Yeah~Here we go again, the second fanfic I'm writing for a pairing I barely know anything about...

No, really, I only watched the Berserk movies. Years ago, one of my friends told me to wattch the old anime, but when he started to explain me how the story was I was like 'OMG why do you want me to watch something so ###?' BUT When i watched the movies, I was so 'OMFG THIS IS BL!'

Aaaa I regret now cause I don't have time to watch it anymore... T.T

So basically this fic is purely fictional (no, really, very, very fictional, even for a fanfic). At least I tried to keep the characters IC... I hope you'll enjoy this!

Subduction Zone

There, far away on the horizon, greyish waves that look like sand dunes. The thick clouds above his head were giving a threatening air to the desert seashore, as if soon a tempest was going to raise the sea and break the wind on him. A tempest that would never come in the never-changing dull and dreary landscape of the limbo; a place where it's dangerous to get lost in, a Godforsaken place that smells no life.

Apart from the blue-eyed god and the monotonous movements of the waves and the sea, not a single living soul, not even a bird breaking the eternal monotony of the landscape.

Griffith was standing on a dead tree. There were numerous, scattered almost everywhere on the coast, all shaped like black claws. They were shady, dry and gloomy, hammered in the sand God only knows for how many centuries.

Griffith was scrutinizing the horizon. He knew he would soon be there. He would come and put an end to that everlastingly scenery.

The god was right: gradually, in a distant point, a dark frame was nearing him. The strange creature's steps were muffled by the dampened sand, he made no sound until he got about ten meters from the masked god, when he unsheathed his sword – his dragon slayer – and dug it in a nearby trunk.

For few minutes, which seemed to last hours, the two glared at each other; Griffith staring down at the newcomer from atop his dead trunk, and Guts (it was indeed his former friend, or a man he thought had been his friend), Guts looking daggers at him, his eye expressing nothing but an inexhaustible thirst of revenge.

Ah, madness, madness. The crazy eyes (wrong, a unique eye) of a man who had lost all he had got, friends, lover, sanity. His look was scorching him alive, wanting to rip to the very soul of the god.

But Femto said nothing. He just stared, with his deep, beautiful eyes, at the man who crossed the boundaries of human kind, tainted himself as black as evil, and traversed Hell itself to reach him. To kill him.

…

They fought.

Guts couldn't say how long did the battle last, but only one thing was sure for him: they were both wounded, bleeding, barely able to stand up, but both still alive. Only one thing was sure: Femto was by far more in a bad shape than him. His wings torn off, his mask all cracked up, ready to fall apart, the god was breathing heavily, his legs shaking under him. Seeing him so easily overpowered, Guts got infuriated.

"Griffith!" He screamed like a madman. "Don't tell me this is everything you're able to do!"

But Griffith said nothing. The silence he was walling in was, somehow, frightening. With the mask he was wearing, his expression was absolutely unknown. Yet, Guts knew that silence: it was the quietness he faced since the day he found Griffith in the castle's prison cell, the quietness of a man whose body was nothing more than a wreck.

Because of him, because he hadn't be there to protect him.

That guilt was stirring another kind of feeling in the former mercenary, a feeling that had nothing to do in a death fight.

No. It was no time to get nostalgic. If Griffith wasn't willing to fight seriously, then he…

Waving his sword with his arm, he ran to the bat-like god, the blade aiming at the latter's chest, his shout tearing the abnormal calm of the limbo for the first time…

Then stillness, again.

The mercenary's blood was thumping in his head, his bulging eye lost in a foreign place. He was kneeling down, looking down at the fallen god beneath him, the blade of his sword menacing his foe, however motionless, just hanging above his head. Apart from a shivering of his hand, the tanned man's body was frozen.

Beneath him, Griffith's mask was starting to fall to pieces, half-revealing the man's face – that handsome, haughty face that had never suited a mercenaries group's leader, but more a noblemen, a prince, or a king. And those azure orbs, his piercing gaze which always seemed to dissect the deepest part of his inner self, they were once more looking at him.

"Hey… Answer me…" Guts' voice was trembling, whether from anger, whether from despair. His entire being was torn between hatred and regret. "Why won't you fight back… Why?"

Still no answer, but this one: Griffith's hands slowly reaching out for Gut's face, then softly caressing his cheek. Just like that day, so many years earlier…

"Guts…" Griffith muttered under his breath.

Guts started. Was that really Griffith's voice? Did he really call at his name? "Gri…"

But he silenced: below him, on the spotless white cheek was running a surreptitious shiny drop, a quiet, almost invisible tear.

How long had Griffith been unable to touch him like that? The sensation of his tanned skin, his rough skin under his touch. It was almost an alien impression. For an entire year he had been severed of his senses, powerless, unable to walk, to talk, even to feel the wind's stroke on his body. And even after that, he had been alone for years…

"Guts…" He whispered again, slowly raising from his spot, his face bit by bit nearing the mercenary's.

He kissed him. Softly, sweetly, like a first kiss. Surprisingly, Guts didn't even move one inch. He was dumbfounded, speechless, but he didn't want to move. Instead, he let his former leader kiss him quietly, shocked by how Griffith's lips were incredibly soft on his.

Finally, the mask fully cracked open, at last exposing Griffith's full face and oh-so-long, soft white hair. Guts gaped at the sight. After all, it's been so long he hadn't seen him like this, with all his splendor back.

The kiss got desperate. Gut's tongue was lapping at Griffith's lower lip, asking for entrance the white haired god was eager to give. He invaded the moistened cavern, making the smaller man moan faintly, his cheeks and ears already glowing red.

Not waiting for the kiss to end, Griffith shifted his weight and, after making Guts turn back, came sitting on his lap. His slightly cold, silken hair was now falling graciously on the tanned man's face. They finally broke the kiss, both men's eyes still locking in each other's.

Swiftly getting rid of the odd and black, but ripped, attire that used to be Griffith's clothes, the latter lowered his hands to Guts' pants.

"Wait…" The taller man panted. "Do you really want to…"

To have sex with him, a man? But, truly, by seeing the white haired man's engorged flesh, the answer was too obvious. And also he didn't want to remember what he witnessed many years earlier, at the Eclipse. So, he led his feverish gaze on Griffith's naked body, his slender waist, thin arms and legs, so thin but in the same time so strong, his narrow shoulders and swan-like throat... The previous fight's injuries were already gone, leaving Griffith's blemish skin shine proudly in the half-dimness.

Griffith pulled out Gut's half-erected shaft, then started stroking it. His movements were nervous, so anxious it was almost painful to see. Just how much did he miss the taller man?

The long haired man's hands were pumping faster and faster, going the entire length of the tanned man's thick manhood, from time to time teasing the slit and fondling at his balls, until Guts was fully hard, needy and ready to enter him.

Guts could barely bear the fire in him. Quickly, he just want to quickly shove himself in the man on top of him…

And as if he could read in his mind, Griffith stopped the stroking and positioned himself above Guts' erection. At this point, the mercenary didn't even care about preparing Griffith's hole to take him inside… No, he simply let the smaller man impale his lean body on him. Guts could clearly see himself being engulfed in the tiny, rosy ring of muscle, inch by inch.

Pain was obvious on Griffith's features. His eyes were teary – more than before – and his legs were shivering beneath him; still that didn't make him stop. The dark haired man rested his hand on the white haired one's hip, forcing him to take him deeper, and all together thrust his hips up.

"Aah!..." Griffith cried out in agony and pleasure, both blended together, his back arching painfully and hands gripping firmly at Gut's shoulders. "Guts… fuck me, please, please!"

"Shit…" Guts cursed. Griffith's inside was so hot, so tight… So good that it was maddening. Never once in his life he'd believe that one day he would be making love to his friend on the beach. He started ramming into the blue-eyed man, each one of his thrust meeting Griffith's, making the smaller man's waist undulate sinfully and his hair whip at his back.

The sound of fleshes slapping against each other was mixing with the waves, together with the smaller man's lustful cries. Guts used his hand to shift Griffith's weight back, making him go deeper.

"Mmh!... An…" The white haired man moaned, and, with his eyelids half-closed, he said, "Like this… Ah!... I can't move well…"

Why was the first sentence Griffith told him in ages so damn erotic? Guts cursed before prodding harder in the bottom's small ass.

"Ah! Nn… I-ya! Feels good… Guts… Oh, Guts…"

Said man crushed their lips together to silence that shameless voice. His mouth then slowly went down to lick and bite at Griffith's nipple. The man atop him only whimpered louder. Both men were close to their climax.

Seconds, and a few more wild thrusts later, they came; Griffith screaming Gut's name in his ecstasy, sighing when he felt the taller man burst in him, and Guts spilling himself in Griffith while grunting incoherent words in Griffith's throat. The blue-eyed god continued riding the taller man until they both got rid of the last waves of their climax. He then fell on Guts' muscular chest.

The mercenary, in his confused mind, unconsciously took hold of the white mane, caressing it gently – actually the first time he could do so. He could hear Griffith's light breath, and the peaceful sound of his heartbeat…

Guts was lying right next to the man he swore to kill, he was letting that man sleeping against him, and couldn't do anything but listening the sound of his heartbeat…

R&R please! (_ _)