HOW TO BE A DRUNKEN FAILURE:
(A TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE HICCUPXREADER STORY)
i'm so sorry.
Perfect.
You make your arrival seamlessly, mysteriously into the barbarian vistas of your imagination, the impossible sea-stone structures and spiraling mountains lining the horizons unmistakably Berk.
It's nightfall, and the outskirts of the village rumble with festivities perhaps not befitting a children's program, though of course that's not why you've arrived either. The air shimmers with a field of bonfires, peculiar yowls, and the rumbles of bemused dragons shuffling their wings, occasionally snapping up to stop a drunken master's fall, or perhaps pull him from making too poor of a decision. You draw in a sharp breath and press to the side, narrowly avoiding being stampeded by a pack of mostly naked giggling Vikings playing some lewd sort of tag.
It's some sort of solstice festival, and judging by the sounds that sheep is making in the middle of that group down the hill, tonight, anything goes.
Despite your clear intentions, you run into Hiccup himself quite by accident. Or rather, he runs into you. Almost all he can do is laugh, his sloppy, lithe frame draping against your shoulder quite suddenly with a swift, informative gust of mead-laced breath, nearly bowling you over.
As an apparently long-flustered Toothless apologetically pulls him back, you're a tad shaken by how... much more disassembled he is than you were expecting; his floppy, giddy, rag-doll drunkenness, his sweaty (you hope it's sweat) hair clinging to his cheeks, his armor unfastened in the front and flapping open over a tugged up shirt and heaving freckled skin, and his pants not quite pulled back into position.
"There you arrre, Astrid!" he exclaims, and you glance around for a moment in horror before coming to the warmer realization, as he clambers back against you, that through his haze and the dim firelight he's somehow mistaken you for his woman, despite how clearly different in appearance you must be. This could certainly work in your favor.
Toothless attempts to extract him again, but this time Hiccup manages to have enough grip to drag you along with. He snickers sheepishly, half clinging for balance as the dragon exasperatedly releases him again with a disbelieving blink.
"Ahahhh... I've been looking for you everrrywherrre, Asssstrid... Hah..." he purrs, the coarse hairs of his would-be beard scraping your cheek as his nose smooshes puffingly against you. Your face is flooded again with a whiff of that strange honey-liquor and a more comfortingly animal herbed boy-breath smell. "Everyone else is... hah... 'M all sticky... No, but – hah! I think 'm gonna go crazy if I don't–" Seemingly frustrated at the slow muddle between his brain and tongue, he gropes purposefully at your chest instead, baffled slightly by what you can only guess is the difference in shape from what he's expecting. It doesn't seem to stop him however, you note, as you feel him intentionally prodding you in the thigh with... something.
Oh.
It is a most enthusiastic jab, or rather, clumsy series of them. You wonder if he merely intends to hump your leg; perhaps that's the only solution he finds instant enough. Toothless grumbles with clear misgivings, glancing you up and down and attempting to nudge Hiccup away again. Hiccup loosens his grip to aim a flail in the beast's general direction. "Leamme alooone, Bud! 'M trying to...!"
You engage the beast's worried face, smile a little, and shake your head, trying to let him know you aren't distressed by this very drunken, very mistaken embrace. Toothless seems to get the message, settling to sit with a nervous slurp, casting a brief glance over his wing, perhaps in search of the actual Astrid. While the prospect is somewhat terrifying, you push it out of your head, opting instead to worm your fingers down and capture that which jabs at you.
Hiccup whines as you grip his clothed member, especially as you attempt to shrug him off. "Hey-don't... I gottaaa.. mmph..." he whimpers, his hips thrusting at your fingers as you wriggle, trying to turn to get a good look at it, and only really succeeding in causing him to lose his balance.
He hangs off you as you slowly lower him, half a controlled effort, and half a slow flop as you overbalance and land on top of him. He groans, eagerly bucking against your heavy body as you regain your bearings. Shaking free his clingy dragon-rider arms, you sit back to inspect him; he lies back, his head propped against one of the logs the village has strewn over the ground to serve as benches, clearly unhappy that he's too dizzy to pursue. "Uhff... Whatrryou doin'?" he grumbles, giving a disappointed buck.
You puff a little, amused, and reach out to still his narrow hips, peeling down his pants to reveal the sort of desperate lump... as well as some other viscous slime pooling there. You wonder what else he's been up to on this night of revelry. Maybe this isn't the first time he's attempted to release his seed tonight. Or maybe this is, after several others have got to him and selfishly denied him the pleasure. It's difficult to say, and honestly you're not so sure you want to know.
You're more taken at the moment by a flash of disappointment at the sight of his member. You didn't know what you were expecting, but probably something a smidge larger perhaps, more impressive. You give a start as he insistently bucks it towards you again with a nervous laugh. At least it's freckly, attractively shaped, reasonably thick; perhaps it's difficult to say for sure as it's obviously got a bit more stiffening left to do. You take it carefully in your hand, damp, warm and dribblingly eager, and wonder if it's worth the effort to attempt to embolden his arousal, or if it's all a lost cause thanks to the alcohol overtaking his lithe body.
As you stroke the tender, delicious-looking fistful though, the prospect becomes irresistible, and peering up to gauge his reaction, you lower your mouth over it. He responds with a happy, satisfying "Ohhhhwwhoa...!", gagging you almost immediately with another insistent buck and fumbling eagerly for the back of your head. "Astrid-Astrid– !"
The taste of what he's gratuitously oozing is surprisingly sweet, especially as you briefly ponder what sorts of things his barbarian diet must entail. There are the expected notes of sweat and much-evacuated alcohol. You try to remind yourself not to think too hard about where he's– where it's– been tonight.
You go slow, trying to hold his hips still underneath you, quite wary of how quickly this could all be finished. "Hahhh..." he purrs, wriggling as you suck, "Wherrre's your... teeth? Mmmm..."
Poor dear. You suppose it's good enough that his prick has managed to escape thus far without too many scars.
He scrambles hungrily against you, his clingy fingers tugging at your hair, all too readily trying to stuff himself into your throat. "Mmm... Ohh, Astrid! Aaaastriiid..." It's more like a wrestling match than you would expect, but it seems to do the trick. Before long he's completely stiff, twitching excitedly, and you have to grapple to wrench yourself off him quickly for fear of nudging him too far over the edge.
He gasps in disappointment, bucking again in search of you, jamming his wet, hard tip into your eye. Ouch. You try to shove his hand back as he tries to push you down again. "Astriiiid," he mumbles grumpily. "'S cold."
He watches you sullenly, chewing his lip in longing and sort of shuddering as you sit up, his poor angry wet prick twitching and drooling over his belly. He makes to grab at it, but you redirect his hand to the waistband of your pants. He blinks blankly, and it takes another couple nudges before he takes the hint and begins to fumble at them, bodily trying to shove you over.
Toothless yawps, stiffening from where he watches anxiously, but again you shake your head and let it happen, let the boy shakily try to take position on top of you. The dragon is still glancing around nervously, hunching his body and holding his wings stiff as if trying to create a blockade. All for the best, you figure. As much privacy as you can expect during these festivities.
Hiccup presses his head clumsily against your chest for support as he fumbles to find a way into your pants, wheezing and trembly with anticipation. You're a fair bit excited yourself. Perhaps you'd rather have had him a bit more himself, but he certainly feels real, his hair impressively peaky with dry oceanic dragon spit and sweat, his smell of forge fire and leather and the spicy tinge of dragon oil.
"Go-oooods, Astriiid..." He's so eager, he plunges forward as soon as he thinks he's got it, which is nowhere close. You feel an odd poke at your hip, another, a dribbling over your lower belly. He grumbles, entertaining bafflement for a while before apparently deciding, like before, that this is somehow good enough, drawing a damp squiggle of arousal up and down over your belly as he strokes his desperate little prick against you.
You're not sure you can take this. He gives a shrill yelp as you grab at him and with a bit of maneuvering, guide him closer to the target. Not perfect, but better; you gasp a little as he nudges in earnest over your sensitive underbits. Apparently there's no counting on him to figure it out anytime soon, though, and with another bodily yank you manage to sink him partway inside.
Ironically, this finally manages to get him to pause; he gasps, his breath shuddering in your ear as he sloooowly wriggles his full length inside until there's none left to give. It's twinging erratically inside you and you worry that that's just going to be it, right there. He cuddles you close, his clumsy body over you slight and not too heavy, but hard and rather impressively strong, his damp lips grazing ticklishly at your neck. "Ahah...Aaahstrid... 's so... mmm. It's ho-oh-ot," he breathes in a flutter. "Hah. Hooot."
You tug at his hips and give your own thrust, and giddily he takes the suggestion, clumsily drawing himself in and out a few times. You're worried he might be too drunk to get the job done, his penis slopping about somewhat aimlessly for a moment, but quickly enough his masculine instincts seem to kick back in and he begins to shove into you gleefully, gripping you hard and burying his face into your chest. You can feel his wet teeth against you as he grunts and moans. "Ohhhhhh, Astrrrriiid, you're so... ahhh..."
His enthusiasm more than makes up for his modest length, and you come to appreciate how nice and thick he is as he pins you back against the log, devouring you eagerly like a Terror with a tuna. Giddy with delight, he hunches forward and takes to kissing sloppily at your cheeks, nibbling at your ears, gestures you find hopelessly erotic despite, or because, they aren't really intended for you. You cling to him harder, needing him to keep sliding inside, unable to keep quiet as he burrows inside you.
"Hahhhh...mmmnph," he shudders. "I love youu. Aaastriid. You, hah... sound funny..." You wonder if this is par for the course technique as your Vikings go, loud, purposeful and greedy, or this is merely how he ruts when he's this drunk, retaining more reptilian function than rational lobe. In any case you're almost surprised to find yourself whimpering helplessly, which seems to egg him on. "Y-you like that...? Hahh... 'M sorry... 's going to be sorrrt of... messy...hah." He looks up at you with an almost comical seriousness, though he's embraced you too seriously for laughs. "Just... no babies. Right? Because... no. Ohahhh..." He blinks with appears to be surprise, bites his tongue and insistently shoves inside even as he feels your body orgasm all around him, gasping as everything becomes that much more sloppy.
"Ohhh, Astrid, that feels sooooHHh–!" Reveling in your fluids and convulsions it doesn't take him much longer himself; throbbing in slippery afterglow, you feel his thrusts become slower, strong and deep, and then one final shove, his rear wriggling to shove it as deep as he can get it, moaning piteously through his teeth.
He wasn't joking. You can feel it giving powerful twinges deep inside you, filling you up with pump after pump of thick custardy Hiccup seed. Had he managed to salvage them all night for this moment, or was this merely what he happened to have left?
Spent, shaking hard, he melts blissfully on top of you. "Mmmgh... 'm sorry. That was...hah. I don't feel so..."
In retrospect perhaps this wasn't the best activity for someone so dizzy to be involved in, and you wince as he gags and the space over your shoulder is flooded with sour thickened mead. Ugh.
Apparently better, he lies very still after that for an awkwardly long time. Toothless eventually gets to his feet and hesitantly nudges him, causing his face to pull into a wince and his arms to tighten around you with a stubborn mewl. The dragon puffs, gingerly taking his clothes in his teeth and giving a tug. Reluctantly Hiccup tries to push himself up on shaky arms, slips, and catches himself on your chest. He wriggles curiously, feeling his now limpish prick swimming in its own mess inside you. "Hah... that was... a lot." With a lot of effort and a couple falls, he manages to steady himself back to sit, extracting himself from you with a slimy pop. "Probably all of them. Or wait... Mayyybe. I dunno..."
Apparently not much minding the mess, you watch him stroking himself thoughtfully, peering down at you. It's hard to tell in the dim firelight but you think, disbelievingly, he might already getting hard again. You bite your lip, wondering if he's thinking about taking you for another round.
He'd said no babies, but with that kind of stamina and this convenient lack of recognition of who he was rutting, you can't help but be tickled by the idea of armloads of lanky freckled whelps scattered around Berk nine months from now. It's not like anyone appears to be sober enough to keep track, except perhaps the poor bemused dragons. And they won't be talking.
Toothless keeps his eye on you, tongue sloshing in his mouth, with occasional glances back at Hiccup, watching to see if the rider will mount you again, or leave him space to dive in and lick up the snack.
With a puff of amusement, you pull yourself up and drape yourself over the log on your belly, hoping that helps Hiccup make up his mind.
He laughs, half falling on top of you, the better lighting and slipperiness helping him find the target much easier this time. "Hahhh... ok. 'F you insiiist." You gasp happily as he sinks back inside, heaving as he shoves the air out of you.
You barely notice the foot enter your line of vision.
"...Hic-cup?"
The giddy rutting stops as suddenly as it began, his hands shoving frantically at your head and shoulders as he tries to push himself up.
"...Whaaa...? I- Um..." he stammers, and you try to look up at him. He's casting honestly baffled glances between you and... Astrid.
You think it's Astrid. Her hair is down and she's wearing probably more muddy handprints than clothing, seeming to be relying heavily on her dragon to even stay upright. You can't help but note an impressive... streak running down her leg.
You cringe, but she appears just as confused as Hiccup, if not moreso.
"You... werrrn't those guys over therre?"
"Uhh..."
In another situation you might've been tempted to point out that it'd be rather impossible for Hiccup to be... plural guys in the first place. But you get the feeling that the cognition required just isn't there at the moment. Perhaps replaced entirely with mead.
"Ohhhh, mmmgonna go beat them up..." She looks down at you. "Who'sh that?"
Hiccup hastily tries to push himself upright and manages to fall off. "Ow... This iss... Astriiiid. Hah..."
She squints. "M pretty surrrre..." she grabs hastily for her dragon as she wobbles, "that's no-ot me..."
You thought he'd have figured it out now, but he's still squinting between you and her with absolute confusion.
"But... 'f this isn't Astriiid, whyyy did she...?" He frowns.
"...She?" Astrid squints.
Hiccup squints too. "Iiii think... Waiiit."
Astrid shakes her head, then has to cling to Stormfly for a second to regain her balance. "Do-esn't matterrr," she bluntly concludes, hesitantly stepping away from her dragon and toward you, Toothless hastily ducking in before she stumbles again. "I've been loo-oking for you all niiiight." She clings hard to the dragon as she steps shakily over the log, then makes a point of attempting to kick you over it, unable to get enough footing for it to really work. Humoring her, you clamber over on your own. It's probably best not to push your luck at this point anyway.
"Hahhhh," she scoffs at you, stumbling and having to cling to Toothless again. "'S whaaat I thought."
Toothless lowers her to the ground near Hiccup after that. You can't see past the log, but you think you have a pretty good idea of what's going on, and you lie there listening in bewildered disbelief.
True love clearly has no bounds.