So cold Lucifer became after the fall. All that sinful love he had for him did not perish in the fall neither...No matter how much the being he loved became something he hated....In a way; he perished in the fall.
It became unbearable with the kitsune. He was so...hard up on destroying him...Destroying the love he had for the ill-fated Gwenyth. Trapping him there as a penance for what was never meant to be...For years.
But of for years, for all the years...There were times he saw the cruel facade crack. He saw the old him lurking underneath that smirk, hiding in those dead eyes. He loved him; he could see all that he was capable of.
Sometimes this unrequited love was so painfully maddening. Perhaps that’s why he let himself fall for the kitsune prince. A laughable way to purge himself of an unattainable love. He fell hard, but not as hard as he did when he fell for Lucifer...
He could have wept for the torment lashed upon the innocent kitsune, for he knew nothing of the whys, he just took it, more or less. Oh, he could have, and he did.
But the core of his being knew it was not only for the loss of innocence, but because it tainted him even further, dragging him deeper into the abyss.
In the end, he was driven to kill the one being he could love after the fall. Lucifer broke not all the kitsune, but him as well; and there was no putting the pieces together. There was a hollow in his being that'd never be filled.
All that was in vain, he thought in bitterness constantly. What was all the point in this? Where was his companion in damnation? What had he had fallen for? These thoughts always haunted him; in the yawning abyss that was eternity.
After the death of Kit, he couldn't even stand to be in the presence of Lucifer for quite some time...Or anybody's. Only his daughter sought his presence; sometimes Lucian ...But oh, how much torment that was, with his face...
In his bitterness, he knew Lucifer mourned in his own way. He knew how he loved the kitsune, even if he would never confess it...But oh how he knew...
There he stood in the Outside Lands, the scorched lands. The endless nightmares, the droves of damned souls. He did the watching better than Lucifer. Perhaps it was his guilt; the guilt that damned him as much as they...
There he stood when Lucifer approached him. Solemn, overpowering; he sensed something...something off. "Was it worth it, Denfel?" Lucifer asked, inching closer. He could hear the chinking of his armor. Oh how he still clung to that after all these years...
He looked into the landscape, mouth dry. : Was what worth ith it, Lord?" he emphasized Lord, for what it was worth, their shattered friendship.
“Killing Kit." Lucifer snarled. “I’ll never forgive you." The next part came out almost choked, but still a snarl. The snarl of someone who lost something, someone dear.
“He was going to die anyways... Whether by my hand, or by the-" He began, steeling himself, but there was still a tremble rolling through him; how shaky his voice came out. How despair gripped him, how raw the loss still seemed; even if it was blood on his hands. Lucifer cut him off seeing him. “I don't need to hear your prattle, Denfel. I just want to know if it was worth it."
How peculiar, he thought. He looked into Lucifer's face, and for a moment he was taken aback, for he saw ...raw sorrow; he saw not the cold, hard face, but the vulnerable face of Lucifer during the fall...
So lost in it, and before he knew it lips were locked with his. There was not the icy cold he was expecting. There was heat.
In this rush, in this haze the years seemed to melt away in just that instant-and then it ended. He broke away, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand.
Then it happened again, the fervor all wrong, but all right. Every part of his bein g wanted this, ever the weak, longing he was.
They ended up on in the post room, his hands working to get that damn armor off, Lucifer's likewise. They acted just as they were lovers who hadn't seen each other's form in a long time. His finger passed over that white skin; over perfectly muscled areas. Such power that form exuded. He detected that slightest tremble of Lucifer's fingers as they passed over his body.
The beauty of this passing tenderness wasn't lost; the profound contrast of his dark complexion against the dead, colorless tone of Lucifer, almost exquisite.
The tenderness was fleeting; devoured by desperation, by fervor. He bled, he bruises, he sweat, he panted and shivered underneath that form. The floor was their bed; the room their chamber of sins.
Oh what was this? Centuries had passed since he even touched that cold white flesh, since he felt something akin to this, this damn....bliss. This damn connection; this connection that could almost erase everything. Just a fleeting moment,
And he was in that golden sanctum; where Lucifer was truly alive, where he was beautiful; vulnerable. Before cruelty took over, before...
And it was all over; and he was reminded what all this was, a damn power struggle. He lay there alone in a dank shame.
After all this time he was still pining him, he truly had followed him into Damnation. And there he laid, in the midst of it, a broken creature pining for what never would be again.