XI.

Astrid fell asleep with her fingers still tangled in his hair, but he's awake. He can't sleep. When he closes his eyes, he sees fire and blackened flesh. He can smell it in his nostrils, hear the shrill screams even though they're miles and hours away. The only thing that chases away the sounds of agony and despair is the steady thump of her heartbeat against his ear, so he can't tear his head away from her breast.

Hiccup feels like his insides have been scraped raw. His throat burns, his eyes sting. His thumb slides back and forth over the ripple of her ribs, feeling the faint ridges beneath the skin. It's embarrassing, how he's curled around her body like a child clinging to his mother, but she didn't say anything about it. Just like the night before. Didn't call him weak or a coward– in fact, she was the one that pulled him to her, even after he took her like an animal. Like a monster.

Calamity rages inside him. He knows why he did it, but not why she let him. She… she's Berk. She's their violence, their condemnation, their hate. He wanted to break it– break her– for what they've done. Take their proud maiden and invade her, abuse her, fill her with his essence so she's forever tainted by him.

He expected her to fight. To claw at him and struggle, like she did that first night. He thought she'd turn on him, hit him, scream and give him the beating of his life. What he wanted… deserved?

But she moaned. She became submissive and slick around his cock. Then when he was done with her, she turned around and tucked his face into her neck. Comforted him while bruises were still blossoming in the shape of his fingerprints. He doesn't understand her. Less now than he did when she first came. Why does she get softer as he gets sharper?

His eyelids feel so heavy. His chest feels so sore. He sighs, lifting a hand to cover his face from the morning light.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum…

Did you touch her? You sick motherfucker!

I swear on the gods, I'll tear out the heart of every dragon that touches this island! And then I'll take yours.

He smells burnt hair. His stomach turns. Dragging himself to his hands and knees, he forces his tired body to move. The arm wrapped around him falls aside.

Hiccup buries his nose just below her ear, inhaling the scent of Astrid's hair and sweat. He drops his lips there, kissing a steady line from her pulse point down to her clavicle. She stirs and sighs but doesn't wake, only shifting to stretch her hands above her.

This is the only thing that he understands. The only thing that makes sense. He'll never know what she's thinking, but he knows how to please her. Slowly making his way between her breasts and down her chest, he nudges her knee aside with his so he can crawl the length of her body. His hands follow the narrowing of her waist, the swell of her hips. He kneels at the edge of the bed and leans down until his shoulders are brushing the insides of her thighs. Underneath the beams of sunlight, the soft hair at her center gleams like gold.

She wakes with the first brush of his mouth on her sex. A sudden inhale. Her back arches off the furs, more startled than anything, and she whimpers with bleary confusion. Trying to retreat, she wiggles against the hands on her, and when that fails, she reaches down to cover herself.

"What are you doing?" she mumbles, sleep still thick in her voice.

Hiccup doesn't answer, just growls low and licks at her clamping hand, the tightly-pressed fingers hiding her curls. He doesn't want to talk or explain what he's doing or where he learned it. Definitely not why, because he's not sure himself. He traces the tip of his tongue between her knuckles, sucks on the edge of her thumb. He just wants her to open to him, to taste her on his breath instead of ash and liquor.

After a moment of apprehensive resistance, her hand relaxes. Astrid watches as he uses his lips and teeth to move the obstacle she's placed in his way. Then when he parts her slit with his tongue, she gasps and slowly lifts herself up on her elbows to observe.

She's still a little wet from their last tryst, and there's a strange saltiness mixed with her juices that he thinks might be traces of his own release. Somehow that only drives him to bury his face deeper, to test searching kisses along even the creases of her groin, the cleft of her ass. Only after he's tried every inch of her skin does he gently open her with one thumb and hover over the nub at the peak of her pink and heated flesh.

Her hips rise against his mouth when he runs the flat of his tongue along that point of pleasure. He glances up to see her jaw fall open, her chest rising and collapsing. Pleased, he carefully sucks at the bead– first softly, then firmly enough to pull it between his lips and roll it teasingly. Her exhales are tinted by almost whimpers.

Her thighs part a little wider. He rewards the signal of trust by kissing lower, then offering just the tip of his tongue. Immediately, she twitches, a little more vocal in her quiet cry. Busying his forefinger by drawing circles around her clit, Hiccup presses into her. He delves in and out, tasting the combination of their lusts.

Her panting steadily grows heavier. A shaking hand pushes his bangs out of his eyes. Looking up, he sees that her teeth have captured her lower lip, and she's watching him with an expression of desire and perplexity. As if she's baffled by his behavior, stunned by how much she's enjoying this despite her embarrassment. Her mother wouldn't have explained to her virgin daughter about this kind of sex.

He just wants her to need him. To know he's not that useless boy anymore. Hiccup buries his tongue as deep as he can, mimicking the rhythmic motions of sex with his mouth. She's hot and wet and responsive, her legs beginning to tremble on either side of him. As he thrusts into her warmth, he massages that bead of nerves that makes her dissolve. Then he pulls away– brings his lips back to that peak while his finger finds her slick entrance.

Astrid moans hoarsely. Her hands ball in the furs beneath them, and her hips twist and writhe in his grasp. "Hiccup!"

He can tell she's not sure whether or not she should like this. Part of her wants to trust him and come unraveled at the erotic sight of his head between her thighs. The other half of her is uneasy, leaning on tradition and propriety. He encourages her with his mouth, silently pleading with her to give in.

And she does. There comes a moment when he crooks his finger inside of her, stroking sensitive inner walls, and her entire body spasms. She gasps his name, knots her fingers in his hair and holds him in place. Her hips grind against him, and though it makes it difficult to keep a steady rhythm of sucking on her clit, he happily follows the desperate rolling.

"Yes. Please." Her pitch skips an octave. He steals a glance to watch her head fall back, lips parted in ecstasy. "Oh gods, Hiccup. Don't stop."

He won't. This is the only thing that holds him together, her sweet abandon. The only thing that tells him he's needed, he's wanted, he's doing everything right. He can't give that up. He craves it as much as his own release.

She's dripping onto his hand, and he presses another finger inside her. Her strangled groan clatters off the stone walls, echoing around him. She murmurs almost incoherently, a combination of his name and swears and clumsy whimpers. He presses his free hand into her lower stomach to try and still some of her impassioned squirming.

She comes like the crack of a whip. Her knees press close to her chest, the tangle of her fingers holding his head in place. The muscles inside her heat and beneath his palm flutter spasmodically. Astrid arches and pants and clenches her jaw against the breathlessness of rapture.

Her whole body trembles when it passes, from her chattering teeth to her quaking thighs. Once the knot on his hair loosens, he lifts his face, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and observes her dazed expression with satisfaction. He's half hard with his own arousal, but it doesn't even occur to him to try and take her. Instead, he crawls back up to her side and kisses her cheekbones.

Maybe now, he can finally sleep.

Gus sighs. "Your wife's asleep, 'Rendous."

Hiccup pauses mid-swing to glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, Astrid has her head on the work table, cushioned by her arms. She's surrounded by sharp blades and steel, but of course none of that bothers her one bit. She's lived on Berk. A few stray daggers are nothing to a woman like her.

"So she is." He turns back to the piece of red-hot metal he's trying to work into shape, bringing his hammer down with a grunt.

Still staring at Astrid as he polishes a broadsword, Gus makes a face of displeasure. "She's gonna cut herself on something. Knock something over."

Hiccup shakes his head, ignoring the way sweat trickles down his back and makes his newest tattoo itch. "She's pretty capable with weapons, Gus. Or have you forgotten?" The blacksmith makes a rude gesture with his fingers, and the side of Hiccup's mouth twitches upwards for just a second. "Leave her alone. She didn't sleep much last night."

He only really meant that he kept her up late waiting for him, forced her to comfort him for hours, and then roused her again when she'd just drifted off. But his partner, of course, has other things on his mind.

Gus breaks into a broad grin, reaching his leg over to give the work bench a small kick. "Horrendous! Keeping your wife satisfied! Good man!"

Hiccup scoffs, grunting a little as he pounds at the cookware in his tongs. "Shut up."

"Are you denying it?" His expression is lascivious.

He shoots him a flat glance. "No." He can almost still taste her on his tongue. Maybe there is just a little male pride that simmers at the thought of her exhaustion. But it's mostly guilt.

Gus cackles, looking down at the sword in his hands. "The way she talks back, I bet she's a dragoness between the skins."

His hammer clangs loudly. Hiccup feels the reverberation of metal on metal shiver up his arm. Images and sensations batter at him– her nails in his shoulders, her hissed prayers, the bite marks she leaves on his neck and arms. Claws and fangs, this one. Dragoness is apt.

"Must you speculate about my wife?" he grumbles, feeling his swinging arm come down with a little surplus strength. "How's your sister, by the way, haven't seen her in a while."

Gus' mouth snaps shut with the audible clicking of teeth. When he doesn't reply, Hiccup knows he's played the right card. For a few minutes, they sit in silence, letting the iron speak between them.

Swallowing, Hiccup sets down his tools and takes a breath, wiping sweat from his brow. He turns and places his hands on his hips, glancing out the window. "You should start doing most of the hot work," he sniffs. His tongue searches the inside of his cheek. "I don't know how much longer I'm gonna be around."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gus raise his brows. "You're leavin' the island?"

"I'm thinkin' about it." Shifting his gaze to Astrid for a brief moment, he shakes his head and tries to reach for the healing tattoo beneath his shoulder blade. His arm won't contort enough. He's limited to tugging at his shirt and hoping it brushes against the burning itch. "Not sure yet."

The other man scoffs lightly. "Odin knows we still need you."

Something in his chest constricts. It's not a good feeling. Hiccup stretches and flexes his fingers, works out the kinks and cramps. When he closes his eyes, he sees glares full of hate. Black night and a matted fur mantle. His breath scrapes into sore lungs, each heartbeat echoing with a jagged stab.

A soft yawn interrupts the images behind his eyelids, and he looks up to see Astrid sitting up. She buries the heels of her palms above her cheekbones and sighs. Then she blinks until her searching gaze falls on him. There's a bright pink mark on her face where it was pressed into her forearm.

"How long was I asleep?" she murmurs, pushing her bangs back.

Hiccup turns back to his work bench, lifting his hammer and tongs with sore hands. "Not long. About an hour."

"Oh." Moaning a little with her stretch, she slides off the work stool and sighs. "I'm gonna go walk off the nap."

"If you go by Fiske's, get me a drink."

"Get your own, you alcoholic."

Despite himself, he smiles.

She can't sleep and he knows it. No matter how much they ignore each other, he hears her tossing and turning and knows that something's plaguing her. Something's keeping her from drifting off, even though he knows exhaustion thickens her voice and weighs down her eyes. Her body drooped and her steps were sluggish. She crawled onto her furs without a goodnight, only reaching out an arm to scratch a younger dragon that sidestepped near.

He knows because sleep eludes him too. Still. He taps his bottom teeth against the rim of his flask. Stares into the fire and watches the logs dissolve. Toothless is awake with him, his head propped on his forepaws.

There's a tension he doesn't know how to disperse. A thickness hanging in the air that fills their lungs and mouths so they can't speak. It's too quiet, without even an argument between them. Almost like the first few weeks all over again.

Her blankets rustle again. She rolls so that she's facing him– he can tell without even looking.

"Hiccup, I need to know." Her whisper is unsteady, almost shaking. "Who is that scale for? Who was killed?" When he doesn't answer or turn to acknowledge the question, she presses. "Was it my dad? One of my uncles?"

His jaw twitches as he clenches it, swallowing hard and staring ahead. He will not cry. Not for one of them. Not because of her.

Astrid sits up, leaning on one hand. "Was it your dad?"

While the grief buffets against him like waves on a rock, he taps his foot. Lowers the flask and lowers his gaze to the floor. "Snotlout," he says, because she's not a woman who can put down her curiosity and she'll find out one way or another.

A sound sticks in her throat. From his peripheral, she watches with wide eyes and an open mouth. Her breathing changes, quickening. Then she manages, "How?"

Hiccup squeezes his eyes shut. Sees the shadow come over his cousin's face when he cuts between him and the Monstrous Nightmare.

"I've been waiting for you, Dragon Master." He'd said it with a sneer, changing his grip on his hammer. "Where is she? The girl you took?"

He'd been distracted, trying to calm the dragon that hissed and snapped at the Viking. He'd been trying to grab his attention with Inferno, waving it in a slow dance in front of his fanged jaws.

"I asked you a question, you bastard! What did you do with Astrid?!"

Hiccup clenches his fists, remembering how his grip had tightened on the handle of his sword. The dragon was slowly calming, his pupils flickering uncertainly. Snotlout had begun to shout again, and though he'd never lost his temper and used his voice on Berk before, he snapped.

Without even turning to look at him, he snarled, "You've got no business worrying about my wife."

"Did you touch her? You sick motherfucker!"

He must have raised his hammer to strike. Hiccup never saw. He just watched the Nightmare's expression suddenly shift, noticed the way his eyes narrowed. The dragon shrieked, and Hiccup took a nervous step back. He'd thought he was about to be incinerated, but then the Nightmare belched a stream of fire straight past him.

He didn't even realize it was aimed for Snotlout until he heard his cousin's pained shrieking.

Hiccup tries to block it out now, exhales sharply and moves as if to rub his shoulder into his ear. Astrid's still waiting– he can feel the weight of her gaze on him. Choking down the stone in his throat, he looks up at the ceiling.

"He was trying to get into it with me. The Monstrous Nightmare he'd been fighting…" There's no good way to say it. Burned him. Razed him. Scorched him.

There's a little bit of a rasp to her heavy breathing. She looks away, beyond him, nodding. Her mouth snaps shut, and for a second, he thinks she might take the news better than he'd expected. "He… He always goes after the damned Nightmares." Her words don't ease his guilt, but they make him hope that she won't blame him.

But then her hand flies to her mouth, and she gags.

"I'm gonna be sick," she whispers, scrambling to her feet. He watches her half run to the entrance, bare feet leaving soft steps behind. She's only in her leggings and bindings, so the light from the fire reaches flashes of her bare skin. He never hears her vomit, but she keeps her hands pressed over her mouth as she paces.

After a second, she crouches low, collapsing in on herself. Then against the barrier of her palms, she unleashes a devastated and horrified scream.

"No, Hiccup, no!" She squirms against the grip on her elbow, attempting to dig her heels in and yank her arm back. "I don't want to do this!"

"You have to," he insists, even though it feels wrong pulling her against her will. She doesn't like going too far into the tunnels without a weapon, and he wouldn't let her bring her knife. The dragons that linger closer to the heat of the volcano are bigger, more intimidating. But they're just as docile as the friendly species that stay close to the entrance. "Don't make so much noise– you're going to startle them."

"And, what? They'll kill me too?" The expression she's giving him isn't loathing or as sharp as her words. If anything, her wet eyes only plead with him not to force her any further. He only sees fear shadowing her blue irises.

He stops tugging, and she stops resisting, but she keeps weakly trying to jerk her elbow back. For a second, he just tries to find the right words to calm her, to assure her that she's safe with him. But nothing sounds quite right. He knows that Snotlout's death is still branded too clearly in her mind, the sting of the news still fresh. She has no reason to trust him, if he couldn't even protect his own cousin. But he wants her to.

"They're babies. They just want to play." It sounds pathetic even to him, but it's the truest thing he can think of. After a moment, he forces himself to look away. Then he pulls her again. She trips over her feet, reluctantly following behind.

The Nightmare hatchlings squawk excitedly when they see him approaching. Their mother lifts her head, exhaling a puff of smoke in hello. Hiccup releases Astrid's hand, stepping to the edge of the nest, and little dragons crowd his knees with squeaks for attention.

"Hey there! How's it going?" He smiles and kneels down so that he can pet the babies as they crawl over each other in an attempt to win the most scratches. "I brought an extra pair of hands– who wants belly rubs?"

Immediately, half of them flop onto their back and chirp. Chuckling, he gives their soft, pale tummies a few strokes. Then he looks over his shoulder, where Astrid is watching with frustration and folded arms. "C'mon. Come protect me from these vicious monsters." As he speaks, one starts licking the hand that has stopped petting.

Shaking her head, she approaches and drops to the balls of her feet. She's angry with him, he can tell, and a little broken hearted too. But she reaches out to spoil the hatchlings anyways. They quickly ignore him and run to her slender fingers.

He gives them a minute, resting his chin on his arms and watching them crawl into her lap. They chew on each other's ears in an attempt to get closest to her. One drapes himself over her shoulder, while another tries peeking under her skirt. That makes the corner of her mouth twitch, but other than that, she holds onto her aching bitterness.

He stretches a hand over to tickle one of the Nightmares with one finger. It gnaws its gums around the digit and gurgles in protest. "Could you kill one?" he asks, almost scared of her answer.

It comes without hesitation. "You know I couldn't."

His heart warms just a little. That's a lie– the relief feels even better than it should. Nodding, he points upwards. Towards the grown Monstrous Nightmare looking over her babies. "What about her?"

Astrid takes more than a few seconds to look up. Then her dark-ringed eyes rise to the dragon in question. There's distress and distrust in her features. "It's not fair," she mumbles. "It's so unfair."

His own chest starts to ache, his heart hammering hollowly in his ribcage. "It's not," he agrees, nodding. He reaches over the hatchlings to give their mother some affection of her own.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asks, voice a little thready. One of the hatchlings senses her sorrow and nuzzles into her neck. She tilts her head to brush her cheek between its budding horns.

Hiccup crawls closer, steals Astrid's hand from where it's been scratching a Nightmare's chin. He pulls it to his back, as far as he can reach. "Can you feel it? Snot's scale?"

Her fingers search for a moment, and then find the still-healing tattoo. Just her light touch on his scabbed skin feels extraordinary, but it's not the time for selfish whims. He holds onto her forearm, keeping her there.

"Yeah," she nods. Wetting her lips, she wonders, "Did it hurt?"

"They all hurt," he wryly replies. Then he pulls gently, brings her hand around to his chest so she's brushing a particular spot on his ribs. If someone stabbed him straight through this scale, it would go right through Snot's. "This was her mate's."

It takes her a second. She outlines the black hexagon, confusion darkening her brow, but then she realizes. Lifting her head, she looks back at the Monstrous Nightmare with new eyes.

Hiccup presses her palm into his torso. "I couldn't live with all that hate anymore, Astrid. Vikings killing dragons, dragons killing Vikings… I had to get out. I chose not to choose."

She's still staring into the mother dragon's yellow eyes. The hatchlings chirp and beg for her attention. She tugs her hand away from his ribs, but then she settles it on the side of his neck. Turns her face to press her forehead to his jaw. "I can't forgive as quickly as you do."

He reaches an arm around her shoulders. "It's not exactly an overnight thing."

The deep breath she sighs against him tickles just a little. She tilts her head and places a kiss on his throat. Nothing heated, nothing needy. Just a soft little kiss. He tightens his hold on her.

There's no telling what's going on in Berk. A lot of grief, probably. A lot of rage. The heir to throne has been killed, and Hiccup's not sure who's next in line. He imagines there's a lot of anguish going around. But in these blazingly hot tunnels, a little hope is blooming.

He gently retreats, pulling back and pushing to his feet. Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he asks the Monstrous Nightmare in clumsy dragonese to come closer. She rises to her full height, making Astrid nervously stand and hover at his shoulder. Her claws make skittering, clinking scratches against the stone floor.

"Gimme your hand," he murmurs, extending his own.

Without hesitating, she places her fingers in his palm. "What, you want me to shake hands with her?"

"Nope." He stretches out her arm and holds her hand open. "I want you to fly with her."