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The sour mood had been a constant thing since they destroyed Freid, Dilandau had to report back early thanks to Dalet getting the time wrong. Folken cut their rations down for two days, and put them on forced standby for a week. The lack of set schedule made it hard to sleep. When at any time they could be called at any time to run drills or go destroy a small village. Folken wanted them all to suffer thanks to their combined failure.
Though of course they mostly blamed Dalet.
Dilandau was a bit touchy by the final night of standby. They had a couple runs. Seemingly planned around his normal napping time, or when they’d sit down to eat. They were on fortress tasks like training or meetings, even impromptu drills.
Once the time on board the fortress struck midnight, they were free. Dilandau couldn't even sleep because his schedule had been fragmented, which added to the bouts of irritability. Which lead to some tension between them all.
Dilandau laid in his chair, watching the clock tick closer to the time when he’d be free from Folken’s punishment. The food was one thing, but the last straw was Folken’s little message to him personally that he was going to stop getting his little personal rewards. Which, much to his frustration, meant some of his incentive to do anything was gone. He grumbled at the clock, time didn't matter with that punishment, it was until he could do something spectacular to earn trust again.
Everyone had to be asleep already, and Dilandau felt annoyed by the silence in the halls. He got up, paced until he hit the kitchens. He had to find something to snack on to curb the bit of withdrawal from his sudden, forced sobriety.
He cursed upon feeling nothing took its place. He was ready to find someone to steal from he headed back to his chair to think of where he could get it without getting caught or tattled on.
“Sir?”
He looked up to see Gatti, awake with a towel draped over his head. “What is it?”
Gatti smiled. “Waiting for midnight?” he asked.
Dilandau made a sound in reply. His hand went to his temple as he continued to stare. Gatti could go get some, and he’d not get into trouble. His eyes fell on the other who still stood there. “What is it?”
“Sir, you should really get some rest soon, we’re back on normal hours tomorrow.”
“Can’t sleep, too damn sober,” Dilandau snapped.
“No more wine?”
“Ever,” Dilandau corrected.
Gatti’s brows rose, and Dilandau watched him turn his head to the rooms. “Just a second, Lord Dilandau.” He pulled the towel from his head and headed back to the bedrooms. Dilandau heard the slide of Gatti’s door, and then it shutting as he padded back down the hallway.
Gatti held something behind his back, and firstly Dilandau was sure it was another lame trinket he’d picked up. Gatti had a knack for stealing, and up until then like a cat he’d bring them to him to impress him.
Dilandau didn't mind the trait, but it wasn’t going to help his already sour mood.
“Here,” Gatti said.
Dilandau looked up into a dark red reflection of himself, curved at the sides with part of it cut off by a brown label. This time his brow rose, and he saw that Gatti had presented him with a half-gallon bottle of Freidian wine. “Um… when did you get that?”
“Freid sir, obviously,” Gatti pushed it closer to him. “Before we left I smuggled it out.”
Dilandau just smiled, this was definitely a gift he’d enjoy.
“Are you going to drink it, sir?” Gatti asked, a smile on his ever present face.
Dilandau grinned, taking the bottle from his subordinate and standing up.
Gatti shuffled out of the way as Dilandau headed to the table and started to get it ready to be drank.
“Drink with me,” Dilandau offered.
Gatti paused. “Really sir?” he asked.
“You stole it, you get to help reap the rewards. Besides I’m bored being in here all alone.” Dilandau sat down and dropped two glasses on the table top.
Gatti nodded and came to the table’s edge. “Let me pour.”
Dilandau gestured for him to pour them a glass. He watched the deep, dark red-orange liquid fill the cups and he licked his lips. The clock was well past midnight now, so there was no chance Folken could ruin their night now. His glass was filled, and he waited for Gatti to do his own and sit before they shared the first drink together.
Gatti sat finally and grabbed his glass. He gave the wine a sniff and he crinkled his nose at it. “That… smells strong.”
“Good.” Dilandau drank down half a glass and dropped it to the table.
Gatti only got a long sip before having to set his down and cough through it. He flushed when Dilandau chuckled at his reaction and took another sip to try and keep up.
Dilandau took another drink, this time much slower than before. He couldn't just waste this perfect gift from his subordinate. He much enjoyed the look of modesty on Gatti’s face when he was asked to join. It felt good.
“Do you like it?” Gatti asked, unsure where to take the conversation beyond small talk.
“I do, you did well.”
Gatti flushed more, and the more he flushed, the more he drank to hide his face.
This entertained Dilandau. He liked this sense of control over the other’s reactions. He could play with him a little, see how far it’d go before Gatti had to excuse himself.
Gatti had half his glass gone, and the more he drank the sweeter it got. Of course, this also meant that his mind had already started to marinate in the alcohol that he’d drank.
Unfortunately, Dilandau wasn’t sure how to flirt, or even the concept of what it took to flirt. If he kept complimenting Gatti, it would surely go to his head. He didn't need a dragonslayer with an ego. Two of Dalet would be a bad thing.
Gatti’s eyes had lulled some, his head half hung off his hand as he sipped at his drink more and more. There was something about it that delighted his commander. He figured it was the camaraderie that pleased him. Ryoun was never one to drink, and Miguel hated wine.
Dilandau stood up and topped off Gatti’s glass then refilled his. His head was spinning enough that some of it spilled on the top of the table. Not wanting to waste a drop, Dilandau bent forward and licked up the bit of wine. Miguel made sure that they could eat off of the table, so drinking wasn’t out of the question.
A quick glance up, and Dilandau swore Gatti poured the wine down the front of his face. His cheeks were stained red, and he had stopped looking at him in exchange for something off to the side. He had bitten his lips together, and his shoulders had stiffened.
Dilandau lifted his head more and leaned against his hand. He was already feeling half drunk off the wine. “Something wrong?” he asked. Unsure if Gatti was put off by the manners, or it was something just the opposite. But something about his body language, Dilandau loved.
Gatti shook his head, “No, sir.”
Dilandau smiled and gestured to the cup in front of Gatti. “Drink,” he said softly.
Gatti nodded and he stared at his drink for a moment before finally reaching out to grab it. The impulse to impress his captain seemed to kick in. He took the cup to his lips and tilted it up to drink it down in one sitting.
Dilandau was impressed, he watched the blonde’s throat shift with every gulp. A few drops of wine here and there escaped past the edges of his lips and Dilandau wanted to scorn him.
Gatti on the other hand, felt accomplished, and completely obliterated by the wine’s affect on his body. He felt sticky, but the feeling didn't end there. He was goo, and he began to melt a little into the chair. Dilandau on the other hand seemed just fine despite the amount he drank.
Gatti declined a refill. “I’m… good, sir.”
Dilandau smiled and corked the bottle. He finished his glass in a similar way as Gatti had, in one unfailing drink. He set down the glass and licked his lips.
This time Gatti smiled at the sight, the tiniest bit of a moan coming out of his throat.
Dilandau’s stomach twisted, and though the sensation should have unnerved him, he wanted that feeling again. It felt nice, it made his blood warm and his face hot. Strange thoughts, just as strange as the night they spent together the first time they met. He remembered that feeling then, when Gatti did this to him.
He had to stop, he had to stop this indulgence. Standing, Dilandau took the bottle to the pantry to hide away. His feet dragging further away from Gatti, and he stumbled a little and had to grab the pantry door to keep standing. He was more sober than Gatti, so he had to make sure to put the cups away or Miguel would throw a fit.
First he managed to grab his cup, then circled closer towards Gatti’s slumped figure. He leaned over his shoulder and held onto the back of the chair to steady himself. He slipped the cup into Gatti’s to stack them.
A hand, with fingertips hot to his skin, had gently grasped the side of his neck and jaw. He nearly turned his head enough before feeling a bit of a sticky pair of lips on his jawline. Dilandau felt the near rupturing of his heart as Gatti shared this newfound affectionate gesture. Before, Gatti had only hugged him once and he reacted badly. Now, he was too in the moment, and drunk to reject him.
Gatti’s hand fell, and another moan fell from his lips. His eyes closed as he drifted off slowly in the chair, his slumped forward and his arms folded under his head.
Dilandau sighed, trying to calm his senses as he put the cups away. No real evidence against them now. He glanced back at Gatti.
It took about ten minutes, but Dilandau dropped Gatti into his bed. The most time was spent getting Gatti up enough to walk him to his room. Then the other part was trying to wade through Gatti’s mess.
Dilandau swayed some, the amount of alcohol and his heart pounding made him a bit light headed. Going a month without drinking was rough when the wine was that strong. He pressed his hands and right knee into Gatti’s mattress. His eyes looked over the blonde’s slightly wavy hair, and his tan face. Gatti was not the dark handsomeness that Ryoun was, but there was something warm about Gatti’s looks. He saw the remnants of wine that had left a trail along Gatti’s neck. He had just bathed too, and it was his fault he had to get so drunk and messy.
He should really do something about that…
Gatti woke the next morning, hung over and absolutely miserable. He was in bed, tucked in, and still a little sticky feeling. The more he tried to think of the night before, the more it drove the spike through his brain. He remembered drinking an awful lot, and so did Dilandau. He remembered sliding down in his chair. He wanted to sleep more, but morning drills were soon, and if Dilandau was just as bad as he was, they were going to be equally miserable.