Well, I made you wait 20 chapters for it, so here's 3600 words of smut (fluffy smut). I did not skimp. If you don't like smut, just skip this chapter.

Strong language… not safe for work… etc. I mean, what do you expect?

"Doesn't this like, violate your Hippocratic oath or something?"

Astrid frowned at Hiccup's back, as he set Toothless down outside. She sat perched on the edge of his bed while she waited, impressed by the toned lines of her own legs dangling off the side. "What?"

"See you later, bud," Hiccup told the cat—funny, he always talked to Toothless like the animal could understand every word—and closed and locked the door. They were alone. "I mean, now that I'm your patient…"

Astrid rolled her eyes. "I'm not a doctor yet, you're thinking of the AMA's ethical code, not the Hippocratic, and emergency first aid on a civilian doesn't qualify you as my patient." Shrugging, he scuffed his foot. "What, did you want it to be naughty or something?"

"No," he shot back, embarrassed.

Sensing she could play with him a little, she added, "Because it already kind of is." Intrigued, Hiccup slunk toward her. "We snuck off to be alone, our friends have no idea what's going on—"

"They probably know what's going on."

"Yeah, okay, so they know exactly what's going on." They laughed and she reached for him. "Come here, please."

Hiccup inhaled—a big, visible breath—and then came to stand between her knees. The skin around his nose was beginning to turn purple, and she could see a couple of spots where she'd missed wiping off the blood, but she didn't mind. It made her stomach churn pleasantly. "You nervous?" she asked, running a hand through his hair. He had on a tiny pout.

"You do know that every sexual experience I've ever had has been regrettable, right?"

She quirked an eyebrow, mostly to mess with him. "Every sexual experience?" An ironic question but Hiccup immediately fumbled to apologize.

"I mean—okay—there were good aspects to certain… ones, I just—"

"Relax, I was kidding."

He ducked his head for a second, and then looked back up at her. "Would it be awful if I said the worst part about that time was how fast it ended?"

"Yeah. It would," she laughed, looping her arms around his neck. "But I get what you're saying." His fingers trailed absently up her bare thigh. Fuck. She met his eye and saw the corner of his mouth turn up, just barely—not quite smug, but… thoughtful. Fuck.

"You know what I realized?" he asked, voice low.

"What's that?" she whispered back—then she caught herself feeling absorbed in the little secrecy, and flushed.

"The sex advice you gave me. There's no universal sex advice."

"Oh."

"What I realized is, maybe when someone gives you sex advice—they're telling you what they like." His fingers had come to her upper thigh. "It's probably not going to be useful unless you're with them." He stroked—lightly, not enough pressure to do anything but tease her—the damp patch forming in the lace of her underwear. "What do you think?"

"Maybe you're right." She struggled to speak normally, to keep up this conversational foreplay.

"So… your advice was… What's the first thing?"

"Find the—ahh—" He'd stuck his fingers down her panties and was toying with her clit.

"Nevermind, I remember," he said gleefully, as she let out a whimper. This coy act he was doing—horrible, great. "And the second one was—actually, should I even be doing that with my nose all swollen?"

"You fucking should," she said, more forceful than intended, and Hiccup drew away his hand in surprise. He dropped the act, the wide eyes were genuine, floored by her authority. He gaped but she held fast. "As your doctor I'm clearing you to eat me out."

"You want me to…" His eyes fell to her crotch, frightened, covetous.

"Fuck me with your tongue." He hesitated and—fearing she had been too demanding, even though it was in the interest of turning them both on—she added, gentler, "Do you want to?"

He shook his head, not a no, more like he was trying to compose himself, and kissed her. "I do, I want to fuck you with my tongue." A knot in her chest dissolved. She pulled herself up, so she was straight-backed, serious.

"Then get on your knees."

She could tell that did something for him. Hiccup gave a tiny nod, and lowered himself to the floor. She slid as far as she could to the edge of the bed without falling off. Working together, they got her underwear down and over her knees and tossed it away; she figured she would not spend much time wearing underwear in this room, in the future. For a moment he just sat there and stared at what he had to work with, mesmerized. He'd fingered her but he had never gotten to see, and under the harsh white light of the overhead fluorescent, he could see a lot. They'd keep the lights on, she liked seeing, she wanted to know everything.

He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, and began to kiss up her thigh. She let out a contented sigh. "You know, when I first met you, I thought you should do this to me."

Hiccup laughed, now hovering close enough that she could feel the warm air brush the wetness of her cunt. "That's not true."

"It is true. I said to myself, 'He talks too much, I'll show him where to put that mouth.'" And anyway, if she hadn't thought this strictly upon meeting Hiccup, she had thought it more than enough since then to warrant this statement.

"Yeah, you sure showed me, Az," he muttered, and leaned forward to take her clit in his mouth—she had expected an experimental lick, maybe, not this suckling—the noise that tore out of her felt too ragged to be a scream. It must've been something (the shot of pleasure had deafened her temporarily, she couldn't actually hear it) because Hiccup released her and sat back, sobbing into her thigh.

"Is your nose okay?" she managed, trying to wrap her head around being normal and concerned.

He looked up at her, and grimaced: disappointment, resignation, disgust. "I came! I came again…"

"Oh my god, that's it?" As if she cared that he'd now come in his pants twice with her. As if that wasn't kind of hot. "Keep going," she said, nudging him with her foot, "You'll be hard again soon, it's my turn."

"It's your turn," he agreed, squaring himself, and he went for it—slower this time, laving his tongue from front to back with a painter's precision. She let out a long sigh. He did it again several times—mean, he got closer to her opening with each swipe. He promised her a tongue-fuck, hadn't he? Drawing a deep breath, she let her head fall back and her hands fist into the comforter, trying to enjoy the slow build, because she liked slow build, she really did, it was just that it had been over a year since she'd been genuinely fucked and it had been six months that she'd waited for Hiccup and she was ready. But if she'd waited that long she could stand to be teased a bit, couldn't she? Couldn't she? She whimpered as he brushed against her clit. Maybe that was good enough—maybe he sensed she was impatient, because he slipped his tongue in her and gave a few enthusiastic licks before going back to suckle at her clit, and then in her again. It was the speed of him more than anything that did it for her, it was the way he cupped her ass and dragged her toward him to get deeper. Hands in his hair, she leaned forward, moaning, panting, the heat of the summer night sticking to her skin and the another, better one flooding her, from her abdomen over the rest of her body. He was good at this, and she didn't even fucking care how he got to be that way because he was hers now, only hers, and she screamed.

He extracted himself and scooted away, gasping for air and grimacing, a hand to his nose. She'd probably shoved it against her pelvis without realizing, but she couldn't find the words to apologize, could only flop back on his bed and groan. The decadent looseness; she stretched happily, and sighed, "Holy shit."

Hiccup climbed up and rested his chin on the edge of the bed, grinning. "Good, right?"

"Oh, look who's sexually confident now."

"It was all an act, I'm a god."

"Right. Did I hurt your nose?"

"Eh, it's all right." He ran two fingers down her forearm, and pressed a kiss to her palm. "You were… very into it. I can't complain."

"Good." She gave him a smile, and they stared at each other for a moment. She spied his eyes going to the rise and fall of her chest. "We should take our clothes off." It had barely occurred to her that, between the two of them, only her lower half was naked. He still had on his bloodstained t-shirt, even. But the idea didn't seem to compel Hiccup, who moved away from the bed.

"I dunno, it's kind of a hassle, I can just—"

"Oh my god," she groaned, flinging herself to sit up, "You've got nothing to be self-conscious about, you're hot. Come on."

"Self-conscious?" he repeated incredulously, sitting on the floor and looking down at himself in a very self-conscious way.

"I'll take off my shirt if you take off yours."

"Deal."

Astrid wiggled forward on the bed, and drew her shirt up and over her head with an exhibitionist's deliberateness.

She started to unhook her bra, but Hiccup sprung to his feet. "No, let me do it."

Biting back a giggle, she turned around and felt his fingers in the center of her back, and then the bra went slack and she tossed it away. When she turned around, he was leaning against the bed like he couldn't quite support himself any other way, looking down at her with an open mouth. Not drinking her in, no, there was too much reverence in the expression on his face—desire, worship. She blushed, a full, deep blush, and punched him gently in the stomach. "Hey, I'm totally naked and you're still dressed, so get to it."

"Now, let's not pretend that naked you and naked me are even from the same planet," Hiccup tried to joke. But his voice shook, and he hesitated gripping the bottom of his shirt. She put her hands over his and helped him to guide the garment off. And there he was—she'd been right about the slight tan, he had lines where the sleeves and collar of his shirt would've been. His chest itself was paler. She ran her palm down it: small patch of reddish brown hair in the center and trailing beneath his navel, scars. Not big ones, just a group of them cluttered on the lower left side of his torso. Not surgical, she could tell.

Astrid felt a finger under her chin, and he lifted it to kiss her. Okay: they didn't have to talk about the scars today. Or ever, if he didn't want to, she supposed.

As they kissed—his mouth was salty from her—she went to work with the fly on his jeans, and then broke away from him, frustrated. She could see the bulge but not get to it and felt like a petulant child denied dessert. "Take them off!"

"I'm not taking them off."

"What?"

"Relax, I'm just going to pull them down," he started to kiss her neck, "it's too much work to get them off around my prosthetic."

"But…"

"Don't I have to stand?"

"Yeah," she said weakly, not quite sure how to articulate what she sensed was wrong with this. "What if the jeans trip you and you fall?" Still sounding like a child, Christ, she had to gather herself.

"It'll be fine," he declared, and the overextended enthusiasm in his voice gave it away.

"You don't want me to see your prosthetic!"

Hiccup only hummed against her collarbone—which felt incredible, but nevermind—she pushed him away, glaring, forcing a response. "Well, okay, no," he admitted, "It's not exactly sexy, all right?"

Astrid scowled. "It won't be sexy when you trip on your pants and fall and break your face, either."

"You already broke my face!"

"That's not—" Okay, touché, whatever. She waved an arm and he dodged it. "Fine, but I do think it's sexy, because I think you're sexy and it's a part of you so just… Just take off your pants."

Hiccup had stopped playing defense, stopped everything. He just stood there, staring at her, mouth open like he was ready to speak but couldn't find what it was he wanted to say, so he only smiled. "Astrid." She pouted fiercely and folded her arms over her bare chest. "I think that might be the nicest—best thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Take off your pants?"

"You know what I mean." She was blushing, again, and he kissed her, again. So she could be sweet sometimes; she did it without realizing, because she was first and foremost honest, and so when she felt something sweet it tended to force its way out of her. As she was—groan—sweet on him. They got his pants halfway down and he climbed on the bed to tug the rest over the prosthesis. Not a moment later she reached over and grasped his cock, not because it wasn't hard or because it needed some persuading—it didn't, it really fucking didn't—just because she had to, had to touch him. It strangled a noise out of Hiccup, and another as she pumped once, twice. "Careful," he hissed.

"I missed real ones," she sighed, and letting go of him, gestured to the condoms on the bedside table. He got the message and scrambled for one, then let her roll it on, because she was rather intent on getting her hands on his dick just then. At least before she got it inside of her—priorities.

"Okay," he said, back on his feet. She sat on the edge of the bed and he stood between her legs; they had to arrange themselves, like they were about to do a scene in the theatre. "Like this?"

"Yeah, and you can like—press me into the bed, you can lean over a little, just not too much. For your nose."

"Yep." Biting his lip, he glanced over her, nudged her legs open more and hooked his hands behind her knees. To stop the fussing she pressed her mouth into his, and at once she felt his shoulders relax. Good. She kept kissing him, wrapped her arms around his neck to coax him nearer, so he could position himself. Then there were hands on her ass, and he got close and left her lips to look down and—they gasped together, though he was an inch in, tops; something about scratching a year-old itch. Fucking finally. Finally fucking. She kept kissing him, and when he slid in all the way he made a noise into her mouth. She could've laughed, she felt full of him and full of excitement. "Hard part now," he choked, bucking into her aimlessly, but the suggestion drew a sound from Astrid.

"Doing good," she managed. She wrapped her legs around his waist.

"I'm just going to… to move and then, when you need—"

"Yeah, good."

He did move, hard and measured, saving up a second of momentum for each thrust, with small grunts. It wasn't orgasm pacing, but it was a good start, good for the sensation of being around him. Her arms slid from around his neck and she spread her hands over the comforter behind her, propping herself up and throwing her chest forward, where he began to lavish his unfocused mouth on her neck and collar and breasts as he moved. She liked this made-up, medically-wise position, she decided—he sort of had to thrust down to push her against the mattress, but he was tall enough, and she clung to him with her legs in assistance. And something did spark between them, her legs, the kind of glimmer that they should be chasing.

"Faster," she told him, intent on coming this way. Hiccup looked a little flustered by the direction, but took it, speeding up and watching her for approval—except that wasn't it, no, not quite, and she winced. "Can you push down more?"

"Yeah, yeah." He stepped into and over her, almost on top, and tried a thrust that set her on edge.

"Yes, that—" Thrilled to have hit on something, he went for it with reckless abandon, and the burn went from a simmer to a fast cook, like he had reached in there and kneaded her insides just the right way—lucky bastard, probably, but she would take it. The little bed, university issue, squeaky enough under normal circumstances, sounded like it might break. His jaw—she saw his jaw flexing and it turned her on, even more, even though she hadn't thought it possible to be this turned on. But he was, as always, full of surprises. Her moans tightened into gasps with every subsequent thrust, the noises shorter and shorter until she'd run out of air to make them. It was good and hot and whole; when she did this alone she always felt like it was half, like she had spent her summer giving herself half fucks at the thought of this very moment. And now she had the whole thing, and it reached every nerve in her body.

She found another cry in the height of it, as the warmth seemed to explode inside her, or maybe that was Hiccup's jerk as he swore and kept fucking—Astrid didn't know if he'd had his or if he was about to, and didn't really matter to her as long as he kept on, which he did. It wound down. "Fuck," climbed out of her, she collapsed back against the mattress, catching her breath.

As she settled down, feeling like liquid, he slowed, face twisted into a grimace. He hadn't gone.

"Need help?" she mumbled, sitting forward.

"Tried really hard not to, now I…" Well, if Hiccup Come-In-His-Pants Haddock hadn't psyched himself out. Giggling, she leaned into his neck and laid a few kisses there, then sucked on the delicate skin—he whimpered, caught off-guard, drove another couple hard thrusts into her, then went stiff and immediately relaxed, groaning. Astrid laughed, pulled back to kiss his mouth. They kissed for a long time, slowly, not moving much. Enjoying the lazy feeling.

Eventually he pulled out and got rid of the condom as Astrid tugged back the sheets and half-crawled under his covers, leaving her legs free on the insufficiently air-conditioned night. "I know you just made the bed, but you're going to have to wash these sheets again," she observed, indicating the damp circle she'd left on his comforter.

"Okay," he said, turning down the bed and seating himself beside her, with a quick pause to remove his prosthetic. She didn't watch; it felt more private than seeing him naked, for some reason, and then he'd pulled the sheets over himself. "But why should I do that when they're just going to get messed up again tomorrow?"

"Oh," she said, laughing, "Oh, wow, look at that confidence." He tossed her quite the grin, propping up his head with a pillow. "How's your nose?"

"Hardly feel it."

"Must be the endorphins."

"Maybe I just have better things to feel than the excruciating pain of a broken nose." He kissed her cheek and she snorted, and pointed to the dresser, in arm's reach.

"Hand me a t-shirt, my boobs are all out there."

"So?" She punched his thigh and he did as he was told, handing her a shirt she pulled over her head. Purple with the NYU logo. For a second, they sat, together in bed, eyeing each other. "Well," she said, "We can either get dressed and go across the hall to our friends… or we can stay here and go to sleep."

A smile played across Hiccup's lips. "I don't think they're missing us much, do you?"

"I'm willing to risk it, even if they are."

He asked, slowly, starting to extend an arm to her, "Do you want to… cuddle?"

She glared at him for a long moment, and then sheepishly curled by his side. "Yeah, I want to cuddle. Sue me, Haddock."

"I'll sue you for being cute." Astrid made a retching noise and rolled away from him.

"I take it back, I'm not cuddling with you."

He groaned. "I know, it was terrible. I'll never say it again. Come back." She harrumphed, but snugged against him a second time. His arm fell easily around her shoulders. "Az?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you undo your braid?"

Astrid sat up and squinted at him. Her braid… she ran a hand along its length absentmindedly. Somehow, she'd riveted Hiccup. So she undid the band and tugged her fingers through her hair to loosen it; she'd been wearing it this way since she started swimming, as a little girl. The chlorine made it feel thick and coarse, she didn't like it against her skin. It was a little softer now, though—she hadn't been back in the pool long enough since summer to do any damage. Hiccup reached over and she helped him touch it for a moment, and lay back against him.

"Thanks," he muttered. With her ear to his chest she could feel the vibration of his vocal chords.

"Anytime."

"Mmm." He sounded sleepy. She was sleepy, too. Before the drowsiness caught her and didn't let go, she climbed over him and flipped off the light. Then she snuck back into the snug bed, awash with contentedness, and passed out at Hiccup's side.