How long had she been flying?

She had been holding onto him as she writhed and gasped, her body unfolding, exploding in every direction.

Her heartbeat galloped through her body, the burning intensity of pleasure falling away like dragon fire in a dark sky, flashing and fading, leaving warmth and shock behind.

At some point she'd closed her eyes.

He'd let go of her hands. She felt unmoored.

But he held onto her, kept her upright, safe within his arms. And when she finally descended and landed on whatever island they were on, her face was pressed into his neck, and she was trying to say his name.

Gods.

She felt wrung out, and full of energy, depleted and replete, a paradox of sensation, and she couldn't find the words to explain it.

When she was certain she could lift her head, she looked at him.

He looked inordinately pleased with himself, a half smile and awed wonder mixing on his face. She didn't blame him. She was pretty pleased with herself. She knew her own body, knew how or where to bring herself pleasure, but turning herself… turning her body over to someone else, that was….

"What's wrong?"

She blinked. Apparently she wasn't too good at hiding her thoughts behind her usual expression. "Nothing, I just-"

She moved to find better footing, and put her hand on the tree behind him.

The bark, the sharpness of it, the awful texture hit her at the same moment that he shifted, and she caught the flinch, the split second of discomfort on his face.

"Hiccup. Oh, Gods, I'm sorry."

The bark was rough like gathered razors, long and thin, and it hurt her palm. He'd been leaning - no, she'd been pressing him back against it for Odin only knew how long.

He blinked at her. "For what?"

She jumped back to the moss, pulling him away from the tree.

"What the- what are you doing?"

She ducked under his arm and spun him around to look at his back. "I wasn't thinking. I had no idea. Oh, Gods, I'm so sorry."

His back had shallow cuts alongside long, angry red lines where the bark had imprinted on his skin. Only one cut was bleeding. The heat in her body turned to slick anguish. He'd been up against that surface and hadn't said a word, complained or -

"Hiccup. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." He tried to turn and reach for her but she evaded him and shifted his posture so she could see more of his back.

"Every other time you've had a shirt on - I wasn't thinking."

Hiccup shrugged. "Thinking is overrated."

She peeked over his shoulder at him. "Did you seriously just say that to me? With a straight face?"

He shrugged, hot eyes and a half smile looking back at her. "You're the one who said it was only fun if you got a scar out of it."

Her laughter soothed the surface of the twisting guilt that filled her chest, but she couldn't look away from where the pattern of the bark was embossed across his back.

"I have to fix this."

"There's nothing to fix." He tried to turn and face her but she wouldn't let him. She ran her fingertips over the uneven texture. It was as if the tree had stamped itself onto him.

He shivered under her touch. As awful as she felt, she was still curious. And determined.

She moved closer, sliding her lips across his shoulders, her tongue tracing his spine up to the back of his neck, while her hands slid over his sides, up and across his ribs, then down over his stomach.

He didn't try to move.

She pressed her body against his with one arm around his waist to keep her balance. Her mouth moved over his neck, the line of his shoulders, with her other hand sliding down the valley of his spine to rest on his hip, her fingertips slipping beneath the loose waistband of his leggings.

He bent slightly and tried to reach for her, but she wouldn't let him turn around. His extended his arms backwards, covering her hips with his hands before his balance tipped and he had to put one hand on the tree beside them to stay upright. She felt him push back against her, and instinctively positioned her legs so that she couldn't slip, so she could support whatever he was about to do. Her hands were still exploring him, but her posture was slightly defensive, as if they were sparring and she was ready for whatever move he made.

Her guess was correct - with a subtle shift to the right, Hiccup pulled the spear tip of his prosthetic from where it was embedded in the moss and tried once more to turn around to face her.

She held him back. "Nuh uh." She spoke against his skin, and watched as goosebumps rose over his neck and shoulders. Her breasts were pressed against him, and she could feel the heat, the imprint of the bark in his skin. For a moment she wanted to rub her entire body against his, feel all of him with more than her hands, with every part of her, every sensitive nerve ending that seemed to reach for him. When her face flushed deep red at the image in her mind, she was relieved he couldn't see her, but she still ducked her head and rested her forehead against the back of his neck.

His breathing became the tide she navigated as she explored his body without seeing what she did. Her hands moved around the waistband of his leggings, skipping the area in front of his hips that she knew was horribly ticklish, though it was tempting.

With her fingertips, she traced the line of hair on his belly up, then down. His breathing stopped, then started again, rapid and uneven, a rising storm inside him. Her hands continued up, over the planes and valleys of his stomach, his chest, tangling in the slight hair before moving to his nipples. Were his as sensitive as hers? She thought so.

A rolling touch, gentle then sharp, confirmed her suspicions. He gasped, his body shuddering with his breath, turning her blood to fire. Pinching lightly caused an echo of that gasp, and tightening her fingertips and pulling created a sound that might have been a moan, except he suppressed it. Damn him.

She wanted to play for hours, figure out how to direct his arousal, navigate his body to do the same thing to him that he'd just done for her, to leave him languid and eager the way she felt now.

Her fingers followed the thin trail of hair again, this time moving lower, down his body slowly, carefully. She had to be cautious not to tickle him, so her hands were looking for the path that would be only pleasure, and increasing amounts of it.

She wasn't touching his erection, but she could feel the heat of his arousal against the back of her hand as she stroked over his skin. So much warmth, like holding her hands close to a fire.

What must it be like in the dead of winter, beneath a mountain of furs, to have so much heat pressed -

She swallowed hard, refocusing her attentions on what she felt and heard, but couldn't see.

His breathing was erratic, a choppy sound broken by gasps and attempts to speak that were wholly unsuccessful.

She wanted to touch him, grip the heat that beckoned to her and listen to how his breathing changed. Her hands moved lower, carefully, with every intention of reaching her destination. Tickling him was the furthest possibility from her mind - until she brushed too lightly over the curve of muscle by his hip and he twisted away from her, gasping with uncontrolled laughter.

Then he lost his balance and fell sideways onto the moss.

She couldn't help herself. She started laughing, too.

With an embarrassed expression, like he was angry at himself, he rolled over and was about to stand, but Astrid leaped forward and pushed him back down onto the moss.

She straddled his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, and the scorching core of her body slid over the ridge of his erection. He gasped and grabbed her hips tightly.

"Are there any rocks beneath you?"

"Wh-what?"

"Rocks? Tree roots? Weaponry, that sort of thing?"

He looked up at her, confusion narrowing his eyes. She decided she loved that expression, because it was so seldom she could completely confuse his very clever, very intelligent mind.

He seemed determined not to be pushed down, and kept trying to sit up, pull her closer. He curved his hands over her hips, trying to sit up, and while she loved the things that effort did to the muscles of his chest and stomach, not to mention his arms, she was determined he should stay down unless there was a reason for him not to.

She leaned forward, pressing her hands against his shoulders and pushing him gently back to the ground. "Anything other than moss beneath you?"

He shook his head after a moment, his grip firming over her hips, making her shiver. His touch could burn them both.

"You sure?"

The stillness of his body as he considered his question made her think of the cove, the clear, smooth pond of water that made her want to jump in, break the surface and cool off beneath. She wanted to dive into him, but it probably wouldn't cool them off much.

When he nodded, she did exactly that before he could reach for her again. Sinking her hands into his hair and lowering her body onto his, she kissed him, her hair falling across her back as he slid his hands around her, holding her closer to him.

She tried to keep him down, but it wasn't working. He kept trying to push her up into a seated position, lift his body from the ground so he could touch more of her.

She couldn't win, not against his determination, so she met his mouth midway across the scant distance between them when he reached for her again and distracted his attention. His hands found her hips, but he didn't need to press or move her. She did that on her own, making them both writhe and reach for more. More sensation, more heat, more contact.

His hands covered her breasts, kneading and shaping each beneath his palms. Astrid reached up to pull her hair back away from her shoulders, and when her arms were raised behind her, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted his head so he could taste her breasts, stroke her skin, nibble and suck and torture her with his tongue again. She moaned, her hands sliding into his hair, holding him closer, arching into his mouth, asking without words for more, still more.

She slid over his erection with uneven, jagged movements. The heat of his body and his increasing arousal felt like fire. It reached through his leggings and hers, causing her own body to burn. When his teeth skimmed the edge of her nipple, she cried out. His hand covered her waist again, his thumb stroking her hip above the edge of her leggings, making her tremble.

"Gods," she whispered again. Everything so sensitive: everything he did made it worse.

Or better.

When she took a deep breath, collected the thoughts that were blowing away in the chaos of her mind, he tried to distract her with his hands, his mouth.

He wasn't going to win.

She pushed him fully onto his back, and he resisted, trying to partially sit up again.

"We should-"

"No," she said, her voice firm and quiet, her hands on his shoulders.

"Maybe we-"

"No." Was he trying to convince her to leave? Not likely.

She moved against him, holding him down with her body.

"Let me-"

She shook her head. He was trying to convince her to stop, and she wasn't sure why. He gasped, a hissing breath drawn between his teeth, and his eyes closed for a moment when she slid her body against his, heat sparking between them.

"Are you in pain?"

His eyes flew open, and he looked very confused. "No."

"Is there any reason why I should let you up?"

"Uh, well, you - I mean, we, you…"

"I…what?" Her face was very close to his, and she could watch the rapid blinking of his eyes, and the way his face began to flush deep red. Because she was straddling his hips, she could feel the scorching intensity of his erection pressed against her, and she slowly rotated her hips in a lazy circle over him, watching his reaction. His breath sped up, and his eyes unfocused, like he'd forgotten how to speak.

She allowed herself a tiny smile. Perfect.

Then she lowered her face so she could rub her cheek against his, her breath ruffling the hair at his temple. Her lips were next to his ear, so she didn't need to speak in her normal voice, but she didn't whisper either. "Is there any reason why I can't do to you what you just did to me?"

He flinched and coughed, stuttering a reply, and she held in a laugh. "No - I mean, well, yes, but that's basic-"

She put her hand over his mouth, and lifted her head to look him in the eye, her expression fierce, like she was lining up a throw to sink her axe in a wide, unmarked tree.

"I am going to tie you up, and knock you over the head if you don't stop arguing with me."

He laughed aloud behind her fingers, and she lifted her hand away. "Is it always violence with you?"

But he gave in as he spoke, placing his hands on her legs, then sliding his palms up to her waist, his thumbs pulling the waistband of her leggings away from her hipbones. He wasn't pushing her away. He was inviting her closer.

"I told you. It's not violence. It's communication."

He laughed again, but the sound broke apart on a wild, serrated breath when she leaned down and slid the edge of her teeth where his neck met his shoulder. She loved when he kissed her there, and suddenly it was the most fascinating spot on his body, tanned, muscled, and covered with freckles.

She felt his hands move up her sides as she feasted on his neck, savoring how his breathing changed so quickly from laughter to something that sounded like anticipation. His thumbs curved along the base of her breasts, making her want to arch her back into his touch, but she wouldn't give in to the temptation. She wasn't moving away. She was in charge. She owned this time with him, and it was so rare to have him spread beneath her, like a feast for her hands, her mouth, her eyes. Even the noises he made were addictive, especially when she ran the edge of her teeth over his nipple, her hips circling the searing thickness of his erection with her own molten heat.

Eventually, she had to shift her position to better reach her target, though she still had to apply strategy and stealth to prevent him from stopping or distracting her. She lifted her upper body enough to look down, but not so far that he stirred. His eyes were closed. His hands had been flexing erratically on her hips, her waist, grabbing and releasing her as she had tormented him with her mouth and hands. Now that she'd stopped, he gripped her waist in his hands and held firm, like she was keeping him anchored to the ground.

In the soft light beneath the fog that still covered them both, she watched the muscles of his stomach flex with his breathing, his reaction to her movements, the way she rotated her body over his, pressing then sliding up and down along his erection.

When he realized she no longer covered his body with hers, he froze, but didn't open his eyes. Instead he reached higher with his hands, as if he were verifying she were there - like she'd go anywhere. This moment belonged to her, and he wasn't going anywhere, either.

With a smooth, fast shift of her weight, almost cat like, she prowled lower over his abdomen, her hands next to his stomach, her body poised over his. His leggings were pulled taut over his hips, the ridge of his erection prominent behind the worn, soft fabric. With her fingertips, she caught the edge and began to peel the waistline done.

She waited for him to look for her, open his eyes and met her gaze. Instead, he nearly jumped upright, trying to sit up, hands out to stop her.

She was ready for him.

She slid up the length of his body, pressing him back to the moss, holding him down with her arms on his shoulders, her body over his hips. She could feel him throbbing under her, the pace of his blood echoed by the erratic staccato of his breathing.

"Astrid - you-"

"Yes."

He looked at her, and she put her hands on his face, kissed him with slow, gentle, determined thoroughness.

She whispered between kisses. "Why not?"

"Wh- what?"

"Why not? Why did you stop me?"

His mouth opened, closed, opened again. He had no answer. Which made her feel better. His hesitation had made fear worry, made her fear.

She couldn't stop herself from asking. "Is there a reason you… do you not want me to-"

In reply, he pulled her head down with one hand, bringing her mouth to his, and with the other wrapped around her waist, pressing her tight against him, nearly branding the skin of her stomach with the heat of his erection. That answered that question - there was no doubt what he wanted.

Taking her cue from his whispered encouragement, the explicit and incendiary things he'd said to her, she leaned down to whisper in his ear. "I want to make you scream. I want to lick you until you lose your mind."

He was gasping for air like he'd just run from Berk to the island they were on, wherever it was. It didn't matter. He was here now, and she had him.

Quieter, allowing some of her worry to become audible, she said, "Let me, Unless you don't want me to."

His silence, the way he held onto her tightly for a moment, was part of an answer, but it wasn't enough.

"Please?"

She moved to look at him again. The nod of his head was a relief, but his expression, a mix of tension and excitement and maybe a little worry… that made her laugh. "Excellent. But there's a penalty."

"Penalty?" His eyes flew open. He sounded outraged.

She lifted her body so she sat over his hips and looked down at him. She licked her lips slowly, knowing he'd notice. Anticipation, power, the possible victory in front of her made her feel as if bubbles had been captured inside her bloodstream.

"You have to watch."

"What?!"

"You heard me."

"Astrid-"

"You have to watch," she said again, her voice unchanged.

"You're kidding me."

She shook her head. "You have to. You can't look away or close your eyes. Same rules that applied to me."

"Oh, Gods."

"Promise me." She leaned forward, managed to imitate his words, the cadence, the intensity of a moment before perfectly.

He shook his head at her faintly, unable to speak.

"Promise me, Hiccup."

He laughed, a short huff of disbelief. "I can promise you I won't last more than 30 seconds."

She grinned at him. "We'll see about that."