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Griffith was neither king nor castle lord, or at least, he was not one yet. He had his title, but wore no crown and held no lands; for now he took his rest not in the bedchambers of a freshly built manor or the palatial grounds he had set his sights on, but in the modest quarters of a knight commander, furnished with a cot that was far too small for the three of them. It was a greedy thing, taking the two of them at once, but modest dreams would have never gotten him this far. He needed them both: both the woman tucked under his arm, who had worked so tirelessly to keep his dream aloft, and the man he had pressed himself against, who came so dangerously close to stopping it in its tracks.
It all started with a duel, and it nearly ended just the same. Some might have said he held Guts' life in his hands once his band had had him surrounded, or later when he awoke in their camp, still alive only by his whim as their commander. In truth though, he knew Guts would be his the moment he saw him on the castle grounds, a boy of fifteen taking on a legend that grown men had not dared to castle challenge; his own duel with him at the camp had been a mere formality. Years later, to think that Guts would, that Guts could, win his life back the same way...
The snap of Griffith's blade should have ended their duel. It should have brought him to reality just as it had brought him to his knees. But reality was only what he had made it, and his will would not be so easily denied. He rose from the snow, his flesh warmed from the rage within his chest, and all of Griffith's cleverness and intellect was swept aside by an avalanche of unrelenting need. He charged towards Guts, desperate and furious and completely unarmed, colliding into him as the man turned to counter his final attack - not with his sword, but with his own body.
Later he would consider it something of a victory that Guts did not draw steel against him once more. However, whatever it was that staid his hand did not dull his instincts, and Griffith's charge was blocked with a mighty swing of his arm. Griffith dodged it, but just barely, and when he kicked out at his leg he slid into the snow. At the very least he had brought Guts down with him, only for him to pin Griffith's wrists against the icy ground beneath them.
Griffith groaned as he struggled against his grip, but even with his shallow breaths and thundering pulse, the familiarity of the situation brought some much needed clarity to his thoughts. When he opened his eyes once more, would he be greeted with the rage and fury of a soldier on the battlefield? Or would he see desire on Guts' face, the same sort of hunger he found in others shocked to find themselves above him? Griffith almost hoped for the latter, but braced for the former - or worse, disgust.
But when Griffith looked up at Guts' face, he saw none of these things. Instead he saw the sunken, hollow gaze of a haunted man, not unlike that of young knights and mercenaries shocked by the battlefield. Griffith's breath caught in his throat, but before he could say anything a voice cried out from the distance.
"Guts! Griffith!"
Casca... oh who else could it be but Casca? The others might have scurried away, but never her. After all, wasn't she the one who alerted him of this betrayal, and wasn't she the one who tried to stop them from crossing blades once more? Of course she would see this through. Griffith finally let himself relax as he heard her boots crunch against the snow, but his gaze never wavered away from Guts' somber face. His eyes were still empty, his skin still pale; if he heard Casca at all he certainly did not show it. It was as if he didn't notice her presence at all, not until she placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. Griffith watched as he flinched and braced himself for another fight, only to watch the quiet torment in Guts' eyes fade into mere exhaustion.
Casca started to speak once more, demanding answers neither man could give, but Griffith could not hear her over the pounding in his ears. He should be glad that her heart was no longer so hardened towards Guts that she didn't care if he lived or died, stayed or left them once and for all. He should be grateful that she called out to him the same way his own heart did, thar their desires remained so in sync even as she herself reached new heights. Instead he felt nauseous, unable to breathe or even open his mouth lest he drown himself in his own bile. His sickness did not subside until he heard Casca choke back a sob, making the same noise she always did whenever her fury and grief poured out into unwanted tears. Then he felt Guts' grip loosen around his wrists, enough to tug his hand away, and he smiled up at him as soft and serene as a wooden saint. Before Guts could notice his free hand, Griffith reached up to cup his cheek, not moving it away even when he stiffened under his touch. When Casca peered over Guts shoulder, he simply beamed up at her as well.
"Let's go home."
~~~
"What's the matter?"
Once again Griffith was on his knees, but this time Guts was underneath him, sat upon the edge of Griffith's mattress as he prepared him for what was to come. He took his silence as permission to continue, but when he swallowed the head of his cock again, Guts winced and turned his head away.
"I just - "
"Hmn?"
Guts grit his teeth, and said, "I just can't stand that look on your face. You know, when you're like... this."
Perhaps he should have been insulted, or at the very least, confused. But Griffith only laughed, and said, "In that case, just close your eyes."
He gave Guts little time to obey, much lost adjust his position on the bed, before he straddled his lap. The weight of his body was the only warning Guts received before Griffith lowered himself onto his cock, still slick with spit. He sucked in a breath as he felt his head stretch him out, and he was glad Guts could not see him now - not out of shame, but because he couldn't bear to see Guts haunted again like he had been out in the morning snow, not when he finally had him like this. He made a point to moan - softly, but not too softly - as he pushed himself down, hoping the noise would chase away whatever dark thoughts had chased him.
But he didn't do this for Guts' benefit alone. When he looked over his shoulder he saw Casca pressed up against the wall, as nude as the rest of them, save for the coat she held in front of her not unlike a shield or buckler. Whatever trepidation she felt did not stop her from staring at the two of them, eyes wide and face flushed, only turning her head away when Griffith caught her gaze.
"Are you ashamed?" Griffith breathed out, his thighs quivering as he pushed himself up and down against Guts' cock. Before she could answer Guts gripped his thighs, his eyes still closed shut, and Griffith bit back a groan as he let himself be parched pushed down lower, lower than before.
"Ashamed of this? To be here with - ah - us?"
Casca stiffened, clutching her coat against her, her nails digging into the fabric the same way Guts nails dug into Griffith's flesh. She shook her head furiously, and sputtered out, "No! No, I..."
She trailed off, and stared down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.
"There isn't a thing in this world that could ever make me ashamed of you," she said finally, eyes still on the floor, her coat still clutched against her body. "Not now, not ever."
She looked beautiful in that moment, still as faithful and resolute as ever even in her most tender moments. However, that wasn't what he had asked. Griffith lifted one hand off of Guts' arm and held it out to her, a silent invitation to join them. Casca hesitated for just a moment before she came to them, just as she always did.
He took her hand immediately and pulled her down for a kiss, rougher and needier than the ones he took from her when they first crossed this threshold together. Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned into him, finally letting her coat, that last piece of armor, drop to the floor. She drew back, just enough to catch her breath, while Griffith teased her lip with his teeth, groaning as Guts thrust up into him.
There was some pain from the bite, but it was that sound, that little noise stolen from Griffith's throat that made her pull away age break the kiss for good. Before she could flee his embrace, Guts - his eyes still closed, groping blindly for her presence - reached out and grasped her free hand, gripping it tight as he continued to pant and writhe beneath Griffith. The same nausea from earlier rose up in Griffith's throat, but he simply pulled her other hand to his lips, kissing it softly.
"Please, stay."
Casca breathed out, and said, "I'm not sure there's a place for me here."
"For you?Always. Just take a seat."
"A seat? Where would - "
She followed Griffith's eyes as he glanced towards Guts' face, strained and flushed, and her jaw dropped as she gaped at the two of them.
"You're joking."
"I'm completely - eyes closed, Guts - I'm serious."
She hesitated once more, but he just squeezed her hand, and whispered, "Trust me."
“Good,” Griffith said, voice breathy, yet confident. “Now, start slowly—yes, just like in that book.”
“What book—oh!”
Oh, right, she hadn’t seen the study yet, had she? At least, not the more unusual materials. He stifled a laugh, and said, “Later. Now, you feel those folds? Keep going, gently—don’t get too excited, not yet.”
Casca bit her lip, her body taut, uncertain of what to do with it. All Griffith could do was take her hands, and ask: “How does it feel?”
“Strange, but not—”
Her eyes widened as she bit her lip again, holding back a strangled sound. Crittle only gripped her hands tighter, and, his voice rough, said, “Yes, that. Do that again.”
It seemed like they were both getting the hang of things, or at least, Casca was finding it more difficult to keep quiet. Finally, she stopped being so stiff and still, and her breasts heaved out as she found the confidence to rock her hips against Guts’ face. No longer feeling the need to play teacher, Griffith leaned forward and stole another kiss, letting her moan into his mouth while Guts moaned against her cunt. It was enough to make Griffith chase his own pleasure completely and he lowered himself down again, fucking himself roughly against Guts’ cock. He hissed as he rose up and down again, but he kept going, clenching himself around him as his own cock throbbed and leaked.
He tried to rise again, but it was too late—he felt Guts tense and twitch inside him at that last bit of friction, and with a muffled cry he came, spilling his seed into Griffith’s warm body.
Griffith felt a pang of disappointment, but not surprise; he waited until Guts spent himself completely, before he lifted himself off of him and moved up towards Casca.
“Turn around,” he said, still certain, still confident.
“What?”
Dazed by the sudden end of things, Casca blinked, her face still hot with need.
“You haven’t found your satisfaction yet, have you? Come, turn around—this angle will be better.”
"...alright."
She did as was instructed and turned around careful not to knee Guts in the face - though she might have been tempted had she seen the sour look on his face.
"Pushy, aren't you?"
Guts was too drowsy to have any bite to his voice, so while Casca settled against his chest, Griffith said one thing: "Finish the job."
Any complaints Guts had vanished when he had Casca's cunt in his face, and Griffith couldn't help but rut against her when he felt her back arch against him.
"Better?" he asked, but she responded by craning her neck for a kiss. They embraced for a moment, one hand fondling her firm breast, squeezing it as he planted a rough, biting kiss against her neck.
"Much better - ah!"
While Casca writhed against him, Griffith couldn't help but wonder what Guts did to make her cry out so. Is he still being slow and gentle, working as lazily as he sounded? Is he fucking her with his tongue, picking her clean as she cries out for more? Or is he suckling against her hood, bringing her new sensations she's never felt before?
She cried out again when Griffith dug his nails into her hips, leaving bruises to match the ones Guts had given him. Once again Griffith found himself driven senseless and he thrust against her with wild abandon, unable to contain himself as he felt the heat of warm flesh surrounding him, until finally he came. He collapsed against Casca, his arms wrapped tight around her, not unlike a child and their favorite doll; however, once the haze of momentary pleasure faded, he realized she was still jutting her hips against Guts' mouth. He clung to her until she she shuddered and went limp, and while his eyes remained open, while the fire in his room still burned bright, the warmth of it could not reach him. The only thing that greeted him in the afterglow was cold darkness, and lingering hunger pains he could not soothe. He released his grip on her, letting Guts catch her in his arms as he disentangled himself, wondering where to get more kindling for the flames.