Ghirahim's hands were probably one of the most interesting things about the demon. It was what drew Link to draw one of the slender appendages up into his own, looking how each finger was long and thin, and how easily they could curl around the hilt of a sword - any sword. It was enough that it brought a heavy flush to his cheeks and ears if the hand slipped lower than it should in a normal situation.
It was intrigue that caused him to press his own lips against Ghirahim's, the bare tips of glove clad fingers drawing up into pale silver strands to tug the demon closer against him.
It was intrigue that drew Ghirahim to pull the hero against his body, lips running along the lengths of his ear as hands moved lower and lower, stroking parts of the hero that turned hot and hard, before his spine curved up as he howled in happy release, kisses rewarding the hero, peppered over his cheeks, chin and neck.
Ghirahim was perfect, silver moonlight highlighting toned flesh as he took him, tan hands spanning across his chest as Ghirahim drove himself deeper. They curled around his back, throwing his head back into the pillows, feeling those white lips press against the vein in his back.
There was a sentiment there, between himself and the Demon Lord, as he loved him so. The four letter word found itself on his lips, the demon's head whipping around to stare at him as lips parted. A sad look overcame the weapon's face before being taken over by that same sneaky glint. The demon wouldn't admit to the hero, but he loved him in the closest way a demon weapon could.
Having him leave in only the most painful way shattered him. He would not bear this loss again. Link had become the master replacing Demise, and as both light and hatred would again be born into the world, Ghirahim would forever fight within himself to arm either side.
And that madness caused him to separate the sword from himself and drive it into a pedestal and seal it away, where neither hero nor devil borne from hatred for the blood of both hero and goddess would be able to retrieve it.
And neither would he be able to, or he would never let himself guide the hero or the devil to it.
So like the hero who had lit up his life for so many years, he faded. Even until his last thought, breath, sight… the intrigue that drew Ghirahim to Link had never faded. Not once.