his eyes - albusgellert

Murky.

That is the only way to describe his eyes.

Oh, they're beautiful, yes, Albus thinks. Everything about Gellert is.

But there's something deeper there, something that hides in the depth of his eyes, something that doesn't want to be seen any more than Albus wants to see it – he knows that whatever Gellert is hiding could bring everything down around them, could end this, whatever this is.

Gellert presses his lips to Albus' throat, voice low and soothing, murmurs of plans and futures and success ghosting across Albus' skin, and Albus rest his hands on the back of Gellert's neck, fingers interlocked, and wonders if he'll ever have to let go.

"For the greater good," Gellert whispers, and when he meets Albus' eyes, there is that glint again, teasing and unnerving and wrong, and Albus shuts his eyes against the glare of secrecy in his lover's gaze.

"For the greater good," he repeats, and then Gellert's lips are on his and he does not – cannot – open his eyes.

He is too afraid of what he will find there.

He is too afraid of what he won't.

(When he is old and grey and lonely, he often wonders if it was foolish to overlook the dark shadows that lurked in Gellert's eyes in the hope that it was love he kept hidden.

He knows, now, that Gellert never truly loved him.

If only he had opened his eyes.)