Ficlet: Lust (Berserk)
Title: Lust
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Please ask me first.
Notes: I probably like this best out of all the Berserk stuff I've written.
Gatts brought that huge sword down, and Griffith leapt on top of it, balancing lightly on the thin edge. It didn’t take any thought; it was instinct, like flying.
When Gatts took Griffith’s sword between his teeth and bit down, Griffith nearly dropped it; The sight of Gatts’ pointed dog teeth gritting against the metal of the sword and the thin trickle of blood running down his chin made Griffith tremble. If the quiver passing through his body reached Gatts, the man probably put it down to fear or rage. Few people would have recognised the light in Griffith’s eyes as sheer unadulterated lust.
For this wholly untamed half-boy with his uncouth manners, posturing and snarling like a dog that’s been beaten so often, he’s learnt to bite first and fast, his big steel tooth currently under Griffith’s feet, his angular face with the scar across the bridge of his nose, rough hair falling over his brow, angry eyes trying to bore a hole in him.
The wide shoulders, promising height in later years flexed as Gatts held his sword tighter, the muscles writhing like snakes under brown skin.
I want to tie him down and beat him with my belt, raise welts on all that smooth skin; along his shoulders and back, across that tight ass, till he’s red in stripes all over, till he’s foaming at the mouth and bloody, till he can’t think of anything but me. Then I’d take him and it would be sweet.
Omae wa ore no mono da, Gatts. You just don’t know it yet.
And then we rolled down the hill in an undignified heap - he played dirty like I expected (wanted) him to - and he held me down and hit me in the face.
“No one’s ever hit your pretty face before, have they?” he jeered, and I wanted to laugh only I was too busy hurting and imagining him taking me.
Then I dislocated his shoulder, falling the wrong way on his shoulder with calculated cruelty. I gave him the chance to submit, didn’t I? But of course I didn’t want him to. It was wonderful, the meaty crunch as his shoulder popped out of its socket, the beautiful shape of his back as he arched in pain.
The rest of them came down then, as I took his face in both my hands and told him what I had already said to him earlier in my mind: “You belong to me now, Gatts,” body, mind and soul, mine to use as I please and use me in return, also as I please.
My thumbs stroked the sides of his face briefly. I wanted to kiss his pain-wracked face then, white under the brown tan; strip him and drive into his body again and again, scratching long furrows into his back with my nails till we’d both be sweaty and mindless and covered in his blood.
But that would shock the Hawks. And there were, after all, more important things than screwing Gatts into the hillside, so I refrained. Took my hands off his face, smiled and turned away as cheers broke out behind me.
He would never know how much it cost me.
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Please ask me first.
Notes: I probably like this best out of all the Berserk stuff I've written.
Gatts brought that huge sword down, and Griffith leapt on top of it, balancing lightly on the thin edge. It didn’t take any thought; it was instinct, like flying.
When Gatts took Griffith’s sword between his teeth and bit down, Griffith nearly dropped it; The sight of Gatts’ pointed dog teeth gritting against the metal of the sword and the thin trickle of blood running down his chin made Griffith tremble. If the quiver passing through his body reached Gatts, the man probably put it down to fear or rage. Few people would have recognised the light in Griffith’s eyes as sheer unadulterated lust.
For this wholly untamed half-boy with his uncouth manners, posturing and snarling like a dog that’s been beaten so often, he’s learnt to bite first and fast, his big steel tooth currently under Griffith’s feet, his angular face with the scar across the bridge of his nose, rough hair falling over his brow, angry eyes trying to bore a hole in him.
The wide shoulders, promising height in later years flexed as Gatts held his sword tighter, the muscles writhing like snakes under brown skin.
I want to tie him down and beat him with my belt, raise welts on all that smooth skin; along his shoulders and back, across that tight ass, till he’s red in stripes all over, till he’s foaming at the mouth and bloody, till he can’t think of anything but me. Then I’d take him and it would be sweet.
Omae wa ore no mono da, Gatts. You just don’t know it yet.
And then we rolled down the hill in an undignified heap - he played dirty like I expected (wanted) him to - and he held me down and hit me in the face.
“No one’s ever hit your pretty face before, have they?” he jeered, and I wanted to laugh only I was too busy hurting and imagining him taking me.
Then I dislocated his shoulder, falling the wrong way on his shoulder with calculated cruelty. I gave him the chance to submit, didn’t I? But of course I didn’t want him to. It was wonderful, the meaty crunch as his shoulder popped out of its socket, the beautiful shape of his back as he arched in pain.
The rest of them came down then, as I took his face in both my hands and told him what I had already said to him earlier in my mind: “You belong to me now, Gatts,” body, mind and soul, mine to use as I please and use me in return, also as I please.
My thumbs stroked the sides of his face briefly. I wanted to kiss his pain-wracked face then, white under the brown tan; strip him and drive into his body again and again, scratching long furrows into his back with my nails till we’d both be sweaty and mindless and covered in his blood.
But that would shock the Hawks. And there were, after all, more important things than screwing Gatts into the hillside, so I refrained. Took my hands off his face, smiled and turned away as cheers broke out behind me.
He would never know how much it cost me.