Hello there! Yes, this is a new story.
For the record, this story has been on my mind ever since I saw the movie so it's just me finally putting my idea down on paper, er... Computer.
Anyway, I will be working on my other stories, promise. My love Naruto just... Died though. It's seriously harshing my mellow. But anyway, yes. The reason I haven't really upadted... Anything is because I don't have a computer. But once Christmas comes, that'll surely change.
Oh, and this is an AU. Where Toothless is HUMAN. Crazy right? Riiight...
Oh, and I've never done First Person before so bare with me, K? K.
Warnings: Violence, Cussing, Male x Male Sex, Abuse, Non-con Molestation, and all out fun.
Pairing: Human!Toothless x Hiccup, AU
Disclaimer: How To Train Your Dragon (HTTYD) is copyright of Dreamworks. If I owned it -insert generic yaoi scene/idea here-.
I beta'd this myself like, a dozen times before I posted this so please tell me if there are any mistakes. There shouldn't be...
Fighting is not high on the list of priorities for me, but it's the only thing I know how to do. I can't even smile properly, not that there was anything to smile about in the first place. No, nothing really matters except fighting and winning. I don't care about either but that's what I do, so I do it.
Without fighting, there isn't anything left for me. I was raised to be violent so not fighting isn't really beneficial to my nature, now is it?
Sometimes I wonder what the sky looks like. The grass, the sun, clouds. Even rain or snow. I hear others talking about it; how the rain ruined their plans for the day or some shit, but I wouldn't know any different. Is it really that horrible? The only water falling on me is from the broken pipes above my head. The water they give me is sort of mucky too. Is rain mucky water? I somehow doubt that.
People- and by people, I mean those who actually take time out of their day to come to this shit hole- call me Night Fury. It sounds sort of amazing, except I'm anything but. My owner 'fondly' refers to me as another name, Toothless.
Probably because in the first fight I've ever been in, I knocked my opponents teeth right out. This has continued since then, hence the name 'Toothless'.
I'm known for being one of the strongest, with my six and a half feet of height- the examiners said that was really tall- and my huge yet lean exterior. My hair falls down my back in waves of black; plain, dull black.
My eyes though, are a bright yellow color with some hints of green. I'm told it's highly unusual but the circumstance I'm in is highly unusual, so it doesn't really matter.
I finally open my eyes, seeing my opponent above me- what was he called again? Gronckle? Fat fucker… He was leering at me, as if he'd won. Fool.
I tasted a blood. He must have landed a hit, which would explain why I was lying on my back on the floor, staring up at his disgusting face.
Everyone here was disgusting, even myself, or at least I thought so.
"Get up Toothless!" I heard my owner yell, I peeked over to him through my grimy black bangs. "Get the fuck up, I dun' need ya' losing ta' this fat piece o' shit!"
His red eyebrows furrowed in anger and frustration, but his eyes sparkled with excitement. He was stuck between frowning and smirking; I couldn't tell which expression was going to win. All I could think of, as I always do, is that he should shave that god-forsaken beard.
"Get the fuck up." It seems the frown won. "Get up 'r no fuckin' food ya' lazy Dragon!"
I narrowed my eyes at him. As if threatening me with that shit he considered food would make me really care.
The people around him either shouted with him or told me to stay down. But fuck, even if it was disgusting, I was hungry.
I slowly rose to my feet, a little dizzy, but that's nothing new.
I stared down at the fat man in front of me. He was only to my collarbone, and I couldn't see any muscle. It really was all just fat. How had he made it this far?
"Ya' know, ya' should real' get sa' muscle," I spoke quietly. I hate the fact that I talk in a drawl, but it's become a habit because of the people around me, as made obvious by my owner's demands.
He just glared at me for all he was worth and, giving credit where credit was due, it was slightly intimidating.
Now he was talking, probably some shitty comebacks, I'm not sure. I just tuned him out. Bored with the idiot who was talking while we should be fighting, I searched the crowd. Beyond this small, boxed in area, made of concrete, metal, and the blood of so many before this, was a crowd of men, even some woman, hoping their pick would win.
This is a fighting ring, the biggest in the city (or so I'm told) called Berk.
The fighters such as myself are referred to as Dragons. As such, at a young age, I had black wings tattooed to my back, an indication of my place here. They were large and black. I never saw them for myself since they were, in fact, on my back but other Dragons have told I what they look like. As much as I hate it, they've become a part of me, growing as I grow.
The initials of 'N.F.' were also tattooed to the back of my neck, so that my name- no, my label, would follow me, whether I left or not. Night Fury…
Owners of Dragons are known as Vikings. It was based on something historical but I wouldn't know considering I can't even read. So history was the least of my worries.
Cracking my knuckles, I stared down at the man once more. His mouth was still moving and he seemed really pissed off. The moment he pulled his arm back for a punch, I looked up and my breath caught in my throat.
My eyes locked themselves with another. These were beautiful, bright green doe eyes. They stared right back, not wavering once and I wondered, 'How can one's eyes be so bright and revealing in a horrible place like this?'
The eyes with so much expression seemed to widen with fear and panic. My own eyes shown confusion towards them before I felt something collide with the side of my face, knocking me into the metal wall.
I stared straight ahead in shock at what had just happened as I saw more than I heard the cheering from around me.
What was that? How could I get so distracted in the middle of a fucking fight!
I could feel the blood dripping down the side of my head. Guess Gronckle had more power than I anticipated.
My hearing came back a bit, ringing still audible in my ears, as I heard my owner yelling- no, screaming, at me and someone else. I tried to see whom but my eyes were becoming heavy, what little adrenaline I had wearing off and my world faded to black.
When I came too, the first thing I saw was the ceiling of the tiny arena. It was cracked and looked ready to cave in but I knew better. Pipes lined the top of the walls and randomly about the ceiling. There was also a little blood. How that got there is something I never want to find out.
I blinked again before realizing I was lying on something soft. I wasn't sure what it was but it was a nice difference from the hard floors and 'beds' I sleep on.
"Oh, you're a-awake," came a gentle voice from above me. It was so soft and calming, I thought maybe I was dreaming. I've never heard such a voice, and definitely not directed towards me.
Trying to find the voice, I looked a bit to my left. Brown-red hair framed a slightly round face to its neck. Freckles adorned its cheeks, a button nose in the center. Pink, plump lips shown a small, tired looking smile. They looked so soft…
Meeting his eyes, I gasped. It was the same eyes from the fight! The same eyes that made me lose the fight. I was feeling angry but it seemed to simmer down as I saw the relief and care in those glossy greens. I was confused. Why would this person who I didn't even know look at me like he cared?
I then realized the room was empty, leaving only this boy and me.
"Here, uhm…" He seemed the timid type by his unsure ness and the way he seemed to fidget under my gaze. He moved to the side and pulled a rag out of a small, old bucket. The rag itself wasn't in great shape either; what once used to be white, now a stale looking yellow.
I was surprised when the boy took the rag and began pressing it to my face. It was cold with water, guessing that was what the bucket was for.
It was relaxing, the careful gesture of his hands so that he wouldn't hurt me. It was unusual since everyone around me wanted to hurt me one way or another. The difference was large and comforting.
When he pulled his hand back, I saw that the rag was a light red color. Must be my blood. I suppose most would be more inclined to panic at one's own blood but I'm a fighter. I make people bleed everyday, seeing blood, even my own, means nothing to me.
But since it was a pale red color, I'm guessing he's been cleaning my wound for a while now. How long had I been out? I decided to voice my question.
"How lon' I been out?" I hated how my voice sounded rough and intimidating. The kid seemed to think so to by the slight jump before settling down and putting the rag back in the bucket. Small hands adjusted what ever was below my head.
"Uh, you've b-been out for a few hours," whispered the boy, seeming like he didn't want to disturb the silence that surrounded us, "Everyone left. They left you h-here so I thought I'd, um, help… you…"
I would've smiled at his shyness if my face didn't hurt. It was endearing. No one acted like that around here. You had to be strong to survive and this meekness was entirely new for me. I liked it. I also liked how his voice didn't have that disgusting drawl that I have; that everyone had. Then a thought occurred to me.
"Where m' owner at?" Truthfully, I didn't care. I hoped the fucker was dead but I would never have such luck.
The boy seemed to pale a little, his small smile disappearing. That surprised me. He looked scared. Maybe he worked for him too? Definitely not a fighter, his small body lithe and lacking any kind of muscle. Judging, I would say he would be up to my chest, maybe shorter, I'm not entirely sure.
"Oh, y-you don't have to worry about him. He left with everyone else, uh, but he said you don't get d-dinner. I'm sorry." He seemed genuinely upset for me but I mentally cursed. I was really fucking hungry.
Seeming to notice my distress, he hastily dug through his jacket pocket before pulling out a colorful wrapper of green and white.
"Here! Uh, it's g-granola. I know… I know it isn't very filling b-but it's better than nothing. R-right?"
I nodded, not really understanding but just agreeing to make the boy happy. I had no idea what granola was but if I could eat it, I'm betting it isn't that bad.
He took it and pulled the shiny wrapping open, revealing a thin rectangle. It was light brown and the only thing I've seen that color is the water so it made me slightly weary.
The boy helped me sit up. It hurt, my head and back pounded in protest but he got me to lean against the metal wall. I noticed the dent there that I probably made.
Breaking a piece of it off, he held it in front of my mouth. It felt rough against my lips but I accepted, the scent smelling good. As I took it in my mouth and began to slowly chew, I seriously thought it was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten. Considering what I eat on a nearly daily basis, I was probably right. Taking it from the kid's hands, his face slightly stunned, I took it and devoured it in a matter of minutes. The wrapper lay on the floor, forgotten.
His shock softened, his small smile back on his face. "I'm glad you l-liked it."
I merely nodded. We sat there in silence that wasn't exactly comfortable or awkward. He stared at his lap and I stared at him.
This boy looked so young and innocent. Why was he in a place like this? This was no place for someone like him. Speaking of which…
"You… Name…" I cursed myself once more for speaking like an idiot but his smile just seemed to widen. It made me feel strangely warm inside. I'm not sure if I liked it.
"My name? My name is H-Hiccup!"
As strange as it was, it seemed fitting. The way he stuttered reminded me of the hiccups. It was rather cute.
And I was named after a characteristic of my own so I guess Hiccup isn't that strange a name.
As we sat in silence again, I took in Hiccup's outfit. He had on an oversized brown jacket with green fur lining the inside. His pants were baggy on him as well, probably near falling off him; they were a darker brown than the jacket. On his feet were worn out boots, obviously used longer than they were meant for.
I wore nothing except long black pants. It's what's necessary, nothing more, and nothing less. It smelt of blood though, and I hated it. It was torn in places but I wasn't allowed another pair.
"Why, why di' ya' stay?" I just had to ask. Why would he stay for someone like me? I feel I already knew the answer though, when he looked at me with sympathetic eyes.
"I-If I left you here, you c-could've died. A-a-and! Uh, I was told t-too and y-you were really hurt and! And!" Hiccup seemed to be rambling but I could tell what he wanted to say. He wanted to take care of me. He just was that kind of person.
I hate how I know that for only being with him for a few minutes. Was it a few minutes? Or was it hours? This place was frustrating. Not that I could tell time.
"Why ar' ya' even in a pla' like this?" The question startled him and he seemed a little reluctant to answer.
"I… I live here. M-my dad owns t-this… place…"
Ah. That's why he didn't want to answer. His father was my owner. That's disheartening. I can sort of see it now though, his hair color. It's more brown then red though. But other than his hair, I can't really find a resemblance to that shitty man.
Hiccup looked uncomfortable after revealing this knowledge to me and I wouldn't blame him.
"S'ok," I tried, "Ya' okay. Nicer."
That made him blush. He stopped fidgeting at least and a grin took over his face, albeit sheepish. I felt that warmth again.
"T-thank you Toothless!"
For some reason, when Hiccup said my name, it didn't feel so awful. It made me feel a little special really. Other than my owner, no one called me Toothless. It was always Night Fury. Truthfully, I hate both names. But Hiccup made it sounds right.
We talked for a while. It might've been hours, I don't know. I learned he was home schooled, which he explained meant he was being taught here. His dad didn't want him outside in fear that he would reveal that there was a Viking ring in the city. I don't doubt Hiccup would've told someone. His uncle Gobber taught him. I've met him on more than one occasion and I can tell he doesn't exactly want to be here. I can see the small thrill in his eyes during fights but he looks pretty guilty and kind of sad afterwards. But I really don't know why he stays. Obligation? Then too who? My owner? Or maybe it's something else.
Hiccup told me he's only been outside a handful of times to get food to make his father dinner. And he only left when being escorted by someone. He said he'd tell me what it's like out there another time.
He called his father 'sir' because any other way would be 'disrespectful'. Sometimes his father didn't acknowledge him as a son. Apparently, to him, Hiccup was a disappointment and a failure. That made me angry. That he doesn't even accept his son because he isn't a dick like him.
One more thing I learned; my master's name. Stoick.
It's strange that I never learned it after being here for all my life but I guess it made him feel more powerful. But it won't change anything. It won't free me or give me happiness. It's just his fucking name.
Stoick. Stoick, Stoick, fucking Stoick.
"W-what about you. How did y-you end up here?"
That question made me think. I never thought about it before. It just… Happened.
"I dun' know," I replied honestly. I really didn't know. I don't know whom my parent's were or if I even had a life before this.
It was always my owner, this ring, the pipes, and fighting.
Pain.
That's what my life came down too, nothing but pain and loneliness.
Fuck, this is why I hate thinking. I just get more depressed than I already am and that makes me angry.
Hiccup seemed to get that and quickly changed the subject, "Are you thirsty?"
I was still angry though, so I bit out, "'Course I am."
His eyes widened before reaching behind him, with a constant mantra of 'sorry, sorry, sorry'. I really felt like a dick at that moment.
From behind him produced a cylinder thing. It was clear but what I noticed was it was water. Clear, clean water. My mouth began to salivate at the mere sight of it. I've never seen clean water but I'm not an idiot.
"Here. I-I thought you'd be t-thirsty since all you have is this, uh, yucky water." With that, he offered me the bottle, taking the top off and handing it to me. I stared at it for a moment before putting two and two together, putting the hole to my lips.
Before I knew it, it was all gone. But it was so refreshing. It was a change that I very much welcomed. I stared at it intensely, hoping more would be appear. Obviously, that didn't happen.
Taking in my expression, he reached behind him and produced another.
"T-this was mine but I-I can always get more. Have it," he spoke, handing me the bottle. As I took it, I stared at him. He began to fidget again.
"Why d' ya' talk like tha'?" I questioned. I got a confused look and a tilt of the head. We stared for a moment, not really sure how to word it any other way before my question seemed to have clicked in his head, a light blush appearing on his cheeks.
"I-I have a stutter. Another reason for my f-father to h-hate me…" Hiccup's demeanor was one of a sad, lonely kid who just wanted his family's acceptance. I wouldn't know that feeling.
His expression saddened; he looked ashamed of it. I didn't like that at all.
"Think… It' cute…" I murmured, wondering if he'd hear it or not. It seems he did, judging by the bright red color of his face. I managed to smile my awkward smile at him.
He giggled. I guess I still need to work on that.
As Hiccup opened his mouth to say something more, there was a yell from behind the thick metal door leading out of the small arena, piercing the silence of the room, "Hiccup!"
We both paled, him more than I. He quickly stood; gathering up the bucket and what I had been laying on, which I found out, was a crumby towel, along with what ever else he brought.
Smiling at me quickly, he rushed out of the metal square and towards the entrance. Just then, the doors slammed open, startling both of us.
I heard his voice, "S-s-sir, I was just on m-my way to get you-!"
There was an angry growl and a loud smack followed by the sound of objects falling to the floor.
"Ya' been in here fer' hours! I told ya' an hour, he has another match later tonight!" Stoick sounded pissed. He sounded exactly as I felt. How dare that man hit Hiccup! Hit someone so much better than him. If only I could see but my current position was facing the other way.
"Y-yes… Sir…" Hiccup sounded like he was holding back tears. It made my blood boil.
"Fine," Stoick huffed, still obviously angry, "Clean up an' go prepare my dinner. Ya' two," He addressed to two others in the room I couldn't see, "Go pick up the shit an' put him back in his 'room'. No dinner."
I inwardly growled.
Before I knew it, I was being lift by my arms by two Vikings. One was that man Gobber, his face of stone, like he was hiding his emotions. The other was someone I had seen before but didn't care to know.
I was placed in my room that consisted of concrete walls, bars at the entrance and a disgusting blanket and pillow to lye on.
There was also chains and cuffs, just incase he was extra pissed and decided to torture me a little. That didn't happen often, almost never, considering I displayed the perfect behavior of a Dragon. Fuck.
Sitting on my sheet in the dimly lit cell, my mind wandered back to beautiful green eyes.
It made me wonder if there was something worth fighting for after all.
R&R is much appreciated. Reviews, how I love them, constructive or not.