marlowemuses | It's getting hard to bear, watching you all alone

Entry tags:

It's getting hard to bear, watching you all alone

They set up camp in the shadow of the place so that Griffith could watch it.

Though the walls were sound and the castle looked whole, even luxurious, no one suggested that they camp inside. There was something about it, a coldness, and the local villagers spoke of ghosts and demons and monsters in the haunted castle. Conflicting stories too outrageous to be real.
Griffith wanted to explore. But even he hesitated at the sight of the dark gate. Perhaps in the morning. Once they were rested.

In the morning, he took the lead with Guts. They left their horses down in camp with most of the band, and took only a small raiding party to investigate.

The castle’s gates were wide open, as if for a festival, and there were even garlands of wilted white flowers and scraps of fluttering white silk festooned around the courtyard. Griffith entered warily, hand on his sword. He kept Guts by his side, though they went a few paces ahead of the others. If they faced down anything supernatural, Griffith wanted to meet it first.

Somehow it wasn’t a surprise when the gates slammed shut behind them. Griffith glanced back, expression tight as they were cut off from the rest of their party, and drew his sword.

“Welcome, my love.”

A figure seemed to melt up out of the rocks, solidifying as if from wax and drawing itself up to a height of more than seven feet, not including the curving horns that grew from its brow. It had dark brown skin with gray and mossy hues distinctly reminiscent of grave pallor and loam. Both the face and the figure had a striking sort of beauty, as if they had been carved from wax and cast in bronze by a master sculptor, though there was something unnatural and unnerving about it. The body was perfect and bare, with no clothing to conceal the heavy phallus that hung between its legs.

It had eyes only for Griffith, who stared at it in stunned shock as it approached, not even lifting his sword to stop it as it reached for him as if to draw him into a lover’s embrace.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You know what I get up to in my command tent." Griffith grins, pleased, as Guts approaches and sets aside his sword belt.

Shedding his jacket and then his shirt, Griffith leans back on his hands, gazing up at him with a contented grin. He's so glad that the initial defensiveness in Guts' expression has softened. This is exactly where Griffith wants to be forever, flirting with the man he loves. "Oh, do you mean what I get up to in my command tent when I'm alone? If you want to watch that, I'd be happy to show you."

Guts leaves his boots on the ground before climbing on, sitting beside him. He lets himself get close behind, feeling their bodies touch as Griffith grins back at him. The warmth was nice, as was the sensation of skin on skin. At least, when it was Griffith who was the one touching him. He doesn't know if he'd ever fully get used to the comfort of the bed after sitting on dirt and logs for so long, though.

The teasing irreverence on his face melts away to a warm and tranquil curiosity. What else did he get up to, he wonders?

"Show me."

Settling comfortably so he could lean back against Guts' warm chest, Griffith tugged open the laces of his breeches, drawing out his cock and starting to stroke himself with slow, idle caresses, more interested in making an artful and arousing show for Guts than in actually getting himself off.

Knowing that Guts is watching thrills him, and his cock hardens at just a few light touches. He spreads his legs, bending one knee up while the other dangles off the edge of the bed, and his hole clenches at the thought of where he intends to go with this.

The beat of his heart quickens as Griffith splays open his legs. Guts is quiet, head resting against the soft curls of Griffith’s hair, oddly transfixed. There was something about Griffith’s slender fingers working to pleasure himself that sent a crackle of electrical excitement up his body. He is close enough to breathe in and take in his scent and marvel.

He slips his arms under Griffith’s, hands resting on his hips - a quiet gesture of encouragement for him to keep going.

Griffith takes his time and strokes himself with slow, lingering caresses. He shifts against Guts, neck arching up slightly and eyelashes fluttering. Lips part as his breath becomes heavier, letting soft, keening sighs escape.

After a couple of minutes, he tugs the strings on his breeches a little looser and slips them off. Fetching the oil as long as he's moving around, he settles against Guts again, turning his head to kiss his lover's throat before he spills a little of the oil onto his fingers and dips them between his legs.

It was getting difficult watching Griffith pleasure himself and continue to do nothing, Guts quickly realizes. Somehow, the act of watching was infinitely more tense than participating and clumsily fumbling around as he did last time.

His whole body is beginning to crave to join in - especially after that kiss to his throat. When they nestle together again, Guts gingerly digs through Griffith’s locks of hair with his nose, until he finds his ear. He nips it with his teeth, canine brushing on the soft skin. Impatience - or maybe just trying to spur him on?

He moves lower to give attention to Griffith’s neck next, warm breaths hovering over him.

Griffith makes a soft sound of contentment as Guts’ teeth graze his ear. He writhes indulgently in his arms, lifting his hips as he slides his fingers in. Groaning at the penetration, Griffith arches and keens softly. “Guts,” he breathes, unclear if he’s speaking to the Guts holding him or if this is a normal part of his touching himself, imagining that it’s Guts touching him, fucking him. He thrusts two fingers in as deep as he can reach, not taking anything easy on himself. “Ah, Guts.”

"Yeah? Do you... want more of that?"

Guts looks confused - all that from just a little bite? It takes him a moment to realize Griffith was probably answering his earlier question right here in front of him... He can't help but feel his cheeks flush a little after the thought hits him that Griffith might be fantasizing about him.

So, this what he did in the privacy of his tent? He was really going at it - faster-paced than a few days ago. Maybe he should take notes...

Griffith nods, panting and writhing against him. "I want you."

He always wanted Guts. No one else starred in his fantasies. No one had since the day they'd met, when Griffith had claimed him. He wanted only Guts, and ached with longing and hope that Guts would want him to, that Guts would give in to the temptation to get involved right where Griffith wanted him.

He did! Guts hungered for Griffith in a way he never desired anyone else, if the look in his eyes didn't give that away already. A thousand times, he wanted him. That's what he thought before and it was still the case. And right now, he couldn't see any reason to stop himself from giving Griffith exactly what he was fantasizing about.

He reaches to grasp Griffith's chin, pulling him closer so he can go in for a kiss. This part first - Guts wants to hold him tight and be tender.

Griffith moans loudly into the kiss, melting into it. His fingers stop for a moment, though they remain curled against that spot inside of him, hand cramping a little as he does his best to reach. He desperately wants more, and the kiss is a good start but not nearly enough.

Whining low and soft in the back of his throat when the kiss breaks for a moment, Griffith gazes up at him with low-lidded eyes. "Guts." It's as close as he can get to 'please.'

When the kiss breaks, Guts blinks back at the tone of his voice. His gaze becomes dark and stoic, hiding a roiling, lustful warmth in his body spurred on by the pleading sounds coming from his commander. No one has ever wanted him like this. No one.

He begins to disrobe - the shirt is removed easily enough before he begins to unclasp the leather belt holding his dagger. Beneath it, a simple pull of the laced strands at his waist was all that stood between him and his own desire to fuck Griffith right into the mattress.

Now they're getting to what he wants.

Griffith can't be bothered to be coy or patient any longer. Pulling his fingers back, he shifts up onto his knees beside Guts, immediately going for the laces that kept his trousers closed.

Flashing his lover a grin, Griffith flicks his tongue once across Guts' lips as his hand plucks at those restricting laces.

It's only when Griffith's fingers reach down to his trousers that Guts realizes how tight they'd felt under the leather and fabric. It takes only a few tugs before his cock comes out - he was already hard from being pressed up to the sights and sounds of his lover's writhing body.

He leans in for another little bite to Griffith's lower lip, staring back with a strong desire. He is feeling more aggressive than before, eager to release the quivering tension in his body. Part of him wants to just push Griffith onto his back and get moving if he has to wait any longer.

Griffith grins at him, warm and adoring, licking at Guts' lips at that sweet bite. He gives Guts a light caress with his slick hand, mostly intending to tease and to fire Guts up further. "What?" he asks, innocently flirtatious, because he's absolutely not the one making Guts hold back.

A gasp escapes him as Griffith runs his slicked hand up the length. That's it! He needs to feel Griffith now.

"I'll show you what!" he replies with a laugh.

Guts' hand splays out over Griffith's chest to push him down onto the sheets, hungrily looming overhead. The other hand was quickly aligning their hips so he can finally start what they really wanted. It didn't take him long to get over his sheepishness the second time around - something wilder and more ferocious was emerging from him as he gained more confidence.

If Griffith doesn't ask him to stop, he'll be guiding his tip to his entrance and begin to penetrate him, sheathing all of himself in one relentless thrust. A part of him figures Griffith was ready from the oil - but his movements overall were rougher, his grip less careful on Griffith's skin. Nails grazed him as he grasped more tightly. Guts adored him, and he wanted to give Griffith all of the scorching fire quivering inside his body.

Griffith laughs with delight as Guts pushes him down, finally playing the way Griffith wants. He spreads his legs immediately as Guts moves above him, and is rewarded by Guts thrusting into him with one rough stroke.

Moaning, Griffith's head drops back against the bed, hips lifting up to grind against Guts as he's filled. He feels so good--whole--and he's glad that Guts' nerves were shed so quickly once they got past the initial hurdle. "Guts." His voice is breathy and happy, glad to be united with his lover.

He remembers how Griffith had treated him his first night, and he wanted to return the gesture. Griffith felt so good, tightly wrapped around him like this. Guts takes a moment to really savor it before he leans lower, one hand reaching to hold Griffith's and squeeze it with excitement.

Guts wants to taste his skin with his tongue and his teeth, just like Griffith did. Guts lavishes his lover's pale throat and neck in combination with his slow, strong thrusts. Kisses, licks, and bites to the skin and the line of his jaw. Sometimes he bit down harder when he thrust in particularly hard, enough to lift Griffith's hips a little along with his own. He might get a little carried away with his teeth once he starts to pick up the pace - but he wasn't thinking about that right now.

Griffith grips that hand tightly in return, possessive of every part of Guts that he gets to have. His cock inside him, their fingers threaded together. He moans as they move together, easily meeting his pace and driving his hips up again and again to swallow Guts to the hilt.

Gasps and moans spill freely from his lips, along with bright, sweet laughter when Guts bites him. He's going to be covered in marks. People are going to notice. Griffith is thrilled. Let them notice. Let everyone know that Guts belongs to him alone. "Guts."

Guts is spurred on by the sounds spilling out of Griffith, by how warm and tight he felt, approaching a more rapid and roughened pace. He is lost in the movement the same way he got lost in the swordplay of a battle, feeling a swell in his chest with the innocent laughter he'd managed to bring out of him.

But the growing elation is interrupted when he tastes a little blood. He stops moving and looks at what he'd done. The mark of his teeth form a thin red crescent much like a scratching gone too far.

"Shit. I'm sorry."

Face tensed with worry, he looks to Griffith for permission to continue. Maybe he should get a bandage.

Griffith blinks in surprise once he stops, and he reaches up to touch his neck where Guts' attention has gone. His fingertips come away slightly smudged with blood, but he only looks at it for a moment before reaching for his lover again.

"Try not to break skin," he says, but his smile is warm and contented. It's not a problem. "Go on," he goads, sliding a hand up through Guts' hair to rumple it. "You getting tired up there?"

Grinning wickedly, he gives Guts' hair a tug as he drives his hips up, demanding more, harder, rougher.

The worry disappears when Griffith rustles his hair, shown by the smoothing of the furrowed crease on his brow. Tired? No, wasn’t even close to being tired.

Guts lowers his head affectionately, taking in the wonderful scent of his lover's body, getting himself back into the mood. He gets what Griffith wants from that one roll of the hips, no words needed.

Interlocking fingers with both of Griffith's hands, he keeps them pinned above his head, leaving his chest exposed and open. Guts tries again, a little more mindfully, bathing his nipples in attention from his lips, tongue and teeth. Griffith did this too - but how did he like it done to him?

He'll then begin to thrust in, regaining his rhythm and then some. Faster. Harder. Letting that heady warmth cloud his head over again until all he could think about was how good Griffith felt wrapped so tightly around him.

Griffith's careful control starts to slip as Guts pins his hands like that, thrusting into him deep and hard. When Guts starts kissing and nipping at his torso, he loses control entirely, crying out with sweet pleasure as he gives himself over to Guts' handling.

"Guts." His voice is reverent, a little bit pleading, and he writhes beneath his lover, the sweetest struggle between the hands pinning him down and the cock driving deep inside of him, keeping him in a constant state of overwhelmed and wanting more. "Don't... don't stop even if I come."

Spurred on by Griffith’s writhing and ecstatic sounds of pleasure, a guttural noise of approval escapes his throat. Keep going, he says? Sure. He can do that. Rough and to the point, as a Guts always was.

The struggle is sweet. He is plenty strong enough to keep Griffith’s hands exactly where he wants them - the brief squeeze he gives them is more out of pure excitement than anything. He gives Griffith a quick lick up the throat before his nose rests next to his lover’s neck, so that he may bury it in his cascading hair and be inspired by the scent of it.

His pace quickens, thrusting into him with everything his hardened body had to offer. No rests or pausing, just a relentless barrage as he chases his own pleasure. His mind is buried by more primal thoughts - much in the way he got lost in his swordplay.

No one else gets this from him. No one else ever will. Exquisitely vulnerable, Griffith gives himself over to his lover, trusting Guts to see to the core of him and yet still desire him. They do not know each other's secrets, nor do they need to, but they know each other in every way that matters. They function like two halves of a whole. A blade fitted to the hand that wields it.

"Guts," Griffith purrs, keening at the lick as Guts pounds into him. It's exquisitely overwhelming, leaving no space for thought, and Griffith closes his eyes with bliss as his beloved moves inside him, filling him, driving him relentlessly toward pleasure.

He comes with a cry, sharp and sweet, and for a moment he forgets himself, forgets his own name, existing only for the all-consuming pleasure that ripples out from each thrust.

(no subject)

swordbiter - 2020-03-25 15:58 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

forakingdom - 2020-04-02 02:08 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only