Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Berserk (Anime & Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Griffith/Guts (Berserk) Characters: Griffith (Berserk), Guts (Berserk), Charlotte (Berserk) Additional Tags: Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Gay Sex, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Cheating, Nipple Licking, Romance, Porn with Feelings, Porn, Arranged Marriage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot Series: Part 2 of GriffGuts Happily Ever After Summary:
“You know,” Griffith began breathily, “while I lied with Charlotte, my mind kept going to you,” he groaned, feeling Guts press hot kisses down his abdomen. “My…body felt so hot imagining your cock inside of me, I became so excited that I nearly came before entering her body…”
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Berserk (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Griffith/Guts (Berserk) Characters: Griffith (Berserk), Guts (Berserk), Casca (Berserk), Rickert (Berserk), Corkus (Berserk), Judeau (Berserk), Pippin (Berserk), Gaston (Berserk), Band of the Hawk, Charlotte (Berserk) Additional Tags: griffguts, Romance, Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Comedy, Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, No Smut, Some Plot Series: Part 1 of GriffGuts Happily Ever After Summary:
When Griffith heard Guts’ decision to leave the Band Of Hawks, he was willing to do just about anything to make him stay, even if that meant six cups of wine and an unplanned visit to Guts’ room at 2 a.m in the morning. The aftermath of such a decision was definitely something he did not see coming.
Griffith’s body was splayed all across his chest and that constant, steady weight anchored him to the moment. Guts watched his own exhales flutter strands of Griffith’s hair, his face hidden from where it was tucked into Guts’ neck; Guts could feel Griffith’s breath on his bare clavicle, just exposed by the neck of his shirt.
Without thinking, Guts reaches up to rests palm on the downy locks and cards his fingers through them. He can hear, and feel Griffith sigh.
“Are y’gonna fall asleep there.” Guts finds himself speaking into the thick silence of the room; he can see dust floating in the bright sun coming through the corner, and the sight makes him feel even heavier and warm than before.
He doesn’t expect Griffith to respond, but eventually the other man answers.
“… I like it right here.” Griffith murmurs softly, sending a small shock up the side of Guts’ neck. He sounds so small and soft in that moment that Guts feels his heart lurch in his chest, heavy and lopsided. Griffith feels small in his arms now, bare feet barely brushing Guts’ ankles, and soft where he’s kneading gently into the other mans scalp. Griffith is practically purring.
Guts wonders for a beat if Griffith’s head is swimming as much as his.
“I’m safe here… No one can see me-I don’t want anyone else to be here, or look at me,” Griffith continues, wiggling a bit to get comfortable again, “besides you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Guts answers quickly, confused, but Griffith’s gone back to purring again. Guts realizes he never paused in his petting.
Safe.
The word echoed in Guts mind for a second, and he let it move languidly slow through his consciousness, letting it drip of the tongue of his internal voice, repeating it until it was just animal sounds.
He knew what it meant, of course, but it was hard to look in the eye.
Griffith practically nuzzles into Guts’ neck, sending a hot flush over his face and ears. He lays still for a moment before resolving to hook his idle arm up and over the small of Griffith’s back, holding him down, keeping him anchored and steady.
The sigh that punches out of Griffith then carries the weight of a thousand other pairs of eyes, evaporating into the lazy afternoon heat. Guts notes that he could relate, before his eyes close shut and everything goes dark.
Thank you! and omg I am stoked that you got into griffguts after reading my meta, I’m grinning ridiculously rn lol ty for telling me this.
And yeah for sure! I rarely read fics that aren’t recced to me myself lol so even tho it’s a small fandom I def haven’t read everything, but here are a few I rly enjoyed:
and i have a fic tag for fic on tumblr which is worth a look
also probably anything else berserk-related these authors have written, though I haven’t read it all myself bc the less fic there is for a ship the more I want to indefinitely save some to read later lol
@marley-manson sorry i wrote it in second person so i didnt have to give the narrator a name or anything but hhhhhhhhhh i actually want to make a longer fic on this prompt later bc it gave me some Ideas. nyway here u go!
SCREAMS this is only half edited and im the queen of typos so theres probably a few, but i got it done bitch!!! ill clean it up tomorrow i guess whatever. its way longer than i wanted to write but thats just me being me ig.
also apologies because this PROBABLY… wasn’t what the prompter had in mind but this is what i came up with lmao.
Guts had moved in with Griffith a week and a half before Griffith told him that they were going to spend the day at a reptile convention for an unspecified amount of time.
ok soooo this is basically part one of a prologue for a fic thatll end up being super long (if i ever actually finish it lmao). warnings for descriptions of torture and body horror.
Fandom: Berserk Title: The Thought Remains Author: SwordofRebecca, Divinesong, Dark Seraphim Rating: Teen Pairing(s)/Character(s): Griffith/Guts Summary: When Guts leaves on his mission, Griffith dreams. Set during the episodes involving Julius and infamous book. Word Count (for fic): 906 Author’s Notes: FINALLY! A Berserk fic! I’ve had this idea rolling around for quite some time! Written in poem/stream of conscious style, so I can ignore, well, everything. Enjoy!
Nothing feels right anymore. There’s something wrong with him, he knows it, and it rots in his brain and leaks into his dreams and he fears for the day even Guts’ can’t quiet it, because he knows that day is coming.
Guts awakes to the smell of salt and butter. It’s early, and the mist creeping through the slit where Griffith enters his tent, a tray in hand, licks at the foot of Guts’ bed.
“How did you sleep?” Griffith asks as he puts the food down. Guts grunts in reply; he’s never been much of a morning person.
Clouds of cream billow through the coffee, curling in on itself, like little drops of blood suspended in water. The steam hits Guts’ face as Griffith pushes the cup toward him, eyes not breaking from his task of setting up the table. Guts’ helping is stacked high with meat and jam and cheese and fried tomatoes and eggs and pickles and toast, all foods classically reserved for the nobility. Perhaps Griffith spoils Guts, but he likes to know Guts is well-fed and taken care of – nothing fills Griffith up the way watching Guts eat does.
Griffith plucks a thick strip of ptarmigan and holds it up, bait on the fisherman’s line, watching as Guts takes it between his teeth and it disappears behind his incisors.
“You know, I’ve heard that fingers can be bitten in half just as easily as a carrot,” Griffith remarks, cheek resting against his palm.
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Guts replies, shovelling in a mouthful of gruyere, “when I was a kid I saw someone rip another guy’s throat out with his teeth. Looked more like an animal than a person by the time he was through with ‘em – part of the windpipe was still hanging from his mouth, like a link of sausage.”
Hearing of Guts’ past made something ugly twist in Griffith’s chest. The time before Guts’ was his and now aren’t even comparable, they’re two separate periods, barely existing in the same universe.
Griffith hums, then drives the tongs of his fork into the eggs soft belly, yellow oozing from the twin sets of puncture marks. The yolk dribbles down the slices of bread, cutting through the sheen of grease atop the bacon and forming a thick puddle at the plate’s lip.
“He must have been desperate, to kill someone in such a way.”
Guts shakes his head, “Nah. As far as I remember, they were fighting over a game of cards.”
Griffith is quiet. His eyes don’t stray from the gnashing of Guts’ jaw.
Griffith dreams of Guts leaving, and he wakes up gasping to fill the hollow ache in his chest where it feels like his lungs have been ripped through his sternum. Sometimes, in these brief moments where he totters the line of consciousness, he feels footsteps crunching through snow and a sword swinging towards him and the broad span of Guts’ back blotting out the rising sun, and tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.
He rolls over and tries to ignore the ceiling gaping open above, an aching black chasm yawning, watching him like the all-seeing eye of a god.
Veins stick out of Guts’ arms like unspooled thread, and Griffith can feel Guts’ pulse through their joined fingers.
“Do you remember the first time we held hands?” he asks, bending Guts’ thumb at the knuckle, running the blunt edge of his nail over the lines in Guts’ palm.
“Uh… don’t think so.”
“It was the night we raided that camp, after I won you. You took up the rear and I came back to get you, then rode us both through the trees and away.”
Guts whistles, “feels like a hundred years ago – but it’s only been three, hasn’t it?”
Time hardly even registers with Griffith any longer. For him the days are measured by the next battle, the next meeting with the king, the next war. It’s been so long since he’s slept a full night through. He nods. “Do you remember what I told you then?”
Guts’ eyebrows furrow, wracking his memory.
“I told you not to talk. I told you not to open your mouth, or else you’d bite your tongue.” Griffith squeezes Guts’ hand and wonders at how warm Guts always feels.
“Honestly, I thought you were gonna cut my tongue out when we fought. When I bit down on your sword, I wasn’t concerned with anything but winning, but later I realized how easy it would’ve been. If you moved that blade even an inch it could’ve sliced me right open,” Guts says, looking away from him.
“I’d never do that to you.” Griffith nuzzles his face into Guts’ shoulder, “I can’t imagine anything worse, really, than having my tongue cut out.” He shivers as the space around his gums suddenly feels empty, a phantom memory of loss there that made his vision blur and slats of pain shoot through his head, like he’s remembering something he isn’t supposed to.
Guts coils a little white curl around his forefinger, smiling halfheartedly in that way he always does when he can tell Griffith’s tense. There’s a tug in Griffith’s stomach, nervous and desperate, and he doesn’t know why, but he thinks again of Guts leaving him.
Griffith lifts Guts’ hand from his hair to his lips, kissing his fingertips, and then closes his eyes as he takes Guts’ third finger into his mouth, all the way down to the proximal phalanx, and sinks his teeth in. Guts jolts and when Griffith pulls away already a mottled bruise is beginning to form there in a full circle, almost like a ring.
The back of Guts’ neck fills Griffith’s vision when he jolts out of sleep. There’s only starlight to guide him but Griffith swears he sees a shape carved into the skin there – a figure-eight with a hand reaching up through the centre, fingers spread, clutching for purchase in unforgiving nothingness.
Griffith blinks, and it disappears. Bile rises in his throat and Guts doesn’t stir as he stumbles away from bed and retches into the grass.
When they have breakfast together now, Griffith piles all the food on Guts’ plate and observes quietly as Guts eats. There are violet half-moons under his eyes and his cheekbones protrude just a little more than they used to, but he still smiles as Guts scrapes the honey from the milk of his porridge.
Having Guts at his side alleviates the malaise that hangs over Griffith. If Guts notices the way Griffith clings to him tighter than before, he doesn’t mention it, yet Griffith knows Guts stares at him when he thinks Griffith can’t see, and he knows that if he were to turn, he’d see worry in Guts’ eyes.
“Want some?” Guts offers a piece of ham skewered on his fork, and Griffith takes it like a baby bird, just because Guts asked. Each bite is tasteless and heavy in Griffith’s mouth. He grinds it into a thin paste with his molars so it doesn’t stick to the lump in his throat on the way down.
This is the place he owns Guts the most.
He has Guts lying supine under him, knees slotted in beside the divots in Guts’ waist, thumbs stroking Guts’ cheekbones.
“Have you ever thought about leaving? About doing something else?” Griffith asks, voice quiet. He watches Guts’ face, as though might catch Guts in a lie, but Guts doesn’t look guilty – only confused.
“Why would I wanna leave? My life’s the best it’s ever been. And it’s not like you’re gonna be ready to abandon your dream here anytime soon, right?”
Griffith breathes, then nods, then shoves his face into Guts’ neck. The illusion of peace doesn’t last long before he’s reminded of that brand, bloody and raw, with the hand reaching toward him.
Nothing feels right anymore. There’s something wrong with him, he knows it, and it rots in his brain and leaks into his dreams and he fears for the day even Guts’ can’t quiet it, because he knows that day is coming.
His teeth scrape over Guts’ jugular, and Guts’ fingers twist into the fabric of Griffith’s shirt. Distress drowns Griffith and yanks him under, sending him clawing at Guts’ chest, kissing the length of his mandible, dark bruises flowering where his lips and canines meet Guts’ skin.
Guts snores against him, the marks Griffith bit into him already fading. The bonfires of the Band are fading, too, slowly consumed by their own ashes, but through the canvas walls of the tent, they look more like smudges of carmine. From here, it was as if each flame were a person dancing on its last legs, as if each flame were a part of the Band, struggling to stay so that Griffith could watch them as he pretends to sleep.
All those lives flicker and dim before him. Guts’ is the only one that matters.
“Since Brutus, the bold baron, first bent hither, after the siege and assault had ceased at Troy, there is, many an adventure born befallen such, ere this. Now who bears the crown of thorn, may he bring us to his bliss – amen,” Griffith reads off, his fingers running down to the end of the page as he finishes the story.
Guts shifts, slides his chin away from where it had been resting atop Griffith’s head and down to press against Griffith’s cheek as he surveys the illustration of a green-skinned man, holding his own severed head like a dullahan.
This is their routine, now. After the sun sets and the rest of the men have filtered into the taverns or back to the barracks, Guts will make his nightly pilgrimage to Griffith’s quarters. Sometimes they’ll talk, sometimes they’ll lie together in silence, but Griffith’s favourite way to spend their time is what he’s doing now – sitting in Guts lap, reading to him from his collection of books that grew when the paychecks came in. So far they’ve made it through Dante’s Divine Comedy, The Decameron, and what scattered translations of Sinbad are available. Griffith always patiently explains the nuances of the prose, pauses to let Guts examine the pictures in the margins, and, if in an especially good mood, will even sing the madrigals and ballads. Guts doesn’t know how to read, so he mostly just offers his commentary.
“Wait… why’d he need to make that deal with Gawain? With the kisses and all that?” Guts asked.
“To test Sir Gawain’s honesty.”
“Yeah, but his wife’s in on it, right? Couldn’t she just tell him what she did with Gawain?”
“Perhaps he wanted to kiss Sir Gawain, but was too shy to ask him outright,” Griffith’s eyes light up with that amused look Guts is all too familiar with, “I think I can understanding the feeling of being interested in a handsome knight.”
Guts reddens, but shakes his head, "Well, you don’t have to dress up in green and pretend you’re gonna chop my head off to get me to kiss you.“
“I guess I’m lucky, then,” Griffith smiles, tilting his chin up to press his lips to Guts’, just for a moment. The way Guts’ arms tighten around him is nearly imperceptible, but to Griffith, who observes so closely everything Guts does, it feels like a vice clamping down.
He’s reminded of the days when this seemed impossible, and he’d steal the contact he desperately craved in other ways – drinking from Guts’ wine with lips placed over the cup where Guts’ own had been seconds before, offering Guts food from his fork and then licking it clean, shushing Guts with his fingers on Guts’ mouth. Not much has changed since then, honestly. He’s still obsessed with Guts, always thinking about him, wondering what he’d say or do if he were there. The only difference is that now he can express how he feels without fear that he’ll be shunned for it.
He pulls away a few inches, gaze flicking up from Guts’ mouth to his eyes. “Why don’t you say ‘sir’?”
“Huh?”
“Earlier, you called him Gawain instead of Sir Gawain. Why?”
Griffith feels Guts’ shoulders shrug as he replies, “dunno, guess it never occurred to me as being something important.”
Guts has no regard for caste or class – he won’t bow to the king, toast to anyone he doesn’t care for, or act subordinate to any of the nobles who roam the courtyards where the Hawks take their recess. It’s one thing in a list of many that Griffith admires about him. Although he’s simple, uninterested in power or fame or wealth – all things that would drive other men mad – he’s far from lifeless. When they’re here alone like this, even Griffith’s own leaping ambitions are overthrown by the all-consuming presence of Guts.
“Does it bother you, then, when the raiders call you ‘sir’ or ‘commander’?”
“Not really, but I’ve already got a name, so I don’t see why anybody should call me by something else, you know?”
“Yes, sir,” Griffith quips, causing Guts to roll his eyes. The sound of Griffith slamming the book shut resonates throughout the room with finality, and he could see Guts watching him from out the corner of his eye.
“Do you want a drink?” Griffith asks as he slides off the bed, moving to grab the glass decanter from the table by the fire.
“Sure, why not,” Guts replies, and Griffith pours them both a glass of wine before returning to his burrow between Guts’ legs. Griffith might now be a viscount instead of a mercenary leader, but he hadn’t lost his penchant for liquor. He takes a long, healthy sip before setting his glass off to the side. Guts can’t help but notice that Griffith’s lips are now stained red, and his eyes linger just enough for Griffith to know what he was thinking.
He cups Guts’ cheek, tilting his head and letting his eyes fall closed as his mouth meets Guts’. With arms tucked flush to Guts’ sides, Griffith coaxes his mouth open, sucking on Guts’ lower lip then nibbling at the soft flesh. Guts reacts enthusiastically and Griffith can feel tongue brushing his palate where the taste of wine still lingered.
There’s an unending restlessness that seems to plague Guts, pushing him to keep moving, never stay pent up, fill the spaces where the others are content to do nothing with sword practice or taking walks or drinking. He would take life head-on at double speed if he could, but Griffith thinks that here, when there’s nothing else for Guts’ mind to be occupied by but the two of them, Guts seems careful, unsure. He fumbles with the thick laces of Griffith’s shirt, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as the linen unravels and falls away. Against the swimming black of his clothes, Griffith’s torso is clean-cut white.
Guts wanders, thumbs tracing the divots of Griffith’s hip bones, feeling the ridge where they jut out from the sloping plane of Griffith’s stomach. Griffith’s already trembling when Guts reaches his thighs, one hand having abandoned its post there to run fingers through Griffith’s hair while the other draws circles near the crook of Griffith’s knee.
There is no precedent for what they do. Guts has told him, in very few words, his one and only previous experience with a man and it hurt Griffith so much to hear that he couldn’t touch Guts for weeks without feeling guilt, without questioning if he was overstepping his bounds and making Guts uncomfortable. Griffith is the only person Guts has held, kissed, and it shows in his hesitant explorations.
Griffith is not so untried. He’s slept with men before, learned what they liked, but he hardly knows anything about pleasure himself. Sex has always just been a tool, a process of exchanging his body for money; feeling humiliated, dirty, and objectified is a part of that process – it’s not supposed to feel good. This, what he lets Guts do to him and what he does in turn to Guts, this is an entirely different thing. There is no purpose to it other than indulging each other.
Guts’ fingers run down the inseam of his pants, stopping at the waistband and looking at Griffith in silent question. Griffith nods, gaze fixed purposefully on the nightstand, and Guts follows, retrieving the small bottle Griffith had bought after their last campaign and spilling the liquid into his cupped palm.
He’s pressed against Guts, encaged by Guts’ arms with his head leaned back on Guts’ shoulder, ribs heaving and lips wet and eyes half-closed. He turns Guts’ face to kiss him, gasping as he feels Guts pull his breeches down to his hips and finally begin to touch him.
Perhaps it’s surprising and maybe even ironic that Griffith is sensitive to contact, especially from Guts, and he knows Guts is the same. They’ve both held lives before this that consisted of learned distrust and distance, so to permit another person to see them vulnerable is often distressing. When they first started doing this they were so tentative they might not have done anything at all – Guts might graze Griffith’s elbow or Griffith might reach for his hand between the folds of his coat when they were out, and that was it. What they do now has been a long time coming and it’s still not the most Griffith’s done with another man but somehow it feels like more.
Guts strokes him, twisting as he reaches the head of his dick. Griffith can see Guts watching his own hand move, a look akin to awe dawning on his face. Griffith arches backward then forward, as though unsure of whether he wanted to move closer or flinch away. Guts’ pace is achingly slow, but he must hit a sweet spot because Griffith lets out a low groan and his eyes squeeze shut.
Behind him, Griffith can feel Guts growing hard. Their breathing is out of sync and equally heavy, coming out as puffs of fug in the chilled air. Guts ruts against him like a dog, the fabric of his pants rubbing on Griffith’s ass, and Griffith moved with him.
“Guts,” Griffith chokes out, a whisper tilting upward into a sob and all his exhales dissolve into sighs. Guts groans, low and deep in his chest but cut off halfway through by Griffith tethering their lips together again.
Griffith is getting close, he can feel it. He would be embarrassed at how easy he was if it weren’t for the fact that only Guts is able to do this to him, only Guts’ voice and Guts’ lips and Guts’ hands – Griffith has seen those hands rend skin from bone, drive men off horseback, send severed limbs and screaming heads flying across the battlefield but they were nothing but gentle with him, like he was special just as Guts was special to him.
The kiss is broken with a chorus of panting as Guts nuzzles his face into Griffith’s neck, nose buried in white hair. Teeth ghost over Griffith’s shoulder and that alone is enough to push him to the edge.
“Ah- ah,” Griffith whimpers, pressure building in his stomach. Guts moves faster, tightening his grip just shy of painful and Griffith’s hips buck, breath robbed from him. When his head lolls to the right he sees Guts staring at him, pupils blown, and the moment their eyes lock, Griffith cums.
The sight of it has Guts following suite, wet heat splattering the small of Griffith’s back. They collapse on the pillows, limbs entangled, both warm and happy and slightly sweaty.
What follows is a procession of simplicity: Griffith pecks Guts’ forehead, Guts haphazardly tugs the blankets up around them, and they settle into a position fit for cuddling where Griffith drapes himself over Guts with his ear near Guts’ heart. Griffith knows that later, when morning comes and they have to part ways, this reprieve from that foreboding angst haunting their relationship like a spectre will subside and he will be shoved back in. He will take up the mask he wears for the world and command troops and be who he isn’t, but for now, he settles into the familiar heat of Guts like a second skin and forgets.
“I’m alright, Guts.” said Griffith. His voice was
completely even.
“Bullshit.” said Guts.
“I am. ” Griffith said reaching out to clutch at
Guts’ hand. The grip was bruising.
“I just need a second to breathe.” he said. Guts
sat utterly still and watched his chest rise and fall for a few moments before
Griffith’s eyes opened like a wind up doll’s. Griffith bit his lip before
pulling Guts into a biting kiss.
Guts regarded him for a moment, noting the touch of wildness
still in the blown open pupils of his friend. Griffith slid off the couch. He
took Guts by the shirt and led him into the bedroom not blinking. He began to
undress.
The moonlight was bright that night, so neither of them
reached for the light. Guts’ eyes widened a little and he froze to the spot in
the doorway. He flicked his eyes away Griffith’s partial erection and swell of
his ass as he crawled on all fours on the bed.
Griffith turned onto
his back and arranged himself against the pillows. His eyes softened a bit.
“Come here. I want to show you something.” he
patted the bed next to him.
Guts walked over to him carefully like he was approaching a
wild animal that might be easily spooked. He sat down on the edge of the bed
and took Griffith’s hand. He placed a light kiss on his fingers.
Griffith closed his eyes and took a few slow deep breaths
before opening his eyes.
“Hi.” said Griffith in a small voice.
“Hi.” Guts said. His eyes wandered to Griffith’s
shoulder.
Griffith took
Guts’ hand and placed it over the scars.
“These I didn’t notice until I was bleeding. Casca had
to stop me. I was fourteen years old. ”
He waited for Guts to ask more and was relieved when he
asked for nothing. Guts’ expression was unreadable as he took his hand again
and placed them over his thighs. Guts gently traced the neat little scars with
his fingertips.
“That tickles.” Griffith said. He smiled a little.
“Sorry.” said Guts. Griffith stretched the scar
tissue for a second before letting snap back into place.
“And this is high school. I had a lot of
feelings.” he said in a mocking voice. He laughed.
Guts frowned at that. Griffith’s breath hitched a little at
the seriousness of his expression.
He placed Gut’s hand on his hip.
“I made these six months ago.”
Guts looked at the large, jagged scars
“You picked at them.” said Guts.
“Yeah. “Griffith mouthed with no voice.
Guts nodded. He seemed to be thinking.
Guts stoked the area with his thumb and leaned in and left a
kiss there. Griffith cupped the back of his head. Guts leaned down and left
another kiss on his thigh.
"Guts.” he said, his voice full. He covered his
face with his hands.
“I’ve got you.” he said as he leaned over him. Griffith
moved his hands away to look at this feral boy that was looking at him like he
was something fragile. He wasn’t sure that he liked it.
“Okay.” said Griffith with a nod.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” said Griffith. He felt the beginnings of a
smile tug at his lips.
“I said I wanted you, didn’t I?” He cupped Guts’
face in his hands. Guts smiled a little and pressed his lips almost chastely to
Griffith’s mouth. Griffith sighed as Guts made his way down to his neck, his
chest. He swirled his tongue around his navel. Griffith shuddered at the puff
of breath against the head of his cock. He looked down at Guts and blushed at
the little smile on Guts’ face. Guts looked back up at him.
“I’ve wanted to do this since the other night.” he
said. He beamed before taking Griffith in hand and opening his mouth.
“Fuck!” Griffith called out, digging his nails
into Guts’ shoulders. He felt large hands grip his hips. Guts seemed to go at
this task with the same enthusiasm as he did everything else and the frenetic
pace of his mouth (as well as the occasional scrape of teeth) left Griffith squirming.
“Guts! Guts slow down a little!” he said. He heard
a little noise that sounded like “sorry” from between his legs. Guts
took a second to gather himself before starting again. In short order, he found
a rhythm that alternated between bobbing his head and swirling his tongue.
Griffith threw his head back and made no sound, his mouth hanging open. Guts
let out a groan at the sight. Griffith let out a whimper and tugged at his
hair.
“Do you need to stop?” said Guts.
Griffith looked down at him. He shook his head.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Fingers.” Griffith said after he had caught his
breath.
“You want them inside?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have ,uh, stuff for that?” said Guts. He
blushed.
Griffith scrambled for the bedside drawer and put the small
tube into his hand. Guts leaned over him and smiled. He brushed Griffith’s hair
back from his face.
“Let’s give this a shot.” he said with a shrug.
Griffith smiled at the way Guts’ hand trembled as he applied the lube.
Guts slowly slid a finger in. Griffith closed his eyes
against the inevitable burning sensation.
“Okay?”
Griffith nodded.
“It just takes some adjusting.”
“I can put more on if you need it!” Guts moved to pull
his hand away but Griffith reached down and patted his arm.
“Just relax.” he said. They both laughed a little
at that. Guts closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“I’m ready for the second one.”
“Okay.” Guts said with a little nod to himself as
he slid the second one in.
“Now I know what I’m looking for is around here
somewhere.” Guts’ strong fingers probed around and Griffith let out a hiss
of pain.
“Gentle.” he ground out.
“Holy shit I’m so sorry!” Guts moved to slip out
of him again.
“Guts.” Griffith said softly. Guts moved over him
again and kissed him on the mouth. He left a trail of kisses over his cheeks
before burying his face in Griffith’s neck. He groaned. Griffith stroked his
hair.
“Why don’t you start by just moving in and out?”
he said.
“mhm.” said Guts.
He left a tiny
kiss on his throat before making his way down to Griffith’s erection again. He
swirled his tongue around the head several times before Griffith felt the
slightest movement inside him. Guts became more sure of himself and thrust
upward with his fingers as he made his first bob down with his mouth.
Griffith felt his body light up from his core.
“Yes! Yes just like that!” said Griffith. (“Mmmhm?”
from between his legs)
Griffith moved his hips to meet Guts’ fingers in response.
Guts redoubled his efforts. Soon Griffith was audibly panting .
“Guts!” Griffith called out as he came. Guts
slipped his fingers out and leaned up to kiss Griffith.
“It was okay?” Guts said softly. Griffith deepened
the kiss, surprised by the taste of himself in Guts’ mouth. Guts rolled over
next to him and spread his arms out.
They lay in the dark for a moment, letting their breathing
even out.
“I’ve never done anything like that before.” said
Guts.
Griffith kissed him.
“It was perfect.” he said, stoking Guts’ cheek.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not just saying that. I’m not saying you’re not
new.” Griffith said. He reached for Guts’ hand.
But, you paid attention to me.“ Griffith’s voice
wavered a bit but he caught himself. He heard Guts’ sharp intake of breath.
"Well yeah. I mean isn’t the point to make the other
person feel good?” Guts let out a little laugh. The words hung in the air
for a few seconds before he spoke again.
“Griffith.” Guts said.
“Yeah?”
Guts looked at him for a moment and fidgeted with the edge
of his t-shirt. Griffith saw the outline of Guts in his shorts.
“Oh! Of course.” he said. He moved over to
straddle his lap and kissed him.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” said
Guts. He reached up to rub Griffith’s hips.
“Would you rather not?”
“It’s not that I just didn’t want you to feel-”
“Guts.”
Griffith got up from his knees and put his hands on Guts’
shoulders.
“ No one touches me unless I want them to, you
understand? If I offer I mean it.”
Guts nodded and took his shirt off. Griffith could see a scattering
of little scars all over the broad chest. He ran his fingers over some of the
larger ones.
“You’ll have to tell me about these someday.” he
said against his lips. He rolled his hips in little circles. Guts groaned and
took hold of Griffith by the thighs. Guts smiled into the kiss.
“Yeah, um, sure.” said Guts. His breath turned
into a sigh as Griffith made his way down his chest.
…………..
The shower almost immediately began to fog up the small
bathroom.
In the harsh light, the hair on Griffith’s legs was so fair
that Guts could hardly see it if not for the shine.
They walked into the shower together without speaking and
Griffith wrapped his arms around Guts’ neck and pressed their cheeks together.
The tension left his body completely
“Can I get your back?” said Griffith.
Gut’s stiffened for a moment before nodding.
Griffith rubbed his hand over the well muscled back, tracing
every muscle. He stopped at his waist. Guts took his hand and wrapped his
around him and pulled him forward.
“Are you sure?”
“Sort of?” Guts said with a harsh laugh.
“It bothers me but sometimes it doesn’t?” he
added.
Griffith nodded and pressed his chest against Guts’ back. He
nuzzled between his shoulder blades. He kissed him softly before gently
pressing his hips to the Guts’ ass. He felt his face get hot.
Guts sighed. Griffith
opened his mouth and lightly ran his teeth over a scar there. Guts snorted.
“You chewin’ on me?”
“Yes.” said Griffith around the his skin.
Guts squeezed his hand and brought it up to his lips. He
turned around.
“Let me get your hair.”
Griffith hummed at the pressure on his scalp. He shut his
eyes as the soapy water ran down his face.
“You’re going t get it all tangled.”
Guts twirled the hair even more tightly together after that.
They both laughed as they closed the space between them for a kiss. Guts
pressed himself too quickly against Griffith and his back made a loud squeak
against the tile. They both suppressed a smile. Guts rubbed them against the
wall again causing an even more spectacular squeak.
“Hmmm. So sexy.” Guts said against Griffith’s
lips. Griffith squirmed against him all while laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe; squeak, squeak, squeak.
“We can’t in here, Guts.” he said finally.
“Alright.” said Guts. He took Griffith’s hand as
they made their way to Griffith’s room without discussion.
They crawled into bed. Griffith nestled himself into Guts’ chest.
After a few moments of quiet, Guts spoke.
“Griffith?”
“Yes, love?”
“I have some… stuff.” Guts’ voice trailed off at
the end.
“Stuff?”
“Baggage. I have some really bad baggage.”
Griffith looked up at Guts, and he could see his jaw
clenching. Griffith reached to stroke his neck.
“So do I.” he said.
Guts nodded.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you I just-” Guts
said.
“It feels like if you say it you’ll fall apart?”
Griffith locked eyes with Guts. Guts’ eyes widened as he caught Griffith’s look. Violence, fire, the void itself in those eyes.
“Yeah, actually.” he said. Griffith seemed to come
back to himself a little bit.
“I just didn’t want to make whatever we are doing about,
I don’t know, something sad?” he added.
Griffith smiled against his chest.
“I know. We’ll figure it out.” Griffith squeezed his hand.
“Yeah.” said Guts with a frown. He pressed his
face into Griffith’s hair and took a breath.
Tiny paws tapped on
Griffith’s shoulder.
“Come here, baby.” he said. He patted the space above their heads.
Medusa curled into a ball and her tail brushed against
Griffith’s nose as she settled down. stretched out her paws before settling
into sleep.
Prompt: Griff is getting a flu shot/any harmless medical procedure and Guts is the one freaking out about it. (requested by @dollycoffee )
Guts never got sick. Perhaps it was due to his gym rat status strengthening his immune system, or the multi vitamins Griffith forced him to take each morning, but much like death and taxes, it was one of those universal truths that ruled over all factors of life. So when Griffith proposed they take advantage of the free flu shots offered at the clinic nearby, Guts was, predictably, quick to refuse.
And no, he’s not like those moms who post up outside of Walgreen’s with their Crayola-marked signs reading “force veggies, not vaccines” and “my child, my choice” as they scream into the ears of passersby how foolish they are to believe the perceived lies of medical practitioners who tell them that shots can save lives. He’s not scared of needles, either. He just found it unnecessary to go through the hassle when there was already such a low chance he’d get sick in the first place.
Griffith had tried to convince him. There were empty threats of kicking Guts out of their shared bed or refusing to get within coughing distance of him, but it was a losing battle, and Guts’ stubbornness reigned victorious after many days of back and forth bickering. Griffith’s will was just as immovable, so when the morning came that he was scheduled to meet with a nurse for his shot, he was prepared to go at it alone. But Guts’ offer to drive him spiralled into an offer to walk him inside, then an offer to wait for him, until eventually he just resigned himself to staying.
The reception room reeked of disinfectant and bleach, causing Guts to curl his lip in disgust while the weight of the tiny vinyl chair he was sitting on creaked noisily. A woman in the corner was hacking up bile as her child sat beside her, looking an uneasy shade of green.
“Probably get more germs bein’ in here than you would outside,” Guts grumbled. Griffith glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, thumbing absentmindedly through an old fashion magazine.
“I never said you had to accompany me,” Griffith replied. Guts crossed his arms over his chest with a huff.
“Yeah, well, no sense waitin’ in the car. Besides, thought I should see what all the fuss is about.” Guts felt an uneasy turn in his stomach as he watched a guy walk out of the immunization bay, clutching his arm as he winced in pain. “Don’t you think this is overkill? You won’t get sick, and if you do, it won’t kill you.”
Guts hadn’t even noticed his leg was bouncing loudly atop the waxed linoleum until Griffith’s eyes darted pointedly toward the movement. “Are you worried about me?” Griffith asked, tone pressing. There was a look of hopefulness on his face suggesting there was something he wanted to hear Guts admit aloud.
“Worried about what?” An entirely performative sound of disbelief left Guts’ lips. The act doesn’t last long before Griffith’s weighty gaze manages to squeeze an answer out of Guts. “Okay, fine, whatever. Not like I don’t have my reasons.”
“Which are?”
Guts scratched his neck, letting the other hand drop in his lap. “Well… what if they stick you in the wrong place? Or the nurse forgets to switch out the needle and you catch somethin’ from the last person?”
The small smile Griffith gave Guts was both chiding and endeared. “Then I suppose I’m lucky you’re here to watch and make sure neither of those things happen.”
“I should-”
“Griffith?” The nurse called, cutting Guts’ sentence off. Griffith raised his brows as if encouraging Guts to continue, but Guts just waved a hand.
The immunization room was blinding white, broken only by the ugly examination table and a few scattered pieces of equipment. Guts could almost feel his blood pressure rising just being here. Whenever he got hurt, he dealt with it himself – no need for doctors or hospitals. Hell knows how many broken arms he’s had that have been fixed with an ice pack and a homemade sling. If Guts had ever seen a doctor in his life, it would’ve have to have been by accident.
“Alright, so if you wouldn’t mind just popping up here, I’ll let you fill out your forms while I get things ready,” the nurse directed Griffith to the table, which was more like a bed, really, and hands him a stack of paperwork. Griffith checked yes and no to the seemingly endless questions while Guts hovered beside him, all the lines of his body tense. As though he could read Guts’ mind, Griffith leaned his side against Guts’ arm. If he found Guts’ behaviour ridiculous, he didn’t say anything.
After a few moments, the nurse returned, metal tray in hand, and began preparing the injection. Griffith glanced over at Guts, who was watching the needle with wide eyes and clenched fists. Only the feeling of Griffith’s fingers uncurling his own, then gently slipping between them, caused Guts to look away.
“Ready?” The nurse asked, and Griffith nodded. “Three, two -” on two she jabbed the needle in, causing Guts to jerk forward and sputter a completely undignified yelp while Griffith laughed.
Griffith and Guts have a relaxed night at home until an uncomfortable topic is broached, GriffGuts modern grad school AU. Mentions of self harm but not graphic. Again, special thanks to @madchen for the prompt.
Griffith had been waiting with everything ready for about
ten minutes before Guts came home.
“Up for a movie tonight?” said Griffith.
“Taking a break?”
“I didn’t take any of my readings home.” Griffith
said. He took a sip of his wine. Guts sighed.
“I’m not going to help you procrastinate.”
“I’m not. ” said Griffith. Guts looked at him.
“I made popcorn and everything.” Griffith took the
second glass of wine and held it out to Guts.
Guts rolled his eyes and put his bag on one of the dining
chairs before grabbing the bowls and settling in on the couch. He took a sip of
the wine. Griffith put Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind up
on the queue. Guts groaned.
“We’re not watching the Charlie Kaufman bullshit. It’s
pretentious.”
“Fuck off. It’s beautiful.“Griffith said , his
brows furrowing.
"I don’t like watching people scream at each other like
that.” Guts said with a frown.
Griffith patted his hand.
“How about this one?” he said, shifting over to Guardians of the Galaxy.
“No need to go that low brow for me.” Guts crossed his arms over his chest.
Griffith stiffened a little bit.
“I’m kidding, Griffith.”
Griffith clicked on the movie and picked at his popcorn. Medusa
took her spot draped across Guts’ shoulders. She buried her face in the crook
of his neck. In the two weeks since the Wrestling Incident, as Griffith had
taken to calling it, they always started a tactful distance from each other.
One of them would eventually cave and make the first contact. He felt Guts’
hand on the small of his back. He sighed and soon Griffith found himself
wrapped in his arms, with his back on Gut’s chest. They rested content until
the film’s climax.
“No! You don’t monologue. You just put the fucking
staff on the ground! Oh my god.” Griffith pointed at the television. Guts started laughing. Griffith felt the
vibration from his chest.
“What?” said Griffith.
“You think that you would make a good villain?”
“Well yeah. Before I even started on my master plan I would
be honest with myself about what I actually want. This fucko doesn’t know what
he wants. If he wants them to cower and suffer in his presence you enslave them
or something. If you want them to cease to be, you don’t announce yourself and monologue;
you just get it done. It’s not hard.”
Guts tickled him while Griffith did his best squirm out of
his arms.
“Stop! Guts I mean it!”
“I don’t see it.”
“Fuck you.” Griffith said with mild irritation.
“I’m not saying you’re not smart enough to do it. I just
can’t imagine you being so consumed with something that you forget other
people.” said Guts, soothing Griffith’s sides with smooth strokes.
“You haven’t
seen me when I have nothing left to lose.” said Griffith staring hard
ahead of him.
Guts had only seen
this look in passing flashes before; Like the time that some idiot at a party
had made a comment about how the value of a college education lessening in
direct relation to the number of Pell Grants given out. It’s barely controlled violence always surprised
him.
“Is that a threat?” said Guts. He wrapped his arms
more tightly around Griffith’s waist. He tucked his chin onto Griffith’s
shoulder. He noticed, not for the first time the raised scar tissue on
Griffith’s upper arms.
“Maybe.” Griffith smiled a little. He squeezed
Gut’s hand. He looked at him and
considered him for a moment.
“I think you could do.” said Griffith.
“Be a super villain?”
“Yeah. By the time you got to your goal it would be too
late for anyone to stop you.”
“Thank you.” said Guts.
They finished the movie in silence. Guts felt his attention
turn to the scars again once the credits had rolled. Their size suggested a
deep scratch. He gently brushed his fingers over the four parallel scars.
Griffith pulled away and covered his arm with his hand. He looked at him with
horror.
“I’m sorry.” said Guts.
Griffith had made himself into a little ball at the end of
couch and Guts reached towards him, helpless against his own panic.
So this is incredibly self indulgent. A male bonding experience between roommates becomes something else. GriffGuts modern AU. Special thanks to @madchen for the prompt. NSFW.
Griffith took
the last box out of the entry way to his new house and took a moment to sit at
the edge of the couch. (An avocado green mid century inspired piece purchased to
match the house. Guts had agreed to it only when he had been able to lay out completely on his back on it. He had fallen
asleep while Griffith and the woman who had placed the ad on Craigslist haggled
over the price.) Griffith’s kitten, Medusa walked into each unfamiliar room and
meowed in confusion. She walked over to
her new housemate, Guts,and tapped him with her paw.
“What, buddy?” said Guts.
Griffith could
imagine him nearly engulfing the kitten in his hand as he pet her like a dog.
He smiled and let himself lay down for the first time that day. Griffith’s hair
fanned out behind him as he pressed his head onto the cool terrazzo floor. The cat trotted over to
him and sniffed his face for a moment before settling into his hair and
kneading his scalp. She purred.
“Hey dust bunny.” he said as he stroked the long,
grey fur. He blew a raspberry on her tummy.
Griffith noticed
the little bit of ooze from the corner of her eye and gently brushed it away.
She made a little sound of displeasure before walking into the kitchen with her
tail down. Griffith sighed and reached feebly after his cat.
“Do you want to get a start on the kitchen?” Guts
said, box cutter in hand. Griffith could see the sweat soaking through his black
t-shirt. Griffith whined.
“How are you still standing?” said Griffith.
Guts turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow. He walked
over to Griffith and stood over him, with Griffith’s body between his legs.
Guts crossed his arms over his chest.
“You planning on challenging me again?” said
Griffith.
“You scared?” Guts said. He nudged Griffith on the
tip of his nose with his foot.
“Guts!” He wrinkled his nose.
“Huh?” Guts gave him a little smile. He bumped his
nose again, this time with the ball of his foot and rubbing it in a little bit.
Griffith could see the calluses on his foot.
“You’re gross!” he said.
Guts laughed and turned to put the box cutter on the coffee
table. Griffith took the opportunity and wrapped his arm around his ankle.
“Griffith!” Guts yelled as he fell to the ground.
The two of them grappled for a moments before Griffith
straddled him on his back and held onto his wrists.
“We have hard floors asshole!“said Guts with a
huff. Griffith spit some of his own hair out of his mouth.
He smiled as he leaned down to whisper in Guts’ ear. Their
chests were pressed flush against each other.
“You should have thought of that before you turned your
back.” he said. He gripped tighter around Gut’s wrists as Guts bucked up
uselessly with his hips. Guts reached for his hair and pulled gently.
“No you don’t.” Griffith said. He swung his hair
over his shoulder. Guts laughed.
Guts hooked his legs around Griffith’s hips.
“Oh shit!” Griffith said as Guts threw him on his
back.
“Gotcha.” said Guts in a low voice.
Griffith panted for a moment and Guts looked at him. His
eyes were glassy and Griffith could see a new trail of sweat going down his
neck. Griffith adjusted his hips
slightly, and felt the unmistakable bulge hardening in Guts’ shorts.
“Guts are you -?”
The air seemed to go out of the room, then. Guts eyes
widened a bit and he opened his mouth speak. Griffith reached up and gently put
a hand on his cheek before he knew what he was doing. They stared at each other
without breathing. Guts bit his bottom lip and nodded. He turned in and breathed into Griffith’s neck.
He moved his hips carefully. Griffith answered him with a movement of his own. He could feel Gut’s heart beat against his in
his chest. And he soothed his hand down his back. He reached down to squeeze
his ass.
“No.” said Guts, his whole body going rigid.
“What?”
“Not there.” he said.
“Okay.” Griffith said. He stroked the wet dark
hairs at the base of his neck carefully. He could hear Guts’ breath shake in
his ear.
They sat in silence for a few moments and Griffith felt his
heart twist. Had he ruined whatever this was?
“Guts?"said Griffith.
Guts moved his hips again. Griffith moaned in response, more
at the suggestion than the sensation. He felt Guts’ lips press against his
neck. Their thrusts turned into rolls and they were no longer meeting each other
in the middle but moving together without breaking contact. Griffith was painfully hard.
"Guts, I need to.” he gestured to his pants.
Guts nodded and undid the button on Griffith’s jeans. Gut’s
hands stilled at the waistband of Griffith’s underwear.
“Yes.”
Guts wrapped around Griffith’s cock through the thin fabric.
After a few times they became firm strokes.
“Don’t tease me.” said Griffith. He felt Guts nod against his cheek and his
cock was exposed to the air. It was
already dark read at the tip and dripping wet. Guts ran his thumb along the
head in slow circles and Griffith bit back a whine.
Guts leaned up on one arm and Griffith could see the biceps
flexing under the weight. Griffith leaned up on his elbows to get a closer look
at the heavy bulge in Guts’ shorts. Guts blushed but managed a little smirk. He
shrugged.
“Is it okay if I?” he said, hooking his thumbs
into the waistband of his shorts.
“Come here.” Griffith said and he had to hold
himself back from mouthing at the front of the shorts. He pulled them down and
gently took his cock out. Guts settled back over top of him again and smiled.
He nuzzled Griffith. Griffith leaned their foreheads together.
“I’m going to put my legs here alright?” said Griffith.
He put his hands on Guts’ waist, slipping his hand under the damp shirt.
“That’s fine.” said Guts. Griffith wrapped his
legs around Guts and tilted his head back to bare his neck.
Guts made a sound from the back of his throat and took them
both in one his hands and started stroking them urgently, without gentleness.
He leaned down and sank his teeth into Griffith’s shoulder. Griffith bit onto
his fist. A little noise escaped his throat.
Guts reached up and took Griffith’s hand away with his free
hand. He laced their fingers together.
“Let me hear you.” he said. Griffith gasped. He
moved his hips in time with Guts’ hand and let himself go.
“Oh fuck, Guts!” he said as he finished. Gut’s grunted as he followed.
“Shhh.” said Griffith. He could feel Guts’
shoulders tremble under his hand. Guts was looking at him with the an intensity
that was unreadable. Griffith tilted his chin up; they kissed for the first
time. Guts sighed as he rolled off of Griffith and caught his breath. Griffith
reached down to the wetness cooling on his stomach.
you're the only one 