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lenamelon · 10 months ago

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Delico's Nursery And The Embrace Of Flames

Attention, this is a 9 chapter long story. This here is chapter 1. If you want to read the rest of this story, please consider bookmarking the story on AO3. Maybe leave Kudos there too!

Rating: For this Chapter: Teens and up audience. For the whole story: Explicit Warnings: This chapter - None ; This story - choose not to warn Pair: Dali x Gerhard!

Screams filled the streets. The carriage shook with loud neighing, stopped abruptly and while Angelico clutched the door with his small hands, whimpering, Gerhard pushed the other open with his foot – one hand on the hilt of his sword. He leapt out in a single movement, only hearing the dominant clacking of his boots on the stone floor in the background, and let his gaze wander.

Humans and vampires chased past him, throwing his senses into an unruly turmoil. Pressing his lips tightly together, Gerhard ventured a step forward – not too far from the carriage in which his son rested – and darted a glance at the coachman, whose wide-open eyes hung lifelessly on the horizon.

“Hey, what happened?” Still, Gerhard shouted over to his coachman as if there was a chance of an answer. A tingling sensation under his skin made his forehead sweat. Too much was happening between the panicked crowd and this motionless man.

Without further ado, he clicked his tongue. Then he took a step to the side and grabbed the first woman he passed by the upper arm. The shock travelling through her body reached into his bones as he asked, “What happened?”

He was probably too loud, too bossy, asking too much of a frightened figure who stared at him wide-eyed and wriggled, trying to escape his grip. She looked over her shoulder twice, then followed a few others with her eyes before tearing herself away from him. “Run, we all have to run away!”

“From what?!”

“There’s a monster,” she shouted back at him. “He’s murdered five ... humans or vampires ... I don’t know anymore!” Her sounds resembled the desperate screeching of an animal. “He’s going to kill us all!”

Before Gerhard could ask any more questions, she started moving again, following the other figures as they ran off, infecting other passers-by like a running fox. So he retreated to the carriage. Mouth twisted, he scrutinised each one as the picture in his head slowly came together.

If they were all running away, it had to be a vampire. In the end, his race was still stronger than humans with their fragile lives. They were faster, more merciless, more dangerous in every way – and yet, five victims remained remarkable.

For a moment, he associated the confusion with the TRUMP case; a daring attempt to draw attention in one direction to distract from something else. An absurd thought, considering the secretive movement of these maniacs under normal circumstances. What was going on here?

“You aristocrats are prettier up close.”

Whispers nestled against Gerhard’s ears, sending a shiver down his spine and spinning his body around almost automatically. Simultaneously, he swung his sword – almost blind to the overwhelming feeling of surging panic – and plunged the blade into the body of a crookedly grinning man. Sharp teeth dug into the stranger’s lower lip, blood trickled down his chin. The rest was covered by a black hood pulled down low.

For a second, not another muscle in Gerhard moved. Only the stranger’s grin burnt itself into his senses, blocking out the world. He realised too late when the stranger raised his hand, took a breath and in the next blink of an eye blew a handful of powder into his face with his bloody breath.

Surprised, Gerhard gasped for air, constricted by the sudden scratching of his throat. A cough overcame him, stabbing through his body. Meanwhile, the blade slipped out of the stranger’s waist, leaving nothing but billowing blackness – an ugly construct of viscous black water that refused to splash to the ground. His fingers trembled, detaching themselves from the handle. The steel thundered to the ground. Saliva collected and ran down his chin. Gerhard tried to swallow several times, but failed due to the tightness of his throat. In a flash, he put his hands to his neck, searching for stability, while a slightly bitter flavour spread across his tongue. Behind it was a strangely stale flavour combined with a gentle sweetness. A kind of sugar he thought he could smell.

He breathed through his open mouth for a few seconds until he thought he could swallow again. Then he ran the back of his hand over his mouth. Saliva seeped through the white gloves, leaving dark stains he stared down for a second. His head was spinning. Every thought he tried to grasp ran through his mind like sand, and when he raised his eyes, the stranger was gone. The panic of the crowd slowly subsided in the background.

“Father...?”

The tearful question reaching him tore at his mind. Far too frantically, Gerhard jerked his head towards the carriage. Angelico stood at the door, ready to jump out or stumble back inside. The stranger had disappeared. Part of him wanted to hug that little blond mop of hair tightly to him. The rest took a stance and a deep breath.

“Get back in the carriage!” It was too dangerous to let his son out in this confusion – in the middle of an incident lying before him, both, finalised and unconquered.

There was nothing he could do.

Still, he dragged himself to the carriage door to close it before walking up to the coachman and grabbing him by the arm. With one pull, he tore the man from his seat, caught him, and set him down on the ground. The coldness of his skin, the lack of life in his eyes – he didn’t need to check to be sure of his death.

He carefully dragged the body over to the wall of a house – contrary to every honourable act of a nobleman. Bile bubbled up his throat. If he went to Dali now and sent word from there, someone else would take care of this body. Someone would take care of this forfeited life. Someone other than him.

Swaying, Gerhard heaved himself onto the coach seat. The reins lay light as a feather in his hands, a little like his sword, which he could no longer feel on his hip and whose relevance diminished with every breath he took. Immediately afterwards, he chased the horses ahead at a fast gallop along the road. The clatter of hooves thundered in his ears, reminiscent of thunderstorms and pouring rain – and somewhere in between, Gerhard thought he could taste drowsiness. A draining feeling that forced his soul out of his body, ready to fuel unknown pleasures.

He clung tighter to the leather straps, his gaze fixed on the brown stallions. For almost an eternity, the muscular movements of the animals burned themselves into his mind. Then the nausea spilled over. His stomach turned, the high died down, and clarity settled in. Lips tight, Gerhard swallowed the bile until the Delico estate came into view and the nausea faded as he passed through the heavy double gates.

However, progress didn’t get any easier. Gerhard’s legs wobbled as he dismounted and stumbled to the carriage door to let Angelico out. His son’s whimpering had still not subsided, and it didn’t stop even when he harshly urged him to follow and not dawdle. Meanwhile, the servants who hurriedly came to meet him gazed in silent astonishment, and it was only within Delico’s four walls that a hint of relief settled over Gerhard’s shoulders.

Weakness swept over him, paralysing the muscles in his body and casting reality in a new light. His breath rolled heavily over his lips as he bumped his shoulder against the wall. Sweat stood on his forehead, making him swallow drily; and if he hadn’t known better, he would have returned home. But there was nothing wrong with him. The powder punished him with after-effects, combined with lingering shock and unwanted surprise. Sensations that would pass as soon as he could rest for a few minutes.

“Father...” Angelico’s small hands plucked at his black coat and although he wanted to answer, his throat felt too parched to make a sound.

He had to swallow a few times before he found his voice again. “Bring Angelico to the others. I assume Dali is in the library?”

He always was, ever since they’d started looking into the TRUMP-related mission. He usually did the research there when Dino reviewed files and documents from past cases.

“But Father ... what about you?”

His gaze briefly wandered to Angelico. “I have work to do and now leave.”

It was strange. His voice always sounded too brash when he reprimanded Angelico, and yet in those seconds, it almost seemed as if he had added a gentle undertone. Even though he wasn’t allowed to show any weakness towards his son. He had to set an example of how a proud man of nobility should behave. Courageous and strong and determined, so that Angelico would one day be a boy who wouldn’t bring dishonour to the House of Fra.

“Master Delico is, as you mentioned, in the library, sir. Would you like someone to accompany you?”

Gerhard waved it off in a flash. “I’ll find the way.”

Since they had made this house their headquarters for this case, he knew almost every goddamn corridor by heart. That made the walk up to the heavy double swings almost short, and as Gerhard pushed powerlessly against the wood, it almost refused to open. It took nearly two breaths to get inside and discover Dali at first glance.

“Goldilocks! You’re ... late?” Dali’s humour turned to mischievous seriousness far too quickly. “What happened? Had a rough ride?”

Gerhard dragged his heavy feet to the red upholstered armchair, where he sat down with a gasp.

“I ran into a mass panic on the way here.” He ran a hand over his face, barely noticing.

“They said someone had killed five victims – of uncertain origin, probably vampires – and in a careless moment, someone blew a powder in my face.”

“A powder? Poison?”

He shook his head. “No poison. No big deal. It seems to have been a drug that makes its victims dizzy.”

“And the attacker?”

“I hit him with my sword. Then he disappeared.”

“That’s why it’s not in its sheath.”

A brief tension dug into the pit of Gerhard’s stomach before he glanced at his belt, where the sword and sheath usually hung. He must have left it there.

“Damn...” His fingertips ran over the empty leather. “Besides, my coachman is dead.”

“Then maybe you should pass this news on to the agency before any more panic breaks out.” Dali’s brows lifted. “You probably left him lying around, too.”

“I took care of it properly!” Gerhard countered sharply. “Shouldn’t you be wondering whether the whole thing is connected to the TRUMP case?”

“Ah, yes, certainly.” He lifted the book in his hands. “History lesson for today. I was actually going to get Henrique to do it, but his love of history is so immense he chose to play with the twins.” He sighed dramatically. “In the meantime, Dino’s files are growing over his head. So when you’re ready, you’re welcome to make yourself useful.”

Snorting, Gerhard averted his eyes. Dali didn’t bother to show any kind of tact. For him, gimmicks were at least as meaningless as extravagant words and useless game pieces. Sometimes Gerhard wanted to believe that he was a friend. But the murder of Dali’s wife – his blade in the body of this near stranger who was nothing more than a victim of circumstance – probably made him a pawn as well.

All too slowly, his gaze fixed once more on Dali – on the slender figure of a man whose pitch-black hair had a strange lustre. It seemed disorganised, a little jumbled, strangely wayward, and yet he could hardly imagine Dali any other way; different from all the years they had worked together. Gerhard swallowed. It had been years in which he had appreciated this man. His skill, his intelligence, his ability to overcome every obstacle as if it didn’t exist. Just like then – just like the day when Frieda had left with a smile on her lips and Gerhard had hoped to experience ridicule and hatred in order to smother the blossoming affection under the veil of a broken, even fickle friendship.

His gaze slid carefully over Dali’s bare forearms, over the slender fingers that were skilfully leafing through one book. Then, all at once, up to his thin lips, which had curled into a half-smile – deeply immersed in the writings of historical memories.

He had looked at Dali like this before. Two years ago, somewhere between doors and hinges of another mission that had made Dali laugh. Gerhard remembered how much he had shouted at him that day to take something seriously for once. But Dali had never given a damn about his opinion or his excessive temperament. Without further ado, Gerhard lowered his eyelids. He wasn’t quick-tempered. He just took things much more seriously than Dali would ever see them. And perhaps that was the reason, at some point, why he had begun to prefer being near his friend to his own home. Or even his wife.

He licked his lips gently before tearing himself away from Dali. Dwelling on past events wasn’t the answer. It shouldn’t matter. In the end, they had both walked down the aisle at some point – with women – and had brought children into the world. The Delicos and the Fras had gone their separate ways, hadn’t mixed or mingled, because there had been no way to turn rivals into a true unit. That also meant he was done with it. With his feelings, with that warmth in his chest whenever he saw Dali, and also with the thought of ever getting closer to those unknown lips.

Still, his hands clenched into fists. The hazy confusion in his head was gone, his body felt better, and he saw things clearly – undistorted and sharp, as he always did. And when he looked at Dali again, the former warmth of that time settled under his skin like a sea of flames.

Longing flared up, joined with the heat of the day when he had tried to confront Dali; when he had tried to find out whether Dali hated him for Frieda’s murder. It connected with the hunger he had suppressed for years and danced with the tingling of seconds gone by which he believed he had finally smothered. Somewhere between the sheets, his wife’s legs, and the damn paperwork of his missions. It seemed as if all those boundaries, all those temptations, would evaporate in a single breath. What remained was desire.

Everything in Gerhard wanted to get up and embrace Dali. His black hair would probably glide through his fingers like silk and his body would replace the shallow coldness of his skin with barely perceptible warmth after a few minutes. His breath would flit over Gerhard’s lips and perhaps they would kiss. The only thing he had to do was reach out and grab the white fabric on his body. He just had to-

“Gerhard?”

Blinking several times, Gerhard’s gaze fell on his gloved fingers, which had stretched out in Dali’s direction. The armchair was a few steps behind him and Dali’s proximity was no longer just an idea in the middle of confused thoughts.

“Is everything all right?” Raising his brows, Dali tilted his head.

“If you’re feeling better, you could take over here. Ul will surely wake up in a minute and-“

A rumble coursed through the shelf as Gerhard slammed his hand against the wood, trapping Dali between himself and the writings of days gone by. His friend’s eyes widened. His delicate mouth opened, but there were no words. Only a disorganised silence forced its way between them – so oppressive that Gerhard heard himself swallow.

“I want you.” A simple statement. Not a question. Almost a command.

“Are you sure you’re all right? Or have you taken to making poor jokes lately?” Restrained laughter overcame Dali, emanating from his body like a sweet hum that, for the first time in all these years, didn’t drive Gerhard mad. Not directly.

Instead, he grabbed the book in the other man’s hands, removed the leather cover from his grip and threw it over his shoulder straight onto the round table, on which at least another twenty books were piled. Then he pressed his other hand against the shelf next to Dali’s head and leant down slightly towards him. Those few centimetres separating them seemed like the last hurdle between affection and forbidden touches.

Meanwhile, Dali’s eyelids drooped slightly, making his dark eyes appear even darker. “Gerhard, stop that.”

Was there a gentle tremor in his voice, a sound of pleasure that lured Gerhard without making it clear? He didn’t know. His body automatically took a stance, ready to let Dali go. For just a moment, his arms lowered and his friend threatened to disappear. Dali’s narrow sideways glance, a demanding, light-coloured expression, however, conveyed something else. Just at shoulder height, resistance twitched through Gerhard’s body. In a flash, he grabbed Dali by the arm, pushed him back against the shelf – books thundered to the floor – and leant forward.

The sweet smell of blood entered Gerhard’s nose, played around his senses, swept them clean, inviting him to savour it, so he opened his mouth. In the background, he heard Dali’s protest, his hands against his chest, but not enough force to push him away. But Gerhard let go, put his head back far enough to look at Dali and drowned in the other man’s grey-black eyes.

“It’s against the rules to bite someone,” Dali hissed. “You know that. Unless you’re planning to control me. Since when are you a rule-breaker? Usually, you’re practically the ultimate lapdog of your superiors.”

An amused snort escaped Gerhard’s lips. In the next blink, he brought a hand to his mouth, gently bit into a corner of the fabric, and pulled off the glove. He gave up. For once, he wanted to give up, surrender to the warmth and fulfil his desire. Maybe then it would stop burning. Maybe then he could finally breathe more freely without having to worry every other time he met Dali about what might have been if he had found the courage to break the rules long before they had both walked down the aisle.

As he placed a hand on Dali’s chest and carefully ran it along the fabric, Gerhard thought he was losing himself for the first time. “It’s a single rule. A single law that forbids me to be close to a man.” He leaned forward again, burying his nose in Dali’s black hair and inhaling the smell of warm milk and caramel.

“A law to keep our race alive because we have become mortal and weak.”

Dali’s chest rose and fell under Gerhard’s hand; a life that coloured this moment strangely real, so he lowered his head, the dark strands down to Dali’s neck.

“Gerhard!” This time Dali twitched noticeably, pushing so hard against Gerhard’s chest that his breath squeezed forcedly over his lips. “You’re no longer free!”

One second.

A single moment in which Gerhard grabbed him by the wrists and squeezed the soft flesh to the bone. A gasp came over the other; pleasure in Gerhard’s ears. He pressed him harder against the shelf, his mouth wide open.

In the next breath, he tasted blood. He even thought he could taste it long before he had penetrated Dali’s skin. A metallic sweetness spread across his tongue, eliciting a choked sound from his partner. Perhaps it was pleasure; a hint of understanding causing Dali’s resistance to collapse.

Without further ado, Gerhard removed his teeth from Dali’s flesh and licked over the injury, leaving a trail of saliva that he ran up to his ear. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re no longer free either.”

The answer was silence. Calm in which Gerhard rested his forehead against the wood of the shelf and closed his eyes. “Only until this mission is over. After that ... I’ll let you go.”

“What’s got into you? It can’t be reason...”

Soundless laughter rolled off Gerhard’s tongue, unheard, lost in the skirmish between them. Dali was right. What had come over him? Why was he overcome by everything he had buried so fiercely? Why today? Why at all?

Why?

“I ... want to know what it’s like.” His hand slid down Dali’s chest until it rested on his hip.

“Ever since then, I’ve wanted-“

“I was told to bring this here.”

With a leap, Gerhard put distance between himself and Dali – his friend’s flushed cheeks conveying shame, perhaps even favour between stress and distress – before whirling around. Theodore stood in the doorway, one door barely open. His gaze was fixed on them. A bit as if he’d been there all along.

“Documents that will help us on our mission?” Slowly, Dali pushed himself off the shelf.

Theodore nodded. “Father said there’s a consistent pattern here of vampires suddenly losing their minds after coming into contact with someone strange.” He placed the files on the table, not giving Gerhard a glance. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Dali. “Do you want me to give him a message?”

A gentle shake of the head on Dali’s part ended the conversation between them and yet he accompanied Theodore out of the door, leading him into the corridor like a small child. He would probably devote himself to his own children now – he would feed Ul and give Raphael his attention. In between, he would forget about Gerhard. Probably.

Clenching his teeth, he savoured the taste of blood on his tongue a little longer before swallowing and balling his hands into fists.

Dali wouldn’t forget him. He would replay the seconds he had experienced constantly in his head and remember where the gentle pain in his neck had come from. After all, he had enjoyed it despite all the resistance.

Gerhard wasn’t imagining any of this.

He surely wasn’t.

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