Again, fulfilling a tumblr request:

"You're an idiot!" Her voice is a mixture of angers and worries and she tugs his hand and pulls him to his bed a lot rougher than she means it. She slams the sack of remedies on the nightstand then spins around to face him. He is red with shame, as he should be, and he tries to avoid her angry gaze.

"Get it off!" She commands and grabs the hem of his tunic. He hisses every time the tattered fabric touches his broken skin, but the girl shows no mercy while she is peeling off the torn clothing.

"Astrid... I'm hurt..."

"Of course you're. Trying to put a saddle on an untamed Nightmare? You should have known better!"

She swipes her bangs away and leans closer to his bare chest to examine the claw marks that draw across his pale, freckled skin. He cries out in pain again when her fingers ghost over the swollen edge of the wounds. She lifts her head up quickly, almost brushing the tip of his nose with hers.

"Lie down," she orders him through gritted teeth.

He doesn't dare to protest and a second later he is in horizontal position, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a grunt of pain. She quickly unbuckles his belt and peels off his pants then reaches for his prosthetic. He doesn't know why it is necessary to free him from his fake leg and the leather trousers; after all, it's only his chest that bears the shameful signs of an amateur mistake...

She grabs the sack from the nightstand and fishes out a small potion. "You need to swallow three drops of it." Her words are still not particularly nice, but at least the tone is softer. They both know that she is more concerned than irked, but she doesn't know how to play the panicked girlfriend, so she goes for the furious instead...

"What's that?"

She takes a deep breath and there's some concern and gentleness in her voice now. She is well-aware of the fact that his mistake could have had lot worth consequences, but she doesn't want to think about them. "Essence of nightshade, it will help ease the pain."

"Erm... Astrid, it's really not that bad..."

"But it will be when I clean the wounds. Put your tongue out."

Unwillingly, he props himself on his elbows and lets her pour three drops of the thick liquid on his tongue then collapses back on the fur pillows.

"It tastes terrible," he complains with a contorted face, like a kid swallowing a cough medicine, while she grabs his wrists and places them above his head.

"And it will make you groggy and drowsy. Please, keep your hands where they are, I'm going to clean the wounds and apply healing clay on them."

She takes a linen cloth out from the sack and pours a whitish liquid on it that has a very strong, nose wrenching smell.

He grits his teeth; the liquid causes an immediate stinging pain in his chest when she starts to disinfect the cuts. "Luckily, they are not very deep," she states while cleaning the wounds.

"Why do you need the clay anyways? I thought you liked scars..." He starts to feel the effect of the nightshade; the pain is a lot more bearable and his brain feels a little numb.

"I like battle scars, Hiccup, these are just some ugly reminders of your stupidity." She wipes his chest one last time and his skin burns as the liquid evaporates from the wounds. She notices his mute suffers and leans closer to blow some cool air on the torn skin. It feels nice and he looks down at her through half lid eyes, marveling at her stunning face as she puckers her lips concentrating on easing his troubles.

He definitely feels groggy. And honest. He wants to tell her, here and now, in this uncomfortable and somewhat embarrassing position that she means the world to him. She is the grass and the clouds, the seas and the skies and everything in between, behind and beyond.

He is thinking hard about the proper way to express his thoughts, but nothing clever comes to his mind - the bitter tasting fluid in his throat makes his brain foggy and his beautiful thoughts remain locked away somewhere in his heart.

Meanwhile, she straightens herself, grabs the clay and buries her index and middle finger into the jar, spreading a generous amount of the cold substance on the crimson scars. It feels wonderful, but he is intoxicated and his lyric thoughts are soon replaced by his carnal wants.

Suddenly he is very well-aware of the fact that she is close to him and he is underdressed and even though she warned him not to move his hands, he can't resist the urge to place a damp palm on her curvy hip. She lifts up a finger that's covered with the white clay to warn him. "Hiccup, put your hand back. It won't do its job if you wiggle around."

He pouts and reluctantly puts his hand back. She smiles at his adorably disappointed face and grabs a piece of linen to wipe her fingers. "Okay, I'm done. And now you have to remain still for roughly 20 minutes, until the clay dries."

"Mhm," he mumbles, feeling that his strength is slowly slipping away.

"I'll be here, watching you."

"Mhm... This feels really good, though."

"The clay?"

He lazily shakes his head and she almost warns him not to move. "Nope, I meant your hand."

She turns her head only to notice that her right hand is resting on his thigh, awfully close to his most intimate part that is only covered by his thin underwear. She quickly takes her hand away as if it was burnt on a hot surface and he makes a frustrated grunt. "Nah... Put it back, please."

She hesitates for a moment then she gently strokes his thigh with the tip of her fingers before placing her warm palm back. There's something very cute in the way he looks at her with bleary eyes.

"Erm... little to the right, please?" She looks back at her hand and it's obvious that no matter how little is 'little to the right', her fingers will brush his sex. It's not that she hasn't touched it before, but...

But? There shouldn't be a 'but' in their relationship, not anymore, she thinks quickly and she carefully places her hand on his crotch. She presses it and smiles when it starts to grow and harden under her fingers and he lets out a relieved sigh.

While she is working on him a heat of redness sweeps across her face as she remembers how Ruffnut tried to question her whether her boyfriend's pants hid a splinter or a beam. She shakes her head, it's neither.

It's a part of him, a piece of his flesh, a bit still foreign, but equally loved like the rest of him. It's something he keeps for her (or on occasions, she assumes, to his fantasies about her) and only her and it makes it treasured. Not to mention what he is capable of doing with it… Well, it's quite obvious that now he is not capable of doing anything with it, but she doesn't mind making him feel good – really good, judging by his muffled moans of pleasure.

She turns her head away from his face and frees him from his underwear. His groans deepen when her fingers touch him again - this time without the boundaries of clothes.

She feels cheeky and brave enough to lean closer to make some further inspections. Of course, she knows the look, the touch and even the taste of his sex, but it has never happened before that he exposed himself so fully to her in broad daylight.

She knows that he is half-drugged and half-asleep, but she enjoys the view unfolding in front of her eyes. First, she notices how thick it looks in the embrace of her delicate fingers. Then she takes account of the thin, almost transparent skin that covers his hardness. There are little veins under it, throbbing because of her touch and she enjoys how every time she moves her hand downwards, the little hood comes off, revealing the purple mushroom head that now is weeping the tears of his pleasures.

She reaches over with her free hand and swipes the moisture off then lifts her hand up to examine her glistening palm. More tears ooze out from his tip and she decides to spread it on his eager flesh, earning herself a series of pants and grunts from him.

He is undoubtedly likes everything she does and it fills her heart with joy.

"Ah…erm… the fireworks," he mumbles in his trance while his teeth sink into his lower lip.

"Fireworks?" She asks quirking an eyebrow.

"Mhmmmm… fireworks… coming… soon."

She almost laughs up when she comprehends his words.

"So-so-so sorry."

She giggles. "It's okay, baby… I know how you work."

He doesn't answer, but his body starts to stiffen and she quickly reaches for a clean linen cloth. She honestly enjoys the shenanigans with him, but she also doesn't want to spend the rest of his afternoon cleaning his stuff from the ceiling…

She places the fabric close enough to be able to catch his release safely and she smiles again as she starts to pump him a little harder and faster.

She looks at his face. He scrunches his nose and quickly breathes through his teeth while his hands fist the furs above his head. His body arches and his muscles become tense and his lips curl to hiss a silent "fuck" into the heavy air around him.

He comes hard. She presses the linen to his member and feels how it warms up under her fingers and she pumps him slower, almost lazily, while the last drop of satisfaction leaves him.

He soon starts to soften in her hand and she gently cleans him with the cloth. When she is done, with a cheeky smirk on her face, she ducks down her head and places a quiet little kiss on his tip.

But he doesn't say anything anymore; he is peacefully slumbering with a tiny grin on the corner of his mouth.

She wraps clean linen around the messy one and packs it away then she moves closer to his chest and starts to scrape off the dried clay with careful moves.

The wounds are already healing nicely.