Where the onomatopoeia ALL start to make sense…

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Chapter 10: Bang

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"Yeah, I'd have some coffee."

"Ok," he nods, his hands sliding down the backs of her arms as he looks sheepishly over her shoulder. She follows his gaze and sees her underwear, black and scandalous on the white tile floor of his kitchen. "Coffee, right."

"Can I help?" She kisses his cheek on impulse and his mouth flaps wordlessly for a second before he shakes his head.

"I think I know where my coffee-maker is better than you do," and he's smiling again, stroking the back of her waist and sighing. He's a little pale, aside from distractingly damp, pink lips and she refrains from reminding him that beer before liquor is never a good idea. He already knows. "Sit down, uh, make yourself at home, I guess."

"Ok," she pulls away from him slowly, turning to stare at her underwear for a moment before leaving them there and sliding onto one of the simple, wooden stools underneath his counter. His kitchen has a tile island with a thick wooden countertop serving as a bar. She runs her hands across the wood and it's filled with a million little grooves, like he spends a lot of time writing or drawing on the surface. "Are you sure you don't need any help?"

"No, I mean yep. I don't need any help." God, he's adorable. From the delicious line of his shoulders down to the way his crisp cotton shirt is crumpled and grooved around his narrow waist. The back of his neck is flushed an unhealthy pink and what she can see of his forearms is milk pale, his hands moving slowly across the counter and flicking on the sink to fill the back of the coffee pot. She licks her lips, and it must be too loud because he glances at her and presses the on-button, looking almost petrified for a moment as he sips from a glass of water she didn't notice him filling, she was so distracted by his ass. "I don't do this."

"Don't do what? Make coffee?"

"No, take girls home, I—"

"We don't have to do anything else if you don't want to," she suggests, grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"It's just been a while." He admits, but it doesn't slow her down. Why would it?

"I do have a favor to return."

He blinks at her.

"Milk, sugar?"

"Honey, babe," she leans further over the counter, smiling when he looks down the front of her shirt, if only briefly.

"For your coffee." He drags his eyes back to her face, knuckles white against the edge of the counter.

"You actually have milk in your fridge?" She laughs, climbing off of the stool and stumbling slightly as she goes to check what other wonders he's hiding from her. Her hands sneak a glimpse at his ass one more time before dragging open the handle to the fridge and grinning. "Eggs, milk, cheese…is that celery in your vegetable drawer?" She bends over and opens the crisper, laughing. "Celery and carrots, where's your root cellar, Daddy Warbucks?"

"The contents of my fridge are impressive?" He laughs, setting down his water and stepping over to her to open the freezer. "You'll love this, extra loaf of bread in the freezer."

"Take me now."

He shoves her up against the wall and kisses her, rougher still this time and tasting vaguely of her, hand sliding down to her waist and thigh, hooking it around his hip and grinding against her. Fuck, she can feel him, feel what was just in her hand through the thick denim of his jeans, and it's pressing against her skirt, pushing it up further, her whole leg almost bare against his side.

She thinks of how if she could get his zipper down, there'd be nothing between them. He could press her into the wall and—

His hand starts sliding up the back of her leg and she moans as he brushes the hem of her skirt, making him brave enough to slip underneath and grab a handful of her rear. Her hands wiggle between them, fighting with the top button of his shirt and eventually yanking, sending three or four plinking off of the fridge and counter.

The skin underneath is so smooth, so impossibly warm and she struggles to unbutton the next two before the timer on the coffee pot goes off and he pulls back with a quiet curse.

"Milk and sugar?" He asks again, running a hand back through his messed up hair and reopening the fridge, avoiding eye contact while Astrid tugs her skirt down over her thighs and waits for jelly knees to come back to themselves.

"Black."

"All that going crazy over my milk for nothing?" He smiles and pours her coffee into a small mug he sets on the counter.

She stares at it for a second before choosing him instead, stepping up and reaching for his shirt. "You look ridiculous, hanging on by two buttons."

He catches her hands and stops her, flushing slightly. "What? What's wrong?"

"Not…I still need a break, I—you're really perfect."

She looks back down his chest, wiry and sculpted, peppered with sparse auburn hair that condenses into a trail under his barely visible navel. "You're pretty perfect too."

She wonders if he drank too much. It happens, he might be far enough gone that the plumbing isn't really working right and often maligned whiskey dick is stepping in on their evening. She opens her mouth to tell him that she doesn't care, she can wait, but he cuts her off.

"No, I'm really not. And you're legitimately…you don't—I'm not perfect. I'm gangly and freckled, two things that everyone always told me I'd grow out of, and—ouch." She punches him in the arm and he glares at her. "What was that for?"

"I didn't somehow get this far without realizing you were gangly and had freckles."

"It looked better when I was younger," he tries to step away and brush her off and she clamps tight to his wrists. "No, really, I apparently had it going on, college was great but at some point I lost any game I ever had." He looks at her for a too long moment before biting his lip. "And there's something else it's—"

"We don't have to do anything else," she repeats, shaking her head. "We could drink some coffee and go sit on your couch and—What am I saying?" What is she saying? She's been looking forward to this for weeks, thinking about it and… "I'm saying that we don't have to do anything else."

"I have this scar."

"A scar?" She looks at his chest, and it's all smooth milky skin, absolutely pristine aside from a patch of auburn hair, freckle free compared to the mottled skin of his arms. Her hand lands gently in the middle of chest and he shudders. "I'm an athlete, Hiccup," the familiarity seems right, "I've seen my fair share of scars."

"It's not…I didn't scrape my knee or—it's just bad, alright?"

"Where is it?"

"It's not show and tell—"

"Now you're starting to worry me. Now maybe I need to call the cab back and take you to the hospital." She looks towards the door and his hands land on her shoulders, tugging her a little closer.

"It's a scar, not a gaping wound. I just…I thought I should warn you, or something?" He shakes his head, "that's stupid, it's just. Gah, here," he grabs her hand and bites his lip, sliding it over his shoulder to his back. "It's right down the middle there."

She takes advantage of the chance to grope his shoulder, grasping at the dense wiry muscles and skimming her fingers slowly to the top of his spine.

"I don't feel anything."

"Down, just a little bit."

"Down?" She follows his direction, skimming down the line of his spine fingers finally dragging across a thick, ropey scar. "Oh—"

"Sorry—"

"Stop apologizing," she snaps, a little too harsh and he steps away from her, wiping his hands across his face. "No, hey, I didn't mean to be so…" she follows him and rests her forehead against his, reaching back to find the scar again. "Just what happened?"

"Scoliosis surgery, when I was in high school," he professes, staring in the vague direction of her ankle.

"Can I see it?" Her fingers sweep across the line again, trying to see how far down it goes, and he twitches under the contact.

"Astrid—"

"Hey, I like scars. I think they're sort of hot," she admits against his temple, feeling oddly intimate as she presses a kiss to the slightly clammy skin. "Please?"

"Alright," he sighs after a moment, turning slowly and fumbling the last two buttons of his shirt. He lets it fall to the floor revealing a thin, long healed scar spanning the length of his now straight spine, white and well healed other than a protrusion towards the back of his neck and a dimple in his lower back. It's not quite vertical, instead jagging right towards his shoulder, a few inches off of his vertebrae. She traces the line with a fingertip before leaning forward and planting a kiss against the mark, almost on reflex, trying to stop him from shaking. The shaking is driving her crazy.

He gasps and she does it again, tongue darting out to taste his skin.

"It's sexy."

"Don't flatter me—"

"No, really. I like it," she insists, but he's still stiff under her fingers and she taps his shoulder until he looks back around. "Here, I have one too," she pulls her shirt up her stomach and shows him a clean white line on her stomach. "I got my appendix out was I was thirteen. I refused to wear a bikini for years."

"You should never wear anything but a bikini," he blurts before wiping a hand across his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean—I just…"

"Come here," she laughs. "You can't say things like that, you've been driving me crazy for a month, you can't start picturing me in a bikini when you aren't touching me." He turns back around, serious and positively needy as he kisses her cheek, hand ghosting down her side to thumb at the thin white scar. His fingers are impossibly long, sliding underneath the side of her shirt and stroking the side of her waist.

"A whole month?" He pulls her against him and glances at the cup of coffee on the counter. Her hands land on his lower back and lace together, flirting with his belt. "I probably still need that coffee."

"Yeah," she sighs, not quite willing to let go somehow. God, this is pathetic, he isn't even touching anything, not really, and her entire stomach is on fire and churning. "I'm still a little out of sorts too." And she pulls back far enough to smirk at him, "I want to be alert for this."

"What is this?" He leans down and picks up his shirt, ignoring her pointed frown and tugging it over his shoulders, watching her too closely as she walks back to her seat and takes a first warm sip from the coffee mug. "Good?"

"Delicious."

She doesn't know which of his questions she's answering, and he doesn't ask for clarification.

She flinches when something lands feather light on her lap and looks down at the small black cat winding his way through her arms and onto the counter.

"Toothless," Hiccup hisses, moving to pick him up before faltering and petting his head with an almost stern hand. "Sorry, he's not supposed to be on the counter, but—"

"No, I get it, he's spoiled. All happy pets are spoiled." She looks at him through her eyelashes, taking another gulp of coffee and wiping her chapstick off of the side of the cup. Hiccup flushes for what must be the fiftieth time tonight and she scratches the cat's back as he drags his tail past her face. "When you say it's been a while…how long is a while?"

He scratches the back of his neck, drinking out of his own mug and stalling for a moment by scratching Toothless in a way that makes him purr loudly enough to break the silence. He buttoned his shirt back up as far as it would go after she modified it, but it's only halfway and somehow enough skin to be truly distracting.

"I was still in school." He shrugs, glancing up at her nervously. "So…a year? Maybe two?"

"Ouch," she hisses, "so maybe we went a little fast?"

"Little bit."

"Nothing? For years?" She shakes her head, and drains her mug, unsure whether this is better or worse with some of the buzz blasted away. He looks better, more grounded, the red streaks in his hair standing out.

"And this is scaring you off more than the scar. Didn't see that one coming-"

"No, I just—hey, it's been a couple of years since I was last in a relationship. And…like I said, I like you. I don't do that very often." Toothless sprawls out on the counter and stretches his back legs towards Astrid, begging for attention. "How long have you had him?"

"Only about a year. I was out here looking at the practice and thinking about buying and, I don't know, the animal shelter just looked so sad. He was the last cat on the row and he hissed at me," a soft smile she can't quite decipher, "well, we made a connection."

Astrid grins, unsure of what to say as she smiles up at him, feeling goofy and a few years younger than she is. Talking to the cute boy in the corner of math class.

"This is the worst one-night stand ever, isn't it?" He says, leaning back against the counter and pushing his hand back through his hair.

"I like you."

"I like you too," he picks up her cup and gestures at it with small nod. "More?"

"I'm alright."

"I'm glad." He turns back to the counter and finishes his glass of water, setting the empty cup in the sink.

"You're going to miss out on the crazy drunk sex then," Astrid tries to joke and he flushes deeper, setting both mugs, both empty, in the sink. "If you want, I don't want to pressure you or anything…"

"It's just been a while, I…"

"Hey, you're already doing great," she grins and crosses her legs, glancing at her underwear, still on the floor. "You know I was joking about returning the favor…but if you wanted to…"

"That's an open ended offer." He gives her a wry smile that lights everything on fire.

"I'm just trying to get the ball rolling."

"Bedroom? If you want."

She nods in agreement, sliding off of the stool and jokingly gesturing him down the hallway. There are two closed doors she doesn't ask about and a small master bedroom attached to a clean bathroom with a night light plugged into the wall, a bluish glow over the porcelain. The bed is queen sized and unmade with three fluffy pillows stacked on one side below the simple wooden headboard. A pair of jeans and a few unbuttoned shirts are on the floor next to the hamper and he mutters to himself, rushing to pick them up. "Sorry—"

"Really, stop apologizing for everything," she steps forward and fists her hands in his shirt, standing on tip toes and looking him in the eyes. He reaches back to shut the door, cutting off some of the light and sending a striking shadow across his face. He licks his lips and leans in to kiss her, just gentle and sweet enough to drive her absolutely mad.

She grabs his wrist and slides his hand up her back, under her shirt, pressing it there before leaning up to wrap both arms around his neck and stretch towards his mouth, everything pressed against him. He pauses for a moment before grabbing her shirt and tugging it up, knuckles glancing up the line of her spine as he pulls back just far enough to pull it over her head. He looks down at her briefly before diving in and mouthing the side of her neck, smoothing his hands across the new expanses of bare skin as his hair tickles against her jaw.

It's not the reaction she'd imagined, prone on the padded table in front of him; it's better. Like she's appreciated and wanted and astounding. She scrambles to get his shirt back off, wondering why she ever let him get it on again and kissing along the strong jaw she's been staring at far too much, nipping at his earlobe. He urges her towards the bed and she falls back, tugging him over her and trying to scoot them towards the center of the bed.

"I've been trying so hard not to think about this."

"What a self-esteem boost," she laughs huskily, head falling back against the mattress as he kisses down her chest, reaching around to struggle with her bra clasp. It takes him a moment, whether because she's laying on his hands or he's out of practice and he growls in frustration, nipping at the side of her neck.

"That having to grope you was the worst day of my life?" He finally frees her bra and tugs it down her arms, palming her chest and pinching her pebbling nipple between gentle, long fingers.

"Mmm, Hiccup…" It slips out, husky and contented, and he pauses. She gropes at his back and shoulders, tracing along the long, thin scar and arching underneath him.

"You can't go with Hugo? You're really going with Hiccup here?" He wrinkles his nose against her shoulder and she laughs. "Hiccup isn't exactly sexy."

"So Dr. Haddock next time?" She can feel his blush, travelling halfway down his chest. "You said your friends call you Hiccup."

"Doesn't this kind of pass the bounds of friends?"

"Are you always this chatty?" He looks up at her, breath hot against the center of her chest and she cards her hand through his hair before really thinking about it. He smiles, and she doesn't want him to look so damn nervous. "Turn over."

"What?—oof."

She pushes on his shoulders and rolls over on top of him, straddling his thighs and unfastening his belt.

"You're wearing too many clothes," she pries the button of his pants open and unzips him, leaning down and kissing across his chest as he catches on and wiggles out of them, kicking them onto the floor. Her hand slides down his chest, slipping under his boxers and grasping him. She swallows his moan in a searing kiss, pumping his length and squeezing experimentally. His fingernails dig into her waist and she pulls away with a grin.

She kisses down his chest and he shivers, hands sliding up to her shoulders and gripping almost cautiously. She licks the sharp line of his hipbone and tugs his boxers down to his thighs before ducking down and sucking him unceremoniously into her mouth. He groans and his hands clamp down on her shoulders, holding her still.

"Shit." He groans, twitching against her tongue as she holds onto his hipbones and bobbing her head slowly, tongue laving against the underside of him. He shivers and one hand falls heavy onto the bed, fisting in the tangled sheets.

He pushes her off of him with the hand still clamped on her shoulder and she cocks her head, licking her lips and looking up at him.

"What's wrong?"

"Roll over," he fumbles with the zipper on the side of her skirt, yanking it down and throwing it over his shoulder as she rolls onto her back and settles into the mound of pillows at the head of the bed.

"Do you have something?"

"What?"

"Do you have protection?" She repeats the question, wide eyed and alarmed at the thought of this being cut short.

"Protection—Oh! Oh, yeah, I do," he laughs and looks down at her, face falling stony. "Just a second," he sits and rummages through a small bedside table, ripping off a crackly foil square and tearing it open. She spreads her knees, waving him towards her.

"I left mine at home," she laughs, "I didn't want to do this tonight."

"Er…you didn't?"

"Not with anyone but you," she snaps and he stares at her, slack-jawed and oddly adorable.

"Really?"

"Get up here, seriously."

"I can't believe this is happening." He follows her, torn open packet in hand as he kneels beside her and she starts wrenching at the waistband of his boxers, yanking them down past his ass and squeezing his cheek hard enough to make him jump.

"Me either," she helps him drag the boxers the rest of the way down, biting her lip as he rolls the condom on with slow, careful fingers, smoothing it along his shaft. "I've been thinking about this for a long time. Really."

"No pressure," he winces below the joke and she grabs his arm, dragging him over her and hooking a heel around the back of his thigh.

"I like you," she repeats, smoothing her hand down his back and tugging him closer, reaching between them to line him up. She nods, and he nudges forward, eyes falling shut as he slips in that first inch. He pauses, kissing her, and she deepens it, tangling her tongue with his and drawing him closer, hands clasping behind his shoulders. "Stop teasing me…"

He sinks all of the way in with a groan, fingernails digging into her shoulder as he adjusts, starting a slow, smooth rhythm. Almost leisurely, a stroll instead of that one-night stand sprint. She moans and starts rocking underneath him, and everything snaps into a shockingly smooth tandem with an almost audible click. He groans into her neck and reaches down to grab her hip, tugging her into him as he mouths at slightly salty skin. She bites down on his shoulder, locking her ankle around his hip and clenching.

"God, Astrid, I—" he groans and kisses her, sloppy and panting against her mouth, lips winding together.

"Go," she nods against him, head falling back against the pillows as it all starts to build again, stoked and frenzied by that sweet spot deep inside. She reaches between them, finding her still hyper-sensitive bud and rubbing, fingers glancing across him as his thrusts become erratic and determined, panting against her shoulder taking her breath away.

He bucks suddenly, grunting into her ear, impossibly hot as he throbs inside of her, hips twitching deeper. His sound is enough, the warm, solid weight landing against her chest, and she bucks against him, her heel digging into his back hard enough to bruise.

He sags on top of her, panting into the pillows and shaking, but this time it's adorable somehow and she wraps tight arms around his back, squeezing him close. Her fingers find the scar again, stroking it slowly, looping slow circles around both ends before riding the smooth slope in the middle. She wonders if his cat sleeps in his bed with him, and why she doesn't really mind. He rolls off of her with a sigh and she gives him a moment of privacy to clean himself up, accepting an almost sheepishly offered tissue and wiping herself clean.

"I think I might have jerked your hip out of alignment."

"Did you seriously just say that?" Astrid stares at the ceiling for a minute before laughing, hand covering her mouth. "Sorry just—seriously?"

"It might hurt in the morning."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," she turns towards him, thinking for a moment before curling into his shoulder and resting her head on his arm. "That was nice."

"I just made an ass of myself, didn't I?" His hand wraps around her waist and strokes at the lowest ridge of her ribs, ticklish and warm.

"Can…" her voice drops and she looks away from him, hoping that bringing this up doesn't shatter the pleasant quiet. "Can you get me that list of referrals again if it's a problem? I deleted the voicemail."

"I'll leave my own voicemail…as a friend. Just a doctor friend referring you to a few better doctors."

"I doubt they're better." She carefully kisses the well of his collarbone, trying to tell what's different about this. She's not normally a cuddler, but his shoulder is somehow better than the pillows.

"Better for you." He mutters and she hopes it's sealed. "Are you comfortable?" He tugs her a bit closer and she can feel his hot breath against the top of her head, close and soft and welcome.

"Yeah," she really is. Absolutely comfortable, too sweet drunk breath already covered with rich coffee and her headache is utterly ignorable, pushed to the back of her mind. "Are we going to see each other again?" she rolls halfway over and rests her chin on his chest to look him in the eye.

"Don't tell me you're just going to disappear."

"I'm just making sure you don't want me to." She looks away, because this is suddenly more unfamiliar than the cuddling itself.

"Are you asking me on a date?" He grins, hand sliding up between her shoulder blades and lingering.

"I didn't say that. I just said I want to see you again."

"I'm hearing a date," he grins, and it's breakable. It's a handshake, like he's trusting her with his heart or something. Like this is already important. "Is this a date?"

"If that's what you're insisting on calling it," she wrinkles her nose like she doesn't care. "Then it's a date."

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So. Hugo's spine and the sexual tension is resolved…

I'm working on responding to reviews presently.

One more chapter to go guys!