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Chapter 9: Bash

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He doesn't know why he does it. Maybe it's because she's so pretty, complimenting him with an earnest, slightly drunk slur. Maybe it's to even the score, she got to do this once and so should he. And maybe it's because he couldn't stand the thought of not doing it for another second.

He couldn't stand the idea of not remembering what her lips feel like because he was too shocked to really register it last time. He couldn't miss the chance to surprise her, even if he only manages it once.

She gasps into his mouth and starts kissing him back, lips fast and wanting against his own. Her hand cups the back of his neck and holds him to her and everything tastes like whiskey and the sweet aftertaste of cola. Her knees bump against his as she struggles to get closer, free hand landing against his thigh and anchoring her as she leans forward into him. He grabs her waist, holding her up and against him and away from him all at once.

This is so very bad. So absolutely impossibly bad. But he doesn't want to stop, he can't stop, it's impossible. Nothing would feel this good if it were something he was supposed to stop. He wants to drag her onto his lap and hold her there, he wants to be closer, all the way closer.

She pulls away with a wet pop, panting against the side of his face.

He looks up and Eret is smirking at him from the opposite end of the bar. Astrid's hand is clamped on his shoulder, so tight his fingers start to tingle. He gently pushes her back onto her stool and lets go, wiping his hands on his jeans and committing the soft, firm warmth of her sides to memory.

"You might want to let go," he shrugs under her still clamped tight fingers and she stares at her hand like it doesn't quite belong to her. "Losing feeling in my arm."

"Sorry," she loosens her grip and her hand lingers against his upper arm for a moment before she pulls it away entirely. "I—what was that for?"

"I—I drank too much," he holds his hand to his head and pulls his phone out of his pocket. "I should call a cab, I can't drive, I—"

"You kissed me."

"Hello?" He holds the phone to his ear. "Yeah, I'm at the Ship Tavern, over on fourth and I need a cab. Five minutes? Thanks." He hangs up and stares at her. "Sorry, I just had to…do that."

"Five minutes, huh?"

"Sounds like it. That's pretty fast for this part of town, I guess they aren't busy yet. It's only—I'm sorry, I told myself I wasn't going to kiss you, I—"

"Don't apologize." She shakes her head and reaches out, almost tentatively grabbing his hand. He squeezes back. "We're just two adults who met in a bar, you introduced yourself and we talked about my crazy roommate, just…that's what happened."

"This isn't wrong."

"No, it's really not. It's really, really not."

"It's not," he shakes his head and she takes a gulp from her glass, hissing under her breath.

"So. Hypothetically," she starts, rubbing kiss bruised lips together. "If we were to go back to your place—"

"No, we can't that's—"

"Normal," Astrid cuts him off, stroking her thumb across his knuckle. "It's so incredibly normal. If you picked me up, I'd go home with you and we'd have some fun and in the morning we'd talk about more and—"

"This isn't fair," he's staring at her lips and she reaches out, nudging his chin until he's looking at her.

"I want you."

"This is stupid."

"I like you." She admits, voice low in the still space between them. "I don't do that very often, but I like you."

"I like you too, but this is still stupid."

"You already did the stupid, what are you going to do now?" She tempts him and he groans low in his throat, lighting her entire body on fire as his hand finds her knee and squeezes, experimental. Ruffnut hoots somewhere in the background and she hopes he doesn't hear, that nothing breaks his trance. He's looking at her, really looking at her, like she's been trying to win for weeks, like he's obviously been trying to prevent. Green eyes tracing the swoop of her neck, the line of her shoulders, the slope of her chest. She gasps.

"Something crazy." He grabs her glass and drains the rest of her whiskey before tugging her face back into his, hand tenderly cupping her chin as he kisses her more gently, taking his time. She presses her face against him, nudging her nose against his and flicking her tongue against his lips. She's not good with slow, her hands are grappling at his shoulders, her knees digging into his thigh. "Hey…hey, my mmm," he tries to interrupt it when his phone buzzes in his pocket but she pulls him back in, nibbling on his bottom lip and weaving her fingers through the back of his hair. "My phone is ringing, my cab is here," kiss, "I've got to go."

"Mmm, one more," she pulls him back in, fingers almost painfully tight in his hair as her tongue tangles with his, an unfamiliar Astrid flavor leaking through the whiskey.

"I've got to go…" he pecks her lips and she's pouting when he pulls away. "I…"

"Am I going with you?" She looks at him, eyes bright and blue and almost fragile.

"You…If your friend wouldn't mind, you could share my cab…" Because he has to ask her. There's something invisibly important in the fact that he's asking her and she grins.

"Sure, yeah, she won't mind." Astrid nods, too eager, and slides onto her feet off of the stool, stumbling slightly. "Just let me pay," she fumbles through a small seamless pocket in the side of her skirt and sets a bill on the counter. "Alright, alright," she laughs, stumbling slightly as she walks towards the door. He wraps his arm around her waist like it's a habit and she fits too well into the nook of his arm. She stumbles again and he tugs her closer to his side, weaving through the crowd.

The cab is parked at the curb and Hiccup opens the door of it, holding it open and staring at her as she climbs in. Not in a strange, creepy way, and he notes that it's the first time he's looked at her that hasn't felt wrong and she smiles at him from the other side of the cab. "Are you getting in or am I taking your cab?"

"Right," he sits down and shuts the door and her hand lands on his shoulder even as the driver looks into the backseat. "2400 Maple Street." He tells the driver and she laughs, pressing her lips up against his ear and whispering, words clumsy drunk.

This is incredibly stupid. So impossibly stupid, and he bites his lip as she kisses his earlobe, nose tickling the line of his jaw. Better than stupid. Crazy.

The cab starts driving and Astrid's head finds his shoulder too quickly and he tries not to smile. This is suddenly the best sort of normal, and her words reverberate through his head. They met in a bar, they did, they met today and they started talking about her friends and he never even properly introduced himself until today and it's fine.

It's all so unbelievably fine.

And she's going to come back to his place and they're going to have some fun, like she suggested, and maybe there's some sort of middle ground that still lets him feel like this. His entire body is too warm and fluttery, and she fits perfectly into his side as she leans against him, hand falling gently on his thigh. She turns her head and kisses the point of his shoulder, and her fingers trace upwards.

That's fine, that's comforting. She's touching him, and it's not like he's being taken home, he's taking her home. He's been on the other side of this dozens of times, it's been a long time, but he's been in her position, in the back of a cab going to some girl's house or apartment or…tent. And of course those had different motives, he was thinking of exploration and experience, while now he's thinking of her.

It's worth it for more, isn't it? And nothing is at stake anyway, she's right. She's absolutely right, she's not his patient anymore, and it's not like she was a life-long patient, he was only her doctor for a month. Not even really her doctor, her chiropractor, he popped her back he didn't birth her children or—

Her hand creeps between his thighs and starts tracing the inner seam of his jeans. "What are you doing?" He hisses in her ear and she smiles into his shoulder.

"More."

"Astrid stop," he tries to hiss, but he's laughing, too drunk and giddy to pretend to be serious. "Really, don't—not here." His tone changes and she grins at him, teeth glinting in the ambient light as the cab drives by a particularly bright street lamp. Her hand slides up an inch, flirting with the bottom of his pants zipper.

His eyes fall shut and she rests her hands against him, fingers stroking along the slowly forming bulge. His pants can't believe this is happening, he really can't believe this is happening, and he laughs even though it's not funny. She squeezes him and kisses the side of his neck, warm breath tickling the fine hairs behind his ear. "Stop, that tickles—oof!" He grunts when she squeezes again, starting to move her hand in a slow rhythm over his pants.

"Quiet down, this isn't exactly private," she laughs into his ear, nipping at his earlobe. He shivers and reaches down for her hand with the intention of pushing it away. She entwines her fingers with his and her other hand creeps over his lap to continue stroking. And grabbing.

"Then stop."

"I don't want to. I've been thinking about this since I met you," her lips glance across the shell of his ear and he shivers.

"You need to get some better fantasies if you've been thinking about this." He's giggling and his hips buck up into her hand. She shushes him and kisses his ear again, he nuzzles his head into hers, squinting against the light streaming through the window.

"You're drunk," she squeezes again and he bites his lip. "And this isn't all I've been thinking about it."

"Oh, really," he drops his voice and presses his lips to the crest of her forehead and she squirms closer to him.

"Really drunk…"

"Not that drunk, not so drunk that I don't know what I'm going to do when I get you inside," he snorts against her bangs. "I'm going to make you some coffee and hold your hair while you puke."

"I'm not going to puke," her hand stills on him and she rests her forehead against his temple. "You sound like you might puke."

"M'fine…" The cab stops moving and he jerks his head upright, towards the cabbie who's avoiding eye contact in an absolutely practiced way. "Right," he hands his credit card over and signs the receipt with a clumsy hand before turning back to Astrid, nervous again. "So…this is me."

"Let's go inside, if this is your house."

"Right, inside," he opens the door and avoids eye contact with the driver, climbing out of the car and stepping up the front walk. His house is small but clean with a two car garage and one bright light bulb on the front port. He pulls out his keys, the same spare ring from a few weeks ago and starts towards the door.

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She's at his house. She spent that entire car ride feeling him up and her lips still tingle from the soft, barely freckled flesh of his neck and his ass looks absolutely fantastic as he walks up the sidewalk ahead of her.

He unlocks the door with slightly trembling hands and she rests her hands on his shoulders, sliding them down on either side of spine and gripping at the narrowest point of his trim waist, leaning forward to speak against his back through the thin cotton of his shirt.

"When you did this? I thought I was going to burst out of my skin, I just wanted you to reach down…" she trails one hand down to grab his ass, surprised moan leaking out at the tight muscle in her hand. "Fuck, you have a fantastic ass—"

He pushes the door open and grabs her hand, tripping slightly over the threshold as he drags her inside, shutting the door behind them and pressing her up against it, considerably less shy than he had been in the bar. His hands weave through her hair and he kisses her, swallowing her low moan when his hips nudge against hers, tentative and instinctive.

Her fingernails dig into the back of his shirt and he moans, dragging her away from the door and stumbling backwards down the hall, big hand finding her ass and grabbing. She trips over his foot and he catches her, nibbling at her lower lip and guiding her blindly backwards. The hard line of a wooden table introduces itself to her lower back and she pulls away with a grin, turning around and bending herself over.

"Here?" She asks, grinning back over her shoulder and biting her lip when his hand glances across her rear, flirting with the suddenly too long hem of her shirt.

"No," he shakes his head and grabs her hips, one hand sliding up to her waist and pulling her upright. "Turn around," he kisses her neck and spins her to face him, reaching behind her to knock last week's Sunday newspaper off of the table before pushing her back by her shoulders, until she's laying back on the table.

He hooks her hand underneath her legs and his hand dive underneath her skirt, tugging clumsily at the sides of her underwear. Oh, he's going for that? Oh.

Oh, abso-fucking-lutely.

She nods at him and lets her head rest back on the table, squirming against his hands. He pulls down her underwear and tosses them over his shoulder with a lopsided grin that makes her laugh. His hands land back against her thighs and he works her skirt up to her waist, too quickly for her to really absorb before his head is between her legs and he's kissing her, two day stubble rough against the crux of her legs. She moans and her hands clamp down on the edge of the table as her knees bend over his shoulders, her shoes digging into his back.

"Ok, ouch, no," he laughs, standing for long enough to tug her flats off, dropping them onto the floor and leaning back in, wrapping his arms around her thighs and lapping at her with the flat of his tongue, kissing her inner thighs, suddenly bent on teasing her.

"Fuck," she whimpers and he kisses her again, arms tightening around her thighs and pushing them towards her chest. He tongues her again, glancing across everything, a nearly vicious attack on her sanity.

"Come on…" she hooks one leg across his shoulders, dragging him closer and bucking up towards his face. When he finally commits to touching her, she relaxes entirely, sighing against the table and whimpering as he swipes her with his tongue, long and slow. "There we go," she eases up her grip on his hair, pushing the back of his head down instead and moaning as he starts to suck at her purposefully, lapping at her clit determined and wrapping both arms tighter around her thighs.

He teases the spot with pursed lips and she nearly sobs, the last few weeks all hitting at once as she stretches and strains against his grip. The touch is the same, steady, kind, warm, hitting all the right spots like he knows her, inside and out. It doesn't matter whether it's her spine of apparently, her more intimate parts, he can find the solution without issue.

"What…what else do you need?" He asks, breath ghosting across sensitive dampness and earning a long, low moan.

"Fingers?" She asks, bucking against his grip and sighing when one arm unwinds and two long digits slide easily into her. "And what you were just doing," she nods, biting her lip and stilling herself when he continues, lips firm and insistent against her clit as his fingers start curling inside of her, anything but clumsy. "Yeah, that. Don't stop…" she tosses her head back and forth, eyes squinted shut as she reaches for his shoulders, hands scrabbling across soft skin and lean muscle, fisting in the crisp cotton of his shirt and relishing in the wrinkles.

He sucks hard at her clit, just rough enough, and she clenches and tightens around his fingers, arching halfway off of the table and clenching her hands around its wooden lip. It's not like this with hookups, with the fast necessity that comes right before she kicks them out of her bed. It's clenching and desperate and deep.

She relaxes with a drawn out sigh, flopping back and wincing at the hard oak against her shoulders as she tries to uncurl her clenched tight toes.

"Alright?" He asks with a lazy grin and her legs slither down his sides, clenching at his hips on the way down as she sits up straight and reaches for the ground, lips clumsily gnashing with his.

"Great," she nods, reaching her feet towards the ground and pressing herself against his front, dropping to her knees and grasping his belt, fumbling with the suddenly complicated clasp.

"Wait," he grasps her shoulders and tugs her upwards, breathing too hard and trying to hold his bottom lip between his teeth. "Wait, just—can we?—" His hands tug so gently at her shoulders and she stands, pausing to adjust her skirt around her hips. "I drank too much."

"Are you ok?" Her knees are still shaking slightly and she rests one hand on his shoulder, nudging his chin with the other until he's looking at her. He sheepishly avoids eye contact, gaze flicking between her forehead and her ear and the tip of her nose. She strokes his jaw and he clenches his teeth, wincing before he even opens his mouth.

"I think I need to sober up a bit. Coffee?" She almost wants to say no, because this is putting the brakes on everything and she wants more.

"Yeah, I'd have some coffee."

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