Damon didn’t wait for agreement, approval, or even a second question. The moment he decided, he simply acted, adjusting Lily in his arms with an irritating naturalness, as if the whole absurd situation was already completely under control—at least for him. Her body responded immediately to the contact, relaxing against his as if that closeness was the only thing that truly mattered at that moment, and this only reinforced the calm conviction etched on his face.

"I’m going upstairs," he said directly, in a tone that didn’t ask permission from anyone present. His eyes quickly scanned the group, assessing without really stopping, like someone who already knew exactly what he was going to do before even getting up from the sofa. There was a small pause, brief enough to create expectation, but long enough to carry intention. "And I’m going to... educate her a little."

The sentence hung in the air with a strange weight, somewhere between absurd and dangerously suggestive, but no one had time to react as they should have. Damon was already moving, turning his body and walking towards the stairs with firm steps, completely ignoring any attempt at intervention. Lily remained silent in his arms, but her state said it all—completely focused, completely surrendered to his presence, as if the rest of the world had been switched off.

As he began to ascend, the sound of his footsteps echoed through the room with an almost offensive naturalness, considering the chaos that had dominated the room minutes before. No hesitation, no glances back, no apparent concern for what he was leaving behind. He simply went up, disappearing upstairs as if it were just another routine task.

The door upstairs closed with a dry click.

And then—

Silence.

A heavy, oppressive silence, the kind that doesn’t last long because everyone knows someone is going to say something absurd at any moment.

Elizabeth was the first to break this silence, letting out a long, controlled sigh as she brought her hand to her forehead, clearly anticipating what was to come. "Someone better get earplugs," she said with a very specific weariness in her voice, as if she’d been through something similar before—or worse, as if she knew exactly the kind of consequences that combination of factors would generate.

Aria couldn’t hold back her reaction. A slow smile appeared on her face, followed by a small, light, almost distracted, nasal laugh, but too full of intention to be innocent. She crossed her arms, leaning slightly to one side as she looked towards the stairs. "Honestly..." she began, as if pondering something important, before shrugging with complete nonchalance. "...I wish I were her."

Morgana turned her face towards her with an expression that mixed judgment and disbelief, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should respond or simply pretend she hadn’t heard. "You have no shame whatsoever, do you?" she retorted, but without the force of someone truly indignant—it was more automatic than anything else.

Aria simply smiled, completely comfortable with her own comment, without the slightest trace of regret. "None," she replied, simply, honestly, and utterly unconcerned.

Ester, who until then had only observed everything with that irritatingly constant analytical posture, let out a low sigh and crossed her arms more firmly, clearly deciding that it wasn’t worth getting involved in that kind of discussion. "You guys are impossible," she commented, her tone neutral, but laden with a slight mental exhaustion.

Ingrivid, on the other hand, was completely lost.

She looked at the stairs, then at the group, then back at the stairs, as if trying to follow a conversation that had clearly skipped several important steps. Her brow furrowed slightly as she tried to organize the information, but nothing seemed to fit logically.

"...wait," she finally said, her voice heavy with genuine doubt. She pointed slightly in the direction where Damon had disappeared, as if that would help clarify something. "What exactly is he going to do?"

The silence that followed was different. It wasn’t heavy.

It was... dangerous.

Morgana slowly turned her body toward her, the movement deliberate enough to already indicate that something was coming. She walked toward Ingrivid calmly, almost gently, like someone about to share important knowledge—or completely ruin someone’s innocence.

When she stopped in front of her, she placed a hand on Ingrivid’s shoulder with a light firmness, tilting her head slightly down as if she were about to explain something very basic.

"Ingrivid..." she began, in a tone almost too patient to be trustworthy. She paused briefly, just enough to ensure full attention. "...you are too innocent for your own good."

Ingrivid blinked, clearly not understanding where this was going.

"...what?"

Morgana didn’t change her expression. She only tilted her head slightly, as if to state the most obvious thing in the world.

"He’s going to devastate her insides with that thick thing of his."

The world stopped for a split second.

Aria immediately turned her face away, clearly trying not to laugh too loudly. Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath like someone who had already given up on maintaining any level of dignity in that environment. Ester simply looked away, as if she had officially decided not to participate in that moment.

Morgana released Ingrivid’s shoulder with the same naturalness with which she had placed her hand there, completely satisfied with the explanation, and began to walk away as if she had just commented on the weather.

"Good luck to her," she murmured as she walked away.

One by one, the others began to disperse, each dealing with the situation in their own way—Aria still holding back laughter, Elizabeth clearly exhausted, Esther deliberately ignoring the subject.

And then—

Only Ingrivid remained.

Standing in the middle of the room.

Momentary.

Her eyes wide.

Her face gradually reddening as her brain finally connected everything.

Her mouth opened slightly, as if testing the word before believing it.

"...S-sex?"

No one answered.

But she already knew the answer.

The room was simple, but not austere. A large bed occupied the center, with dark sheets that seemed to absorb the dim light of the single lamp on the side table. Damon entered and, without ceremony, threw Lily onto the middle of the bed. The movement was abrupt, almost violent, but she didn’t protest. On the contrary.

When her body fell onto the sheets, she was already adjusting, like a flower opening to the sun. Her dark eyes, with that inner spark of violet, fixed on Damon with an intensity that was almost physical. Her legs were already parting, a silent and urgent invitation. Her breathing, once calm, now had an accelerated rhythm, perceptible even in the silence of the room.

Damon stopped in front of the bed, observing. There was no smile on his face, only a cold, calculating assessment. He seemed like a predator studying its prey, knowing that the capture was already complete.

Lily didn’t wait. The succubus within her, the essence that pulsed beneath her human skin, had no time for subtleties or preliminary games.

"Take it off," she ordered, her voice a whisper laden with a deep need. Her hands were already moving, not to help him, but to tear her own blouse. The fabric stretched and a button popped off, revealing the curve of a breast in the light. "I don’t want clothes anymore. I want you. Now." She was writhing, not to escape, but to offer herself. Every movement was a plea, a demand. Her hunger was palpable, a void in the center of the room that only he could fill.

Damon finally moved. Not urgently, but with terrible deliberation. He didn’t "take off" his clothes. He undressed, like someone removing armor before battle. Each item—the shirt, the jeans—was discarded with a precise gesture, without wasting a moment. When he was naked, the light accentuated his defined muscles, the old scars, the physical authority he carried in every line of his body.

Lily watched him, and her mouth opened in a hoarse sigh that wasn’t entirely human. "Come," she said, and that word wasn’t a plea. It was a command, a spell, an invocation. "Don’t make me wait. I’ve waited all my life."

He approached the bed. Lily stretched out her arms, not to embrace him, but to cling to him, like someone clinging to a savior in a stormy sea. When he finally entered her space, the heat between their bodies intensified instantly, like a combustion.

And then, he began. Not tenderly, not carefully. Precisely. With a force that was almost brutal, but which Lily received as a sacrament. Each touch, each movement, was a direct response to her demand. He wasn’t "educating" her. He was affirming a truth she already knew: that they were two voids that could only be filled in this way, violently, totally, devouringly.

Lily didn’t close her eyes. She kept them fixed on Damon, drinking in every detail of his expression, every muscle contraction. His words dissipated, replaced by sounds—moans, truncated orders, sighs that were almost screams. The bed creaked, the sheets tangled, and the room, once silent, was now filled with the noise of two beings consuming each other.

And at the center of it all, the succubus finally felt nourished.