Title: Geneses

Fandom: Berserk

Pairing: Guts/Griffith

Rating:PG-(13)

Word Count: 338

Summary/Description:Everything has a beginning. Everything has an end. Neither of them comes easily.

Warning/Spoilers:…Nakedness?

A/N: 31 days, February 8th: accursed be he that first invented war. Second Berserk fic, omg, give me a clap. GAY OTP THIS TIME. LOL, seen this plot device before?

Disclaimer: I do not own Berserk.

"I wonder who was the man who first created war?"

It was a strange question to ask, especially when they were both waist deep in the crystal water of a stream, scrubbing the blood and grime of a battle off of their skins. Or perhaps not so strange, Guts considered. One could never tell, when it came to Griffith.

"Dunno," he grunted, and continued scrubbing his armpits.

Griffith laughed.

"Come on; you must at least wonder sometimes, Guts. Don't you?" he asked, before disappearing underwater. When he emerged, with rivulets of liquid running down his body, he began rubbing at his scalp and threading his fingers through his gleaming hair.

Guts realised he was watching, and scowled.

"No. There's nothing to think about." He shrugged, picking at a scar on his shoulder. "It's just war. Killing people. It's probably been around all along."

Griffith seemed to consider this.

"No, I do not think so. There has to be someone, from time immemorial, who came up with this concept of swordsmanship and bloodshed for the benefit of one faction, and the detriment of another."

Guts snorted, looking at his friend, his commander. Griffith was staring up into the evening sky with an indiscernible expression.

"What, you getting an attack of the conscience, or something?"

At that, Griffith threw back his head and laughed. Drops of water from his hair fell onto Guts.

"No, no, not at all." He smiled at Guts, almost fondly, and the Black Swordsman raised a brow in reply. Griffith's smile widened, and he climbed out of the stream. "I was simply thinking aloud. Do not think much of it."

"Huh." Guts stared at him as he wrung out his hair. The blood red Behelit bounced on his pale chest, and Guts frowned. He watched as Griffith went about collecting his clothes, bit by bit. He did not put them on immediately; he stood observing the sun go down for a long while. Guts continued looking at him until it got too dark to do so.

A/N: :C DON"T BE AFRAID TO TEL ME IF I SUCK. I will simply cry a single emo tear, and then KICK MY ASS into improving. :3

No seriously. I'm so nervous about writing these characters I could die. DDDDDDDD: