Guts, his Guts, his lovely Guts. Griffith leans back against his chair, tired of writing whatever letter that no longer matters. He closes his eyes and thinks only of Guts. His dream is close and he thinks only of Guts. Soon he will be King and he thinks only of Guts. His dream will be reality, but he knows now that there is another.
Please don't let him be the who is only a dream. Griffith begs this and he never thought he would. He cannot believe it and yet the thought remains. Guts carving out a Julius for him. Carving enemies, killing all those in the way, eliminating all threats, everything and everyone in the way. Griffith smiles and the thought remains.
I will have a kingdom. I will be king. Guts will do as he is told. He always does as he is told and he does it all so well. My Guts, my beloved Guts. But, what does Guts think him? Griffith wonders. Does he dream of me the way I dream of him? Will he lea-no. No. Guts will stay with me.
Griffith imagines the death Guts will bring, the swirling, the slashing, the slaughter. He thinks of that book of people doing sensual things.
"I'll let you borrow it," Griffith remembers saying to Guts. Yes, I'll let you have it. It has pictures. We can learn together, my Guts. His hands stray down his belly to the place between his legs. He gasps when he sees Guts behind his eyes. Those muscles, that sword, that strength. Mine. The floor feels good under his shoes as he kicks with every gasp. He can't help it. The feelings under his control create feelings that flee from his control. Dangerous. He knows this is dangerous, but Guts is strong in his mind's eye. Battle is strong in his mind's eye. The deaths of his enemies is strong in his mind's eye. His manhood feels good in his hand. He imagines that it belongs to Guts.
Please don't let him be the one who is only a dream. Griffith keeps thinking this, he almost whispers it, but he doesn't dare. Even alone he cannot say the right words out loud as he knows he can't afford to. Damned politics, damn the world. Guts is what matters. My dream is what matters. He knows that he should not be doing this. Guts might not feel the same way, but Griffith can not tell him anything. What if? What if? There is always that what if and for Griffith, it's easier to keep it away or so he tells himself.
But being in Guts' arms would feel so good. Touching him, kissing him, removing each other's clothes. Unraveling a cravat tied in a bow, callous fingers through long white hair, standing on toes for a proper kiss. The feel, the strength, the scent, the voice. Griffith can see it now while his body twitches with every stroke, every gasp, every moment of begging.
Please don't let him be the one who is only a dream. Can't you see? You belong to me...your sword is mine. Your life belongs to me. I will have you inside of me. Your other sword, one that will touch no one but me and never will. I get what I want. I always will and yet...
Griffith thinks of the fighting, the assassination, the eliminations, of Guts and how he jumped at the chance to do as he is told. Such a wonderful smile, a wonderful voice. That strength is mine, mine, mine. Griffith plants his feet firmly on floor as he leans back against his chair. His white hair is in a ponytail, but it still drapes behind him. He has never done this, never felt this way. Not for anyone and yet, he gasps, he feels, he sees himself as king, as his dreams coming true, and he finally reaches that place he never thought he would reach for anyone. He stifles his cries until they are little more than quiet grunts.
"Guts..." he whispers between labored breaths. Please don't let him be the one who is only a dream.
Griffith finally opens his eyes, focusing on the ceiling and he wonders how funny it would be if someone saw him like this. Dangerous. He knows this is dangerous, especially when he is so close to having his own kingdom. But, the feelings remain and he does not want them gone.
"I will have it all." He leans forward. He realizes that he has to get ready for the banquet full of people he cares nothing about and he knows that they care nothing for him except as a utility. He smiles at the irony. The Princess will be there. His key. Poor girl, but he knows that she is easy and he is grateful for that. Guts...Griffith sighs. Not so easy, and so he begs again to any higher being who is listening.
Please don't let him be the one who is only a dream.