I'm lying awake the way I usually do after a battle, exhausted and hyped up at the same time, when somebody slips into my tent and closes the flap behind them.
I've lost so much blood again this time that I'm all lethargic, dizzy, not half as sharp as I ought to be. By the time I think to turn for my sword, someone's right beside me, with a hand on my neck. "Shh, Guts, it's me." I wouldn't call the whisper feminine but there's no way it belongs to a man.
"Caska? What are you doing here?"
"Shh," she says again, and the hand travels up to stroke my jaw. I can feel her shift and she's lying down next to me – not quite touching me but still I can tell she's naked. "I want to stay here," she says. Her breath is hot against my face. "Tonight. Can I?"
I'm thinking a thousand kinds of no but as usual she makes me feel stupid. Feel stupid, sound stupid, be stupid. "Uh, sure," I say back. She settles down then, warm against me, one hand on my chest and her head on my shoulder. I shift so I can get an arm underneath her neck, mainly because it'll be more comfortable that way.
It's only afterwards that I realize I'm now holding her like a husband, a lover… exactly the way I do not want to be holding Caska.
It's not that I don't like her. It's not that she's not beautiful, or that she doesn't pull at my heart in ways that nobody else has, ever. It's just that holding her is going to give her the wrong idea – I know what she's come here for, and beautiful as she is there's no way in hell we're going to do it.
I don't actually enjoy taking women to bed. I've done it plenty of times before. It always seems like a good idea at first, when I'm just getting started, when they're dancing up on me or stroking my arms or even kissing my (closed) mouth. I feel the tension like just before a battle, feel my body simmering, feel a drive for this like for the kill.
But then when the time finally comes, when we finally find a quiet corner and unhook all my armor and tangle ourselves up on the floor, all I can notice is how alien and disgusting women actually are. They're weak and pitiful, certainly not my equals and hardly even human as I understand it. They feel like the underbelly of a giant worm – soft, yielding, even slimy when they start to sweat. And the way they thrash around when I thrust into them… it's like a soldier who's been run through. I have to close my eyes, because in my mind the scene is bathed in blood and when I see a girl lying there so rapturous it confuses me. I always end up pounding away at her like she's an enemy army and I shout when I come and then I always feel terrible, like there's something wrong with me. I'm supposed to like the feeling of a woman.
But instead, the only body I've ever really liked is Griffith's.
Sometimes I think he must feel the same way about me, since the games that I secretly find so thrilling are almost always his idea. He coaxes me into the river naked. All the horseplay is his idea. After every battle he stops by to supervise as my wounds are treated, and he likes me to be the one to wrap his even though my touch is about as light as a troll's when it comes to tying bandages. I've also noticed that when we wrestle, for fun or as part of training, he breathes harder than just the exercise would explain. Directly into my ear.
Whether or not he thinks of me in that way, though, I hope he'll never mention it. I know first hand what it is for a man to lie with a man, and sometimes I try to imagine how it would be between him and me. I have a size advantage over him but he's a savage fighter. He might prefer to die rather than submit… and my own life might be at risk if I hesitate. I actually get hard at just the thought of finally holding him down and spearing into him… but I can't see myself taking Griffith – or Griffith taking me – without serious harm coming to someone. I'm sure he envisions the same thing. I steer clear of the subject around him and he follows suit.
The other men in the Hawks, of course, do nothing for me. I could sooner make love to a horse than to any of them. The idea of them touching me just makes me laugh, or want to throw up (Pippin: laugh. Corkus: throw up).
But then there's Caska. I'm not sure if I've got the meaning of the word wrong, but I think I might love her. Her touch makes me go as shivery as Griffith's. I sometimes blush when we're standing too close, and when she smiles at me I always want to smile back. I dream about her a lot.
I won't go near her unclothed when I'm awake though, because I don't want the illusion wrecked. I like her the way she is now. I don't want to feel her turn all doughy and pathetic. I don't want those pitiful noises to come out of her and I don't want her to cling to me. I know that afterwards I'll despise her the way I despise all the other women, and how am I supposed to deal with her then?
So tonight, while she's stroking me and begging me to stay, all I can think is what a bad, bad idea she's come up with. I have to find a way of convincing her, before that hand changes my mind and I just say the hell with it and dive right in.
It's dark and so she can't stop me with that Look she does so well. I take her hand and peel it right off my face. "Caska, no," I tell her with authority.
She freezes. "Why not?"
Already she sounds like a lost little girl, and it only gets worse when she starts to cry. "Caska-… hey, come on." It's dark, she can't see me, so I'm not afraid to reach over and wipe her tears away. "What's the matter?"
"What's the matter? You big dumb ox, what do you think is the matter! You just…"
While she catches her breath, I try to figure out what I've done wrong. "I just what? Caska, think about it. You don't really want to be… you know…"
"I don't want to be what?"
She's so frustrating when she's like this. I know already that whatever I say is going to be wrong and she's going to take a swing at me for it, but at this point I'd rather have her hitting me than whatever else she's trying to do. So I just go ahead, even though I'm sure it's going to make her mad for some reason. "You don't want me to treat you like that. You don't want to be a… woman."
She gasps. "But- But I am a woman!" she cries, even more enraged than I usually make her. "Guts, why can't you see that? You and Griffith – what's the matter with you!" She struggles out of our cozy little setup and sits up, feeling around for my face so she knows where to slap. It makes a great sound but it's not enough for her – she goes right for my bandages then, landing a gut shot that after all the stab wounds today is unbearable.
I grunt ow, complain her name, and turn on my side so she's got less target to work with.
Of course she'll have none of that, not when I've made her this angry. She rolls me back onto my back and climbs aboard, straddling me and shaking me til my head bangs against the ground. "I am so a woman!" she shrieks. She finds my hand and drags it to her chest. "See? What do you call that, then? Hmm?"
I pull away, protect my face a little, but otherwise I don't resist much as she beats on me. "Caska, stop it," I tell her wearily.
"Fight back! Why won't you fight back, Guts? What are you going to do – let me kill you?" This time, while one hand's whacking away at whatever vulnerable spots she can reach, the other closes itself around my neck. "Well?"
I glare up at her, but I know she can't see me in the dark and besides I actually do need to breathe after a while. So I grab her arm and move it. Then I heave her off onto the ground without too much trouble and climb on top of her, planning to hold her there til she simmers down.
But she's grabbing at me and I feel her hips shift and suddenly I know what she's going to do; tiny or not Griffith has flipped me off him with this move hundreds or thousands of times.
"No-" I try to find balance but it's too late, she's rolled us over and now she is on top of me again.
"I fight better than any of the men here and don't you forget it!" she shouts down into my face, punctuating it with a slap.
I throw her off again and then we're scrambling around in the dark, full-on wrestling the way the guys do at training. "I'm not trying to forget it, that's the whole point!" I explain in between peeling her arm from around my neck and trying to force her shoulders to the floor. "Ow! Caska, you're a commander here! I have to -oof- to trust my life to you in battle and I don't want to see you all soft and helpless!"
She stops fighting for a second, and I take the opportunity to pin her down. "But I'm not soft and helpless," she whispers, starting to cry again. "You're the only one here who could make me feel like I am… and that's what I wanted tonight. I wanted… as always, I want what I can never have."
"Yeah, well you know what I want – what I can never have?" I snarl, really resenting her for her tears. Does she think she's the only one who goes to bed unsatisfied? "I want the next girl I touch to notfeel like a newborn calf! I want her to be hard and strong and I want her to give as good as she gets. Unfortunately, there's no s-…" I stop. I'm an idiot. I was about to say, there's no such girl… except here I am, lying on top of one.
I realize then, for the first time, that Caska does not feel soft and helpless. She feels like Griffith – pure lean muscle all the way through. I realize that the movement of her hips against me isn't like the flailing of a dying thing, but the struggles of a guy about to free himself and kick my ass.
I'm airborne all of a sudden, as she flips me off her. I grab her the way I grab Griffith sometimes – crushing him flat against me as I drive up to my knees, throw her up over my back so that she lands hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Her cry is pure rage and she goes for me again, but I've got size and strength on her and before long I'm on top, sprawled flat so she can't buck me off. I don't even need to pretend she's Griffith when she pants furiously in my ear; I'm hard anyway. She feels perfect.
"Hey," I say to her, and I can hear that my voice has gone all low and gravelly. I hope it doesn't scare her. "Maybe I was too quick to say no a minute ago. It's just I don't, you know, I don't do this all that often…"
She stops fighting, although she's still tensed as if she might start again. "Well, neither do I."
"I've tried. I've never liked it much though. My women are always too weak." I let go of one of her wrists, but I turn my head in case she decides to go for the eyes.
Instead her hand creeps up around to cup the back of my neck. "So are my men." She moves a little, bringing her legs up around me, and I let her. "Guts, kiss me."
Now I really want to, I'm still a little hesitant. "Okay… but if it's disgusting, we're going to stop."
I kiss her as she twines her body tight around me. It's not disgusting.
The End.
for now, at least. Whad you think?