Notes: For those of you who haven't read my other stories featuring my Darklighter OC, here's a quick rundown on his background.

Damon is a bi/pansexual Darklighter originally from Braunschweig back when it was a duchy under French control during the early 1800s in the current northern German state of Niedersachsen/Lower Saxony. He crossed over and became a Darklighter in 1835, the breed that seduces and impregnates cis-female Future Whitelighters. As he's originally from Germany, his native language is German and he's still fluent in the language, code-switching occasionally.


Chapter Two

Die Wunden brechen auf.
Dein Werk nimmt seinen Lauf
Verscht durch deine Heilung.

Geschunden wach ich auf.
Die Angst nimmt mich in Kauf.
Versucht durch deine Heilung.

~~ "Du spielst Gott", OOMPH!

The body of the third warlock on the list—the one with the ability to cast illusions—fell to the ground with the arrow piercing his heart. Damon telekinetically orbed the glowing arrow back into his hand and then summoned an athame—one he knew had been used by the Brotherhood of Thorn.

Like the others, he set up the scene to look like it had been a ritual killing, slit the dead warlock's throat and stabbed the athame where the arrow had pierced flesh to help cover the true cause of death. As warlocks were still evil magical beings, albeit second-class citizens in the underworld, Damon knew the bodies of his victims would eventually turn to dust as a means of evil (and magic) protecting itself.

For now, however, there was every chance they could eventually be discovered by mortal police or a snooping witch, and Damon wanted to hide all traces of a Darklighter being there.

Satisfied at last with his handiwork, Damon black-orbed back to Wyatt's throne room, summoned the crossbow and arrow, and approached slowly. "Mein Herr. Die drei Hexer sind tot."

-x-x-x-

Wyatt was talking to one of the new candidates to become the seers. He cared not for them, but still rewarded them with his presence. Once the orbs were felt—about to show up—he shut her off and looked at Damon and the apparated crossbow and arrows. Flicking a finger, he moved one of the arrows straight to the heart of the seer that burnt to her death—seeing a happy smile from the tribrid at last. Then Wyatt grabbed the arrow from the floor.

"Do you want some premonitions?" he genuinely asked as he approached Damon, taking the crossbow off of his hand and depositing it over the vault. It soon vanished and turned into three spheres of power that went sucked onto the wall, which shook with strength as a minor earthquake was produced.

He looked at him, waving the arrow as the question still remained unanswered. "Was it hard?" he asked then, moving a finger to bring him closer.

"Nein," Damon answered—a negative to both questions. He didn't want any premonitions, and although two of the warlocks had put up a bit of a fight, it hadn't lasted very long.

When Wyatt beckoned him with a finger, the Darklighter moved closer until he was right in front of the throne. Hating himself for being in this situation in the first place, he made himself kneel down, then slowly lifted his gaze to Wyatt's face.

"A pity. Premonitions are fun. One thing I'll never get to have," Wyatt pointed out with a shrug as he spun the arrow before making it burn, effectively destroying the power. Partially just so he let the other know he could destroy him as well if he wanted to. "Watching the future… I get why the Source had the Seer and the Oracle by their side." He shrugged, crossing his legs as he moved slightly to the side, looking at the other.

"So, what was going through your mind before going out on my quest, Damon?" he asked, playfully carrying the words slowly like a snake would. A tempting one indeed.

The unspoken warning didn't go unnoticed. At Wyatt's question, the way he drew out the words, Damon knew he had to word his answer carefully. "That the sooner I left, the sooner I could return. Having you so close, I... my body..."

He stopped, swallowed hard, switched languages: it was easier to say it in his native language. „Ich will meinen Körper mit Ihrem vereinen. Hier."

Sealing the room with a hand gesture, Wyatt looked at Damon and spread his legs for a wide different reason than being simply rude. He leaned up after that, smirking. "Good, now say it in English since it's clearly harder to admit it that way," he ordered, waving his hand in Damon's direction and having all of the Darklighter's clothes, minus his underwear, orb out to the bottom of the room. His own followed a similar fate at the same time, and comfortable, he just looked at him, waiting.

"I want my body joined with yours," Damon translated. "Here."

The way Wyatt was looking at him made him wish, for once, that he still had his clothing on—more than that, he wished he had his stolen power returned. But since Wyatt still had his touch-of-death power, all Damon could do was play along and behave, no matter how much his pride and independent streak were wounded.

As it was, with Wyatt leaning back completely comfortable on his throne watching him, Damon let his gaze travel freely over the self-proclaimed King's body, linger.

Wyatt stood up after those words. "See? It's not that hard," he said pointedly, standing up. He stopped right in front of him, moving a hand to brush on his neck, gently. Demon or not, he still was a witch—and a Whitelighter. So of course, gentleness had never abandoned him. He leaned in. "Do you want to touch me?" he asked, brushing his lips as he kept his gaze on his eyes.

The gentle touch on his neck, his lips, surprised him, but Damon couldn't look away from Wyatt's gaze holding his. "Yes," he admitted in a whisper, reaching up to rest his right hand on Wyatt's thigh. He leaned into the demon-witch-Whitelighter's touch, felt his cock twitch in his briefs. His mouth opened, just enough to show a hint of tongue, teeth.

Wyatt smirked, feeling that hand on him. "Then touch," he said, feeling his hand on him. Leaning down, he laid his lips against Damon's, a brief touch. Using his own death touch, he set the other's lip nerves ablaze, so he felt the kiss more without bringing pain to him. The hand that laid back held onto the marked rear and held him, tight, giving him a squeeze. "What else do you want, Damon?" he asked, nudging his nose as he returned to look at his eyes.

He'd tried to remain silent, really; but Wyatt kissing him, using his magic to deepen the kiss, and then his hand on the mark he'd made, holding him tight—arousal flared despite himself and had the Darklighter's breathing turning ragged.

Then there was Wyatt's question, one that sounded sincere, and this time he wanted to answer. So he did while running the pads of his fingers over the visible bulge in front of him: „Mein König fickt mich auf seinem Thron, sodass jedermann weiß, ich gehöre nur ihm."

It wasn't the only thing he wanted—what he wanted was his stolen death-touch power back—but for now he had to be on his best behavior. And besides, he figured Wyatt wouldn't be able to resist. Hazel-brown eyes met Wyatt's; he smirked faintly. „Ich bin Ihre Hure, nicht? Sie haben das schon gesagt, und nun ist die Stunde hier. Nehmen Sie mich zu Ihnen."

Von nun an gibt es kein Zurück.


German Translations:

Mein Herr. Die drei Hexer sind tot.: My Lord. The three warlocks are dead.

Mein König fickt mich auf seinem Thron, sodass jedermann weiß, ich gehöre nur ihm.: My king fucking me on his throne so that everyone knows I belong only to him.

Ich bin Ihre Hure, nicht?: I am your (formal) whore, no?

Sie haben das schon gesagt, und nun ist die Stunde hier.: You (formal) have already said that, and now the hour is here.

Nehmen Sie mich zu Ihnen.: Take me to you (formal).

Von nun an gibt es kein Zurück.: From now on there's no way back.