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His eyes are hazy. Those black eyes, always so hard and frightening, are softened. His mouth hangs open, just a bit. His arms are wrapped around you like a vice. You’re quite sure he could snap you in half at this moment, but you’re also sure he never would.
Your shirts lay discarded on the ground, tossed aside in the heat of passion. Guts’s skin is so rough, yet his muscles are so smooth. You want to touch every scar you see (and there are too many for you to count at the moment). You want to feel his body shudder against yours, you want to taste his skin.
When you pull back, he stares at you with a kind of gentle surprise. His nostrils flare. They always tend to, really. Every kiss, every touch-- always that look, always that cute drawing of breath.
Yes...cute. Guts is cute. Guts is the sweetest, most darling thing you’ve ever encountered. Ah-- not in a condescending way! No. Guts is simply...a marvel. So many beautiful things at once. Strong, a skilled fighter, ruthless, unrelenting...handsome, cocky, blunt, reliable...naive, cautious, passionate, kind.
Guts...Guts...Guts.
You lean in and bring your lips together. There has never been a sweeter feeling, never been something as wonderful. Your tongues tangle together, and he’s as rough as ever, battling against you until the struggle has moved to your mouth. His hands weave into your hair, tugging every now and then. His knee brushes your side.
Sitting down together, holed away in your tent. Your own private world, where the only thing you see, taste, hear, smell or feel is Guts. The dim light of a candle illuminates his features. He’s holding your head quite firmly against his, now, teeth catching on your lips.
Guts is yours. And you, too, are his.
Guts’s kisses are impatient, gradually becoming sloppier and sloppier. His grip is slacking, and you take that a your chance.
You push him to the pillow where you normally sleep. He grunts in displeasure, but that takes a turn as your lips latch onto his neck. He gasps, his body twitching, moving under yours. It presses into you in every place he wants touched, every area he wants to feel you.
You’re always gentle with him; you know he despises it otherwise. You’ve felt his hands close around your throat, his voice shaking, his expression dazed. The names he’s uttered. Gambino. Donnovan. You understand, and you accept that Guts. You love that Guts. You love every bit of Guts. If he changes one day, you’ll welcome it. If he doesn’t, you’ll never resent it. Because Guts is Guts, and how could you complain when he’s the one that holds you when you remember that night with the Baron?
Hands roam, skirting over warm flesh. You suck on his throat, tongue running over his adam’s apple. His sounds are quiet, growls and hisses of breath that fill your mind and course through your body. His eyes are closed tightly, jaw slack, his cheeks tinted just a slight red. His skin is salty, bitter-- the taste of sweat and iron lingers all over his body, from his neck, to his shoulder, to his chest.
“H-Hey-- Fuck, Griffith--”
Your tongue rolls over his nipple, and he squirms, hot breaths spilling over your head. He’s starting to drool a bit, his eyebrows knitted--
“Griffith, ah, Gri-- HEY!”
He pulls your head back, and you blink at him, startled.
“Can-- Can you close your damn eyes?! It’s weird when you’re staring at me!”
“...Ah? But I want to see you.”
“It’s embarrassing! Stop it!”
“You don’t want me to watch you?”
“I-- Look. It’s just weird when I open my eyes, and I look down, and you’re just stari-- Nn--”
His eyes squeeze shut before he can complain any longer. You palm his erection through the fabric of his pants, kissing his collarbones.
“Guts, I want to see you.” You rub carefully, deliberately. “I want to see everything...every single thing. I want to brand it into my memory,” He lets out a long sigh as your hand slips under his waistband. “and remember that handsome Guts of mine. The one only I get to see.”
You stroke him up and down. His body tightens around yours, nails digging into your scalp, legs hooking behind your back. Hips jerk into your hand.
“Y-You...can be a real creep, sometimes.”
You’re about to continue speaking when he yanks your head back to his, biting at your mouth. Sometimes, you wonder if he actually knows how to kiss without making it a fight. His nails scrape down the back of your neck, down your shoulder blades. You work him with all the tenderness you have to offer, feeling that throb of a pulse, the brush of wiry hair, the soft skin and the bumps of veins. He can’t continue kissing much longer, and he just breathes into your mouth, breath hitching and moaning when you press the rights spots.
Sex...scares you, sometimes. Intimacy in general is a little terrifying, isn’t it? Is it any different? What use is a body? It’s meant to be bought and sold. If only dirty fingers drag down it, how can you tell the difference when they’re clean? How are you to know it’s safe? That you won’t be left empty, raw, stinking of rot? That you won’t feel as if something precious has been ripped from you? That you won’t shy from touch, that you won’t tremble and sweat and let sickness drain from your lips?
The first few times it happened with Guts, you had to pull away, had to hide in yourself and scratch away at that filthy skin. Did Guts understand? Of course he did, because Guts is Guts. Guts is an endless well of light, encapturing you in its warmth, bathing you in its rays. He is the hand that stills the trembling, the lips that breathe into your lungs.
Your world has always been dark. You lit so many candles, lanterns, fires; you prayed for the darkness to recede. You longed for something you couldn’t describe-- something beyond the dream you held onto so dearly.
It was light. It was Guts.
Guts shines brightly. Guts’s smile captivates you, Guts is a strength you never knew was missing. Guts equaled you in every aspect, challenged you, made you feel sick with want and delirious with joy. There was no person who brought you better anguish, whose gaze made you feel whole.
How long have you been his? From the day you declared he was yours, you think. There was never a time you weren’t, for as long as you knew him. You never thought to tell him-- you thought he knew. Ah, Guts-- sweet, oblivious Guts. He never would have dreamed of such a thing, but it’s a bit funny to think he never guessed. That it wasn’t obvious to him.
When you have sex with Guts, it’s as if that darkness inside you is being washed away. You seem to forget that night, seem to forget that fear. He’s so kind-- really, too kind. You never knew two people could be so close...that you could bring him that kind of pleasure, and that he’d enjoy it, and you wouldn’t feel sickened by that. That his pleasure would make you feel pleasure as well, in a sense. That even if it’s as simple as touching, you feel yourself smiling and wanting to make him squirm and curl into you and wrap you in his grasp. So yes, sex is equally as terrifying as it is rewarding, and you find that if it’s Guts, you would do it again and again and again.
Guts fumbles, one hand dragging across your side to your groin. His thick fingers take you, and your whole body relaxes. Streams of pleasure run up your body.
You lie against him, his legs keeping you pressed chest to chest. Knuckles touch knuckles as you (attempt to) move in time.
Love...is fascinating. How quickly it overtakes you, how strong its hold is. How one day, among all the people who fought by your side, all the people that died so you could step over them-- how one day, one person stood above them. How one person makes you forget everything you once held dear and smiles with such incredible brilliance. How one single man makes your whole body ache, makes you laugh and cry and hurt so deeply. How your heart can beat so loudly, how you, who can calculate any outcome, can be caught off guard. Whatever response he may have to your words, it always seems to be the best answer, and you value his opinion. You value his voice. You value the scar across his nose, the curves of his cheekbones, the pads of his fingers.
You press your forehead against his. You refuse to close your eyes-- you want to see it all. You want to see him, see him slowly come undone. You want to be this close always, lying against him, feeling his body shift and shake with pleasure. You want to hear him gasp, groan, drawl out curses and exclamations and even just his heavy breaths. You want all of him, every bit of him. You want to own Guts thoroughly and completely, and be owned by him in return. You want to fill yourself with him, smell like him, share his world and him share yours. Is there a word for this? Perhaps more than love? This unending desire for closeness, for affection, for casual conversation and laughter and touch?
God, you love him. You love him so much. You love him beyond comprehension or logical thought. You love him with everything you have to offer. You only want to be his, you only want to bask in his radiance. Guts is everything, YOUR everything, the oceans and the skies and flowers and every blade of grass, every beautiful thing that exists in this world. Guts is all the good this world can offer, and you love him so, so dearly. As you near your climax, you feel tears collect in your eyes, if not from sheer pleasure from how overwhelmed by emotion you are. When did you become so lucky? To actually be this close to Guts? To share this moment with him?
He’s so soft. He’s so soft and warm. You love this Guts, love his body, love how muscled he is, how strong he is. His hand feels so nice on you, rough and fast, careless. You wish you could feel his hands on every part of you.
“G-Guts,” You manage to say, your face hot. “Guts, I, I truly,”
He keens, throwing his head back.
“I love you, Guts! I love you, I love you, I-- nnngh--”
He comes with a yell, and you follow, biting into his shoulder to stifle your cry.
Threads of semen link your skin together. He pants, and you keep your face pressed into the crook of his neck. His hands, a bit sticky, run to your back, holding you close. It’s never close enough.
“Love you…” You wonder if he can hear you. You speak in a hush. “Love you, love you, love you…”
“...Are you crying?” Are you? You suppose you are! You lift your head, wiping hair out of your face. “Griffith…”
He’s so handsome. His look of concern is all too handsome. His pout, his eyebrows drawn up…You laugh, feeling tears continue to drip down your cheeks.
“Griffith, are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“N-No, no. Of course not. Even if you did, I wouldn’t mind…” You swallow. “I’m simply...happy. So, so happy…”
“...That’s one weird way of being happy.” His thumb brushes under your eye, his hands run through your hair. He kisses you.
If only you could kiss Guts for an eternity.
You decide to press your head to his chest, greeted by the familiar, comforting sound of his heartbeat. Your hand meets his-- your fingers braid with his, you shut your eyes. If only your fate was not preordained. If only his world could always be yours, and you could etch your love into every bend of his body...
“You gonna stop crying?” He continues to play with your hair with his free hand. “If not, I’ll have to kiss you till you stop.”
“Is that a threat? Scary, Guts…” You can feel his smile. “I love you.” You can never say it enough.
“I love you, too.”
“Hey, is something going on?” You hear Corkus’s voice. The notable crinkle of the fabric of the tent. “We heard yelling--” A gasp, and then several groans and Casca shouting triumphantly, “I KNEW IT!”
Ah, shit.