A FFN friend said they liked sweetness and fluff. So do I. So, a continuation of the last chapter.
Snotlout's eyes open slowly.
The throbbing cuts in his arms and legs are being licked and soothed. A draconic head is pressed against the top of his own, rubbing softly. He's wrapped in a warm, scaly wing. In front of his face is a ridged Nightmare underbelly. And all around him is the thrum of a deep, steady purring.
Other senses filter in. Pattering on the outside of the wing, raindrops. Sharp sweet fresh smell of the earth after rain - petrichor, Fishlegs calls it - warm rise and fall of Nightmare breathing. All around him. Enfolding him. "Hookfang," he whispers. His voice is hoarse. He tries again.
"Silence." His dragon partner sounds bossy. He only sounds like that when he's upset or worried.
"You okay, Fangster?"
"Human half-kill self. Ask if Hookfang okay. Idiot." The tongue laving his wounds gentles further, every swipe easing the throbbing and bringing relief.
Snotlout should want to fight. Argue. Something. Instead, he shifts a little closer, so his cheek is pressed against the ridges of Hookfang's tummy. Giving in to an impulse, he flats his hand against one of the ridges. It's warm. So warm. He nuzzles the bit of underbelly and smiles, sighing. Pulsing against his hand and cheek, he can feel the slow, powerful ba-dump of a draconic heart beating.
More grumbling from above him. "Now Hookfang not-can reach cuts. Human always be-difficult." The long neck undulates above him, Hookfang's head shifting position. A moment later, the long prehensile tongue slips under his tunic and starts to soothe his sore back. Snotlout feels his muscles turn to water with relief and he melts into his partner's embrace, limp against his tummy. He wants to say thank you. He wants to say something. To tell Hookfang he isn't weak. To tell himself. But this is such bliss… He gives in and lets himself be taken care of. The Nightmare grumbling above him is the perfect counterpoint. "Dumb-as-bag-of-rocks human. Hurt by sire, so hurt self more. What next? Meet Ryker, disembowel self?"
Snotlout giggles. The wing gathers him in a little closer, the purring rises in volume just a fraction. "Not-need dragon-hunters anymore. Have Snotlout do-job FOR them. Hookfang see many idiots hurt self in Hookfang-life, but Snotlout win Grand Prize of Idiots Who Hurt Self…"
Snotlout's eyelids slip closed. He drifts, a great big goofy grin on his face.
"...and if Hookfang ever see such crazy idiot thing again, burn Snotlout crisp, since Snotlout want so much hurt self, then give remains to Hunters to send to Valhalla and…"
The complaining continues.