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The Council room was cast in golden morning light, making its polished marble floors look as if it was glowing. The tall, wrapped in gold, pillars stretched up and looked as though they held up Heaven itself. Paintings covered the walls, depicting scenes from many different religions. Christianity, the Twelve Olympians, Islam, Judaism, prohets and symbols from every religion imaginable painted its walls. None of which gave Daniel peace.
The Council itself had filed out after their order to have the High Warlock, Makários Havenlock, of the Infernal Accords work alongside Daniel Oswald.
Daniel had almost laughed . Nearly walked out.
Daniel had thought this was a terrible idea. He didn’t need a Warlock, least of a this one . If he needed backup, it should have been another Nephilim. Someone loyal, sane, not a Warlock who had a flair for theatrics and a smile that looked like he owned the place.
Out of everyone they could have assigned him, it just had to be Makários. He did not need a babysitter, and as powerful as Makários surly was, Daniel didn’t need him.
Makários lounged in his seat next to Daniel, as if he had been born on a throne, fingers twirling golden magic lazily before tilting his head towards him, a lazy but wicked smile, and golden eyes that held mischief.
“If you glare any harder, darling, I fear that you will combust.”
“I don’t talk to demons ,” Daniel snapped as sharp as broken glass.
Makários hummed, amused. “Good thing I’m only half then, would be a waste of my charm.”
Daniel’s lip curled, “You are disgusting.”
“Yet you keep looking at me.”
“I am trying to figure out what makes your head so big.”
“Is it the ego? Or something else? Would you like to check?”
“Rot in Nede.”
“I’ve already been there, it sucked. However, I imagine if you were there, it would make it far more bearable, pretty boy.”
That earned Makários a scoff as Daniel stood and stormed out of the room, shoving the ornate door.
Makários shrugged, standing and stretching like a satisfied cat. If he was going to be stuck with the Nephilim’s golden boy, he might as well have some fun.
xxxxx
Years had sanded their edges.
Starting from barely concealed hatred became an uneasy alliance, to something resembling trust, and unexpectedly, love .
They bled for the same cause. Stood shoulder to shoulder through fire. They stitched each other's backs in calm moments through bruised and battered hands while subtly fixing each other's deeper, more concealed hurts that they tried hard not to speak about for the longest time. But slowly, they learned to.
But they learned to speak to each other, laughing, true laughter , and to Daniel, it had been years since he allowed himself to enjoy someone so much.
Somewhere between hating Makários and relying on him, he fell in love.
And Marcus had fallen too.
Now?
Now, Daniel was on his back in their shared bed, the weight of Marcus pressed on top of him.
Daniel didn’t even complain when Marcus shoved his cold hands, with even colder rings, beneath his shirt and pressed them against his skin. Daniel inhaled sharply at the chill, and Marcus smiled against his neck, thumbs rubbing in small circles at his sides.
For several quiet moments, neither of them spoke.
Then Marcus asked, voice low and hoarse from disuse, “You okay?”
Daniel let out a soft hum, thoughtful, “Yeah,” he said after a second, as if he had just confessed to every reason why he loves Marcus.
Marcus pushed himself up to look into Daniel’s blue eyes with a soft smile.
“Are you sure?” he asked, brushing a curl from his own face that just fell right back.
Daniel snickered, “Of course.”
It was Marcus’s turn to hum as he leaned down and kissed the mole just under the right corner of Daniel’s lip.
“I love you,” the Warlock murmured against Daniel’s skin.
“I love you too,” the Nephilim said, voice breaking, it had once been war between them for so long, and now it was worship .
And neither of them would change their new arrangement, not for anything .