Author note: I wrote this while in the grip of insomnia. It's set soon after the events of HTTYD 2 (I've never published a fic before, people, that's how inspiring that movie was for me).
Wedding Night
The bedroom was dark, save for the moonlight shining in through the window slats. It fell across Hiccup's slack face in striped patterns, breaking continuity where his forearm was draped over his eyes to shut it out. In the night silence Astrid could hear him breathing through his slightly parted lips, not quite snoring as he slept, utterly exhausted. She had barely convinced him to remove his shirt and prosthetic foot, and he was still wearing the trousers he had put on for their wedding that same afternoon. The wedding band he had forged glinted in the moonlight, hanging loosely around his finger—it had to be big enough to fit over his knuckle but his digits were so slim there was a gap between the metal and his skin.
There would be no honey month for them. There was still so much to do to set Berk to rights after the battle with Drago and his ill-treated monster. They had been chipping the village out from under the ice and gradually rebuilding for weeks. Though the people had cheered Hiccup's anointing as the new chief, out of respect for both his parents he had requested a week-long mourning period for Stoick as a condition of letting them be talked into having their wedding a season earlier than they'd originally planned. (It would give the people something to celebrate, said Gobber. Take the edge off the pain of losing their beloved huge Viking chief. Make them think about and look forward to new life…oh, how those words had turned Hiccup's ears dark red with embarrassment.)
They…hadn't yet. Not for lack of wanting, or sometimes for lack of trying on Astrid's part—darned if that leather flight suit didn't fit him in all the right ways—but neither of them had any experience, and Hiccup especially didn't want to risk a pregnancy. It seemed as though every time she thought she had his character pegged (he was a maverick, an inventor, the one who'd somehow managed to turn three hundred years of Viking attitude toward dragons on its head), he'd suddenly go prudish and moralistic on her. It was infuriating, but it only increased her determination to conquer his body as he'd managed to conquer her loyalty in the previous millennium when they were still kids.
And he was lying here next to her (finally!), he was safe and asleep and beautiful and he was hers at last, after everything they'd been through together and apart. In the short weeks before the wedding she'd become paranoid something would happen to him, that the gods would capriciously decide to part them before they could become one. It had made her antsy and short-tempered, causing the villagers to compliment Hiccup's patience; they'd never seen a more compatible pair, but their dear boy sure would have his hands full with that one; when Astrid had been clued into the gossip by her mother (who thought it was funny), she had gone into the forest and taken down ten trees before she could trust herself to behave like a sane person again. It didn't help that shortly after that, he'd slipped with his false foot on some of the ice they were trying to remove from the Mead Hall, landing him in bed for two days with a cracked rib. The night after the accident, Astrid had gone without sleep completely, sitting up in the darkness until the sun came up, chewing her knuckles raw and making bargains with deities she barely believed in anymore.
They had the leftover mead from the wedding-even though, for the sake of Berk's rebuilding, they were skipping the customary period of seclusion that was supposed to bond them as husband and wife (and produce a Haddock heir). Probably far more than a month's worth, since neither one of them had the body mass to hold their liquor and Hiccup hated the stuff, both the taste and how it affected his head. It had been all she could do to convince him to drink some at the meal after the ceremony for the sake of the celebration; Berk still wanted a proper Viking chief in many respects, even though they'd come to appreciate Hiccup's, well, unorthodox way of seeing the world. In their exhaustion and residual nervousness they'd come near to having their first argument as a married couple, Astrid hissing in his ear that he needed to keep up appearances, and to stop glaring at me, people will think something is wrong. He'd downed his mug of mead with a stony expression and then she'd yanked him up to dance, smiling at him in her most beguiling fashion and placing his hand close to her breast to distract him (it had worked).
But now they were alone. And Astrid had, unbeknownst to Hiccup, taken Gobber and Spitelout aside a week before the wedding and let them know, in no uncertain terms, that she wanted two days (just two days!) with Hiccup, absent of all visitors (even, especially, Valka) and chief duties unless lives were absolutely on the line. Because, so help her, if they weren't…the glint of her axe had made the rest of her point and they had agreed to shoo people away from the house for the requested period.
Here they were, she had the favor of the gods (at least temporarily), she was in bed with him and she was curled next to him smelling his hair and the sight of his slim, half-bare body in the moonlight was making her hum with need.
And he was asleep. As much as she wanted to climb on top of him and kiss him awake and pull off her top to stun him into letting her have her way with him, he needed the rest. They both did, but Astrid's mind wouldn't let her sleep. Every time her eyes reopened and she saw him and realized they belonged to each other, her stomach clenched and a thrill went down her spine and into her private parts.
She wouldn't wake him, though. Not this time; they had the rest of their lives to devise ways to surprise and delight each other. She couldn't resist snuggling up closer against him, however, and despite being halfway to dreamland, he turned to face her, groping for her in the dark until his arm was draped over her hip and his forehead was touching her chest. She kissed the top of his head and committed herself to forgo requesting what was rightfully hers, until he woke of his own accord.
Or until the sun rose. Whichever came first. A girl could wait only so long, after all.