First off, thank you to Out of my Grasp for the cover art to both this and Chasing Thunderstorms. Sorry it took me so long to get up there!
The feedback for the last chapter was utterly fantastic, and thank you! I hope that everyone is happy to see these two back together again!
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"I don't want secrets either."
Some deep corner of his mind is off in Candyland, still imagining what she looks like naked. Naked and on top of him. She's impossibly skinnier than she was three weeks ago, all those extra Worlds miles taking away whatever reserves she had. She's harder, but still unbelievably nice, and he wouldn't exactly mind exploring the difference. He drags his eyes up from where they'd fallen and sheepishly looks at her face as she glares over her shoulder at him.
"So…" He starts, blinking too hard and willing his pants to deflate as he focuses on everything but the way her butt feels, firm but soft, pressed up against him.
She sits up, hugging her knees to her chest and staring him down. He pulls his tee shirt down, trying to hide the bulge in his pants, and slides back up, sitting cross-legged and nervous.
"What do you want to know?"
"You kind of—I mean, you can't expect me not to be at least a little bit curious—well, not curious, that sounds wrong—"
"I just said I don't want to dwell on it," she snaps, flattered and hot under his focused gaze at the same time as she's disgustingly nauseated at what's probably coming next. How much does she really have to tell him? How far does she have to go?
"I—I don't want to dwell on it either…but I—I want to stick around and help…but I have to know what I'm helping with," her fingers inch stubbornly to the bottom hem of her tank top and he stills her with a steely look. "And…I mean…I'll start." He starts resolutely, sitting up straight and rubbing his hands together slowly. "I…my first kiss was you," she smiles in spite of herself, blushing more than she should for something like a kiss. "And my first, well, everything else was you. And with any luck at all, my first time will be you." Astrid chews on her lip, because it's all really sweet until she realizes how…rough she sounds compared to him.
It's like the difference between a new book and the last edition with those crusty pages that don't bear thinking about.
"But you aren't going to like…" her left over ire rushes to her face. "What if you leave?"
"Right, because I have so many Scottish hideouts," He says quietly and she shrugs, crossing her arms and staring at the bedspread.
"You might leave," she honestly worries and he sighs, pulling his shirt over his head and handing it to her, flushed like a tomato. She takes it, looking at him strangely.
"Ransom," he explains with a shrug and she narrows her eyes, pushing to her seat. He sits up in front of the pillow, immediately missing her warmth pressed up against him.
"You have a whole bag of shirts," she gestures, and he shrugs.
"Maybe you'll talk more if I'm shirtless too," he hedges awkwardly and she looks down. He looks utterly…Hiccup, and it's comforting.
"Come on, you've seen me in…less than this. This isn't shirtless," he glances down as she points and he blushes.
"When I saw you in less than that, we weren't about to talk about…this," he tells her and she looks down pensively before pulling his shirt over her head and hugging her midriff.
"We are about to talk about this, aren't we?" She asks, oddly calm as she scoots to the edge of the bed, against the wall, and leans back. Her knees fit easily under the edge of Hiccup's oversized shirt and she hugs them close, resting her forehead against them.
"I hope so," he admits, staring at her red, white, and blue polished toenails and wondering who painted them.
"I've never talked about this," she wrings her hands together, breathing hard into his shirt.
"Talking about my leg…" he pats his knee and she looks over at him, chewing on her lip. "Anyway, talking about it helped me…and I didn't even make you cross an ocean to get it out of me," he jokes and she frowns, sighing deeply.
"Where do you want me to start, then?" Her voice is too quiet and he shifts closer, uncomfortably naked. He reaches to wrap the throw blanket around himself, when she cuts him off. "No, don't. It…you're so skinny that I know you're not…him." She loves the contrast, the utter pool of attraction in the place of her normal worry. She frowns when he hides, crossing his arms and looking at her with worried eyes. "I'm not going to cry again. I'm about done crying for the century."
"I guess, start wherever you want to."
"The end?" She jokes, laughing humorlessly. "I guess…well, I know I've told you some of this, but erm…So. My mom finally left when I was ten. I could've gone with her but I…I thought she wasn't being fair. My dad…when I was a kid and he wasn't drunk, he was the best guy in the world." She pauses, fiddling with a loose thread on the edge of the comforter. "I'm glad you came."
"Me too," he admits and she smiles at the bed, remarkably distant for how close she is.
"Anyway, I didn't go. I didn't understand what was happening, or why she hated him, and well…I was me even then. She tried to put me in the car, but I ran, and well…he got mad and she had to give up." Astrid muses quietly. "God, he was so proud of me after that, we went and got pizza and ice cream and he told me how it was just the two of us now, and made it sound like some fun party. I remember being happy when he didn't get any beer." She starts to rock slowly, not even really feeling the motion, just its comforting sway, and Hiccup almost wishes he hadn't asked to know. "Anyway, things were fine for a couple of years. Then when I was twelve, we got the call that my mom had died.
"That's when things went downhill. I look like her, you know?" She draws a line with her finger that passes right beneath her nose. "From here up is all her. I've got my dad's chin though, and his temper. That gets me into trouble." She smiles cautiously at Hiccup. "But I don't have to tell you that."
"The temper, I'm familiar with."
"Yeah…" her grin melts and she thumbs at the hem of his well-loved tee-shirt. "H-he started drinking again, and calling me…Amelia, my mom's name. We had to stop acting normal after a huge fight my eighth grade year. I ran out of the house with my first shiner and the neighbors all started threatening to call the cops. I-I didn't want that even then. I was embarrassed and pretending to be mature.
"When I went to high school, I quit soccer and started running," she smiles lightly, and Hiccup bites his lip, staying quiet. "And that's how I met Scott, he was the great storied pee-wee football hero, and already on the high school team." The sarcasm in her voice makes him smile quietly as he buckles in for the meat of this…story. "And it was great, having somewhere that wasn't home to be. I swear, I spent that whole summer running and hanging out with Scott's bowflex, trying to flirt.
"And then school started, and I started winning and well…I got punished less when I won, and I only had problems at home when I lost…It was some kind of motivation." She looks up at him through damp eyelashes. "Are you sure that you want to hear the next part?"
"I feel like—I want to help you. So I kind of have to board the Titanic." He jokes and she punches his shoulder, aghast. He grabs her hand and holds it in his and she smiles gratefully.
"Thanks," she snips half honest, and he tries to wave her forward with silence.
"Continue," he urges, riding on his need to catalogue his variables.
Scientifically, without killing anyone.
"Stop me if it's weird," she resumes the rhythmic rocking with his hand still wrapped around hers. Hiccup has no doubt that it will be weird. "And keep in mind that I love you and never loved Scott." She pauses to let that sink in and Hiccup smiles, the expression barely perceptible. That is absolutely wonderful to hear, no matter the horrible, awful situation. "Scott finally asked me out, and that was…well, we were fourteen. We held hands and it was two weeks before we even kissed. But you know…things progressed and a few weeks after homecoming we did it." She stops briefly and looks up at him, hands shaking at what she knows comes next. "I guess it's good, in a way, that came first, but the next week, my dad found a condom in my room.
"I guess that flipped a switch, or something, in his mind and suddenly I was an adult, but…" She said she wouldn't cry, but the drops spill slowly down her cheeks as her face stays stoic. "That was the first time, and he…he told me I was perfect," she spits the word, rocking slightly faster. Hiccup takes the cue, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leans into him, staring at his mismatched feet. "I hate that word. Perfect. He says—said I'm just like my mom, but I'm not. I'm way too much like him," her voice approaches hysterical, "I'm brutal, and I hurt you for no reason and—"
"Hey. It's ok, shh," Hiccup senses the end of this exercise's productivity and hefts her slight frame onto his lap, wrapping himself dutifully around her, rocking slowly and murmuring low in his throat like he did for so many scared dogs.
"And I'm mean, and I couldn't just love you like a normal—" she blubbers, wiping her face frantically on the sleeve of his borrowed tee-shirt. This is ridiculous. She can't remember the last time she felt more internally composed than she looked.
"You're nothing like him, ok?" He comforts and she hits his arm with a shaky fist.
"That's just it. I am l-like him. I'm headstrong and stubborn and—"
"And those are good things, Astrid. Even the worst people have ok attributes," he insists, hugging her as she tries valiantly to vacuum all evidence of tears back into her face.
"C-can we get over this now?" She nearly begs, her tone almost menacing if it weren't for its general drippiness. "Or do you need to know anything else?"
"Is there anything else?" He asks, while the door is propped open.
"I'm pretty sure he pissed himself when I brought Spike home," Astrid snorts wetly and Hiccup rubs her back with smooth strokes as her tears finally dry.
"Small justices," he really, really wishes murder weren't illegal.
"I hated that," she mumbles, rolling sluggishly off of his warm lap and sitting beside him, crossing her arms then forcing herself to let them hang limp by her sides. "Even more than the first part."
There's nothing to hide now. She thinks back on the last couple of weeks, and can't help but be absolutely relieved about all the secrets she doesn't have to keep anymore. The attic stairs extended into the house at large, airing out.
Ruff is going to be proud at least. Maybe not of the tears, but…oh. Ruff.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Hiccup asks, undeniably alarmed as his hands cradle her closer. "You just went all stiff." His forehead presses against the top of her head and she chews on her lip, sheepish.
"There's one more thing…"
"Really?" He freezes beneath her and she sits up, looking carefully at his face.
"Not like that…I mean, just while we're talking about everything…" She tries to edge sideways into the confession that seems out of place in the same room as the first.
"This isn't making me feel better."
"I sort of…made out with Ruff the other night." She blurts, and his eyebrows shoot upwards.
"What?"
"I was…it was last week, after we had that fight, and I—I sort of started trying to convince myself that I liked girls so I wouldn't have to tell you all of this, and I made out with Ruff." Hiccup is an absolutely unhealthy shade of red as his hands freeze against her skin.
"You thought about liking girls? And then you kissed Ruff?" He asks, furrowing his eyebrows and staring at her red face, a little too intently.
"Technically, she kissed me," Astrid shrugs, ignoring the downright uncomfortable heat rising in her cheeks. "And before you say it, I swear I didn't cheat on you, it was just absolutely weird and—"
"I—I'm thinking a lot of things right now, but not that you cheated on me," he shifts underneath her and she notices just how much tighter his pants are. She stiffens and pushes her hair behind her ear, suddenly shy.
"So…" she starts, "you aren't mad then."
"You guys didn't—" she laughs embarrassed as he stiffens further, prodding her in the back of the thigh. "You just kissed, right?"
"Yeah, and I decided I'm definitely super straight," Astrid shifts, trying to get comfortable and failing. "I should probably just get off of your lap."
"It's alright, you can stay—"
"I'm honestly sort of scared to bend it again," she admits, sliding onto the bed next to him, resting a demure hand on his knee as his arm stays around her shoulders. Her eyes flit to the bulge in his jeans and she blushes, chewing on her lip and staring pointedly at the wall
"I'm sorry," he mutters after a moment and she rests her head against his shoulder, suppressing the unnaturally strong urge to look down.
"Don't be," she laughs. "I don't get it, but I'm not mad."
"What do you mean you don't get it?"
"Why is it so thrilling that Ruff and I made out?" Astrid asks.
"Did you just like kiss or did you two legitimately make out? Like tongues in full on make out? Or—" Hiccup blushes more deeply before clamming up.
"Should I give you a minute?" She suggests and he glares at her, and he's skinny and shirtless and alluring. She bites her lip and scoots closer, thumbing his pant-seam on the outside of his thigh, fixating on the too hot point of contact between her lips and his bare skin.
She wonders if she should tell him about the shower, but she's still not sure how exactly how she wants him to react.
"I'm fine," he defends, his thumb stroking across her shoulder in a measured arc.
"I'm flattered," she admits. "And I'm sure Ruff would be flattered too."
"Don't even think about telling her!" Hiccup covers his face with an embarrassed hand and Astrid reaches up, prying his wrist away from his face and looking at him squarely. "Seriously, she'll never let me live it down. She'll be kissing you all the time just to embarrass me—and don't say that she won't, because she will."
"Oh, I don't doubt that," she laughs. "But she already thinks about your ass enough, I don't want to give her any more information."
"Er, she does?"
"Yeah, but your ass is mine, alright?" Astrid nods resolutely and Hiccup grins.
"Isn't my…yeah, sort of definitionally mine?"
"Nonsense," she grins, leaning harder into him and sighing too loudly. It takes a moment but her arm reaches across him, wrapping around him and pressing her face harder against his chest. "This…That was exhausting."
"You look happier now," he comments, and she sits up, punching him listlessly in the shoulder and grinning at him.
"I'm…alright," she says, climbing off of the bed and unclasping her belt before hesitating. Hiccup's eyes widen as he leans back onto his hands, gaze following her belt as it falls to the floor with a thunk.
"So…no belt. What's up?"
"Can you do something for me?" She asks with a quiet gulp, cocking her head and looking at him too intently.
"Of course."
"I—what freaked me out originally, on Valentine's day—it was when you moved my clothes. It was—that was the first time I didn't have control here and well…" She sputters slowly, stepping forward towards him and standing oh so unbelievably close. "So can you take off my pants?"
"Can I take off your pants?" He repeats the question and she nods, flushing and obviously nervous. "Alright," he hesitates before gently reaching out and shifting the long hemline of his tee-shirt out of the way and sliding his hands to the button of her jeans. It's far harder than it should be to undo someone else's pants and he fumbles, hands shaking as they glance against her taut lower stomach. She rests a shockingly solid, warm hand on his shoulder and sighs, chewing on her lip and breathing evenly.
The button springs loose and he pulls down the zipper before cautiously reaching around her hips and pushing the pants towards the floor. They get hung up on her butt and he bites his lip, staring past her waist at the wall and breathing too hard as he tugs them past the obstruction. They fall to the ground with a too loud rush of air and he rests his head against her side briefly before sitting back up straight. She grins and steps out of them, looking cautiously at his hands still resting on her bare thighs. He follows her gaze and pulls back with a polite flush, and she feels like her heart could explode.
"Thanks," she nods, stepping out of the pants and watching him take her in. His too big for her tee-shirt keeps it from being too exciting, and his reeling brain holds him back as he looks at her questioningly.
Not that he necessarily has a problem with pants-less Astrid, it's just a surprise.
A nice surprise.
Especially now that he knows what he's dealing with, the problem looks far closer to a solution than it has before. Straight down the middle, he's going to ensure that no one is in control, that they actually cooperate.
She's looking at him the way she usually reserves for post-race food, and it hits him that this might happen tonight, and that's true terror rushing through his mind.
"Why exactly did I take off your pants?" He asks after a too silent moment and she shrugs, face utterly crimson.
"What? You look like you could use a hug," she comments, definitely happier but beyond emotionally exhausted as she tugs at the bottom hemline of his jeans, taking a moment to straighten the still slightly rucked up end of his left pant-leg. His shortened leg curls away from her, tentative and untouched.
"A pants-less hug?"
"Yes," she shrugs, crossing her arms and cocking her hip. His too long shirt rises just enough to show the edge of her underwear and he gulps in spite of himself. "Is there a reason you're flinching?"
"No," he winces, tugging his leg away from her inquisitive hands. It's different when she's worried about the cold, or medically tending to him. This feels personal, private.
He remembers in the hospital when she felt like the opposite privacy.
"Oh come on, how many times have I seen your leg?" She asks gesturing for him to help, because somehow she's not exactly lunging to unbutton his jeans. "I was only there for all your physical therapy, and I was just massaging it a minute ago."
"That was…medical," he explains weakly. "This doesn't feel medical. This feels like the exact opposite of medical."
"Right, I left my nurse outfit at home," she jokes, tugging again at his pants. Hiccup glares at her.
"Aren't I the one who makes stupid jokes in serious situations?"
"You weren't doing your job."
"Here, give me my foot back, then I'll take my pants off," he bargains and she looks at him sternly.
"Is there something else we need to talk about?" She asks quietly.
"I think it's pretty self-explanatory," he mumbles, and she grunts frustrated, rolling her eyes.
"Obviously, it's not."
"Well, my stump—" She thwacks him with the back of her hand.
"Your leg."
"No, Astrid, my stump. It's not exactly hot, is it?" He asks and she scoffs, giving up on his pants for the moment. And she was so looking forward to that hug he so obviously needed, without snaps and seams digging into her.
"Right, because my little sob-fest talking about my dad was devastatingly sexy," she snarks and he chews on the inside of his cheek.
"You needed to talk about that," he defends.
"And I feel better now," she admits, sitting back on the bed and crossing her legs. It takes most of Hiccup's self-control not to glance down at her surely showing underwear. "I'm listening."
"I—I don't want to step all over your feelings time," he suggests and she punches him in the thigh.
"I'm done with feelings time," she asserts and he frowns, biting his lip.
"It's just what I said. Having stumpy out isn't exactly sexy."
"I wasn't going for sexy. I'd settle for nudity without crying," she mumbles and Hiccup gulps. Nudity is terrifying in two directions. He can't tell what's more nerve wracking, her being naked, or him being naked.
"It's my foot. I can be naked and still have my foot," he grumbles.
"No, you can't," she tells him and he rubs his hands over his eyes.
"Astrid, do you even know how perfect you are?" she flinches at the word and flushes, understanding its current connotation. It's not horrible when Hiccup touches her, or looks at her, or even when he tries to protect her. And if she's getting over the rest of this, she's damn sure that she's not going to go through the rest of her life being afraid of a word.
"And I'm here, choosing to get naked with you." The naked word seems exciting, like the props in a haunted house. Goosebumps sprout on her legs and she's beyond glad that she shaved for her race.
He stares at her blankly and her timid-ness meter for the moment abruptly runs out as she pulls his shirt over her head, dropping it on the floor.
"You're turn," she challenges, crossing her arms and cocking that infernal hip. "And I don't care about your foot," she adds quietly as he stares at her like she's a few kernels short of a cob. "I like taking care of you."
"Yeah, because it's so much fun—"
"Seriously. I owe you, I like taking care of you," she shrugs, her voice honest.
"You don't owe me."
"I like taking care of you," she quips and bites her lip. "And I honestly stopped keeping count of who owes who. I love you, it's not a trading floor."
He sheepishly makes eye contact.
"Would you still honestly be with me if I hadn't lost my foot—Ow!" She slugs him in the ribs.
"You're an idiot."
"What? It's an honest question—" She cocks her fist back. "Don't hit me again!"
"Stop saying idiotic things," she threatens before forcing herself calm. "And of course I'd still be with you. I was with you before it happened, even if you don't remember."
"But it wasn't official…"
"What? Do you need a certificate?" She asks, and he smiles wryly.
"Gold embossed." She backhands him more gently.
"I love you with or without your foot," she grins, "but probably more without."
"Oh, what? Because your love for my foot had to be redistributed over the rest of me?" He asks and she nods, laughing.
"Exactly." Neither of their issues are erased, but at least everything is out in the open, unless Hiccup has some grave secret he's not telling her. In the orb of existence of this room, everything is ok.
"And I have no idea what I'm doing," he reminds her in a too small voice and she resists the urge to roll her eyes.
"What you're doing about what?" She asks, playing dumb. "I'm pretty sure you know how to get naked."
"If we…I've never—I have absolutely no idea what to do," he admits, and no matter how sad his self-doubt is, she can't help but be glad that there's some small, happy, awkward gap to actually talk about this.
"I know," she tells him and he avoids eye contact. She sighs and rethinks, scratching her thigh and feeling oddly gratified when his eyes fixate momentarily on her legs. "You can't be worse than Scott…" she comforts with a shrug before worrying that the comparison just made things worse. "I mean, I'm sure if—You're the smartest guy I've ever met, I'm sure it's not calculus down there." She chews on her lip and they both glance at her horribly plain white underwear before making hesitant eye contact.
"If we do anything tonight," he amends quietly and she nods, equally full of trepidation and some mysterious anxiousness. She almost wishes it'd just happen, so she can stop worrying over it.
"Yeah, if anything happens," she nods in cautious agreement. "Or I guess whenever it does happen."
"I—I tried to research it," he laughs, exasperated as he scratches his chin and looks carefully only at her face. "Everything I found was ridiculous. I have a list of like two thousand things not to try at this point," he admits.
"I'm sure you'll be fine," she comforts, smiling warmly at his flushed cheeks and shivering as she misses his warmth. "But for right now…" she fidgets with the hemline of her tank top. "You know, it's still your turn," she reminds him, looking meaningfully at his jeans. He stares at her wide eyed and nervous for a moment before cheekily leaning down and pulling off his lone sock, dropping it on the floor.
"Your turn," he grins nervously and she punches him in the arm.
"That doesn't count. I swear you'd make a great lawyer," she insults, fiddling with the bottom of her tank top before brusquely tugging it over her head. The cool air of the room is an assault as she defiantly drops her shirt, staring him down. "Your turn," she repeats and he sighs, hands shaking as he unbuttons his pants and pushes them down past his butt. She watches eerily appraisingly as he kicks them off the edge of the bed.
He looks over at her, she smiles gently.
The warmth is back, heavy and strange in her chest as her eyes trace from his slightly broadened shoulders down to narrow hips. Her gaze hitches briefly at the obviously hard shape in his boxers, far more obvious than it had been in his jeans, before she continues down, stopping to smile to herself at his mismatched feet. That's just…Hiccup.
And it couldn't be more right.
He's equally lost, stuck between worrying over her protuberant ribs and salivating at the sheer expanse of creamy golden skin. He traces up the gentle swoop of her waist to the swelling of her chest.
He's going to get to touch all that.
She stares at him for another awkward moment, unsure of what to do.
And why, oh why, couldn't she wear cute underwear today?
Half of her wants to take them off and jump on him, but that seems too forward. Forward hasn't worked out so well.
"So…straight down the middle?" She asks, alluding to his earlier plan.
Oh god. They're going to do this. It feels as important as it should.
"What?" he asks, sitting up and glancing around the room.
"That was your brilliant plan earlier," her arms anticlimactically fall to her sides.
"Oh…er, right." Hiccup leans forward, tentatively placing a hand on her muscled waist. She gasps at the unexpectedly warm, gentle contact. Her skin tingles madly and Hiccup smiles at the open reaction. "Is that ok?"
"It's fine. Good." She focuses on his face, his wide green eyes and fuchsia flushed cheeks.
"Really?" His thumb timidly smoothes the skin immediately under her breast and she gasps. He grins.
"Yeah," she laughs lightly, pleasurably shocked that it does feel good. His hand slides up her side, thumb tenderly sliding up and over her breast, flicking over her immediately hardening nipple. She squeaks and leans forward, kissing him soundly on the mouth. His hand against her is warm, wonderfully overwhelmingly warm as it cups her chest, playing against her skin.
Hiccup.
She lets her mind dwell solely on Hiccup, his eyes, his hands, his clean and overwhelmingly comforting smell.
She clambers over his lap, kissing him deeply as her hands hold fast against the back of his neck. Her fingers fist in his hair, tilting his chin up towards her and shoving her tongue down his throat. His hands slide too timidly to her upper back and the power rush makes her dizzy as the position becomes too familiar.
She freezes up, despair settling over her heart as it starts not working. She accidently nips his lip too hard, pulling back and frowning.
He takes the cue and flips them, hovering nervously over her as the bed bounces quietly under them. She's half proud that he flipped her so easily and half surprised to find herself staring up at him. He ducks his head and kisses the side of her neck gently. She cocks her head, exposing more skin to him as her hands skate up his bare back, gripping lightly at the faded accordion of his ribs.
"That's…alright," she mumbles, and he pulls back looking at her with a timid grin.
"Just alright?"
"Nice," she amends, unnaturally happy that he's still focused on her face.
"Really?" He grins and she flushes, pulling him back down with a hand on the back of his head.
"I didn't say stop," she urges and he snickers, kissing down and across her collarbone.
"Has anyone," kiss, "told you how," kiss, "bossy you are?" She nods, chin bobbing against his floppy hair.
"You have, a couple times…" she tries for humor but ends up gasping as his hand joins his mouth, sliding oh so gently around the side of her chest. His thumb flicks across the peak of her breast, unbearably tender and she bites back a groan. He smiles against her neck and sucks an obvious hickey below her ear.
She bends her knee, cautiously rubbing her thigh between his against the cotton covered tent in his underwear.
She suddenly wants to rush for an entirely new reason as the warmth roars, throbbing almost menacingly in her stomach. He groans low in his throat at the contact of her knee and she rubs harder, his hips bucking in spite of himself against her. She grabs his hair with one hand, tugging him back to her mouth.
"I can't believe this is happening," he mumbles, laughing against her lips as he cautiously palms at her chest, groaning as her hand slips under his boxers, grabbing at his ass.
"I know," she answers, strangely comfortable at half-dominance below him.
"I mean, 24 hours ago, I didn't think this would ever happen," he nibbles her neck and she subconsciously digs her fingernails into his rear. He jolts against her thigh and she hisses.
When did she start sweating?
Almost naked making out is fantastic.
"Shut up…" she moans as he kisses down her cleavage, savoring the creamy golden skin.
"I mean, I came here to break up with you and now—" He babbles, losing himself in the wonderful—
"What?" Astrid slams on the brakes, shoving him off of her and scrambling to the foot of the bed. She tugs the comforter around herself, and he almost falls to the floor as the blanket is ripped out from under him.
They stare at each other silently, still breathing hard.
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Well, Hiccup needs to learn that shut up thing, doesn't he?
Anyway, I don't have much to say, besides thank you, and I look forward to the feedback that you guys feel I deserve!