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The beating in his ears, the rush of his blood… It was all familiar, far too familiar, but this…
This was…
It was…
Guts was swinging his knife, the sound of the clang drowning out the cries from far below.
Sacrifice…
Each hit of his knife made Guts’ arm numb from the strike. The giant hand Griffith was clenched inside of was pulsating, throbbing. Blood was splattering everywhere, all over him. In his face, in his mouth, in his eyes… But he never stopped swinging his knife down.
They were all in Hell. A nightmare.
A hellish nightmare.
But why?
Guts didn’t have time to think, he was never one to contemplate a situation. All he had to do was keep driving his knife down, and it would be fine. It would be fine, if he could just get to Griffith.
Griffith…
Everything was repeating, repetitive movement. Over and over, swinging the knife, trying to break Griffith from the massive palm of faces he was trapped in. Break Griffith from the grip of this demonic hand, and they could all just leave!
Griffith…
But, there were the others, too, the rest of the Hawks. Guts bit his lip, his throat was dry and burning. There was no time to worry about the others, not even Casca. He had to get to Griffith. He had to protect Griffith! He had to save Griffith from this place!
Save Griffith from himself…
Guts stopped, his hands numb, the knife broken.
Sacrifice… Sacrifice!
Is… is this what Griffith wanted?
The landscape was hellish as he looked out, monsters lumbering in the distance. The others, they needed his help, too, but… Griffith.
Sacrifice.
He… He couldn’t save Griffith. It’s… It’s not what Griffith wanted, he had chosen to be in there… Griffith wanted to exchange their flesh for his power, for his own dream.
The last shred of hesitation faded and Guts launched himself from the tower with his broken knife, a harrowing cry ripped from his throat.
Rage and pain and anguish, it was all Guts could recall before standing in a pool of blood. Dead men all around him, what was left of his own men, the Raiders… He could scream but…
But there was no use. He was injured, badly. His mind was in turmoil, everything a mass of noise and blood, blood, blood.
Guts just tried to keep himself upright, but seeing all of them… The Hawks…
They were all…
They were all dead, now.
Griffith, why?
His heart was beating, too hard, too fast. He couldn’t hear anything over the rushing of his own blood.
It was wet, but when had he fallen? Guts looked up at the towering arm, the palm where Griffith was being held captive. No. Not captive. Griffith had chosen that, all of this.
Blood?
Guts felt himself soaking through with blood. Something was happening, someone was coming at him, but it was too much. All around him, the Hawks, what was left of them, just pieces of them floating around him… Was no one left?
Gaston…
Pippin…
But where were the others? Were they gone, too?
Too much…
He was on his knees now, his head throbbing, something was holding him down.
What was going on? Where was he?
All Guts could remember, before being on his knees before Griffith, no… Not Griffith, this was… Guts swallowed hard, crusted in blood and gore. All he could remember was his own screaming and then his body was moving on its own. The pain, the despair, the rage had overtaken him and now, now he sat on his knees, his body aching, everything itching and painful.
There was a pressure around his forearm, but Guts was dulled to it. All he could see was Griffith.
And then Casca.
Dangling there was Casca, Griffith behind her, regarding him, regarding her…
Blue eyes focused on him, forcing his attention. Griffith touched her and Guts was trying to pull himself free. He looked back, his arm caught in the teeth of a giant maw.
“Griffith…” he gasped out, the pain catching up to him, his vision swirling, the throbbing from his heart making everything pulse. “Griffith, no…”
Griffith looked at him, quirking his head like some sort of bird and then he grinned, running a hand down Casca’s side.
Guts tried to rush to her, to him, but his arm was trapped, he couldn’t, he couldn’t…
Teeth cut clean through his flesh and muscle, threatening to crush his bones, but the monster wouldn’t bite his arm off soon enough. There was a sword in his hand, Gaston’s sword… He wasn’t powerless, not just yet. No matter how his body ached, no matter how he was cut and bleeding, he wasn’t finished. Not until every last one of these bastards was dead.
Guts turned Gaston’s sword on the monster, hacking, hacking, hacking, but each blow rebounded, the force making his hand numb. The sword cracked and broke, the tip flying off somewhere. His arm prevented him from stopping Griffith, from going to Griffith…
There was the broken sword in his hand, useless on the monster, and he had to get is arm free, his arm was preventing him from going to Griffith…
Guts began hacking at his own arm with the broken sword, the pain shooting through him in thick waves, over and over again, until he hit bone and then it was all just dull, aching pain. It was futile, the sword falling from his aching fingers as he looked up at Griffith, at the monster that the man he had admired the most in this world had become.
“Don’t, Griffith…” Guts swallowed hard, his words catching, not… Not Casca… “Just take me…”
Guts hadn’t even realized he said it outloud.
Casca was tossed away, forgotten like some broken plaything and Griffith came at him, his bird-like talons digging into the faces that comprised the ground, blood spurting out. Another quirk of his head as Griffith stood before him.
He was caught, unable to move, his arm still attached, and then Griffith was reaching down to him, pulling him up, but the beast wasn’t releasing his arm. The mark on his neck burned, with Griffith so close to him, but he was transfixed, clawed fingers caressing him beneath his chin, skirting up to run through his hair. His head was yanked back, Griffith had him by the back of the skull.
Another quirk of his head and Griffith was dragging him forward, away from the maw of the beast that had Guts trapped. Guts cried out, he was screaming, the last of his muscles tearing from the bone, the bone shattering before he was tossed down.
Tendrils wrapped around him, holding him down and Guts didn’t have the strength to fight, not anymore, not now…
It was either him, or it was Casca and she… She didn’t deserve that. Not Casca.
Talons dug into Guts’ thighs, but he clenched his jaw, breathing heavily through his teeth, biting his lip, forcing his cries back down. His trousers were ripped clean off, his scarred thighs exposed, and then Griffith was down, over him, face so close, but blocked by that helmet. Sharp claws dug into his chest, ripping into his muscles. More slashing, more cuts, more scrapes and Guts was laid bare to Griffith.
Guts swallowed, he knew he was hard, he knew what it looked like and he felt ashamed as he heard the woman demon-god laughing from above, the others joining in behind her.
“Such lust he has…” she whispered and as much as Guts wanted to fight to free himself, he knew it to be true.
He had desired this, for years now, but… but never could he allow himself, not until, not until he was Griffith’s equal…
Only, Guts had been too stupid to see what a farce that dream had been.
“Take him… Take him and claim him as your sacrifice,” a different voice, a high-pitched, squeaking voice, called from above, but Griffith was stilled, hovering, looking down at him. His eyes were unnatural, head quirking, just staring at him.
Guts’ breath hitched, bare and vulnerable and lost. He had only ever wanted to be Griffith’s equal…
Claws dug into his thighs, forcing his legs open and Guts allowed it. He had begged Griffith for this, after all… It was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it something they both wanted?
Laughter from above, so high above, on the altar and Guts closed his eyes, ashamed as he opened his legs wider, for Griffith.
They both wanted this, of that much, Guts could be sure as he tilted his head to the side, allowing teeth to sink into the unbranded side of his neck.
This wasn’t the first time Griffith had pinned him down…
Years ago, too long ago, after a hard battle, another battle wherein Guts had been foolish, putting himself at unnecessary risk, like he so often did. But that time, that time…
Guts found himself on his back in an instant, blinking and unsure of what had just happened; Griffith always moved so fast.
“Griff—”
But there was no room for words, not when Griffith was on top of him, panting, his armour heavy, his helmet still on. Griffith was a lithe man, but Guts felt crushed, heat rising to his cheeks.
“You fool!” The helmet was flung off and before Guts could defend himself, lips were pressed to his own. Griffith’s were soft and Guts knew his own to be dry and cracked.
Griffith was a slight man, and yet, Guts couldn’t push him off, letting his mouth be forced open, accepting the hot tongue that swirled around his own. Those bright blue eyes bore into his and Guts couldn’t take it, letting his eyes slip shut.
Griffith, Griffith, Griffith…
Guts would have called out his name, if he had any air left when Griffith pulled away. He was hot, he was panting and then Griffith was moving on top of him, grinding thrusting, pushing against him.
Layers and layers of armour and clothes stood between them, but Guts was certain he could feel Griffith’s cock, and he knew his own was hard. The friction of Griffith grinding against him wouldn’t be enough, not really, and Guts felt so… Small, in that moment.
He had never been with anyone, willingly, and he hated to be touched, but this…
This was fine. This was nice.
Guts threw his head back, biting his lip as his stomach clenched, Griffith’s breathing becoming harsher, his hips snapping harder against him and then he was collapsing and Guts felt himself jerking and thrusting up to meet Griffith’s body.
Guts didn’t even care for touching himself all that much, but this…
“I’m sorry…” Griffith whispered, pulling away, much too fast and Guts was too slow, too sluggish, to pull him back down.
Griffith vanished between the waving flaps of the tent and Guts was left feeling sticky and dizzy. No. He didn’t like touching himself all that much, but with Griffith, it had been…
Exciting.
Griffith raised himself off of Guts and he would have whined, yearning for the contact, wishing to disappear back into his memories and just let Griffith have him, but there were slick, slippery things wrapping around his arms, his legs, raising him up off the mass of faces that comprised the ground. He struggled, he was always struggling and the tendrils wrapped even tighter around him, tight enough to cut off the blood gushing out of his severed arm.
Griffith was looking down at him, his eyes that still held that deep, dark blue…
A clawed finger pushed into Guts and he tried not to make a sound, he tried to choke it all back, but there was never any use hiding anything from Griffith. Something else entered him, and he didn’t even try to fight it off. It wasn’t a finger, that much he could be sure. It was wet, it was wriggling, and it was pulling out before Guts could really register too much.
Griffith was over him again, looking down at him, his eyes still had that blue, that blue that Guts had always loved so much… But what did that mean? Everything else about Griffith was red and dark and dripping, like blood… His lips were painted crimson, and when he leaned down, close, as if to kiss, Guts flinched from the smell of him.
Griffith reeked of blood and taint.
As if he had been bathed in blood, awash in the lives of all the men he sacrificed, for himself. For his dream. A pile of bodies, stacked one over the other, until…
Until what?
Guts grimaced, feeling something else pressing into him. It’s not how he had wanted it to be, and he didn’t know if he should be grateful to experience it at all. As much as he wanted Griffith, this… This was just cruel and made Guts all the more distraught.
A dream… A dream to be equal with Griffith, that is what he had wanted, so that he could rightfully call himself a friend of Griffith…
And that was gone now, washed away, bathed away in blood and screams and sacrifice.
All for Griffith.
Guts felt his breath picking up, his eyes shut tightly and he knew what the pain was, he knew what this particular pain meant, but he felt himself clenching down, trying to keep it out all the same.
He never wanted this, from Griffith… Guts had wanted to give himself over freely to Griffith, but…
It was too late.
The head forced itself in and Guts was clenching down, his teeth, his jaw set tight. A noise was caught in the back of his throat, and he knew that he was bleeding, tearing, he had to be, the way it burned and hurt and throbbed. Griffith was big, but that wasn’t all…
As Griffith pushed in further, there was an ebb and flow, a rippling, and just as Guts thought that he could take the girth, he felt himself stretched wider with each thick ridge that was forced inside. A ripcord of thick and thin and Guts was gasping, straining, his eyes open, arching his back as he fought to understand, as he fought to control himself, as he fought to accommodate.
But there was no accommodating this, he knew that…
He knew, but he tried all the same, trying to relax, but he was so exposed, so vulnerable…
Once, he had thought that Griffith and he, in privacy could…
But this was anything but private. They were as if a theatre troupe, watched and gawked upon. Countless eyes were upon them and Guts couldn’t even muster the energy to be ashamed at his straining erection. He wanted to touch himself, to bring himself to climax as he felt Griffith pulling back. As much as it was painful, he felt a thrill inside of himself, a tingling of pleasure as Griffith plunged back into him. It was different, so different than he had known before. It hurt, the drag of Griffith’s cock, the rippling curves and the pull on his flesh as the thick ridges popped in and out and yet…
And yet Guts felt himself wanting more and trying to push into that feeling, trying to push himself onto Griffith’s cock. He hissed, teeth grit. Even if everything was singeing, searing pain, Guts wanted this. He was sure of that. He wanted this…
Griffith…
He wanted Griffith.
On top of him, his hands on him, his mouth, the bites, the marks, inside… He wanted Griffith…
No matter the pain, no matter the struggle, no matter how uncomfortable it made Guts, he wanted this.
Guts cried out, his muscles straining, his neck aching, on each side, in different ways. One burned from the mark, the brand, and the other ached from Griffith’s teeth sinking into his flesh, leaving a different sort of mark. The sort of mark that Guts had craved for, but he knew not how to ask for it.
But, was there ever asking Griffith for anything?
No, one did as they were told by Griffith, and then, perhaps, Griffith would show kindness… Pledge loyalty, do everything that was asked, and now, this…
Guts bit his bottom lip, trying to keep from crying out. All he had ever wanted was to impress Griffith, to show him just how strong and resourceful he was, and in the end, it had never been good enough.
He could never be what Griffith wanted the most… His attempt at gaining Griffith’s friendship had been entirely in vain.
Now, now he hurt and his cock was throbbing all the same, even as the blood drained from his severed arm, slowed only by a tendril wrapped tight enough to act as a tourniquet. And he wanted this. Somehow, Guts understood now, knew that the only way he would ever have intimacy with Griffith was like this.
And it was just like everything else in his life. Painful, fast, and entirely out of his control.
Griffith was moving faster, his cock pushing and pulling, forcing him wide open only to give him relief as he slimmed, and then he was big again, much too big. Guts was straining, his hand, his remaining hand, reaching out for something to grasp, something to dig his nails into, to claw at, but he was held fast by the monsters, the demons, feeling more tendrils curling around his limbs, more around his thighs, forcing his legs even wider apart.
Laughter was from above, cooing and fawning and he could hear that the woman demoness was pleasuring herself, amused by his pain and rage and hatred and arousal. To be watched, spied upon while hung astride as the man that Guts sacrificed everything for brutalized him…
Guts felt a knot building low in his gut, everything tight, his muscles seizing and clenching around Griffith. His head was thrown back, neck exposed and he felt Griffith’s sharp fingers cutting their way up his body, wrapping around his throat.
He let himself be choked, not resisting, letting the darkness come over him as he felt his cock jerking, sac drawn up tight. Warmth splattered on his stomach in spurts and he could hear laughter all around him, all the monsters, the demoness moaning as he fought for breath, and then it was dark.
But he wasn’t allowed to slip off into oblivion. That would have been too easy, to just allow himself to be devoured by the beasts, by Griffith, he didn’t care. Guts awoke, his arse throbbing as he was on the uneven, blood soaked ground, staring up at the swirling chaos above.
“So beautiful,” the demoness purred and he could see her, vaguely through the pain and spinning of his head, as she had her hand between her legs. “Thank you… thank you for showing us your humanity.” She sobbed and Guts felt numb, itchy.
Guts was pulled up onto his knees, tentacles still wrapped around his arms, the ones around his thighs pulling them open as he was forced up, something leaking from his throbbing arse.
There was no rush of euphoria for him from his spill, just hot shame as he saw the white splatters going all the way up his chest. To be taken for the amusement of others, while everyone he had ever known and shown affection for lay dead and in pieces around him… And Guts had spilled anyway, hard and fast. His gut churned; he was a monster, more-so than the beasts that surrounded him. To be able to find pleasure after hearing the screams of all his friends, after wading through their blood…
Guts clenched his eyes shut, trying not to cry, trying not to lose it, but then there were sharp fingers on his face, lifting his chin up with a gentle, fleeting caress.
Griffith stood in front of him, his blue eyes wide open, head quirked like a hawk locked on its prey. He didn’t want to look lower, but he didn’t have the strength to keep his head up, gaze shifting downward and he was met with Griffith’s cock.
It wasn’t the first time he had seen it, but… this was new. Changed, different. Ripples of flesh bulbed and thinned, the bulbs and ridges growing wider toward his body. There was no foreskin to hide the head, like there had once been. Instead, the head was thick and malformed, but Guts didn’t want to think or dwell on it.
This wasn’t Griffith anymore…
His head hung low until clawed fingers gripped his chin again, the touch feather light and deceptive, and tipped him back so they could look at one another. Griffith said nothing, he hadn’t made a single sound.
“Drink of him, O Blessed King of Longing… Take from him all you have desired,” another of the demon-gods said, the tall one. Guts shuddered at his booming voice. “Devour him.”
Griffith looked into his eyes, still blue, bright blue, but there was ring of red on the outside of the irises. Guts took in a shaky breath. “Griffith…” he choked, dizzy no doubt from the bloodloss, but it was a familiar feeling… He had been battered and beaten before, was this really so different?
Guts choked off a cry as his head was yanked back, sharp fingers in his hair, grasping him at the base of his skull. Griffith continued to look at him, his eyes never leaving Guts’ and he found he could not look away, either. Griffith shifted, but Guts couldn’t see what he was doing with his free hand. His throat was tight as he tried to swallow, too much saliva in his mouth as he felt sick.
Griffith…
He might have been crying, Guts didn’t know, lost in a sea of chaos, his emotions out of control; everything hurt, and yet, he could feel nothing.
Griffith was closer to him now and Guts could feel his mouth being forced open by something, but he didn’t try to think about it. He just let his jaw be forced down, tasting his own blood and Griffith’s unusually slick flesh. He had no texture, not like skin had, smooth like finely polished and perfectly formed armour.
He was given no time to adjust, Griffith pulling back to snap his cock in and Guts was gagging, the ridges of flesh forcing his mouth open, his throat open, the head thick and hard as it bruised the back of his throat. The ridges caught on his tongue, his teeth, four, maybe five rows, and the corrugations rumbled in and out of his mouth.
Griffith commanded his attention, his gaze and he couldn’t help staring into those blue eyes, even as they faded into a darker colour and Guts didn’t want to think of what that meant… The last remnants of Griffith disappearing…
He choked, he gagged, but Griffith kept driving into him, snapping his hips, his inhumanly muscled body dominating him. Guts couldn’t help moaning around the cock in his mouth, opening his jaw wider as he accepted Griffith, accepted that he was made to be his filthy whore, at his Master’s feet, lapping at him, taking everything he was given and groaning for more.
Guts always did like the pain, he found it exhilarating, and he felt himself stiff and erect, his sac drawn up tight again. He should have had more grace, more dignity, but then, he was always a rabid dog, wasn’t he? Following on Griffith’s heel, nipping at anyone that got too close. This was his place. He place was to take scraps and be thankful for the caresses he got.
And he was enjoying Griffith’s fingers on him, even as sharp and unnatural as they were, cradling his head in his tight grasp. The pressure was enough to cause a headache, a claw getting dangerously close to his eye. And he didn’t care as the claw slipped, pressing into his eye as he watched Griffith, hips snapping into his face harder, bumping his nose hard enough to cause it to bleed. He didn’t care, feeling his cock grow tight, coiled.
Everything was chaotic, the way Griffith’s cock battered his mouth and throat, Guts just trying to suck in air as his mouth was used. The claw in his eyes was pressing harder now, Griffith uncaring even as Guts tried and struggled to get away, feeling the sharp point sliding in, his vision blurring, becoming bloody. He tried to scream and Griffith only thrust into him harder, the thick ripples of his cock catching behind Guts’ teeth, but Griffith seemed unconcerned and Guts could feel the knot deep in his belly growing tighter and tighter until he was releasing as he felt warmth and bitterness gushing into his mouth, down his throat, choking him.
Griffith let him fall again, blood clouding half of his vision as he fought for breath, his throat aching as he coughed out ropey fluids and sputtered.
Humiliated, beaten, ripped apart, and Guts knew the torment was not over. He felt himself lifted, turned over onto his stomach. His hips were raised and Griffith dropped to his knees, sliding back into him in a swift, brutal movement.
Guts could have cried out, he could have screamed and cursed Griffith with his last breath, but…
He was the one that asked for this. He put himself at Griffith’s whim and mercy.
Griffith was pumping into him, Guts’ arms dragged back in a position he wished he wasn’t familiar with, a tendril still tourniqueted around his stumped arm. But, this time, Guts couldn’t even say that he was terrified. He knew what to expect, even if this time was so much more painful, Guts enjoyed it.
Thrashed and missing a hand, missing an eye and… He groaned as he felt Griffith fully inside of him. He let out a breathy moan, he turned his head back, making out Griffith’s form through the blood and the pain.
“G-Griffith…” He forced himself to make eye contact, to keep looking into those still blue eyes, trying his damnedest to keep that blue there, that last, ebbing shred of Griffith. The man he honoured and served…
Guts groaned out, hating how he was starting to get hard again, so easily, just from feeling Griffith ripping in and out of him and Guts didn’t want to think of why he was so loose and slick. The girth wasn’t so terrible, this time, the position caused his shoulders to ache and scream in protest, but Guts had no words. He had nothing to say, he just yearned to feel Griffith seated fully inside of him again, grinding against his arse and forcing himself further and further into him.
And Griffith gave him everything he wanted. There was no hesitation in his movements, his hips snapping hard and fast. Guts was nearly breathless, letting himself be filled, over and over again. his ring of muscle was forced open over and over again, the ripcord of Griffith’s cock, the ridges overwhelming and his cock weeped in appreciation all the same.
Griffith’s cock was rubbing against something inside of him and it had Guts panting, breathless, the angle deeper this way, that spot inside of himself being stimulated so much more this way. He was drooling, held up, gasping out as he felt dizzy, light headed. Blood loss, no doubt. But he didn’t want Griffith to stop, either. His lungs felt tight, choking on the air and that’s when he realized he was moaning.
Deep and throaty, more saliva running down his chin to mix with the bloody mire. He called out his pleasure, his cock throbbing and wanting to be touched, heavy between his thighs. He looked out over the lands, the black and the blood as far as he could see, watched by all the beasts and monsters that had eaten his friends, slaughtered everyone…
And he was moaning and begging, like a bitch in heat.
Griffith slammed into him, over and over again, harder and harder and Guts could only take it, he couldn’t even brace himself against the onslaught. Pushed pulled, over and over again. His arse was throbbing, everything was strung tight and Guts could only let out a long, deep moan, but it was Griffith that spilled in him again.
Guts was rolled onto his back, breathing heavily, Griffith towering over him, looking at him, staring. There was less blue in his eyes, now. Guts swallowed hard. He wasn’t even held down now, but he could hardly move. How he was still alive, with all of the blood he had lost, he didn’t know. Everything hurt, his arm, his eye, breathing was pain, and he was spreading his legs wider, knees bent up, offering himself.
You belong to me, now, Guts…
Griffith was hard, still hard, hard again, Guts didn’t know, didn’t care, it didn’t matter. Guts just spread his legs, letting himself flush as he heard the demons above laughing at him, the woman was the most amused and he was rather certain she was still pleasuring herself. She seemed to be the most interested with his display, fawning and praising him.
“Such strength… Such lust. All for our Femto.”
“Thou shalt make a wondrous sacrifice.”
“The threads of causality spun around this one. Hee hee!”
“Causality!”
Causality, causality, causality…
The droves of monsters chanted, closing in on him. Casca was still there, unconscious, he was sure. The demons had not touched her, yet. A silent command, or were they all more interested in watching Griffith violate him?
Guts swallowed hard, his mouth sticky, his thighs stickier. Trembling, he forced his legs wider apart again, his invitation silent. Griffith could grow bored, turn his attention to Casca, and she, at least, had to make it out of here, even if Guts couldn’t. She didn’t deserve to die in a place like this, but…
But Guts was never supposed to live, in the first place, birthed beneath a corpse, all the anguish and violence in his life, and it had led to this moment…
Causality…
All the struggling, all the fighting, to end up here, on his back, in a sea of pain, coated in his own blood, the blood of monsters, thighs smeared slick and sticky. After finding a place, a foothold in this world where he could actually be happy, watching a man ascend to his dream, he walked away, to search for his own dream, so that the two might be equals.
And because of that, everyone else had perished. Everyone else was gone, all because Guts wanted more than he deserved. He wanted a life of his own, a dream to pursue. Guts was the true progenitor of this carnage. If he had just stayed, if he had just settled for scraps at Griffith’s feet, none of this, none of them…
He ought to have died, beneath that tree of hanging corpses…
Now he writhed with the corpses, halfway there himself.
And he canted his hips, breath hitching in his chest as he looked up at the only man he had ever truly trusted, and, for the first time, Guts saw Griffith for the ambitious monster he had always been.
Guts’ life had never truly been his own… Was it not Griffith that had fought so hard, on that day they tumbled down the hillside, to have Guts for himself? All Griffith wanted was power, all he wanted was anything that caught his eye…
A collection of pawns he could expertly move; Griffith was only upset that his queen piece had decided to leave. Griffith’s most powerful pawn…
And Guts groaned as he watched Griffith drop to his knees. They stared at one another. Guts’ chest was heaving, he was on the brink of the darkness, that edge he danced around so often in his life, the thin blade between life and death. And he chose life, he fought to keep the light, even as his eye rolled back into his head as Griffith pushed into him.
“G-Griffith…” Guts moaned out, he wanted to touch, he wanted to pull him on top, but it didn’t need to be said. Griffith was over him, his long cloak covering him, giving him decency and dignity.
You are mine…
Griffith was slow, his hips stuttering, just like that time he had pushed Guts down and rubbed against him. Naive and messy and youthful. Guts could hear Griffith’s breath, this time, he could feel it against his heated skin, damp with more than sweat and Guts tried not to think about it. He just wanted this, this moment with Griffith…
Griffith thrust in, hard, and Guts felt his knees being pushed up to his chest, folded over and Griffith felt so deep now. Claws dug into the thick, muscled flesh behind his knees, holding him there as he rutted, they rutted. Guts was finally able to touch, to grab, using his hand, his only hand to hold onto Griffith’s forearm, pulling himself closer, forcing Griffith closer to himself. He used whatever leverage he could gain, then, bucking back against Griffith as he pulled away.
Closer, closer, closer…
Guts was biting his lip, throwing his head back as he moaned. The cloak ghosted over his legs, feather light, ephemeral and he felt Griffith’s lips against his own. The helmet was sharp, scratching against Guts’ battered face, but he didn’t care, swirling his tongue around Griffith’s, matching his pace, matching his speed and movements.
You belong to me, now…
Griffith let go of his knees, slamming his hands down into the ground above Guts’ shoulders, trapping him, pinning him and Guts just kissed him back all the harder. Guts had tried too hard to capture a being that was outside of his grasp, and for his folly, he had fallen, so very far. He landed hard, back in reality, in this unreal world, where monsters feasted on the men he called family, where the man he wanted more than he rightly should have rutted him, as god-like demons towered above, cooing as they watched, amused.
I shall choose the place that you die…
A tight knot was forming, low in the pit of his stomach and Guts grabbed onto Griffith, pulling him down, digging his blunt nails into Griffith’s shoulder. He was crying out, he felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he held on. The snap of Griffith’s hips quickened and Guts didn’t know how much more he could take, the cock that rutted into him feeling thicker and thicker, slicker, now.
You are mine…
Hot breath was against his cheek and Guts forced his eye open, staring up at him as Griffith’s mouth hung open, the blue in his eyes all but gone now, and he watched, a tear forming in the corner of Griffith’s eye. Guts swallowed hard, the tear hitting him on the cheek, cool as it rolled down his overheated skin. More tears rolled out of Griffith’s eyes, then, but they were red as blood and Guts watched the blue flicker and die out.
Griffith was gone and Guts was jerking, his cock throbbing, his sac drawn up so tight. The only contact he had was Griffith’s body grinding against him, and he was spilling regardless, his cock untouched. He tightened around Griffith, and that only seemed to spur him on further.
Griffith pulled away, settling back on his knees, taking with him the privacy of his cloak. He snapped into Guts, grinding and fucking and pulling at his flesh and Guts was so over spent, his cock now limp against his belly, and he was certain he felt more seed spilled out of him. He was in near tears, the stimulation too much, and still, Griffith did not stop. Guts could feel warmth gushing into him, far too much. He was being filled up, pressure building inside of him and Guts was certain he was going to burst apart.
A great cracking came, then and Guts managed to make out the glowing orb in the sky, the blood red orb that must have been the sun, or the reflection of it, shattering. Griffith didn’t stop, even then. He kept pushing into Guts, over and over again and Guts couldn’t even cry out, weak.
Vaguely, he was aware of being pulled away, of being thrown over a horse and then everything spun out of control, the darkness finally coming over him.
But, he had not slipped into the afterlife. He fought, he fought back toward the light and when he surfaced, he felt his stomach tight, his arse throbbing, as if Griffith were still penetrating him. He was in Godo’s mine, missing his hand, an eye, but still, he had fought, and struggled, to return to the light.
Dread filled him, and he dared not look down at his stomach, but he could feel something wasn’t quite right. There was a throbbing within him, uncomfortable, something thriving, something that didn’t belong there, but… He had lived through the ordeal.
Casca was at his side, then, looking down at him, as if she had no idea who he was. Maybe he had finally adopted the beastly form so many assumed he hid?
He turned away from her, curling into himself.
You belong to me…
I will choose the place that you die…
You are mine.