rush and cut their night short. Especially when Gellert had an absurdly large bed and too many pillows.

Albus tilted his head to the side, questioning Gellert silently.

“I want you in my bed,” Gellert said, which seemed to satisfy Albus. He settled his leg back into the water, gracefully withholding the teasing, and turned his attention back to his wine glass. Albus did not sip at the wine, he consumed it. He drained the entire glass in two gulps, and refilled it with nothing more than a thought.

"I did not think you could get intoxicated," Gellert commented.

"I cannot by any mortal means," Albus answered. "But fae wine?" Albus shrugged and that answered enough. He swirled the liquid in his glass. To Gellert, it smelled like citrus and soil. "It takes a lot, of course, but it's not impossible. Would you like a glass?"

"I'm afraid I can't, even if I wasn't unconvinced that drinking would forever bind me to you."

"You can't? I've seen you drink muggle liquor before, is this different?"

"Let me rephrase: I could, but my body no longer absorbs it. It would simply pass through, no intoxication involved. I drink muggle liquor because it would look odd for me not to drink if I am at a bar, not because I garner any enjoyment from it. Believe me, I don’t. Alcohol tasted far better when I could feel the effects of it."

"So you are unable to get drunk either," Albus concluded.

"If I drink from someone with enough alcohol in their blood, I can begin to feel the effects. But finding someone that drunk is difficult. Most people die before they reach that point," Gellert said. He did not enjoy drinking from someone who already died, no matter how warm their blood remained. It had been fifty years since Gellert found someone with enough liquor in their veins to get him tipsy.

"And faeries?" Albus asked. "Why does your kind find our blood so appealing?"

"I've been drinking blood for a thousand years, Albus. And while blood can be different between people, it all tastes nearly the same. Wizards and muggles are not all that different given how little magic is left in modern times, werewolves are beyond off-putting. I wouldn't drink their blood if I were dying. Fae blood tastes different. Better. Sweet. Not addictive by nature but addictive because it's the only fulfilling thing we can consume that tastes good."

"I do not think I'm wrong in assuming that you’ve had it before?" Albus did not appear particularly pleased at this revelation. He put his wineglass on the floor beside the tub.

Gellert tilted his head back, remembering the taste of the faeries he consumed. He’d never forget the taste. The feeling. To put it simply, nothing could compare. "Only when it had been offered willingly," he said, because he imagined Albus would be eased by such a fact.

"Was it good, like you said?"

"Unspeakably so," Gellert answered. "Some more than others. I drank from one of you nobles once. That blood was, perhaps, the most delicious thing I've ever consumed."

Albus's features twisted into something no less beautiful, but far more bitter. Gellert couldn't help but feel he had said something to upset the Faerie King, but he couldn't quite understand why. He had not broken their accords, he had not taken anything from a faerie— hadn't even asked to.

"However, the more powerful the fae, the more dangerous the blood is as well. Lesser vampires have died from indulgence," Gellert continued.

"I'm aware."

"You’ve had your own experiences I imagine?"

"I've never offered my blood to anyone."

"But you’ve been asked?"

Of course Albus had been asked. Gellert often found himself tempted by the scent of Albus’s blood and the sound of his heart. Lesser vampires, fledglings especially who were still learning to control themselves, might not be able to resist should they have ever come into contact with Albus.

"Unfortunately anyone foolish enough to ask is likely not powerful enough to survive long enough to tell me how good my blood tasted. They barely lasted long enough for me to begin feeling the effects of their venom."

“You feel venom?” Gellert asked.

“I adore it,” Albus said. “Unfortuantley, I’ve never been able to take it from the source. The curse of power, I suppose.”

Gellert should not be thinking about how Albus would react to venom. Especially Gellert’s, which has had a thousand years to become more potent. He should not be thinking about leaning into Albus’s neck and giving him exactly what he apparently adores, and watching his eyes roll back and feeling his body relax entirely beneath Gellert’s own.

Gellert could not say for certain how Albus would react, but imagining it made him shiver against his will and grow hard beneath the surface of the water.

"You wouldn't happen to be able to summon blood, would you?” Gellert asked, changing the subject entirely before his fantasies got out of hand. “ All this talk and I'm realising how long it's been since I've had something sufficient."

"You'd prefer something fae, I presume."

Gellert would prefer something Albus, but he still maintained enough control over himself not to say so.

"Would you summon such for me?"

"No," Albus answered. "No, I wouldn't." Albus sat up in the tub, growing ever so slightly closer to Gellert. His scent, dimmed by the fragrances Albus included in the bath, became stronger. Inviting.

"I have some right here.” Albus lifted his arm into the space between them, baring his wrist like an offer. All memory of other faeries, other blood, anything besides Albus fell from Gellert’s head. He could hardly think. Not with the offer on the table, and Albus’s wrist pressing against the side of his face.

Albus’s pupils were blown wide, and he stared at Gellert with just as much desire as demand.

"Drink."

"Albus—"

"Drink, Gellert," Albus insisted. “I’m not going to beg.”

Gellert turned his head and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and licking the inside of Albus’s wrist once before he dug his fangs right into one of Albus’s veins.

He struggled to keep himself composed. Albus tasted… Gellert would hardly put it into words. There was no way to describe it. Sweet and perfect and, admittedly, Gellert moaned as he sucked on the wound he created.

“Oh,” Albus whispered, though it borderlined on a whimper, when Gellert’s venom took effect a couple seconds later. Gellert opened his eyes only to watch the way Albus’s chest rose and his head gently tilted back.

Everything Gellert could have fantasized did not compare to the reality of drinking from Albus. Nothing could compare. Gellert’s mouth pressed tight against Albus’s smooth, warm skin, and the smell of fresh, sweet blood overpowered that of the lavender.

Albus ran his thumb over the side of Gellert’s face, too gently, while Gellert lapped at his blood.

“Fuck,” Albus said. Slowly, he brought his other hand up to Gellert’s face, easing him away from the fresh wounds and the blood that would likely fill Gellert’s thoughts forevermore. Gellert licked the wound clean, savoring the remaining drops of red blood and watched the puncture marks heal with the help of his saliva.

Albus’s pupils were still dilated, his body still relaxed in the water, and his breath still came heavy. Gellert couldn’t help but be disappointed that he didn’t even have a minute. He could drink that blood for eternity and still never have enough of it.

They were silent for a moment. Just a moment, as they both processed the development. Gellert could have died from the blood. It would have poisoned— it had poisoned other vampires. It had been risky to even bite, but if Gellert’s last moments on earth were with that taste in his mouth…

“Good?” Albus asked, voice not quite as steady as normal.

“Perfect,” Gellert said. “Fuck, you’re perfect. How did I…”

“Bed?” Albus asked. Gellert stood up immediately, incapable of being embarrassed about how desperate he acted. He did not normally act so impulsive. But Albus did not seem to mind. Quite the opposite. They didn’t bother with towels or combs or clothes. The second they were out of the bath, Albus was in Gellert’s arms, and they were stumbling out of the washroom, too busy kissing and groping and feeling to care if they bumped into doorframes or knocked picture frames off the wall. No pictures were more important than Albus. Not then, not ever.

Albus landed on the pillows first, and laid on his back, spreading his legs for Gellert. Gellert kissed him hard, and the water from their bodies soaked the mattress. Turns out, he would have to wash the sheets anyway.

Worth it, he thought, when he realised Albus’s lip had been split from their kissing and he got to taste that perfect, sweet blood again. Albus had a hand on the back of Gellert’s head, tangling in his hair, and one on his lower back, pulling him closer.

By the time Gellert fully settled on top and inside of him, Albus moaned so loudly Gellert would have worried about other Nurmengard residents hearing if he weren’t so distracted by the perfect body in front of him. Gellert didn’t exactly stay quiet either.

Albus tilted his head away from Gellert, breaking their kiss and bearing his neck.

“Keep your, fuck, Gellert,” Albus moaned. “Keep your fangs in me longer this time.”

Albus didn’t call Gellert by his name, not in bed. Gellert didn’t take his lovers to his private quarters, and fuck them in the bed he slept in. Albus didn’t offer his blood to anyone. Something changed. Gellert did not know when, or what, and he didn’t care to think about it while he thrusted into Albus and cupped his jaw in one hand to fix the angle.

Gellert bit the side of Albus’s neck and waited until the moment he felt the venom take effect. Albus arched up into him, pressing their bodies together. But Gellert didn’t pull his fangs away, he brought his free hand in between their bodies and stroked until he felt Albus slip over the edge.

Only then did Gellert slip his teeth from Albus’s neck and begin sucking on the blood he’d been offered. Albus, still high, only encouraged it limply, hand struggling to keep its hold in Gellert’s hair while Gellert drank and fucked him through it.

Albus’s blood tasted just as good the second time, and only urged Gellert on. Albus was arousing enough to look at, but fucking him, being surrounded by his scent and limp limbs, drinking from him… Gellert didn’t last long. He didn’t even try to.

Gellert didn’t pull his mouth away after he came. He drank his fill until he felt Albus’s hand tighten in his hand, at which point he once again licked the wound away and the remains of blood from Albus’s skin. Entirely sated, Gellert didn’t even bother to roll off of Albus’s body. He relaxed right on top of him, nose buried under his jaw.

Albus didn’t stay long after sex. He never did. But he didn’t seem to mind the way Gellert melted against him. The venom continued to run through his system, Gellert concluded. Albus radiated heat and Gellert wrapped himself around it. He didn’t want to trap Albus, but he didn’t want Albus to leave either. No, that felt wrong.

This cannot be anything more than an indulgence, Albus said the first time. Neither of them were in a position where attachments were anything but detrimental. Weakness was detrimental. So were feelings. But Gellert felt Albus’s hand tighten once again around his lower back, and Albus’s head turned to rest against his own.

Gellert felt Albus’s breathing ease into something steady and comfortable. He felt Albus’s body go slack beneath him. He could hear the Faerie King’s heart beating, soft and comforting. It couldn’t be the venom. Even high, Gellert knew Albus was too intelligent to let himself be put in danger, so why did Albus stay? Why did he fall asleep in Gellert’s bed, underneath the most dangerous vampire in the world.

Albus called Gellert his lover, Gellert remembered. Lover, of course, had multiple meanings.

He fell asleep smiling against Albus’s neck, surrounded by the warmth and sweet scent of his favorite being in either realm. But even as he drifted off, as satisfied as ever, he knew Albus wouldn’t be there in the morning.

June, 1949

About three months passed before Gellert saw Albus again after he woke up to an empty, wet bed with the memories of the taste of heaven on his tongue. He couldn’t say it surprised him. No, it really didn’t. He knew falling asleep that the chances of waking up, still wrapped around Albus, still stuck in their little bubble of pleasure and trust, were smaller than those of werewolves, fairies, vampires, and wizards all coming to a permanent agreement of peace.

In the three and a half years since they started meeting regularly, first for political reasons and then for more personal ones, three months was far from the longest span of time they went without seeing each other, but still it seemed the most significant. Gellert busied himself with coven drama and vampire hunters, and only thought of Albus after the sun came up, when the taste of mortal blood reminded him of the best he ever had. There had been no news of the Faerie King. Neither had there been any incidents involving violence between their respective peoples that would require meeting.

Gellert would have been disappointed if he didn’t have his own theories for Albus’s silence, and the inkling that Albus would not want to stay away for forever. No, Albus would be back at some point. Whether that be months or years, Gellert thought, it hardly mattered. He had waited longer for less important things.

The supernatural quarter of Prague always shined during the solstice. With the promise of peace for twenty-four hours, each species came together. Wizard artifacts, fae magic, werewolf music, vampire charm. Gellert watched the way constellations shone across the Charles University dorms, reflected by an old magic device created before even Gellert’s time.

They used to predict the future with it, or so Gellert had been told when he first asked the old man who owned it. The stars, the planets, the meteors— they were all ways of looking into time. Gellert didn’t believe it at first. It seemed impossible.

But then someone, a witch from an old seer bloodline, predicted the end of the world. 1912, the Unalignment, changed everything, and Gellert started to take predictions slightly more seriously, always wary when someone said the planets might once again connect the two realms. But Albus assured that wouldn’t happen. The only connections between the faerie realm and the mortal realm were those that Albus created on that odd night in 1912. Where once the two realms frequently overlapped and aligned, now they were separate with the few odd exceptions.

Prague was not one of said exceptions, but it still glimmered with fae magic during the solstices. Gellert had to weave around the odd, non-mortal plant as he walked down the street away from the capitol building where he had just concluded an appointment with Anton Vogel, the current Supreme Mugwump.

Vogel irritated Gellert to no end, believing himself above everyone while also being too cowardly to meet Gellert any time but the solstice where peace had been sworn a thousand years before Vogel's lifetime even began.

“Good Evening, sir!” Came a small, high-pitched voice. Gellert stopped in his tracks and stared down at the little fae in front of him. They barely came up to his knees, and had antlers bending from their head. Gellert could never tell how old faeries were, and he knew better than to ask unless they offered the information, but he felt fairly certain that they were a child.

“Good evening,” Gellert answered, fairly suspicious.

“Would you like a flower?” The flower the little faerie offered shone. Literally. It gave off a silver light.

“I am not in the mood to make any deals,” Gellert said.

“No deal,” the faerie insisted, shaking their little head and nearly hitting Gellert in the legs with their antlers. “I’ve been instructed to give it to you. But if you are willing to offer something in return…”

“By who?” Gellert asked.

“I cannot say, sir!”

Gellert had the distinct feeling that he knew who told the faerie to give him the flower. Faeries only ever listened to one person. Feeling generous, he pulled the only gold thing he had from his coat. An old pocket watch, easily replaced, but it still made the young faeries eyes light up. They did like anything shiny, Gellert mused.

“Will you tell me in exchange for this?” Gellert asked.

“I can’t!” The faerie whined. “I was told not to. Only to give you the flower.”

“How unfortunate,” Gellert commented. He held his hand out, and accepted the flower, not entirely certain of what the consequences would be but confident that no harm would come to him, given the odd date. And then he gave the faerie the pocket watch anyway.

The faerie didn’t thank him, they never did. But Gellert caught their smile before they ran off, and he continued down his path. He could likely find a witch or wizard willing to let him feed off them. Their blood tasted only slightly better than that of a muggle, but given the night, Gellert would bring unwanted trouble if he attacked someone, and there were many witches and wizards around the vampire bars with unfortunate addictions to venom.

Vampires still bowed their heads in respect when he walked past them, even as they spent the night indulging in behaviors that Gellert didn’t necessarily approve of. One in particular he passed had charmed an unlucky muggle (how a muggle found their way into the supernatural quarters, Gellert could not say), and Gellert turned his nose away in disgust.

These festivities used to excite Gellert, back before he decided he’d rather have power than fun. Now the solstices only meant cross-species meetings and debates during a time where violence was outlawed. He used to enjoy the sex, the faeries, the lights. Now he simply observed.

He had far better anyway.

He doubted anyone would ever be able to satisfy him again, after Albus.

He’d barely made it into the vampire sector when a very familiar, very potent scent caught his attention. He noticed other vampires looking around too, trying to trace it, trying to find the source of such a sweet smell. Gellert smiled.

Finally.

Albus had changed. He did not appear quite too extravagant. Still beautiful when he approached Gellert, hair floating behind him entirely unnaturally, but no crown. No vibrant robes or vine accessories. Nonetheless, his presence changed the surroundings, and his scent had a couple nearby fledglings drooling.

The vampires respected Gellert. If they didn’t, they might have approached Albus. They might have tried their luck. But when they saw Albus approach Gellert, and only Gellert, they slowly turned their interests, though not their attention, elsewhere. They watched Albus as he stepped closer to Gellert, and leaned into his ear, whispering so quietly that Gellert doubted even the vampires with enhanced hearing would be able to eavesdrop.

“You got my gift,” Albus said.

“I assumed you sent it,” Gellert confirmed. “Of course, I cannot say I understand why you didn’t bring it to me yourself.”

“Thicket seemed so desperate to please,” Albus said, sounding more fond of his subject than he did of Gellert. “Who am I to deny him?”

“His king,” Gellert answered. “Are you allowed to give out names of your fae like that?”

“I’m allowed to do whatever I please. Come with me, I require something of you.”

“Ominous,” Gellert commented, but he followed Albus into the alleyway nonetheless. The eyes that followed them gave him a sick sense of pleasure.

Albus held onto Gellert’s wrist and guided him to the end of the alley, where Gellert expected they’d stop. He couldn’t say what Albus wanted, but he wouldn’t be opposed if Albus pushed him against the wall and asked for venom or something far more indecent right there, where passersby might see. But Albus didn’t stop, he pulled Gellert right through the brick wall.

Gellert expected to feel the pull he did the last time Albus teleported them somewhere, but this felt different. This felt like stepping from one place, right into another. Like a portal, Gellert thought. It had been a very long time since he had gone through one.

Gellert didn’t often take to exploring the faerie realm. Albus wasn’t a danger when they were in bed together, too busy chasing their own pleasure. But stepping into Albus’s realm uninvited would cross a line. Gellert knew it would. So he never did. The Black Forest had many such portals, but Gellert hadn’t been there since before the Unalignment.

He expected the faerie realm to be as bright as the streets of Prague with the fauna and flora to match. He knew from other vampires that the sun in the faerie realm did not have the same effect as that in the mortal realm. It provided light, but no warmth. It did not burn skin. It would not cause death.

“Your Majesty?” Gellert questioned, when he looked around and saw the insides of a building, not the faerie realm he expected. Admittedly, Gellert had only been very few times before, most recently when he investigated Albus’s whereabouts for the first time. Before that, he purposely avoided it. The faerie realm provided nothing more to him than unnecessary risk and chaos he didn’t need in his life.

Now it had Albus.

“It’s still the faerie realm,” Albus said. “I just thought this part would be more digestible.”

“You’d be surprised about what I can digest.”

“No I wouldn’t. You only digest blood,” Albus answered. It sounded like he needed to convince himself as much as he needed to state fact. Gellert watched him closely. They weren’t touching. By this point, usually they’d have at least some of their clothes discarded, or at least they’d be kissing.

Truthfully, Gellert missed the kissing as much as he missed the sex. And he missed the conversations as much as he craved Albus’s blood, but he would never admit as much. Not until Albus did.

“You said you required something of me,” Gellert prompted, changing the subject.

“Yes.” Albus offered his wrist.

Gellert found it incredibly difficult to not take the offer. But he held off anyway, pleased when Albus’s expression twisted into one of confusion.

“You aren’t going to bite?” Albus asked.

“I’d rather have it from the neck,” Gellert answered. He always found it the warmest at the neck. Blood flowed more freely, too. Quicker. and he would much prefer the proximity. Albus couldn’t be offended at a nonexistent lie, but with his fangs in Albus’s neck, he’d have an excuse to wrap Albus up in his arms and hold him close.

Albus didn’t seem pleased at Gellert’s refusal. Being king must not often result in refusal. But he didn’t push Gellert back through the portal, or even scold him. Albus only adjusted his shirt and tilted his head away from Gellert, expression as blank as Gellert remembered it being at their first meeting.

Gellert took that invitation without hesitating for a second, stepping into Albus’s space and placing one hand at his waist, the other at the base of his skull, playing with the roots of his hair while he pulled the fabric further away from the space he planned on biting.

“It is the venom you want, yes?” Gellert asked.

“Gellert, I swear—”

Gellert interrupted with his fangs. He didn’t want Albus swearing anything. Nearly immediately, Albus exhaled and relaxed into the feeling, and Gellert held him closer. Tighter. Nothing stopped him, not even Albus’s hands which gripped his vest like a lifeline instead of pushing Gellert away.

Somehow, even with the taste of the sweetest substance in the world coating his tongue and teeth like nectar, Gellert remembered how Albus liked the venom. How he had asked Gellert to give him more last time, more than Gellert would ever give any mortal.

But Albus was not a mortal. Albus was the King of the Faeries.

And he chased the high, impaling his neck further onto Gellert’s fangs when Gellert made the move to pull away. So Gellert waited, unmoving. How could he even think of moving? The king wanted more, and Gellert could provide more. The taste of blood certainly didn’t deter him either.

Faeries were immune to addiction, so Albus had little to worry about. Gellert had even less to worry about. He melted as much as Albus did, swallowing as much as he could, trying not to get too aroused when Albus sighed in pleasure.

“That’s good,” Albus whispered. He curled his fingers softly into Gellert’s hair. “That’s enough, you can drink now.”

And Gellert did, pulling his fangs out so he could suck properly at the wound he made. Memories, he realised, could not do the real thing justice. Every mouthful of Albus’s warm blood only made Gellert more satisfied and more needy. He’d never drain Albus. Not like he did the occasional muggle after particularly long fasts. But he couldn’t help but imagine getting to do this more often. Every week, preferably. Waking up with Albus in his bed or in Albus’s bed, leaning into the warm neck because it had been offered to him, gentle kisses afterwards— it all sounded like paradise.

Albus liked this part too. He leaned into Gellert’s touch. Even when footsteps echoed to Gellert’s back and Gellert attempted to pull away if only to preserve the image he thought Albus might want to display as king, Albus put a hand on the back of his neck and all but demanded that he keep drinking.

“It’s okay,” Albus insisted, voice still floaty. “Keep going. Feels good.”

Then he turned to the intruder who stumbled over her words. “Your! Majesty! There’s a— there! A-a vampire!”

“You’ll find that I am quite aware of the vampire.”

“But he’s—! No one can survive your blood! I don’t want to clean a body!”

Gellert didn’t bother to pay much attention. If Albus said he could drink, if Albus said it felt good, he didn’t see the point stopping. Even as the faerie behind him stumbled and stuttered at the sight of her king high on vampire venom and Gellert still latched onto him like a very attentive leech.

“Leave, Siobhan,” Albus said, voice as firm as Gellert assumed he could manage. Based on prior experiences, Gellert would have thought Albus would be moaning at this point. “And speak of this to no one.”

Gellert heard quick footsteps trail away from them, at which point he pulled away from Albus’s neck.

“That was quite awkward,” Albus said.

“I hardly even noticed.” If he thought Albus would take the jest well, he might have made a joke about the fae being more worried about cleaning a body than her king’s well being.

“Yes, well,” Albus stepped away from Gellert. His neck still bled onto his collar, turning his green tunic brown. “That is all I wanted to ask of you, the portal is still open to Prague.”

Gellert didn’t leave. He stayed, feet rooted where he stood.

He didn’t like Albus like this, distant and cold. He thought they moved past that after the second meeting. Perhaps they were not as close as Gellert would like them to be, but he had hoped that Albus would no longer be so curt with him. He trusted Gellert with his body and his blood, why couldn’t Albus trust him with his feelings?

Feelings were dangerous, Gellert remembered. Especially for someone as delicate as Albus.

“You tasted as perfect as last time,” Gellert commented. “If you weren’t who you were, I’d thank you.”

“But I am.”

“You are. And even so much as a thank you could mean trading my life away.”

Albus shook his head. “Is there something else you need, Grindelwald?”

“Grindelwald? It’s been years since you’ve called me that out of bed.”

In bed, Albus kept the distance between them. Of course he did. Names had power, and names in a time of weakness admitted something Albus didn’t want to admit yet. Gellert remembered the way he sounded, on his back in Gellert’s bed, legs spread, neck bared, when he moaned Gellert’s name, asking for more venom, more pleasure. No, that was a mistake on Albus’s part. A mistake Albus couldn’t afford to make again.

But outside of bed, Albus said Gellert’s name so sweetly. Like a promise.

“Nothing I need, no,” Gellert answered.

“Then something you want?”

“You know very well what I want.”

“I can think of a dozen things you desire, but what you want of me at this moment? I’m afraid I can’t say.” Once again, the way Albus spoke annoyed Gellert. I wish I could speak plainly, Albus told him. How quickly things changed. “I am supposed to be attending a meeting with Herr Vogel in…” Albus glanced once at his odd watch, the one Gellert found out told time for both realms at once. “...fifteen mortal minutes. So whatever it is, I’m not certain I can be of help.”

“You haven’t met with any wizard representatives— or any representatives except myself— in well over two hundred years. I’m certain that Herr Vogel is not expecting to meet you, he told me as such less than an hour ago. And I’m fairly sure you’ve already chosen a representative to attend the meeting for you.”

Gellert stepped into Albus’s space again. Not touching, but close enough to. The glamour Albus chose to wear stood a few inches shorter than Gellert.

“You haven’t told me what it is you desire.”

“You, Your Majesty,” Gellert answered, spitting the moniker like it burned. He could not say why he was so angry. He could not say why Albus being so pedantic with his speech when three months prior, Albus complained earnestly about just that made him feel so… lonely. “In a bed, preferably. But I’d settle for that wall if you’re feeling amenable.”

“I’m sure you would,” Albus answered.

“Do you want to fuck me this time?”

Sex wouldn’t fix things, but Gellert still felt heat in his stomach from the taste of Albus’s blood and it only intensified the angrier he got. He would never do something Albus didn’t want, but every second he felt more and more like either throwing Albus against a door or getting bent over a table somewhere.

“I’m not in the mood to indulge.”

“You’re still high off of me. I seem to remember that only made you more willing last time,” Gellert argued. “Why did you find me tonight, Albus?”

“I wanted your venom.”

“Nothing else?” Gellert asked. Albus’s silence filled the room. For once, the lack of answer failed to answer Gellert’s question. Gellert reached out to hold Albus’s face in his hand. His anger disappeared like wind and something far worse replaced it. “You didn’t want to see me because you just, I don’t know, wanted to?”

The silence continued for an aching moment. Gellert let his hand fall and stepped away again.

For a split second, Gellert thought he saw something akin to guilt on Albus’s face, but it faded so quickly Gellert convinced himself he must have imagined it.

“I’m,” Albus said, slowly, “fond of you.”

“You’re fond of wine. You’re fond of sunsets, and your subjects, and sex. You’re fond of many things, Albus. You say that whenever you don’t want to admit what you are really feeling. This is not the first time we’ve met, and you underestimate how well you’ve allowed me to know you,” Gellert said. “Tell me something real.”

But Albus stayed silent.

“You said that this couldn’t be anything more than an indulgence.”

“I did.”

“Is that still true? To you, is this nothing more than an indulgence?”

Albus turned away from Gellert and waved his hand through the air. The last thing Gellert heard Albus say before he stared at a brick wall once again hurt as much as an answer might have, and Gellert had the distinct feeling that he may not be seeing the beautiful faerie in front of him for a while longer than three months.

“Enjoy your solstice.”

Time had not passed a minute in Prague.

December, 1949

“Forgive me for saying so,” Vinda said, standing in the doorway and refusing to step forward. “But you’ve been acting off for a while now.”

Gellert raised his eyebrow, partially amused, partially trying to hide the fact that he knew. “Whatever do you mean, my dear?” He liked Vinda. More so than he liked nearly anybody else, especially within the covens. He trusted her more than he trusted anyone else too. So even though he took offense at someone remarking on his behavior, he allowed the comment. It would not do to lash out and prove her suspicions correct.

Contrary to popular opinion, Gellert did not often resort to violence. He did not rule with a harsh hand.

“Some of the others have been whispering about it.”

“Will you tell me who?”

“And betray their confidence?” Vinda asked, finally stepping inside Gellert’s office with a smirk. Vinda, officially, lorded over the French coven. Unofficially, she sat at Gellert’s right hand. She could be brutal. Beautifully dangerous. But her intelligence could not be overstated either. “I think not.”

“What are they saying?” Gellert asked instead. He could figure out who might be gossiping about him, he already had quite a few guesses, but it was not worth pursuing yet.

“They say you're becoming more brutal,” Vinda answered. She stepped up to Gellert’s desk. “That you’re growing reckless. I cannot help but agree with some of their arguments. Killing Klaus was far from necessary."

“He challenged me,” Gellert responded. “I require loyalty above all else, and respect. And he offered neither.”

Vinda shook her head. “You don’t often kill people. Even when they fight you for your title. I’m worried people will begin to view you as unfair. Many people liked Klaus a great deal. There is already talk in the Spanish coven of withdrawing from the alliance.”

“Does Marrero know of this?” Gellert asked. Vinda shook her head. “No, I thought not. He wouldn’t allow such things to be spoken aloud.”

“What happened?” Vinda asked, the question coming as a surprise to Gellert. Sure, she might have been his most trusted within the coven, but they almost never spoke of personal matters. Gellert did not allow it. He found his personal life often detrimental to his power, and his feelings much too private to discuss with the woman he considered his second in command. “It’s been six months. I thought something happened with Vogel on the solstice when you came back upset, but—”

Vinda trailed off at Gellert’s expression, shifting from mild curiosity to warning.

“Herr Vogel is a self-righteous coward.”

“Everyone knows as much. The wizards may refuse to admit it, but not even they can deny that he’s useless,” Vinda responded. “So that’s not the issue. Did something happen in Prague?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“If it affects your behavior, it affects the coven. So by extension, it does concern me.”

“You, my dear, are too ferocious for your own good,” Gellert commented. Gellert turned her when she was young. Not as young as Gellert, but her skin lacked wrinkles and marks, and her eyes still had the ability to appear sharp. Her face had not changed in well over four hundred years, except that now, she wore red lipstick and knew how to scowl fear into anybody.

Anybody but her sire, at least.

“Forgive me,” Vinda said again. “I only want to be of help.”

“There is nothing you can do to help my mood,” Gellert replied. “Not this time.”

“My lord?”

“Yes?”

“There is a rumor spreading across your covens. One of the younglings is claiming he saw you with a faerie in Prague. I don’t mean to pry, but I have to worry. Did the fae do something to you?”

“No,” Gellert reassured. “My mind is entirely my own. And I am far too intelligent to be tricked into giving up anything valuable.” Except his loyalty, Gellert thought. And his heart too. “I am insulted you think otherwise.”

“But the rumor is true, you were with a fae.”

“Briefly.” Unwilling to provide any more information about his whereabouts or what happened on that solstice night in Prague, Gellert changed the subject. “Is there anything else?”

Vinda shook her head, “Only that Carrow spotted wizards in the bar you frequent and thought you might wish to be informed. Your preference for magical blood is widely known. And you haven’t had anything to drink in at least a day.”

“Thank her for me,” Gellert said, standing. “I’ll be taking my leave now. Put an end to the chatter would you? It is unbecoming of our people. We are immortal beings with abilities most muggles only dream of, we shouldn’t stoop to pointless gossip, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Vinda answered. Truthfully, Gellert didn’t care what his people were speaking about, as long as it didn’t involve revolution. But he did not want to wander the halls of his own castle and overhear people talking about what might have happened between Gellert and an unknown faerie that night six months prior. It would sour his already bitter mood further, and then no vampire in Europe would have any reason to be enjoying themselves. No, Gellert would rip the throat out of any being who tried so much as to theorize who Albus was and what he and Gellert were doing, when they went into the faerie realm for not even an hour.

He hadn’t so much as heard from Albus since that night, yet still, if someone within Nurmengard thought to insult the fae, even through words, Gellert’s tendency towards mercy might slip away.

The walk down to the town should have been cold, winter always bit hard in the mountains, but Gellert hadn’t felt the effects of weather in a very, very long time. Long before he had Nurmengard built in the fifteenth century and even longer before the town below developed into something more than an empty valley. Muggles lived in the village. Gellert would have removed them if his people didn’t need a steady source of blood. And while many of the village residents suspected the existence of vampires, they never moved away. They could never confirm where the soreness in their necks and the cravings for a high they couldn’t understand came from.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, when Gellert felt the pangs of hunger and wanted something less metallic than the blood of muggles), the whispers attracted the curious wizard, or even the odd, unpracticed vampire hunter. Those were the better nights— when Gellert got to play with his food.

Gellert slipped through the back door silently, and sunk into a corner.

Carrow was correct, there were wizards. Four of them, whispering, entertaining drinks served by one of the vampires they were talking about. The bartender, a barely hundred year old Gellert turned named Thorne, winked at Gellert once he noticed the additional presence in the bar.

It would have been so easy, Gellert thought, to interrupt the conversation. To flirt with one of the already wary wizards until the alcohol and charm lowered their guard, then to pull them outside to drink his fill. It should have been that way. He’d done it a hundred times before.

But then Albus’s familiar scent overpowered that of the lingering magic, and Gellert turned away from his prey to the faerie, looking very much like a King sitting in the common, torn booth. Albus always looked too beautiful to exist in any place, but in an old bar, filled mostly with muggles, his presence should have drawn the attention of everyone.

“They can’t see me,” Albus said.

“Of course not.”

“Don’t let me interrupt your hunt.”

Gellert wished he could stay upset. Wished that the hurt of being left alone in Prague without so much as a kiss didn’t melt away at the sight of Albus in extravagant, flowy robes. He sat down across from Albus, and nodded distractedly at the bartender who gave him quite a confused look.

“You’re hungry,” Albus commented. “You should eat.”

“I should,” Gellert agreed. “But you are more important than my hunger.”

Albus smiled. “You certainly know your way into a faeries good graces.”

“Not all faeries’,” Gellert corrected. “Just yours.”

Albus chuckled, gently. He didn’t have a drink today. “You should drink. I have plans and I don’t want you hungry. I’ll even charm one of those wizards should you desire that. The brunette, he’s rather handsome, don’t you agree?”

Gellert didn’t even look. Nothing, let alone a mortal, in the bar had any worth next to Albus. “Not particularly. I prefer my lover to be clever and beautiful, and he is neither. But such things are irrelevant; plans, you say?”

“Yes, and quite detailed ones at that. I am hoping to stay level headed all night,” Albus said. “So, no venom for me tonight. I do hope you understand.”

“Where are we off to?” Gellert asked.

“Nowhere until you drink something. That is why you came here in the first place,” Albus insisted. “Don’t worry, handsome, I’ll still be here when you’re finished.”

“Will you tell me then, what you have planned if not a bite?”

“Go,” Albus whispered, voice fond and more affectionate than Gellert thought it would be.

Gellert would never claim that he could understand the Faerie King. He couldn’t, and he likely wouldn’t ever be able to. But that did not correlate with being unable to predict Albus’s behavior, at least part of the time. With few exceptions, he knew what silences meant. He knew when Albus chose his words carefully, to present one meaning while meaning another. After two years of fucking, Gellert could also tell when Albus was feeling needy.

But, truthfully, Gellert had not expected he would be approached for such things again. Not after six months prior. Not when last time they parted without even kissing. Albus had feelings, and Gellert knew that they could not be acted upon. No, nine months without sex and six with no contact gave him plenty of time to consider how devastating misplaced trust could be for a faerie, especially one as prolific as Albus.

He still wished Albus would say something. Anything to make Gellert feel less like he meant more than sex and venom.

He returned to the booth quickly, drinking just enough to quench his hunger from the wizard that Albus had managed to charm. Gellert didn’t take pleasure in drinking. His body required it; nothing more. The only blood Gellert would consider an indulgence belonged to Albus, but he started hating that word when Albus refused to answer any questions about what they were doing.

“Where too?” Gellert asked again, offering a hand to the faerie that no one else could see, not caring that he may appear odd to anyone watching.

“There’s a small hotel just down the street, are you opposed?” Albus asked, standing up. Standing so close to Gellert they might as well have been kissing. Even if he wanted to, Gellert wouldn’t have been able to look away. No, that would have meant a second less looking at Albus’s shining eyes and his angled face.

Did Albus style himself to match Gellert on purpose? The glamour he so often chose during their meetings looked no older than twenty; just as young and far more beautiful than Gellert’s permanent nineteen. He knew that faeries preferred youthful appearances and beauty no mortal would ever be capable of achieving, but Albus could choose to be anything. Did he choose to be perfect for Gellert?

“Yes, I am,” Gellert answered. “You’ve managed to break into my bedroom before. Let’s not rent a room like we are having an affair, it’s undignified.”

“Are we not? Having an affair?” Albus asked. “If not on nonexistent spouses, on our peoples?”

“Indulgence, you said.”

“So I did.”

Gellert knew what question not to follow up with, no matter how desperately he wanted Albus to admit that there might be something other than no strings attached sex between them. Albus wanted to pretend otherwise. He wanted to talk around the topic and avoid any implications of feelings.

But he couldn’t stay away, Gellert realised. Not forever.

“Hold on to me,” Albus whispered, the second they were out of the bar, away from prying eyes. They weren’t kissing this time. Gellert had no reason not to realise that his surroundings twisted from those of the nearly abandoned night time street to those of his bedroom, windowless and grandiose. Albus didn’t even bother to reach for him when they landed. He stepped away and stalked towards the far side of the bed. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the rumors.”

Albus unclasped the chain holding his robes closed at the top, and gently laid his headpiece on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed.

So that’s how they were going to do this? Like they were making a business exchange, another law to govern the interactions between their kinds.

“I have.” Gellert pulled off his coat. Then his vest, then his belt.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Gellert didn’t answer, he saw no point. If they were in his bedroom for sex, and only sex, delaying it for the sake of conversation had little point. He would not lie to Albus, but it seemed only fair that he let his silence answer sometimes as well. Even though Albus did not appear fond of Gellert’s choice of answer, he didn’t stop Gellert from stepping towards him.

Gellert kneeled above him on the bed and tilted his head to the side to suck marks into Albus’s neck. Again, there served little purpose considering they would heal long before anyone would get the chance to see them, but if Gellert couldn’t have Albus’s blood—

If Gellert couldn’t have Albus

— he would satisfy himself with Albus’s skin instead.

Albus pulled Gellert’s shirt loose, and warm hands traced every bump of Gellert’s spine.

“You are cold, Grindelwald,” Albus whispered, shifting beneath Gellert, pulling away from Gellert’s mouth.

“You made plans," Gellert responded. “Did they account for what happens now or are you satisfied now that you have me in bed with you?” He didn’t like how much fabric Albus wore, and how difficult it was to untangle it all from Albus’s body just to be able to touch him.

However, he very much did like touching Albus, and watching his eyes flutter shut when Gellert wrapped his hand around Albus and started applying pressure with his thumb in little circles. Like this, Gellert forgot that Albus held power so significant that responsibility outweighed emotion. Like this, Albus didn’t have to be anything more than a faerie, doted on and adored.

“No,” Albus said. “No, this is all— this is what I wanted.”

“Then you won’t mind me making a request?”

“What?”

Gellert shifted from between Albus’s legs, pausing his ministrations to instead lay on his stomach next to Albus. He pulled his trousers down just far enough to expose himself and no further. If Albus wanted impersonal, then Gellert would not deny him. “I’d like you to take me.”

Albus agreed without a word, pulling a pillow out to slide under Gellert’s hips. He expected it to be immediate, to be quick, so he closed his eyes and waited breathlessly for the unfamiliar intrusion. He didn’t expect fingers, warm and slick, or a tongue, licking Gellert open like he tasted of fucking faerie sweets.

Gellert groaned into the pillow beneath him.

He should give up on trying to understand Albus. One moment the Faerie King acted like he couldn’t care less if it were Gellert in the bed or someone else, and the next, he pressed kisses against the knob at the base of Gellert’s spine like a lover, in the more romantic sense of the word, might. Gellert’s clothes also disappeared, and in a more coherent state of mind, he might have wondered where Albus sent them or how they ended up off his body at all when Albus’s hands were spreading Gellert open as they were.

Albus did not let Gellert tip over the edge like that, no, it would have been too kind to let Gellert feel for a moment like Albus cared, and too cruel to end the night early. Instead, Albus pulled his hands away. He kissed Gellert's back, touch too gentle.

“Roll over,” Albus whispered into Gellert’s ear. “You are far too handsome to be burying your face in a pillow.”

Things could never remain impersonal, not really. No matter how much Gellert tried and Albus pretended. Sex in itself, even when performed solely for pleasure, was personal. Nakedness, bodies, kissing— so much trust exchanged between the two of them. Gellert rolled onto his back and kissed the arm that Albus planted beside his head for support. He met the eyes of his paramour and held them, hooking his leg behind Albus’s thigh to urge him closer.

Even as Albus lined up and eased slowly inside of him, inch by inch, Gellert kept staring in those blue, shining eyes.

“You are perfect,” Gellert said, not for the first time and far from the last. Albus rolled his hips. “Fuck.”

Gellert let go of Albus’s arm to reach for his face instead, slowly brushing auburn strands of hair away from Albus’s forehead and tucking them behind his ears. He held Albus’s face between his hands and traced his cheekbones, memorizing every detail of this glamour just as he had with every other one. Albus shut his eyes, just for a second, then put a hand on Gellert’s thigh and increased the pace of his hips.

“Beautiful,” Gellert whispered. He pulled Albus down towards him, and met his lips for the first time in nine long months. They moved together like dancers, every motion, every movement reciprocated. Gellert opened his mouth to Albus’s tongue, and welcomed the feeling of teeth on his upper lip. Albus moaned when Gellert tilted his head to deepen the kiss, introducing his own tongue into the fold, tracing the seam of Albus’s pink, never-chapped lips.

It felt good, really good, to have Albus inside of him, kissing him, surrounding him. Ever since he took power in Europe, he never allowed anyone to have him as such— he never welcomed it like he did Albus, even when they had only just begun. Odd, that such a submissive act had Gellert feeling so high on power.

Albus moved his hand from Gellert’s thigh to between his legs, and it didn’t take very long after that for Gellert to be rendered bloody useless. He held Albus close, but couldn’t manage to keep kissing. Their lips brushed as they moaned in sync. Not even seconds after Gellert came down from his high, Albus filled him entirely and let his forehead fall forward, colliding with Gellert’s own.

For a moment, everything was sticky. Then Albus pulled out and the mess disappeared as quickly as it appeared thanks to magic Gellert would never be able to understand, and Gellert felt the fatigue of the night and day before settling in his bones like molasses.

Albus collapsed on top of Gellert, head falling against his shoulder. He didn’t say anything more. No moans or sighs or words. He didn’t even look Gellert in the eyes. His hands traced patterns on Gellert’s chest and, for just a second, Gellert thought something might change. Albus might be choosing to stay, for no other reason than he could.

But then Albus raised his wrist to Gellert’s mouth: a request as much as an offer.

“I thought you said venom wasn’t on the menu tonight?” Gellert questioned, pressing a kiss on Albus’s pulse. He held the back of Albus’s hand in his, and brought it to the side of his face.

“It helps me sleep.”

“Do you want to stay, then?”

Albus shook his head, “I shouldn’t.”

Gellert could have asked for a real answer, but he didn’t want to wait another six months or longer before he saw Albus again. “Stay until sunset,” Gellert requested.

“The sun is already rising.”

“Please.”

Albus didn’t verbally respond, but he didn’t pull away either. So gently, Gellert brought Albus’s wrist to his mouth again and bit. Not for long. Just enough for Albus to relax against him, leg curling up over Gellert’s waist and head relaxing further, and for Gellert to taste once again his favorite substance. By the time Gellert licked the wound clean, Albus’s eyes had shut.

Gellert lowered Albus’s hand back to his shoulder, and traced up and down Albus’s back until he felt certain that the faerie had fallen asleep. Indulgences didn’t cuddle, he thought. If his mind were more cooperative, he might have brushed the idea aside before it developed into something.

Albus slept beautifully. His face full of responsibility, constantly stoic, constantly all-knowing, changed to be soft as he dreamt. His skin smooth against Gellert’s body, and every rush of warm air from Albus’s nose made Gellert’s heart swell, just a little. There were thousands of years of memories inside of the head that nuzzled into Gellert’s chest.

Gellert had spent a long time without sleep, but it would be wasteful to spend his time sleeping when instead he could continue to appreciate Albus’s face, and the way he looked so gentle in his sleep. He pulled Albus closer, pleased when Albus gripped tighter at his shoulder, sighing contently. No one would be able to wake Albus like this, not because he could sleep through anything (Gellert suspected that Albus would wake at the slightest sound), but because Gellert would kill armies just to preserve the peace.

Gellert would do anything to keep Albus safe, comfortable, and happy.

Gellert Grindelwald, Lord Vampire of Europe, perhaps the most feared native of the mortal realm, was irrevocably in love with the Faerie King. With Albus.