Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to How to Train Your Dragon. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

This was written for the HTTYD kinkmeme several months ago, in October 2010. Future fic.

How to Say It When You Mean It

"Astrid," he said. Two years since his voice had settled in its register, and now he squeaked. He cleared his throat. "Astrid?"

In the glade, she stood. Sweat slicked her skin, made her shine in the thin autumn light. Dirt traced her nose; grime darkened her cheek. She rested the ax on her shoulder. Hiccup stood, rooted.

"What is it?" she prompted.

He blinked rapidly. How long had he been–

"I'm kind of busy," she said, gesturing to the much-abused tree she'd been using as target practice, "so if you don't mind, could you hurry it up?"

"Astrid," he said, now too loudly.

She eyed him. "Yes," she said, drawing it out. "That's me."

"We've, uh, known each other for a while," he said. His heart twiddled in his chest. Don't pass out, he thought, whatever you do don't pass out.

Astrid tipped her head, her hair falling in sweaty, grimed clumps against her throat. He felt faint. As he did when looking into another's eyes proved detrimental to his purposes, he focused on his hands. It wasn't a very Viking thing to do, but at least it kept him from passing out on her feet.

"Right!" he said, though she'd said nothing. "We've known each other for, well, all our lives, but we've knowneach other for–" Do not think about sex, he thought.

Astrid crept closer, her ax balanced on her shoulder. Maybe she didn't want to marry. Some women did that. Maybe she'd punch him in the arm and leave him. Oh, he hoped she wasn't going to hit him. He didn't want her to leave.

"And I thought," he said, forging on, "wouldn't it be great if we could go on knowing each other?"

Astrid dropped her ax to the ground with a thump. The shaft rested on her hip.

"Did you hit your head?" she said. She covered his left eye with her hand and stared into the other.

Her hand was sticky with sweat and patched with dirt, and her breath was hot and sour-sweet. Her forehead creased: worry, for him. He wanted to melt against her.

He pushed her hand away. "No, I did not hit my head."

"Well, you're not making any sense," she said. "Did someone else hit your head?"

"No," he said. He touched his forehead gingerly. His cheek was warm where her wrist had pressed. "My head is un-hit."

She frowned. "Maybe you should lay down," she said.

"Maybe I will," he said stiffly.

"Well, that didn't work," he said later to Toothless.

Toothless murmured into his catch of fish, then bolted down a fat tuna, teeth flashing like scissors.

Hiccup paced, rounding a small hillock set in the grass. "I know," he said. "I practiced for hours, but it's like as soon as I saw her face everything just fell right out, and I just stood there gabbling like a, like a Nadder."

Toothless huffed his scorn. He chased a herring through the grass.

"What am I supposed to say to her?" said Hiccup. He fell down against the hillock. His spring-loaded foot sighed. He stared at his hands, crossed on his knees. "I want to marry her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. But I just ... I don't know how to tell her that." He made a face. "Not without hurling my guts all over her. She definitely won't want to marry me after that."

Toothless made a conciliatory noise.

Hiccup sighed. "I know. You're right. If she really wants to marry me, throwing up on her probably won't make her not want to." He elbowed Toothless. "You don't have any ideas, do you?"

Toothless paused, a small shark halfway down his throat. He blinked twice, that third lizard lid sliding over his pupils, then he swallowed. Toothless pulled his head back and hurked low in his throat, which rounded and squeezed. Lowering his head, he vomited half a shark onto Hiccup's boot. He blinked expectantly at Hiccup.

"What," said Hiccup, "what did I just say about throwing up? Thank you for that advice. That will definitely convince her to marry me."

Toothless snorted. Sarcasm rarely flew over his head. He snatched the slimy half-shark up, trailing guts and all. Hiccup held his breath and his stomach.

So, all right. If meticulously writing, then memorizing a prepared speech hadn't worked, he'd just have to improvise. How could that possibly go any more wrong than his first attempt?

Sarcasm rarely flew over his own head.

Nestled together in thick furs, Astrid bare and curled at his back, the sweet, hazy glow of her pleasure and his as warm a blanket as the furs around them, he thought: now.

The loft was quiet and dark, rich with shadows. Downstairs, the banked night fire popped. Her mother was gone, off on monthly patrol; no one remained to interrupt.

Astrid trailed a finger down his back, drawing the curve of his shoulder blade. Her touch was light, shy but steady. Now, he thought.

He turned in her arms. Astrid smiled at him. Her pale eyes lidded, and the pudgy tip of her nose wrinkled. He couldn't speak. He wanted to rest his head on her chest and wrap his arms about her and stay here with her forever, or until Toothless got bored and started gouging at the door or Bibi got to nattering for attention.

"You look like you're thinking," said Astrid. She stroked his brow, sweeping his bangs toward his ear. "I thought we fixed that."

"Astrid," he said. "I want."

The dark swallowed his voice. He thought she'd never hear it. But she tipped her head as if she had, and she waited.

"I want," he said, "to be with you."

He'd more bubbling up in his chest, but Astrid smiled, her eyes crinkling. He hadn't thought, hadn't let himself think, but he'd wanted, and now she cupped his jaw, her calloused palm rough on his skin, and he thought: She wants to be with me, too.

"Idiot," she said affectionately. "You just were."

Hiccup stared. His chest knotted. Then Astrid kissed him, slow and sweet, pulling at his lip. "But I could go for another round," she said into his mouth. She slipped her knee between his thighs.

"Wait," he said, "no, I meant–"

Astrid stilled. Her fingers on his chest fluttered, just so. The corner of her eye pinched.

"No!" he said quickly. "I don't mean I don't want to–of course I want to–"

"Then what is it?" she said. Her fingers were light on his chest, light and guarding. In the dark he saw wariness in the line of her shoulder, tension in her downward quirking lip.

"It's nothing," he said. He shifted, leaning forward to kiss her nose. "Really," he said.

He kissed her again, in that little tuck beside her nose. After a moment, Astrid rested her palm on his chest and tipped her face down to him. She was warm beneath the furs and he was warmed by her, and when they were done she held him close, warm against her breast.

Hiccup brought the hammer hard upon the fledgling sword, shaping it with sharp blows. Sparks spat in small showers. One flew high, catching his chin. He screwed his mouth up and struck the sword again.

"Things going well with Astrid, then?" said Gobber. He'd his leg up on a stool, a saddle that needed mending balanced upon it.

"Perfect," said Hiccup. "Never better."

"And that would be why you've maimed that poor, undeserving sword," said Gobber.

Hiccup tossed the twisted length of metal into the cooling water. "How am I supposed to convince her to marry me?"

Gobber paused, needle in hand. "Well," he said, "I believe it's traditional to start by asking the girl. Aren't you a bit young for marrying?"

Hiccup tapped the hammer against the anvil. "The median age for marriage in Berk is sixteen, and I've tried asking her, but I just can't say it right."

"Have you tried, dear Astrid, will you marry me?" Gobber tugged on the leather cord, pulling it tight through the loops.

"It's not enough. She's special, Gobber, that's why I want to marry her, but I don't know how to tell her that."

Toothless, leaning in through the great serving window, grumbled. His eyes lidded against the smells of metal, heated and cooling.

"You tried that fish thing?" said Gobber.

"I am not," Hiccup said, glaring first at Gobber, then at Toothless, "regurgitating fish for her."

Toothless shrugged. "Seems to work for him," said Gobber.

"Well, in case neither of you have noticed," Hiccup said, "Astrid isn't a dragon."

"I'm not a what?" said Astrid. She filled the doorway, a lean, sleek shadow.

"Astrid!" said Hiccup. He dropped the hammer. He scrabbled for it in the dirt. "Astrid, what are you doing, uh, here?"

"Ax." She hefted it, twirling it along her palm. "I need it sharpened. You can help me with that, can't you?" She shot him a look through her lashes.

Hiccup dropped the hammer again.

"Oh, would you look at that," said Gobber. "I'm plain out of. That thing I need." He heaved the saddle to one side and stood. "I'll leave the shop to you, Hiccup, while I go get more of it."

"Go get more of what," said Hiccup.

"You know," said Gobber. "It." He clapped Hiccup on the shoulder and stooped to whisper, "Remember to always sell it," then he pushed up and away.

"Sell what?" Hiccup shouted after him.

"You know!" said Gobber, through the doorway. "It!"

Then only Astrid remained, silhouetted near the door, ax in hand, and Toothless who peered over the sill, his ears upright. Hiccup gestured for Toothless to get down, but Toothless feigned peripheral blindness.

Astrid cupped her ax, resting it at her chest. "If you're busy," she said, and she made an abortive move toward the door.

"No," he said, "no, I'm not busy. You wanted it sharpened, right?"

She smiled and stepped closer. "Yeah. If you think you can handle that."

He puffed his chest up. "Who do you think you're talking to here? Sharpen an ax, please, that's child's play for a blacksmith of my caliber."

"Just sharpen it," she said.

He got the grindstone turning and flipped the ax about so the edge pressed into the stone. The wheel kicked at it, trying to push it off, but he leaned against it, holding it down.

Astrid walked the length of the shop, touching the assortments of blades and shields hanging from the walls. Now and then she looked over her shoulder at him and he looked down to the ax and the stone hissing beneath it. When he chanced a glance, she'd turned away.

"All done," he called. He stepped off the wheel. "There you go."

She caught the ax one-handed and slung it up to her shoulder, ever rakish. "Thanks," she said.

He shrugged. "It's my job."

She tightened and relaxed her grip on the ax's shaft. "Yeah," she said. "I guess it is."

She turned before he could puzzle through this. In the window, Toothless lifted his head, craning to follow her as she burst through the door and down the street past him, her chin lowered to her chest.

Toothless turned back to Hiccup and trilled a question.

"I don't know," said Hiccup.

"Sell it," Gobber had said.

Hiccup pushed his thumb against his lip. Sell it. How? He couldn't hawk marriage to Astrid like a new sword freshly forged. He dropped his head onto the table.

"Hey, Useless," said Snotlout.

"Hey, Snothead," said Hiccup.

Formalities thus covered, his cousin thumped down beside him. Fireworm, Snotlout's Monstrous Nightmare, hung from the rafters above, her eyes half-lidded in pleasure at the warmth of the great hall's fires. Toothless eyed her, then settled closer to Hiccup.

"I hear you and Astrid are having some problems in paradise," said Snotlout.

"What?" Hiccup lifted his head. "Who said that?"

Snotlout rested his hand on Hiccup's shoulder. "I just want you to know, if you guys break up, I'll be there for Astrid."

"We're not breaking up," said Hiccup. "We're perfectly fine. There are no problems to report. Why would you–"

Snotlout laughed and cuffed him around the ear. "I'm just joshing you," he said. "But seriously, I won't tell her no."

"That is an incredibly inappropriate thing for you to say to me, on so many levels," said Hiccup. Toothless huffed agreement.

Above, Fireworm twittered, her tongue flicking between her spindly teeth. She belched a thick puff of smoke.

"All right, all right," said Snotlout, raising his mug in acknowledgement. He turned to Hiccup. "What I wanted to say is, if you need any advice, I'm here for you, cos."

What did he even say to that?

"Thank you?" said Hiccup.

Snotlout nodded in satisfaction, and he drank deeply of his mead. Wiping his mouth, he stood. "Hey, pro-tip," he said, "flowers. Girls love 'em."

"Yes," said Hiccup, "that's very useful. Thank you, Snothead."

"You're welcome, Useless," said Snotlout.

He waited two days to try again; an early snowstorm helped him with that. Snow packed in tight inches along the paths, and as he climbed to the Hofferson's a dash of color in the snow caught his eye: a cluster of small red flowers, bright against the clean snow.

He hesitated, then he stooped to pick them. Hiccup wound the stems together as he followed the trail diverging from the common way. The Hofferson house, where Astrid and her mother lived, rose neat and narrow before him. A stylized Nadder's head decorated the roof to show which dragon Astrid rode: an ornamental replacement for the carved Zippleback heads that had once advertised the greatest kill of this house.

Well, he was as ready as he'd ever be. Hiccup squared his shoulders and knocked on the door.

No one answered.

He shifted from one foot to the other and tried again. Nothing. Hiccup twirled the tiny bouquet he'd picked. One flower drooped, splitting from the rest. He could wait, but that might be a little creepy, not that she hadn't waited for him plenty of times before and in much creepier circumstances. He twisted the flowers again, then he turned and nearly jumped: Astrid, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut walked the trail.

"Astrid!" he said. "Um, hi, Astrid."

"Hi, Hiccup," said Ruffnut. "Yeah, hey," said Tuffnut.

"And ... you guys," said Hiccup. Astrid had stopped between them. "Can I talk to you?" he said to her. "Alone?"

The twins turned to her.

"Sure," said Astrid. To the twins she said, "I'll catch up with you."

"Hurry it up," said Tuffnut, "we don't have all day."

"What, like you have anything planned?" Ruffnut sneered.

Both breezed past Hiccup, like mirror images parting, and together they stomped up to Astrid's door and through. As they'd passed him, Ruffnut threw him a shaded look, too sharp for a sneer, too cold for a glare.

Hiccup turned the flowers between his fingers. "So," he said, meaning to finish off with something clever.

Astrid crossed her arms over her chest. "Haven't seen you in a while," she said, very neutral.

He tucked the drooping flower in with its fellows. Sell it, Gobber had said, so he would. Think of it as a business transaction. Hiccup straightened. He'd a few inches more now, but so did she, and standing on a slight incline as she was, she stood above him.

"Astrid," he said. "I've been thinking about our future, together."

He held his hand out then, switching the flowers to his right. Astrid kept her hands to herself. His chest squeezed tight. Keep going, he thought. He drew his hand back to his chest. The metal cuff on his leg chilled through his trousers, his wool underclothes.

"And what I concluded was."

His tongue stuck. Hiccup looked away from her, to a divot in the snow beside her foot. He cleared his throat.

"It would be mutually beneficial to both parties, well, obviously, being mutually beneficial so of course it would involve both parties, for us to, uh, come to a more permanent arrangement–"

"If you want to break up, just say it," Astrid said.

He snapped his head up. Her voice was brittle, her look harsh and closed. She'd tightened her fingers on her arm in the shape of a fist. Long strands of her hair drifted before her eyes, but she made no move to sweep them aside.

"What?" he said. He took a step. "Astrid, no–"

"Fine," she said. "If you can't do it, I can. Let's break up. Bye." She dropped her arms and turned sharply on her heel.

Too long, it took him too long to work through the sudden twisting pain in his gut, the convulsive closing of his chest. She broke into a jog on the common way, running back down to the village proper, her braid bouncing off her shoulders. Break up, she wanted to break up, she wanted–

"Way to go, lover boy," said Tuffnut at his back.

"Yeah," said Ruffnut, biting. "Way to kick the girl while she's down."

"I never thought you were that cold-hearted," Tuffnut added.

"Ruffnut," Hiccup said. He clasped the flowers tightly in his fist. "Tuffnut. Believe me when I say this isn't personal. Shut up."

He threw that ragged bouquet to the snow and took off after Astrid. Snow gave beneath his prosthetic foot, the metal punching through with a success his boot couldn't replicate, and he adjusted his stride to account for it. If he could fly– But he'd told Toothless not to come, to take the day off.

Hiccup lowered his head and lengthened his stride.

He caught up with her somehow outside the baker's brother's, in the overgrown alley between his and the carver's house. She'd thrown her arm up against the wall and tucked her face in her elbow.

His breath stuck in his throat, then came rushing loose. "Astrid," he said.

She shoved off the wall and swung at him, nearly catching him across the eye. Her face was red and streaked with tears, and she snarled at him, anger already thick inside her.

"What do you want?" she snapped. "I already told you we're through–two years of my life, and I thought maybe–and you! Mung-headed, troll-dunk–so what do you want!" She swung again, punching his shoulder.

"I don't want to break up!" he shouted. "Astrid, I want to marry you!"

She punched him again, rocking him back against the carver's house. Then she paused.

"What?" she said. Her eyes shone, but so did her bared teeth.

"I want to marry you," he said. He rubbed his shoulder. "That's what I've been trying to say."

"You want to marry me?" she said. Then she hardened again. "Then why did you keep going on about being with me and not being with me, and it's just your job," she mimicked his voice, "and, and avoiding me! Like you had a secret. Like a coward," she said bitingly.

He saw it, then, how she'd seen it.

"I'm sorry," he said. He drew near to her. Astrid held her ground. "Astrid, I'm so sorry, I never meant–I don't want to break up with you." He took her hand, tense and fisted at her side. "Astrid," he said again. "Will you marry me?"

She exhaled, a long and ragged breath through her nose.

"Idiot," she said. "Idiot."

He smiled. His heart thrummed in his breast, and he held her fist against it. "I know," he said, "but you love me," and he felt giddy, light, heady with the truth of it.

"Shut up," she said, and she kissed him, and she kissed him again, and she said, yes, you jerk, I'll marry you, and he didn't throw up once.