A Dog Among Princes

Chapter 13

Griffith’s arms still rang from the shock every time he intercepted one of Guts’s blows. It hurt like hell and his hands stung from the force. But, he never dropped his blade. They hadn’t sparred in quite some time before they began training together months ago. Guts never trained with the rest, preferring to practice with his own bizarre methods. Griffith remembered one month where he’d returned to the same tree every day and hacked away at its trunk with his sword for hours and hours on end until it finally fell. Then he moved onto a second and then a third until he was able to fell one in a single day. He’d asked him jokingly if it would not be better to use an ax. Guts told him that that was the difference between them. Griffith would always look for the “right” solution, the one that would guide him best along that brilliant line that shone between himself and his dream. Guts would instead use only the tools he was given, honing them until they were forced into the rough shapes of the ones he needed. Griffith still thought that philosophy was a little bit nonsensical (just use the damn ax!) but he couldn’t argue with the results.

Guts’s single tool was swordsmanship. He used it as diplomacy, as romantic gesture and of course as weapon. It was as if his true language was contained within flashes of steel and the rush of air as it was displaced by a blade. Guts’s swordsmanship was unlike anything he’d ever fought against. Many might dismiss it at first as just the flailing of a mad dog, the weapon itself doing much of the work for its wielder. However, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

First, there was the strength needed to control the momentum of a blade that size. If someone like Griffith tried to wield a blade like that it would wield him instead. The momentum of the heavy swings dragging him around and making it difficult to recover. Guts could stop his swings with acute precision. He wasn’t just changing the direction while continuing the momentum of the strikes. He could fully halt his swings at a moment’s notice. It took incredible strength and control to do something like that. The same strength he’d seen cleave heavy armor as if it were paper.

He was also nimble in ways that would seem impossible for anyone else. He was huge and carried such a massive blade, yet he sprung around like a deer in combat. It was as if he was completely weightless. At least until you felt the full force of him crash into you, at which point you were made painfully aware of what over six and a half feet of muscle weighed. Griffith was nearly a foot shorter than him, it was difficult to take his attacks without being knocked back.

His stamina was also incredible. He could and had swung that massive blade for hours on end. Both in the heat of battle and in the calm contemplation of training. It had been difficult for Griffith to keep up with Guts’s regime at first but now he was able to at least keep up with the hours he spent training.

Griffith redirected an overhead blow in just the nick of time. “You’re getting distracted,” Guts growled. “Quit thinking and just focus on me.”

“I’m afraid that’s exactly what’s so distracting.” Griffith purred. It was hard to tell if Guts was red from exertion or embarrassment. Another blow came down on him hard.

“You talk too much for somebody who’s getting his shit kicked in.”

“You’re not going to tell me how I should be using my mouth?”

“I see what you’re trying to do, and that’s not going to work on me anymore. It’s a good tactic, but it doesn’t work as well if your opponent knows what you’re doing.” Griffith parried a slash and quickly riposted.

“And what exactly do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Trying to throw off my mental game. Destabilize the opponent by messing with their head so they’re easier to take down.”

“What if I really mean it?” He rushed in to stab at Guts’s armpit.

“Honesty makes it all the more powerful. Threats you can back up, or insults you truly believe rattle an opponent better than any lie you could construct.” Guts caught his blade and locked it in place.

“And what about true affection, or expressions of more carnal hungers?” Griffith let the last part slip into a slightly deeper register and then suddenly shifted his saber, attempting to break Guts’s lock.

“Those can also work quite well, but only if the target doesn’t expect it.” Guts’s lock held firm. “Shock tactics don’t work on an opponent who isn’t surprised to see them.” Guts pushed Griffith to the ground and pinned him with his locked blade. He screwed his face up in concentration and then suddenly placed a kiss on the space between Griffith’s neck and shoulder. Griffith dropped his sword. Griffith was now sure that it was embarrassment that colored Guts’s cheeks. “That’s how you use shock tactics effectively.”

“I’m a bad influence on you.” Griffith threw his arms around Guts’s neck. Guts looked down at him fondly before burying his face in the crook of Griffith’s neck.

They often ended up like this after a good spar. Blood ran hot driving them to chase their passions. They hadn’t gone much farther than kissing. Griffith was reticent for his own reasons, but Guts also remained oddly skittish. They had been progressively acclimating each other to their touches but it was slow going. Griffith slipped a hand up Guts’s shirt preparing for him to pull away. Guts withdrew from Griffith’s neck and took Griffith’s wrist in his hand. He gently guided him to touch the skin of his stomach. He shuddered slightly but didn’t pull away. “Are you sure?” Griffith asked quietly. Guts nodded, afraid his tongue would betray him.

He felt soft. His skin was peppered with old scars here and there but the unmarred skin was surprisingly smooth to the touch. Guts had never been able to grow a proper beard, his attempts had been patchy at best, but Griffith hadn’t expected to feel so little body hair. His muscles were relaxed and pliant, occasionally jumping into a hardened state at an unexpected touch. Griffith traveled upward towards his chest, feeling the muscles that flowed over Guts’s ribs. He paused at a scar on his side close to his chest. It was a clean slash but it must’ve cut deep to leave such a pronounced mark after all these years. “This was me wasn’t it. From the day we first met.”

“Yes it was. I can still give you a matching one if you’d like.” He jokingly snarled. Griffith felt the air rush from his lungs. Guts withdrew slightly, looking Griffith in the eyes to gauge his comfort. Maybe he went too far, went too aggressive. Griffith’s pupils were blown wide, his hair, usually so neat, fell messily around his head like a halo. It was hard to believe he was destined to become a demon king when he looked so much like an angel.

“Can we perhaps continue this in your chambers? I want to see you.”

“You’re looking right at me.” Guts looked down with half lidded eyes.

“I want to see you,” he repeated. Griffith dragged his finger along the smooth line of the scar. “All of you.”

Guts stood letting Griffith back up from under him and returned his sword to his back. He handed Griffith his saber as he returned to his feet. Griffith tucked it back into its scabbard. That was a shame, Guts must not have been interested. Griffith felt his legs pulled out from under him as Guts lifted him into the air. “Safety first.” He had a shit eating grin on his face. Griffith really was a terrible influence.

“Can I see you as well? You don’t have to if it would make you uncomfortable, but I’d rather it wasn’t just me.” Guts had already removed his shirt. He sat somewhat hunched on the edge of his bed. Griffith removed his coat and sat down.

“Before I do, can you promise me you won’t ask questions?” Guts was in no position to demand answers from Griffith with how much he kept hidden of himself.

“I promise.” Griffith removed his shirt.

He’d remained almost magically untouched throughout his career as a mercenary. His skin was completely free of scars, except his arms. The outsides of his upper arms were scored with what looked like claw marks. Guts knew what they were. Casca had told him, but he hadn’t thought Griffith scratched himself deep enough to scar. He brought his hand to brush over Griffith’s side, the mirror of where he’d scarred Guts. He traced his thumb along the imaginary line of the wound that would connect them. He was thin for a mercenary, lithe and graceful like a cat. But that wasn’t to say he wasn’t incredibly strong. For all he postured, Guts truly believed that Griffith was the only swordsman that could match him in combat. Griffith’s defensive and technical swordplay was the perfect match to Guts’s raw strength. Guts may have had the physical advantage, but fighting Griffith was like fighting mist. Power was nothing if you could never actually hit your opponent. Fighting someone like that drove a man crazy. All Griffith needed was one slip up, one mistake, to win. If your temper ran as high as Guts’s did, those mistakes would become more and more frequent as you slowly realized nothing you did was having any effect on him. Griffith brushed his long hair out of his face.

“Well, is it everything you hoped for?” There was a raw edge to his voice. He seemed so small.

“I didn’t hope for or expect anything.” Guts said gently. Without looking at him he pulled Griffith to his own chest. A reminder. Both of them were just as bare. “I don’t want anything from you. You’ll never have to force yourself to do anything with me. I’d be just as happy only crossing swords for the rest of our lives. The only thing I’ve ever wanted was to stand by your side. I can do that without us having to do any of this.” Guts ran his hand through Griffith’s soft hair.

He was careful to keep his gaze level. Guts wasn’t attracted to Griffith because he was beautiful. He noticed and certainly appreciated it, but that wasn’t why he fell in love.He loved Griffith for the little smiles he gave him from across a room filled with adoring fans. For the late nights when he came to Guts’s room eager to share some new fact he’d learned. He loved Griffith for the flame that burned in his eyes when they first met, the undisguised desire that, for the first time in his short life, made Guts feel like he was wanted. So many before him had wanted Griffith solely for his beauty. Even without having been told, he could hear it in the jagged edges of his breath. Am I beautiful enough for you? Will you take this body and leave me my soul? He kept his eyes away from Griffith, not because he didn’t want to look, but because so many others had done so violently.

Griffith shifted under his hand. “Guts, please look at me.” He looked down meeting those arresting blue eyes. “I want this. I want you.”

Guts was doing it again. Assuming he wasn’t worthy of Griffith. That Griffith was only humoring him by entering this relationship. He’d initiated for god’s sake! After all these years and all he’d accomplished he still couldn’t see his worth! Griffith appreciated his consideration more than Guts could ever know. He had never been with anyone who treated him so gently. If only he could see himself through Griffith’s eyes, he would understand how wonderful he was. His eyes slid down his naked chest, peppered as it was with small scars. “May I touch you?” Guts nodded.

Their explorations of each other were halting and clumsy. Guts knew what spots on a human body could be used to kill, or cause excruciating pain with just the slightest application of pressure, but eliciting pleasure was beyond him. Griffith understood what he was doing on a theoretical level. He’d read enough about it certainly, but having Guts right in front of him was an entirely different animal. Everything he thought he knew completely fled his mind the second he actually had the chance to touch him. Tits! It was supposed to feel nice when somebody touched your tits right? Guts certainly had a nice chest. His muscles were so large they practically were tits. Griffith zeroed in on a nipple. He remembered something about pinching those?

“Ow! What the hell?”

“Sorry, I thought that might feel good.”

“If you were gentler, maybe. I don’t know.” He ran his thumb over one of Griffith’s. “Does that feel like anything?”

“It’s kind of nice.” He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel any different or if he just wasn’t particularly sensitive. “Neither of us know what we’re doing then.”

“Absolutely no clue.” Griffith tried copying Guts’s motion. He made a soft noise. Realizing what he’d done, Guts’s face turned red. “That felt pretty good.” He admitted sheepishly. Griffith went on the offensive. He’d found a point of weakness. Every instinct he’d honed told him it was time to go for the kill. He latched onto Guts’s chest and licked. “Shit, Griffith.” He smiled into his skin. That was a good ‘shit’. Guts carded through Griffith’s silver locks. His fingers gripped Griffith’s hair just a little too hard and his breath hitched. “Sorry, you alright?” Guts asked.

“Yeah, that…that felt pretty good actually. Could you do that again?” Guts tightened his grip again and Griffith felt his knees go weak. “Fuck.” Guts tentatively pulled Griffith back and by the hair looked him in the eye.

“Can I kiss you?”

“God yes.” They crashed into each other. Griffith somehow ended up on top. He felt hands slip into his pants. He undid the ties and kicked them off leaving him in just his small clothes. His fingers played at the buckle of Guts’s belt. An unspoken question. Guts’s hands left his ass and undid the belt. His pants were soon tossed on the floor as well. The residual adrenaline had them moving faster than usual. Griffith brought a hand to the outside of Guts’s loincloth. He startled and Griffith quickly withdrew his hand. Guts grabbed his wrist and guided it back. Go on, I can take it.

Griffith knew he’d be big. He was a big guy, and from the glances he’d stolen everything seemed roughly proportional. It hadn’t prepared him for what he felt though. It had to be six inches in length, at least, with a width to match! That wasn’t going in without significantly more preparation than they had time for. “If we go further today,” Griffith thumbed the band of his own smalls. “I will probably have to be the one on top. If you want we can wait or do something non-penetrative, but this isn’t going to fit in me without time.”

Guts remembered how painful it was. How powerless he felt. “Will it hurt?” He asked carefully. He didn’t feel like sharing quite yet.

“I’ll be careful to ensure that you feel as little pain as possible.”

“I have one condition then, and please don’t ask me why.”

“Alright.”

“I have to be facing you the whole time.”

“I can do that.” Griffith got up and started rooting around in Guts’s drawers. “Do you have any oil?”

“Should be some in the desk, for the lamp.” Griffith found the bottle and sniffed it. Not turpentine. He dipped a finger in and tasted it. Linseed oil, perfect. He returned to the bed and removed the last of his underclothes. Guts might’ve been freakishly huge but Griffith was certainly not tiny. Guts gave him an appreciative once over before lifting his hips and removing his loincloth. Griffith carefully lifted Guts’s legs to gain access to his entrance.

“This part might be a little easier on you from the other side.” Griffith suggested.

“No.” Guts responded quickly and firmly. “We do this from the front or not at all.”

“Alright, as long as you are comfortable.” Griffith drenched his fingers in oil. He worked the excess into the skin around Guts’s hole. He pressed one finger against him. “You can still back out.”

“Hurry up and do it, my legs are getting sore.” His voice shook a little bit from nerves. Griffith ran a comforting hand along his thigh and pushed the finger inside.

He wasn’t panicking. That was good. It was Griffith, he trusted Griffith. But still Guts was wracked with nerves. “Try to relax a little bit. It’ll go faster.” Griffith grabbed his dick with his free hand, slowly moving up and down the length. The twin sensations distracted him from his thoughts enough to begin to relax. Griffith slipped in a second finger. Guts felt him touch something inside him and his back arched as if he was shocked. Griffith smiled fiendishly and pressed against the spot again. At this point Guts felt like electricity shot through his limbs. Griffith withdrew his fingers and Guts felt his hips buck chasing the sensation. Griffith lined himself up and slid in. It felt amazing. The friction against the electric place inside of him was driving him out of his mind. Was this what he’d been missing out on?

Hands closed around his neck.

Griffith saw the light suddenly leave Guts’s eyes. “Guts?!” He’d never seen him like this. What the hell had he done? Was he sick? Guts’s hands shot up and wrapped around his neck. “Guts?” His eyes were still just as blank. “Guts, please! You’re hurting me!” He choked out. Guts just as suddenly released him. He immediately bolted from him like a wounded animal.

“I didn’t mean to kill you, Gambino!” His head was clearly somewhere else. His eyes stared past Griffith into the air. “The shadow, he covered me, he held down my arms and legs! I couldn’t do anything to stop him, not as a child! That’s why I killed him! I shot him in the back, made it look like it was enemy fire. That bastard!”

“This Gambino, he attacked you?”

“No it wasn’t like that!” He was lucid enough to respond but just barely. “He took me in, taught me how to use a sword. But why did he sell me to that bastard? He used to drink all the time, he lost his leg in the war. He got drunk one night and swung his sword at me. I just meant to dodge it but before I realized it my sword was already in his throat.” Guts was crying now. “He said I should’ve died along with my mother. I’m sorry, Gambino! Father….”

Griffith put his hand on Guts’s shoulder. He looked up seemingly surprised to see him there. “S-sorry I made things weird. I’m sorry. I screwed everything up.”

“Guts,” Griffith began gently.

“Look, I can’t ask you to forget I said or did anything, but if you want to leave, go ahead.”

“You were raped.”

“Yeah. I was.”

“And you killed your father.”

“Yes I did.” He stared at his hands, opening and closing them in his lap. “It was years ago though. Way before I met you. I wanted to forget about it. I hadn’t thought about it all year, why did I start thinking about it now? It’s stupid. I’d killed so many people before and now I’ve killed even more since why is it only Gambino?” Tears streamed down his face. Griffith hugged him as tightly as he could. “I don’t want pity.”

“It’s not pity, it's sympathy.” He buried his face in Guts’s neck. “I know pity is the last thing you’d want anyone to feel for you, because it is the same for me.” Griffith gently wiped Guts’s face and took a deep breath. “There was a boy, maybe eleven or twelve years old, who joined up with us as a squire. He was killed in combat following my orders. I’ve led so many to their deaths but that boy’s face is the only one that haunts me. He was the reason why I…” a tongue licked the shell of his ear. He shivered, shaking off the ghost. “I didn’t think I could call myself a commander if I didn’t get myself at least a little dirty for the sake of my men. And of course he was right there, waiting to take advantage of that.” Griffith desperately wanted to let go. To begin clawing himself to release some of the horrible prickling energy that felt like thorny vines were growing through his veins. Instead he held onto Guts tighter. “I didn’t have an opportunity to kill him until Doldrey. I pretended I didn’t care, that it was just a stepping stone on the path to where I am now but…” Griffith began to fall apart as well. His perfectly crafted facade crumbled to the dirt. “I was just a child! How can you ask a child to make that choice!”

“I used to think God didn’t exist. My father’s buddies nearly killed me after what happened. They only stopped chasing me because I fell off a cliff and they figured I’d died. When I came to after that I was lying in a shallow lake and I could see all the stars stretching out above me in the sky and below me reflected in the water. I remember wondering how that could be possible. How, if God existed, they could create something so beautiful but still make me go through everything I did. I still don’t really believe in a benevolent god, I figure if he’s out there he’s closer to what you’re supposed to end up as. I can’t believe there’s a higher power, because if I did, seeing all the horrific shit he’s made us go through, I’d have to kill him.” Griffith laughed bitterly at Guts’s pronouncement. “No, I’m dead serious. If there’s a god other than the path of causality or whatever the hell is supposed to be fucking with us I’m killing him.”

“Well you’ll probably need help with that won’t you.” Griffith kissed his cheek. “I’m alright to keep going if you are but if you need a break…”

“I can keep going. I think I should be alright now.” Griffith positioned himself in Guts’s lap facing him. He reached down gently and brought their cocks flush. They would both have to have a good long discussion about what they were and weren’t comfortable with, but Griffith figured this would be safe enough for now. He felt along both lengths. Guts lowered his head to meet Griffith’s lips again. He kissed him softly, apologetically. I never meant for things to be this way. Griffith returned it with passion. It is not your fault they did and I would not have this any other way.

They would always need to be careful with each other, but they knew that. Griffith might not have known the extent of it, but he’d known something was up with Guts from the beginning. Finding out that they’d been through the same kind of awfulness wasn’t going to drive him away. He felt Guts tense up under his hand and let himself go as well. Griffith wiped his hand on his bare skin. “We should get cleaned up. It will feel unpleasant if we let it dry.” Guts was a little dazed. He wasn’t blank eyed like before, but relaxed and tired to the point of slight confusion. “Come on.” He helped Guts to his feet. “Let’s get that bath started.”