Archive of Our Own

“Qui totum vult totum perdit.”—

“He who wants everything loses everything.”

It always felt the same, that feeling which pierced at his ego incessantly.

How could one sentiment sow such discord between two people?

It felt unreal, all of it. Like it was all just a mere fever dream that he had still yet to awaken from.

Griffith sat in the hot bath his servants had prepared just moments before.

Being the leader of an entire nation was demanding. Princess Charlotte always did her best to help ease Griffith’s mind, whether it be sexually or otherwise, organizing in advance for the servants to care for him whenever she couldn’t.

The times when she herself had been unable care for him were very few, but not nonexistent, and although Griffith held nothing against the young woman, he still never felt much appreciation for her. But he wouldn’t let her be cognizant of the fact. Instead, he utilized the comfort of a warm bath to help him wash away his sins, pretend that they never happened.

Griffith wasn’t the type to recognize his wrongdoings and try to make up for them, much less apologize. To him, each of his actions were justified, and so, he saw no need to feel remorse, no need to reprimand himself, no need to care. So why was it that he was here right now, feeling stupid?

Once-dried rose petals floated around in the water in which he bathed, releasing a pleasant fragrance to his nostrils, failing to appease him.

His mind had been perturbed.

Despite the bliss of his new world, Griffith still couldn’t bring himself to find peace. It was torturous, the constant anxiety which resided within the depths of his being, urging him to acknowledge his humanly emotions.

Something felt wrong, out of place, missing. And he knew what it was, the one thing that he so desired, but he refused to admit it, refused to acknowledge his mistake; he’d be damned if he were to confess the truth to himself.

Griffith stretched over to the small table beside him, and took the cup of freshly-brewed tea which rested on its tea plate.

With empty eyes, he stared at the colored liquid residing within the confines of the cup. The steam hit his face directly, adding to the heat surrounding him, and he sighed tiredly.

His hand trembled as he approached the cup to his lips and sipped, jerking back when the contents burned his lips. Of course… How could he have forgotten? The tea had been freshly brewed.

Despite its elevated temperature, Griffith still arrogantly forced it down, feeling it burn its path down his throat and into his stomach, bringing some kind of insufficient warmth to his chest.

His body felt numb. The water was still warm, but he felt cold. The heat of the bath became insignificant as his mind ventured back to his memories of the old band of the hawk. His soaked strands of hair felt like dead weight on his shoulders, and his fingertips felt like ice against his skin when he clasped himself into a sulky hug inside the tub, resting his chin in his knees.

Everything was bland— the grandiose walls of stone, the luxurious foods which had been carefully prepared, the fine garments that had been tailored to his image by the best-skilled tailors of the land, the glory of being a god… all of it, unimaginably dull to his currently-clouded eyes.

What was the real benefit to being a god? To have entire nations bow at your command? To be the most powerful? If one is so elevated, who could ever challenge them?

Ah, how it all felt unreal.

Griffith had won, but yet still, it felt like the biggest defeat he had ever experienced. At times like this, he found himself lost in thought, questioning his decisions.

Pride. That cursed virtue, denying him the ability to acknowledge his mistakes. Instead, he would continue to spite the only person who brought him peace for reasons he himself knew were trivial.

Oh, but how he couldn’t resist, couldn’t refrain from inflicting more and more pain onto the worn man. It satisfied him deeply to know that Guts was hurting just as much as he did, if not more. But just as it quelled his sadistic desires, it also fueled his longing for the man’s love. 

Yes, that was it. That’s what it was— love, the one thing that seemed to always slip through Griffith’s greedy fingers despite his many attempts to capture and keep it. Many individuals admired and looked up to him, but none of them could satisfy what his heart endlessly ached for; they were all too feeble-minded, too inferior. All but one, the only man who ever made his hollow heart full— Guts.

If only Griffith could recognize that love was free and not something one could trap and hold against its will…

Petals moved and water sloshed as Griffith absentmindedly stirred the bathwater. The sounds of his melancholy reverberated into the solitude of the empty air surrounding him, bouncing off solid walls and returning to his ears to taunt him further.

He buried his chin into his knees once more, and dug his fingers harshly into the flesh of his back, leaving behind streaks of red in their wake, just as he had done so many times before.

He screamed, and kicked his legs furiously in the water as he choked on the suffocating bulge forming in the back of his throat. His pain was incessant, with his skin burning a flaring heat from his vexed spirit.

His chest thumped with a sharp and constant ache, one which had become a lot more noticeable than it had always been over the last few years.

It was made known to him that his heart had been frozen in order to make way for his ascent to godhood. If so, why was it that his sentiments still came alive whenever the slightest reminder of that man would appear in his mind or before his eyes?

Was this his punishment?

Surely no one could challenge a god, much less punish them. So what could explain the phenomenon which always occurred during his moments spent in solitude?

Was it because he had been reincarnated into the child’s body? Or was it his own doing? Surely it wouldn’t strike anyone as a surprise if they’d known about the tender times he and Guts had spent together. But he’d said it himself back when he stood before The Black Swordsman on that hill with Zodd by his side to witness it, witness the declaration of his freedom, of how he felt free of any guilt, free of Guts.

Griffith wheezed out of frustration, and ran his fingers through the stinging roots of his hair, rocking back and forth in an attempt to cope with the longing for his estranged companion.

The times he’d spent together with Guts were golden, very much so. Griffith’s life had been perfect up until that duel, up until he lost a fundamental part of his dream— Guts.

Out of all the words which had ever been spoken to him, none of them had ever moved him as much as a specific word did. None of them hurt as much as that one did— “Goodbye.”

What a joke. A cruel one too. If Guts actually meant even a bit of those endearing confessions he often uttered, then why did he leave? Why leave the person you love?

How can one claim to love someone and proceed to hurt them, leave them at their most vulnerable point without even as much as a mere glance backwards? How could he?

It really did hurt.

That day was most definitely instilled into his being, unmoving, like a permanent stain which remained in the back of his mind and refused to leave. The scar he’d received that day left behind a phantom pain despite his body having being renewed, just as Guts did.

Had Guts been cursed with the same invidious images of their time spent together? Was he also a victim of repressed emotions resurfaced by sudden reminders? It would be a lie for him to deny it.

It was unspoken of, the way one’s mind and body could grieve for something or someone. And oh, was it torturous.

Griffith sniffled as he allowed his hand to brush along his abs and squeeze around his waist, reminiscent of Guts’ faded touch.

He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand, and lied back against the edge of the tub to hug himself once more, an ineffective remedy for the misery of his self-induced solitude.

It seemed as if the only thing he had become capable of feeling was pain, like the pain he was now experiencing, the same one which made his skin ache and his eyes hurt.

————

“Do you like it when I do this?” Guts asked, playing with the braid he’d finished tying off with a ribbon just a few moments ago.

“Do what? My hair?” Griffith turned, glancing back at Guts.

“Yeah.”

“I do. It’s relaxing.”

“Ahh. I wondered how come you let me tangle your hair without a fuss,” Guts chuckled, twirling the end of the braid around his index finger.

“Pfft- My hair gets tangled regardless. You’re just speeding up the inevitable,” Griffith reassured.

“It’s really beautiful, your hair,” Guts complimented, running his fingers along the intricacies of the braid.

“Don’t worry, I like yours too,” The blond joked, turning to face his comrade. He brought a hand to tuck away the small amount of hair at the side of Guts’ head to emphasize his sarcasm.

Guts roared a loud laugh, and shoved Griffith by the shoulder— “Never knew you were such a comedian,” he commented.

“It suits you,” Griffith spoke wholeheartedly, now playing with Guts’ upper ear. “You look handsome,” he added with a tiny giggle, caressing Guts’ cheek tenderly.

“…Griffith. Stop,” Guts vocalized hesitantly.

“Stop? What have I done this time?” Griffith asked, perplexed at his friend’s sudden disapproval.

“Come on. You know already,” Guts murmured, averting his gaze to the sky, and fidgeting with the grass beneath to avoid him.

“I do?” The hawk frowned, lying on his side, and positioning his body towards Guts, one hand propping up his head as he waited patiently for an explanation.

“…”

“Guts,” he called, cautiously testing the waters as he moved a hand to interlace the tips of his fingers with Guts’ own.

“Let’s just… Let’s finish with the berries, yeah?” Guts muttered, removing his hand.

“…Yeah,” Griffith agreed, a hint of disappointment present within his voice.

They had been gathering berries after training, a not so uncommon occurrence considering that Griffith had an appreciation for the fruit, but somehow, they ended up playing with each other in the grass until they got tired and chose to lie down instead.

The pair silently resumed their earlier activities, managing to gather two bowls’ worth of the red fruit. They returned to Griffith’s quarters with the produce, leaving it on the wooden table.

Griffith stood in front of his window with a bowl of berries, bingeing on them while he admired the starry night sky.

Guts hadn’t joined him, he’d chosen to keep his distance instead, watching his companion from the chair of the room’s table.

The warm shade of orange light flickering from the candle burning before him did nothing but thicken the silence in the room, and so, Guts broke the ice— “Are they to your liking? I’m not too sure, I think I picked some green ones.”

“They’re good,” Griffith replied curtly, adding to the awkwardness in the space.

“O- Okay… Glad you like them,” Guts stuttered.

“Mhm.”

Guts was about to make up an excuse to leave the uncomfortable setting when Griffith finally helped him out— “Guts… I’m not mad at you. Come,” he sighed, leaving the bowl of berries on the nightstand to turn to his distressed comrade.

Guts licked his dry lips anxiously, and joined Griffith in looking out the window.

“Care for some berries?,” The blond offered, lifting the bowl towards him.

“No…? Okay, yes,” Guts accepted, feeling a bit rude for declining the offer.

Griffith’s expression remained deadpan as he watched Guts take a handful of berries and squirm upon tasting them.

Yeah, they were most definitely green.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Guts commented.

“Mhm,” was all Griffith answered, munching on a new portion of wild berries.

“Griffith I’m-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted.

“Okay. But I still wanted to say it. It’s just… we can’t be doing that sort of thing. Not anymore. Not as two guys,” Guts explained, feeling guilty.

“But no one is seeing us,” Griffith argued, bringing Guts to panic with the way those striking blue eyes confronted him. “Guts,” he called again.

“I don’t know!” The man answered frustratedly. “Can we just… forget it?” he huffed defeatedly.

“…Alright.”

They’d come to an agreement just a month before that they would refrain from being intimate and end their affairs. But of course, it was only for so long that they could actually manage to stay away from each other.

Griffith sat on the edge of his bed, consuming his sour berries. Guts, wanting nothing more than his company, sat down quietly beside him.

He began fiddling around with the ribbon that he had attached to the end of his commander’s braid.

“Why do you keep it long?” he questioned, running his fingers over the untidy braid.

“Why do I keep it long? Well… I don’t know. I just like it that way,” Griffith answered, cleaning the bits of fruit from underneath his nails which had grown out quite a bit over the course of the past few weeks.

“You look like a woman,” Guts pointed out, moving behind, and loosening the braid he had done earlier.

“Is that what you would prefer me as?” The blond snarked, ignorant of the slight confrontation in his phrase.

Guts’ actions paused, and his hands hovered over the head of lily-white hair before him—  “No.” The room felt even more uncomfortable than it did earlier.

“Is that so?” Griffith muttered, eyes still trained on his slender fingers, observing their neat composition.

“Yeah. You’d be… Like, you just wouldn’t be, well— you. I don’t know how to explain it,” Guts huffed, struggling to undo a knot which had formed in Griffith’s hair during the takedown.

“Be me?” Griffith repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well… let’s just say that you would be something of a fantasy. Really just someone too perfect to be true,” Guts chuckled awkwardly, ruffling Griffith’s bangs with his fingers.

“But many men already view me as such,” Griffith pointed out.

“True. But many still wouldn’t, they’d much rather an average-looking woman over a stunning man, even if the man is better in every aspect. I think it just has something to do with the laws of attraction. Most men prefer women despite their feelings for men,” Guts explained, standing back to admire the remnant art of his work on Griffith’s hair.

“…” Griffith paused.

His amusement faded, and his eyes went dark for a moment. It wasn’t a begrudging expression, more like a sad one, as if he had been disappointed. He was feeling insecure, something he was unfamiliar with.

“What’s wrong?” Guts noticed his companion go silent.

“…” No response.

“Griffith? What’s up with you?” he repeated, shaking him lightly by the shoulders, “Hey. Griff-”

“I envy women,” was all the man replied, letting himself fall down into the mattress, lost in thought.

“Why? If anything, you should pity them. For one— they’re weaker. Two— they’re emotional, and hence, they don’t have what it takes to make certain decisions, they’re—” Guts rambled on.

Guts’ words fell on deaf ears as Griffith struggled to process everything he had just heard.

“Look, I understand that you’re homo or whatever, but I still don’t see why you of all people would envy a woman,” Guts quarreled, caressing the detached man’s hair tenderly as he continued to adore it.

He tucked it behind Griffith’s ear and Griffith sighed heavily into the open air before he turned, and curled into a fetal position— “It’s a cold night, don’t you find?” he changed the subject, idly tracing a circle into the sheets, simultaneously rubbing his legs together to create some kind of friction, in search of heat for his oncoming night shivers.

“Want me to hold you?” Guts offered.

“No. I’ll just put the covers to use,” Griffith declined, yanking the sheets over them both, Guts moving into a lying position to properly cover himself.

“You sure you wanna sleep here tonight?” Griffith checked. “Because I know that you don’t want people to start making assumptions and stuff.”

“No, but can’t I just stay for a bit longer? I’ll leave when you fall asleep. I’ll be gone before you notice it. Promise,” Guts reassured.

Not the words Griffith would have preferred to hear. He wanted to open his eyes to that familiar face sleeping peacefully in the morning.

They lied there for a few moments, the discomfort of the smaller man obvious with his shudders. Slowly, Guts scooted closer, and hugged him from behind, feeling him stiffen out of shock from the unexpected gesture.

“W-What are you doing?” The man stuttered, still looking forward.

“You’re cold,” Guts pointed out.

Griffith briefly turned to Guts, and turned right back— “No, I’m not,” he denied, still failing to stifle his chattering; he was freezing, especially since he was facing the window.

Guts giggled, amused, and scooted even closer until he was flush against his superior’s chilled skin. He tightened his arm’s grip around the man’s torso as he held him.

“I said I was fine-!” Griffith protested, attempting to remove the strong arm that had been wrapped around him.

Guts nuzzled him— “I don’t mind. It’s okay, really,” he gave a reassuring squeeze. “This is okay,” he repeated, his warm breath ghosting the back of Griffith’s neck, bringing his skin to rise.

They lied together in the soundless room for a while. Quiet tears descended a tiny river which crossed the fine bridge of Griffith’s nose to join the small pool that had been birthed and expanded onto the fabric beneath, darkening the sheets.

Why was it that only Guts got to decide what was okay and what was not?

Griffith’s lip quivered with his faltering composure, so, he bit it to keep the endangered equilibrium of his emotions at bay, the force almost hard enough to tear the fragile skin of his lips.

He felt lonely, disregarded, unappreciated and jealous, jealous of the way women were cherished, of how passionately and tenderly they were loved in their daily life.

Of course men were uplifted much more than women in their daily lives, but it was mostly because of their physical strength and machismo. Why was it that only women were the only ones bestowed the bliss of a soft, tender love?

It burned him, the feeling of being so strong, so smart, so perfect. Who could love someone without faults? Truly love them? Had he even been without flaws? Surely not even he could be perfect. For all he knew, he just wasn’t destined for love. How could he be, with a goal that ambitious?

Guts was the only person he had ever trusted enough to express himself to, be it even a little bit.

So why couldn’t he? Why was it so hard for him? Perhaps he feared that even Guts could not fully accept him. He only wanted to bare his naked soul to the person he loved.

It hurt. It hurt to think that Guts  wouldn’t care for him in the way he secretly craved just because he wasn’t a woman. And he hadn’t even realized it, that his beautiful blue eyes had been tinted green with envy. 

Envy. That was it, that one feeling which tore right through him.

“Why?” he failed to suppress a sniffle from his now-runny nose.

“What? Why what?” Guts answered.

“Never mind,” Griffith immediately dismissed, catching himself before he exposed his sentiments any further.

“Griffith, what is it?,” Guts worried, raising his head to look over Griffith’s shoulder. “Are you… Are you crying? Was it something I did? I’m sorry…” he apologized, burying his head out of guilt.

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m not crying. My nose is just irritated from the air. And my eyes hurt because I’m tired,” The blond lied, quickly drying his tears with a swipe of his wrist before Guts could see the state he was in.

Guts sat up, the sheet now failing to properly cover either one of them. “Griff—” he tried, stretching a hand to touch his superior’s shoulder.

“I’m fine. Leave it alone,” The man huffed sternly, swatting away the hand which attempted to touch him.

Guts remained in place with a remorseful expression, unable to find a way to enlighten the insipid mood between them. “Griffith, please. Just talk to me, would you?” he pleaded. “Please?”

“…Why? Griffith spoke after properly composing himself, turning to address his subordinate. “Why do you spend your nights with me? I don’t understand. What is it that allows you to lie with me without feeling disgusted? You’re not even attracted to men. Please. Tell me. Tell me what it is,” he queried.

“I— I’m attracted to you,” Guts stammered lowly, struggling to meet the pale visage of the man before him. “That’s why.”

“Bullshit,” Griffith scoffed. “If it was just a matter of physical attraction then you would have already lain with several men,” he pointed out, returning to his previous position facing the window.

“Fine. You’re right. I love having sex with you. Your beauty is unmatched, and you have an ass perfect for getting any guy off. There, I said it,” Guts confessed, displeasing to his partner’s ears seeing as he remained with his back facing him. “Was that the response you were looking for?” he asked rudely.

Griffith returned no response to his subordinate, much to his irritation. “Griffith, look at me,” Guts urged, frustration taking over to the point where he forcibly turned Griffith onto his back, and pinned him down by the wrists, forcing him to make eye contact.

“Let go of me,” Griffith demanded coldly, resisting uselessly as he stared daggers at the strong figure immobilizing him.

“But that’s not why. I love spending time with you, playing with your hair, picking berries, hugging you, kissing you— all of it. Being with you is peaceful… healing,” Guts admitted, still holding down fussy wrists. “That’s why I lie with you. That’s why you’re the only man I’m attracted to,” he explained, “I don’t know how to explain it to you any better,” he continued, still anchoring Griffith to the bed. “But having sex with you is more than just sticking it in to me,” Guts admitted clearly.

Griffith stilled his futile attempts at wringing free upon hearing the last bit of the heartfelt confession from the man he held so close.

Had he really meant everything that he had just enunciated? No, he was lying. It had to be. He was lying. Griffith just couldn’t bring himself to believe any of it.

His resenting eyes softened, and he relaxed into the mattress. His lips gave a sad but appreciative smile as he cherished the endearment of Guts’ words, those sweet nothings that were pleasant to the ear.

Griffith believed he was unlovable, truly so, and because of that, he could find solace in believing his comrade, even if deep down, he truly thought it all to be a lie, just a sweet lie to make him feel better.

“I love you. Really. Do I have to prove it to you?” Guts surveyed, staring directly into Griffith’s eyes with meaning behind his words.

The worn man provided no answer; he couldn’t. There was nothing to prove, not if his own mind would force him to reject the truth afterward, all under the guise of “protection”.

Griffith diverted his vision to the ceiling above which was barely visible in the dark room, and Guts slackened but still kept his grip on Griffith’s wrists.

“I love you. Really. Do I have to prove it to you?”

Just in what way did he love him exactly? He never clarified his version of love… 

He returned his vision to finally meet Guts for a bit before he shifted his head to expose his neck, inviting Guts to embrace him with an unpronounced plea.

“Is that really your desire?” Guts checked, receiving an ashamed nod in response.

“Yes…” Griffith whispered, closing his eyes as if it would hide him and take away his humiliation.

He’d never known a love that hadn’t been based off of some materialistic quality he possessed. He’d never even felt a true love before. To him, intimacy was something expressed through sexual relations. That was the one thing he was certain of.

Sex was how he felt loved.

And it was most definitely how he wanted to feel loved tonight.

What a shame, that his sole idea of love had been conceived from such a narrow-minded viewpoint.

“I want you. Give me everything. I want all of you,” Griffith murmured. “If you mean what you say, then you’ll treat me like a woman… Just for tonight. Make me your own. Please, Guts,” he conceded selfishly, his scrunched nose dusted with a faint shade of red as he attempted to hide his face in his hair.

Guts paused, a bit puzzled at Griffith’s embarrassment— “…Alright. I’ll care for you,” he agreed, leaning in to place a sweet kiss to Griffith’s forehead.

He pressed another kiss against Griffith’s temple, and one more to his cheek, the tension in the other man’s muscles relaxing with the kiss.

He repositioned his loose grip on Griffith’s captive hands to hold his right cheek with rough fingers, caressing the side of the man’s face. Guts pressed a soft kiss to the lower left corner of Griffith’s mouth as he lowered his lips to litter the left side of Griffith’s pale neck with soft, slow kisses and barely-visible spots of red and purple.

The smaller figure moaned quietly, and returned the affection, his now-free right hand hesitated to mimic his partner, choosing to play with the short raven-black hair by his left ear.

Griffith’s legs arose of their own will into a bent position as arousal slowly overtook him and he began rubbing one against Guts’ side, urging him to bring their bodies closer.

Guts joined their lips together, slowly. And Griffith’s eyes fluttered shut as he allowed himself to enjoy it, to appreciate the feeling of Guts’ tarnished lips against his own.

Guts slid his free hand down and underneath the shirt Griffith wore to rub a flat palm against the shapely planes of his lower abdomen, causing him to furrow his brows, and jolt from the touch.

Griffith stretched, and chased the feeling of their conjoined lips when Guts pulled back and ended the kiss.

Guts pulled him up, and removed his shirt, uncaringly throwing the garment across the room before gently laying him back down. He then sat on his legs to admire Griffith’s beauty laid out before his eyes, admire his porcelain skin and the way it glowed under the candle and moonlight.

He noticed the Behelit resting on Griffith’s neck, that necklace he was never fond of, but he ignored it. If it made Griffith feel comfortable then who was he to force him to remove it?

A strong wind blew through the room and chilled the air, bringing Griffith’s body into a noticeable shaking. He shrunk his form, and grasped at his arms, hoping that it would provide him with some kind of heat.

“It- S’ c-cold,” he chattered.

“I know, I’m sorry. Bear with me,” Guts soothed with a gentle tone, carefully peeling apart the man’s arms, “We’ll have a lot of cold nights coming in the future,” he added, bowing down to kiss unstable lips.

He then continued his travel downwards, extending the faint trail of red and purple along the shallow dips of muscle on his master’s body.

He drew languid circles around perked nipples which had been hardened by the cold night breeze, a contrast to the warm tongue that was now enveloping them, moving and sucking alternately between the two, bringing his subject to mewl into it and wrap his fingers around the back of his head, gripping his hair.

He kept his grasp as Guts descended down his abdomen, licking along the center line of his abs that had been formed by years of training. He paused when he reached the end of Griffith’s abdomen, kissing and biting into a chunk of his flesh with just enough pressure to elicit a surprised gasp and a tightened grip from him.

Guts undid Griffith’s belt, and pushed his fingertips between the waistband of his pants and the skin underneath, ridding him of the fabric.

Starting from the ankle, Guts moved his hand up and inward along the length of Griffith’s left leg, opening a path to his crotch while Griffith twitched, and struggled to not recoil from his feathery touch. He keenly observed Griffith’s facial expressions as he took his hand and slowly guided it between the man’s slender thighs. It was astonishing how his hands could fit around them almost completely.

“Guts…” he breathed in anticipation, lifting his head to check the situation below, anxiety and impatience building up.

Guts spared him the wait, lifting Griffith’s left leg until it rested in a folded position on the bed, and kissing a path into his inner thigh. One purple mark here, another there, and Guts finally placed his tongue on Griffith’s stiff cock.

Gliding it up and down, he took his time with Griffith, working one of his fingers into the man’s ass as he bobbed his head up and down the shaft of his dick. His finger moved carefully inside Griffith, rubbing along his walls with precision, giving faint stimulation to his prostate.

“Guts. Guts, please,” Griffith called, the teasing starting to overwhelm him.

It was evident what he wanted, and Guts complied, raising his legs even further until his hole was exposed. He held Griffith’s legs open by the back of his thighs, and brought his tongue to his ass, licking it before he stuck it in and plunged the tip of it in and out. He replaced his tongue with two fingers, and Griffith handed him the bottle of oil they kept underneath his pillow.

He poured it onto Guts’ fingers, and with a whimper, he watched as Guts scissored them, further stretching him open. Guts let go of Griffith’s legs to lean over and look at him. Griffith looked up at him, and moved a hand to tug at his shirt, urging him to remove it.

Guts removed his fingers from Griffith, and wiped them on his shirt before he yanked it off, Griffith rising to capture him in a kiss. He began fumbling with Guts’ pants, pushing them down his legs with urgency. Guts kicked off the rest of the fabric, and allowed Griffith to kiss him.

Griffith skimmed his hands up and down the sides of Guts’ waist. His eyes followed his hands along the sight of hard abs up to the man’s chest, eyelids fluttering with lust before he met the other’s gaze with parted lips.

Guts regarded him tenderly, and Griffith rested his forehead atop his own for a few seconds until Guts kissed him. Griffith held his face, and kissed him back, again and again, moving to straddle him.

They kissed passionately, tongues ablaze, and Guts aligned himself with Griffith’s entrance. He pushed in, pulling Griffith’s hips down, and Griffith whined, and tightened his hold on Guts’ face as he was lowered onto his cock, tensing up before relaxing around him with shallow breaths.

Guts placed a small peck to the corner of his lips, and started moving, using his arms to help support Griffith as he moved at his own speed, grabbing onto Guts’ shoulders for support.

They kept the position for a bit until Griffith leaned back, and pulled Guts down as he allowed himself to fall into the bed.

Guts embraced the new position, pushing back Griffith’s legs, and holding them in place while he picked up where he left off, rocking his hips back and forth.

Griffith’s mouth fell open, and tiny moans escaped him when Guts increased his speed. They changed to noises of discomfort when Guts’ speed went from moderate to that of a fast caliber seeing as he remembered that that was what Griffith loved most.

“Guts- Guts wait. Not so fast. Not tonight,” he complained, unusual considering his habitual demeanor.

Guts, a little confused but with no qualms, slowed his pace. He liked going slow with Griffith anyway, he could feel the friction of their skin more thoroughly.

Griffith loosely wrapped his legs around Guts’ torso, and looked up at him who, in turn, had positioned his vision downwards to observe the movement of their conjoined bodies. He moaned out desperately as he took in the sight, fixating his gaze on the way his dick plunged in and out of Griffith and the small amount of the man’s skin which followed it out whenever he pulled out before pushing back in.

He focused his attention back to Griffith whose look had been the same: a knowing look filled with embarrassment, embarrassment of the way they both failed to abstain from their own urges, from the way they both reveled in such a sinful pleasure.

It was a sick that they both shared, running back to each other and excusing it with terrible justification. Even if it was frowned upon by society, even if they knew people could find out, they just couldn’t stop it, couldn’t refuse the other for whatever reason. Perhaps they had been bewitched. There was no other reasoning for it.

Griffith huffed out a gentle moan, and Guts, unable to resist, dipped his head down to kiss him. He felt deft fingers hold to his hair when he moved to the man’s neck, staining it with blotches of deep purple and red. He also felt slim but firm legs trap him closer against a warm body, holding him there.

It was only when he felt them tighten that he knew Griffith was close.

“You gonna cum?” he asked, a stammering voice replying to him—“Y-Yes…” The man hissed.

“Fuck- Do it. Cum for me. Please. I want you to cum,” Guts encouraged, trying his best to maintain a consistent pace; it always got hard to resist going faster whenever he was nearing an orgasm.

“You can go faster. Go f-faster,” Griffith permitted, his own body now demanding more stimulation.

Guts sped up to a faster speed, still taking care as to not overdo it with Griffith’s body. A bead of sweat which had formed at the tip of his nose dropped down onto Griffith’s chest, going unnoticed by the other man with the heat which radiated from their bodies.

“Guts. Guts—” Griffith called, stretching a hand out to hold his face.

“Griffith,” he returned, staring intently at his partner.

“Guts… Guts…!” The man whimpered, his orgasm now taking effect.

Griffith’s eyes screwed shut, and his hand fell from Guts’ face, scratching at the man’s back instead as his toes curled and his legs formed a deadlock around his lover’s lower back. His back arched off of the bed, and Guts placed his arm underneath his arch to hold it, caressing his curve. He could feel Griffith’s slender body convulsing.

It was only when Griffith’s eyes opened during his intense elation to meet Guts’ own that Guts’ orgasm hit him like a brick.

Those lidded sapphire eyes bore through his entire being, forcing him to crash entirely into Griffith. His breathing ceased completely before it became unstable and he stuttered breathlessly before Griffith.

“F-F-Fuck! I’m yours! I’m yours, Griffith! I love you!” he cried during his orgasm. “I love you…” he muttered before his arms gave out and he landed atop him, barely managing to ease his fall.

Griffith embraced him with tender hands ruffling his damp hair, and Guts buried his head into his small chest. Griffith could feel the silent tears that escaped his subordinate’s eyes.

They remained like that for a few moments, Griffith running his hands through raven-black hair, Guts clinging to his warmth, both of them tangled in the sheets.

“You know, the first thing I thought when I first saw you was: ‘Wow. She’s beautiful.’. That’s what I remember thinking to myself right before I blacked out. Except that you actually turned out to be a man. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter anymore at all…” Guts murmured against him.

“How so?” Griffith asked softly, still stroking his hair.

Guts gave no answer, only a loving smile; he had already said more than enough for the night.

“Never mind me. I’m just babbling bullshit,” he replied, raising himself to sit upright.

“Hmm…” Griffith hummed, now sitting, playing with the sheets. “Will you be staying tonight?” he inquired, more of a request.

“Do you want me to stay?” Guts asked.

“Do you want to stay?” Griffith returned, a brief silence occurring within the air.

Guts contemplated it before he gave his answer— “Yeah. I’ll stay,” he affirmed, a subtle smile gracing his commander’s lips. “You know, you’re most beautiful when you’re happy,” Guts complimented, tucking Griffith’s hair behind his ear.

“Really? Not when I’m fucked out?” The man joked, a blush overtaking his pale cheeks.

“I love that too… But your smile is much prettier,” Guts chuckled.

“Yeah. Much prettier,” Griffith agreed.

“Mhm,” Guts mumbled, approaching his face for a kiss. “Much prettier,” he repeated, sealing their lips together. “Now, come on. Let’s get some sleep,” he prompted, pulling Griffith to lie down.

Griffith’s eyes remained open for some time as they lied together, lost in thought as he looked out to the starry night sky.

“Griffith. Come on, stop thinking. You think too much,” Guts complained with a yawn.

“And you think too little,” Griffith shot back.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever… Come to bed, it’s getting colder without you,” Guts complained, fumbling around for Griffith.

The man smiled, and gave in, snuggling in beside his partner. Guts wrapped an arm around him, and gave him what he believed to be a forehead kiss which was actually on his arm, causing him to chuckle and return the affectionate gesture, actually kissing his forehead.

They both fell into a peaceful sleep that night, one of the most memorable scenes between them.

————

After what seemed like an eternity, Griffith finally stepped out of his bath, and dried himself off. The cloth felt like sand rubbing against his skin with each new pass across a different part of his body.

It was cotton soft, but yet still, it felt rough against his skin, not like the pleasurable rough texture of Guts’ calloused hands, something he longed to feel again.

He looked around for the bowl of berries which had been placed there just for him, and took one in his hand. He observed as he rolled it between his fingertips, and squeezed until it burst, red dripping down his forearm. One, two, three. Three drops of red staining the floors.

With a weary exhale, he let go of the battered fruit to take up a fresh handful of it. He tossed them into his mouth, and bit down, tasting the pungent acidity of it. He forced himself to swallow them, finding no satisfaction from the consumption.

They were sour, much like the berries from that night, much like his current sentiments.

His eyes glazed over with a heavy layer of tears, bordering his lash line.

Miserable he was, incapable of producing a genuine smile in his daily life. Miserable he remained, without the company of the one person he truly considered close to him, but never could he dare to apologize, never could he admit the truth to himself and shatter his own reasoning.

One, two, three teardrops falling beside the red stains of the berry’s juice. One, two, three nights that tortured him the most. One, two, three eternities he would remain alone with nothing but his selfishness to keep him company.