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So watching documentaries I found out apparently in the Tudor era it was more then likely you actually would share a bed at an inn so. That made me laugh. I had to throw griffguts in that trope. Just some fluff, my first time ever writing or posting fanfic so be nice please, thank you!
Edit- thank you so much for 70 Kudos, I’m sure it’s not a lot to other people but it’s so much to me! <3
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“Why can’t we just sleep outside?” Guts groaned. Setting his drink back down was enough to make the small wooden table they were sitting at wobble.
“It’s going to rain.” Griffith said simply, maintaining eye contact with him.
“Bullshit. I didn’t see any clouds.” He looked towards the window and squinted to try to see if he could recognize any in the night sky.
“I can explain why I think so... If you’d like to hear about wind patterns?” He suggested tilting his head slightly to the side and resting his chin in his palm. Guts relented, just giving a mildly annoyed grunt in response and going back to his drink. He wasn’t actually having as bad of a time as he let on. Though getting away from camp did feel strange. He had no idea why Griffith didn’t take along Casca on a payment negotiation instead of him. He’s pretty sure Casca didn’t understand the choice either. She glared daggers at him when Griffith told them she'd be taking over camp for a day. When the leader put his hand on her shoulder and told her she’s who he trusted the most in charge, she seemed to soften. Why the hell she blamed him for Griffiths choices was beyond him. It didn’t matter now though. He should just enjoy the shitty watered down beer Griffith was paying for.
When he looked back at him he could see he was saying something, his lips moving but drowned out by the talking of the rest of the crammed inn. He tried to snap back into focusing, nodding like he understood what Griffith was talking about. Apparently he had decided to go ahead and explain the wind patterns. “Yeah, okay I believe you. Let’s just go the hell to sleep. Or try I guess. This place is crowded. If we actually get any it’ll be a miracle.”
The real reason Guts hated inns wasn’t the noise from the drunk patrons below. In shitty ones like this it was likely they’d be packed in a dusty old room sharing beds. He couldn’t stand it. Griffith said he at least got them a room alone. The best he could do with the only inn on a major trading route. It was impressive he even managed to get them anything. The man really had a way of convincing people.
Being alone together should’t feel like a big deal. This wasn’t some stranger he had to be shoved next too. Then they walked up to the room and was actually just him and the commander alone in a small room. Plain looking place, with only a lantern and candle dangerously close to wooden walls illuminating the space. The noise of people below was muffled when they shut the squeaky door. It was further dampened out by the sudden sound of pounding rain outside. Guts rushed to shut the window quickly, making it right before the downpour got worse. He looked back at Griffith who was smiling smugly, he didn’t even have to say he told him so. “Stop looking at me, smart ass.”
Griffith started to laugh and Guts picked up a pillow from the bed and threw it at his face. He blinked a few times before it fell into his lap, apparently shocked. Seemingly surprised he wasn’t the one who initiated playing himself- or maybe that Guts would take the risk of throwing anything at his leader. It didn’t take Griffith much longer to pick the limp pillow up and throw it back. Then took the thin blanket off the bed and went to whip it at him. Guts caught it and pulled him forward, taking both of them down.
The two of them were highly skilled fighters. They had spars together almost weekly, yet at the moment they had coordination about as impressive as kids wrestling, motions impaired by their laughter. After a flurry of messy playful shoves from both of them, he had the smaller man down.
“Alright! You win my friend.” Griffith finally yielded once he stopped giggling enough to speak. Guts looked down on him, noticing his cheeks were pink from both laughing and alcohol. His purple shirt was lifted from roughhousing and the sheets were twisted around his body in a tangled mess only Griffith could manage to make look beautiful. Guts realized he was staring at him, and still hadn’t let him go. Griffith wasn’t pushing him off anymore. Instead the hands that were trying to push him away by the shoulders were now rubbing them gently. He should be disgusted at the closeness of the touch, move away. He didn’t want too. Long after it should have stopped, he kept his own hands on Griffiths hips.
Griffith didn’t look like he’d be the one to end it. As always his eye contact was direct and piercing even if softened by the way he was looking up at him through his lashes. Guts swallowed and moved away silently, to his own disappointment. “Let’s go to sleep.”
Griffith sat up when he was let go, a flash of sadness in his eyes. It didn’t last long. Not wasting much time he pulled off his outer layers. “...On the way back I was going to stop briefly at the market and see if they have anything we need at camp.” He said, maybe a weak effort to shift the mood.
Guts thought about it. It was a small town even if on an important route. Unlikely they’d find much at all when the best they could find open is one shoddy inn, but no reason to argue. He didn’t really give a shit about what they’d do tomorrow nearly as much as the fact Griffith was taking his clothes off. The amount he was willing to take off himself was maybe his boots. Which he did, and set his sword to slant against the bed. A compromise to putting a seven foot sword between him and Griffith in the bed, which was still tempting to do anyways. He sat down and half expected something to snap. The bed was as creaky as the wooded floorboards under them. He stayed as far from Griffith as possible on it, worried his own face was pink from overthinking all this.
“I won’t make you do anything but if your pants are muddy I’d prefer you keep them to yourself.” Griffith finally said while Guts settled down. Griffith had a comb in his hand and was brushing through his long hair. His routine was much more extensive then his own. Especially only traveling for one night Gut’s didn’t bother to bring much of anything.
“My pants aren’t muddy.” He said swinging his feet up on the bed and crossing his arms behind his head. Griffith just hums skeptically in response and puts his comb down, getting under the sheets. With both of them lying quietly in the bed so close together he couldn’t ignore the tension from earlier. Maybe he should go back downstairs and get another drink to help shove those feelings away but when he looked back over Griffith was already asleep. He almost felt as annoyed as he was relived. Then he caught himself staring at the way Griffiths silver hair caught the candles light, the curls spread out around his bare shoulders. He gave a tiny snore in his sleep then rolled to his side. Guts looked fondly at him before blowing out the last candle. He tried to curl up without touching the other man, a difficult feat for a big man in a small bed. Eventually he also drowned out the noise of the rain and laughter from below, more comforted by the gentle breathing of the man next to him then he expected.
When he woke up he panicked at first, feeling a tight grip around his middle. He couldn’t even turn to look over easily. Thankfully it only took a second to remember it was just Griffith, who started to whine and hug tighter the more Guts tossed around and tried to push him off. Relenting, he rested his head back down and smiled to himself. He wondered if this was how couples in little towns like this lived. Waking up from the chill of the morning air because their partner sometime during the night decided to take all the sheets. He couldn’t say he minded much though- less then minded. Any minor inconvenience was well worth the gentle calm and warmth he felt from Griffith’s strong arms and delicate fingers pressing him close. He didn’t want to think about why he felt this way, couldn’t bring himself to try to question it. It would just break this moment that already felt so fragile, knowing any second he’d wake and they’d have to go back to unspoken words and dodged questions that neither of them could answer even to themselves. He ran his calloused thumb over the other mans hand and closed his eyes again.
Eventually Griffith did wake. Gut’s craned his neck to look back at him only to find Griffith close his eyes back again and pretend to sleep. He was sure he heard him stir. Well. Griffith deserved a moment to consciously enjoy this himself. Until Guts finally couldn’t sit still any longer. He turned around, ignoring the sleepy groan he got in response. The others eyes flew open as Guts gently flicked his forehead. “Lemme go. I have to piss.”
“Well good morning to you as well, and thank you very much for the information.” Griffith yawned, covering his mouth with his hand.
“You are free to go get ready for the day without informing me you know.” Griffith got up and started to get ready, grabbing his comb once again to brush out the tangles from tossing around at night. Guts decided to push a little. “…Not with you hugging me like that, I couldn’t.”
“I did no such thing. Now go along then.” Griffith said, clearly trying not to smile and gesturing him away with a hand. Guts gave him a little grin back and walked downstairs when dismissed. Even if the night was over, there would always be another.