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Chapter 11: Bounce
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Hiccup wakes up on his back, slightly confused, head pounding. He's been a side sleeper ever since he could be and he shifts, squinting against the sunlight and thinking about rolling away from the window. Something tightens around his waist and he opens his eyes, looking down at a crown of blonde hair against his shoulder and a long, lean arm across his chest.
Astrid.
Right, Astrid is here and last night…last night.
Oh wow.
Oh shit and oh wow.
Toothless gets up from his spot at the edge of the bed and walks towards him, rubbing the side of his face on Hiccup's unoccupied shoulder and leaping to the bedside coffee table. The cat sits down and stares, meowing quietly and looking at Astrid's head. She rouses at the noise and tucks herself closer into his shoulder, breath hot and damp against his chest.
"I know, I said I wasn't going to do this. But I did it. Shit." He bites his lip and shakes his head, flinching when she stirs against him. "But it's not—she's not my patient," he hisses at the cat's judgmental face. "Can you give me—us—a little bit of privacy, bud?"
Toothless mewls again and Hiccup rolls his eyes, shrugging under Astrid's weight and staring at her as she slings her sleepy leg around his. "Seriously. I'd kind of like to be the first thing she sees in the morning, even if you're cuter." He manages a small, nervous smile when the cat purrs in response before jumping down from the table and trotting out into the hallway.
Hiccup looks down at Astrid again, face almost entirely obscured by hair aside from the tip of her nose, throwing a stark shadow against his chest. She's still beautiful, even mostly hidden, and he strokes a careful hand across the line of her shoulders, bare and peeking out from beneath the sheets. He pushes her hair carefully over her shoulder and strokes the nape of her neck, the delicate curve of her upper back, drifting sideways over the slanted lines of her shoulder blades.
How did he manage this one again?
This is the stupidest thing he's ever done.
She's not his patient anymore. She's not.
Still, how did he do this? Sure, in college he was…lucky. Frequently lucky even, but it was never worth repeating, there was never the connection.
He surely never dabbled about waking them up, wondering if there's some magic morning after word to make sure that talk of dates from the night before doesn't get pushed under the rug permanently. That she'll wake up as Astrid and not his patient.
His whole arm is asleep from the weight of her head on his shoulder, but he's not about to say anything about it. She's breathing slowly, a melodious sort of half snore ruffling her hair against his chest. She looks oddly right there, fitting into a groove that he didn't know he had and curling into him.
He starts stroking her shoulder again, tickling down her arm to the inside of her wrist, where he traces pale blue veins in the sunlight. She snorts, and pulls her hand back slightly, resting it in the center of his chest, elbow caught up in the comforter. He cranes his neck upwards, to the extent of his limited flexibility and barely manages a kiss to the crown of her head. She smells good, like surprisingly sweet shampoo and a tinge of salt from last night, barely mixed with the scent of his detergent, like she belongs here.
It strikes him that she might not remember the date she suggested, that she might not want this sort of…thing. He can see her waking up and laying down boundaries, horrible boundaries.
If she weren't sprawled across him, he'd consider getting up, getting dressed, maybe running down the street for coffee and breakfast and definitely splashing some cool water on his face, but he's trapped. It's the absolute best kind of trapped, especially with her slowly waking up, arching and stretching, pressing her impossibly soft chest against his side. His hand drifts back to her shoulders, stroking in aimless circles until she groans awake and pushes her hair away from her face with the hand on his chest, shielding her eyes from the sun.
She looks around for a second, hand planted in the middle of his chest before her eyes settle on him and widen slightly.
"Good morning."
"Morning," she pushes crazy hair away from her face and squints towards the window, "ugh, I drank too much, how are you doing?"
"Hungover?" He recognizes her tone and she groans, nodding and flopping back down against him, point of her chin digging into his chest. "I'll take that as a yes."
"I've been better" she tightens her leg around his, half stretch and half pulling herself closer. "I don't even know if the coffee was a good idea, now it's a caffeine headache too."
His hand finds her shoulder and rubs slowly and she croons, stiffening momentarily under his touch before giving in and falling utterly slack against him.
"You remember coffee, that's the good news."
"I remember everything," she says in a slightly gravelly voice, reaching across his chest and stroking the stark line of his collarbone. He swallows hard. "What? Are you still nervous this morning?" She peeks out of the blankets and flinches immediately at the light, shrinking back into hiding. "Just let me go get some water, and we'll continue this conversation."
"I'll get you some water," he offers, letting go of her shoulder, and she peers up at him.
"You don't have to get me water."
"I need some too, I'll be right back." He doesn't tell her that he's a little too focused on regaining blood flow in his arm and she backs off with a suspicious look. "And I'll shut the blinds. I didn't think to do it last night."
"Thank you," she says it sincerely before grinning at him. "Hiccup."
"And you had to remember that."
"I wasn't that drunk."
"You're hungover," he reminds her and she shrugs, curling the blanket further around herself.
"I'm dehydrated."
"I'll be right back," he scoots to the edge of the bed, suddenly self-conscious before standing and letting the sheets fall. He glances back and she's grinning at him, comforter tugged up over her chest. "What?"
"I'm looking."
"Why are you looking?" He reaches for his boxers on the floor where they landed the night before and she shrugs like it's obvious.
"Because it's nice, don't cover it up."
He reaches back to touch the dimpled scar low on his back and she shakes her head. "That's nice too. Really."
"You're demanding, wanting water and a show first thing in the morning." He's glad he's half hard, a semi-enthusiastic morning wood too sleep drugged to notice the real naked girl in the bed nearby. He figures it isn't as presumptuous as standing at attention, but less embarrassing than being flaccid in front of her. He's not ready for that, he doesn't know if he'd ever be ready for that.
Part of his brain is still stuck in the realm where he can never, ever be ready for that.
"Seriously, thank you for the water," her face is suddenly serious, eyes locked on his.
"It's just water. I'm joking, it's not a big deal."
"You can't be real," her eyes drift back down to his ass, brightening immediately when he twists the blinds closed and dips the room into darkness.
"Are you still drunk?" He laughs and glances at her again, all ruffled blonde and sheet lines stretched across pale cheeks smudged with last night's makeup. Still irrationally beautiful. His hands itch with the fact that he can touch her.
"No," she lays back down on his pillow, and it's better than he imagined it, seeing her there. She cranes her neck to look around to his front and he hustles to the bathroom, rinsing out the cup on the counter and filling it with cool water. He chugs it once and refills it, ignoring the fact that she gets an eyeful when he walks back in and manages half of a seductive grin before she turns her gaze to the water. "Thanks," she takes the cup and chugs it, swishing the last gulp around in her mouth and swallowing it back with a grin. "So much better."
"I'm glad, is the dark helping too?"
She nods and sits up and tosses the sheets off of herself, a little ungainly as she swings her feet over the side of the bed and stands. It's not anywhere near bright in the room, he invested in good blinds for that East facing window, but there's more light than last night and apparently a whole lot that he didn't appreciate properly the night before.
When he drags his eyes back to her face she's smiling knowingly, and he recognizes the expression from his office. God, he must have been obvious.
He needs to not think of the office. He thinks of her in the bar last night, adorably embarrassed about her actions and eager. He clings to that image.
"Bathroom?" She points at the door to the attached tile room, more as an exit line than an actual question and he nods dumbly.
He remembers when he could perk up that quickly after a hangover, when he spent all night drinking ouzo in Athens and somehow made his four-thirty AM train to Poland the next day without needing someone to come along with him holding a bucket. Part of him envies her, and the other part is terrified, because they haven't set a date in stone and he's never felt this old and stodgy before.
She said it like a secret. I like you, like it really meant something, and he believed her. He wonders if she remembers that part of the night and she's needlessly embarrassed or something. Or more likely, she doesn't remember it at all, if she does, it's a line, and he can't even bring himself to regret getting played.
And God, that was smooth. Avoiding him for a week and giving him all those referrals as some sort of elaborate scheme. And then when she apologized—No, Astrid's smart, but this is an evil genius level sort of plan.
What if she actually likes him? Likes him.
He picks up his boxers and pulls them on, flushing a bit as he sets her silky, tiny underwear on the foot of the bed along with her skirt, shirt, and bra that he finds scattered by the foot of the bed. One side of the bed is nearly pristine, sheet still tucked in at the bottom and it strikes him that she didn't really claim a side, instead sleeping on him.
It makes the whole rendez-vous feel less permanent somehow and he sighs, ruffling through his closet for a tee-shirt. Something old and comforting that he doesn't mind spilling beer and motor oil on as he spends the rest of the afternoon out in the garage, trying to forget pale, perfect skin and coffee aftertaste against his tongue.
Maybe it's best he remembers that she's off-limits. Maybe that'd be better, for everyone.
"Oh."
He turns to see her and she's standing in the bathroom doorway, small frown on a pink, flushed face. The skin around her eyes is slightly red, presumably from scrubbing the black make-up off, and it makes her look younger, more vulnerable. This doesn't feel wrong at all, it's right enough to scare him.
"Those are all the clothes you had, right?" He looks away before his eyes have a chance to drift down and make him look like a…like his interest isn't legitimate. Who looks like that? Honestly, it's almost cruel, with her being so long and lean and perky and perfect and he's over here all angles and legs and one long scar.
God, how long does he have until she notices that scar sober and…and he doesn't know. But it will surely slay him.
"Yeah," she shrugs and steps forward towards the pile, digging through it for her underwear and sliding them on with a little flick of her hips. He smiles in spite of the fact that she's getting ready to go.
"I did knock you out of whack a little bit. Sorry about that."
She shrugs and glances up at him, shoulders hunched forward in a way that makes him think she's mad. For some reason. Maybe he was awful, and she was expecting him to make it up to her this morning or something. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing." She picks up her bra and starts untangling it, looping her arms through the straps and reaching behind herself to fasten it.
"Does your back hurt or something? I'm sure I couldn't have been the most comfortable pillow," he winces and gestures to the bony point of his shoulder.
"No—actually, yes. My back sort of hurts." She finishes clasping her extremely flattering black bra and turns her back to face him.
"Here," he steps up behind her, resting his hands on the smooth skin of her waist. She inhales sharply and mutters something under her breath. "What was that?"
"We're still on for our drinks, right?"
"Of course," he grins and squeezes her waist a little tighter, a little more confident. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Never mind," She shrugs and smiles over her shoulder at him, brightening and standing up straighter. "I'm fine, maybe a little muscle sore, but that's it—ooh." She moans as he starts rubbing an obvious tightness in her trapezius.
He shifts away from her slightly, angling his hips away from her ass. That's what she sounded like last night and all he can remember is her legs around his ears on the kitchen table. Half-mast is feeling a little more like ready to set sail.
"You…you don't have to head out so quick if you don't want to, you know." He offers quietly and she stiffens under his hands, glancing back over her shoulder.
"Then what's with the pile of clothes," she gestures to her wrinkled shirt hanging off of the foot of the bed.
"I thought you wanted to leave."
"I thought you were kicking me out."
"I'd never kick you out."
"That's not exactly true," she tries to joke, "you've already kicked me out once."
"Best decision ever." He smirks and she stares at him for a second before smiling and turning around. His hands slide off of her back and land against his thighs and he crosses his fingers that she doesn't look down. She bites her lip and glances around the room.
"What do you want to do?"
Everything in his pants twitches.
"I don't know, we could have breakfast or—"
"No, I'm not ready to leave the dark room yet," she cuts him off and glances towards the bed, knocking her knee against his. The suggestion is too surprising to be obvious and he raises his eyebrows. She laughs and steps away from him, crawling back into the bed in her underwear and curling up with her head on the previously unused pillow. "If you want."
"I'll bite," he smiles at her and walks around the bed, crawling into his side. There. Now she claimed half of it. "So you mentioned drinks." He wants so badly to call it a date, but he's not feeling as brave as last night. She's more intimidating now somehow, sleepy eyed and comfortable, black bra strap stark against her shoulder and reminding him how close to naked she is.
"You still want to go, don't you?" She smiles at him and scoots closer, freeing her arm from the comforter and dragging his eyes down towards her chest. He never really fixated on it while she was clothed somehow, the whole package was a little distracting, but he's finding himself a bit too focused now. She stretches her arms over her head and flops back on her back, closing her eyes.
If she's nervous, it doesn't look like it.
"Of course."
"What? You aren't going to tease me by calling it a date?" She grins and edges imperceptibly sideways, her shoulder grazing his. He rolls onto his side and cautiously loops his arm around her waist through the blankets. She stiffens and slowly opens her eyes, looking sideways at him. "You're still after a date aren't you?"
"Absolutely," he grins when she flushes and tugs her closer to him, inhaling sharply. "And everything that entails. I'm going to pick you up and—"
"My roommate can threaten you. It'll be great." She snorts and her hands slowly find the arm across her front, stroking along with the hair. "Maybe…maybe we should go get breakfast. My head is feeling better," she sits up and sighs, looking back down at him. "But maybe that's just from laying down."
She flops back, curving onto her side facing away from him and backing up into the crux of his body, back curved against his chest. His arm falls across her waist almost reflexively and she shifts, trying to get comfortable as he slides one hand under her pillow.
Like that's ever going to work.
"Here, move the pillow a bit, maybe it can save you from the bony." He lifts his head and tries to do it with his cheek and she butts her hips back against his.
"It's comfortable."
"Oh, really, because I—"
"Really." She cuts him off and seems to relax, hands falling again to his forearm, this time stroking over the bones of his wrist. He can feel her hip against his elbow even through the comforter, sharp and cut by the waistband of her underwear.
That really can't be comfortable.
He wants to make this easier and better and turn it into something that she'll want to do again. He sheepishly leans forward and kisses the back of her head. She's rigid for a moment before settling further into him, her heart beating shallow and a little too fast against his chest.
"When were you thinking for that date?—"
"There it is."
"Seriously," he squeezes her and it feels like a habit, her golden hair tickling his nose. She must have fixed it in the bathroom too, it's lying smooth over the pillow, slightly wavy out of its thick braid. He almost kisses it again, biting his lip and tugging her closer, curling his legs around hers. "When would you want to…go out?"
She laughs.
"You don't have to be so formal about it, really. It's just drinks, we could go after this if you wanted." She shifts against him, and her breath puffs against the crux of his elbow. "But that does defeat the whole purpose of trying to make sure I see you again."
"You were making sure you'd get to see me again?" He grins and pops up slightly, buffeting her head down his arm and she glares at him, until he returns her pillow to its rightful place. "I'm flattered."
"Don't be," she presses her face into the pillow. "It's—I like you."
"I like you too," he inches a little closer and she perks up slightly.
"I can feel how much you like me."
Of course.
He pulls his hips away from hers with a nervous laugh and she rolls over to face him, wrapping a leg around his hips. "I'm not complaining."
"I just didn't mean to," he laughs again as she trails her hand down his ribs, fiddling with the trail of auburn hair leading down from his navel. "But you're going for it, ok—"
"What? You don't want to?" She pulls back, blue eyes wide and he catches himself.
"Oh, I want to," he cups the back of her head and tugs her into him, kissing her. She bows into him, and he wonders how women stand bras all day with the crescent shaped wires pressing tight to his chest. He can't stand her bra now. It has to come off.
Her hands fist in her hair and he reaches behind her, fumbling with the clasp of her bra and undoing it faster than last night, pulling back long enough to yank it down her arms. She's grins at him and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him more deeply as her leg hooks fully around his back.
She rolls on top of him and grinds down against hips, legs tangled in the sheets.
"Anytime," she mutters against his hair as he kisses down her neck, sucking briefly at her pulse point and groaning as she reaches into his boxers and grips his shaft. Her hand pumps once, twice, and she's leaning off him towards the bed side table for the forgotten strip of condoms.
"Anytime, that's pretty vague," he sits up halfway and sucks her nipple into his mouth, jolting against her palm when she moans and holds him to her by his hair, fumbling the condom before tearing open the foil wrapper with her teeth.
"Shut up."
"If you're not careful, I'll take anytime to heart," he groans as she shoves his boxers halfway down his thighs and out of the way, rolling the condom down his length. He reaches for her underwear and pushes them down, catching her waist as she leans sideways to tug them over one foot.
"Oh no, my hot doctor is going to be trying to bang me all the time. The horror."
He pauses completely, hand frozen against her waist. That should sound filthy and grimy and disgusting. He should feel like he's violating her.
But she called him hot.
He grins.
"Your hot doctor?"
"Don't worry, you're not my doctor anymore." She reaches back to line herself up and he stalls her with long fingers, stroking her clit and slipping inside of her, testing her wetness. She moans and runs her free hand over his stomach.
"You called me your hot doctor? That was my title?" He pulls his hand away from her and grips her hips, holding her stable as she sinks down onto him with a sigh. "Like when you were on your way to an appointment, you told people that you were going to see your hot doctor?"
"My roommate called you Dr. Hottie," she shifts her hips to engulf him completely. "It got really annoying."
"I think I'll like your roommate," he laughs, pressing carefully up into her and flushing when her head lolls sideways and she starts to grind against him.
"Oh god, shut up." She grips his sides and bites her lip, eyes squinted shut. His hand finds her clit and starts rubbing in a tight circle and she bends forward, kissing his neck and panting into his ear.
He doesn't last as long as he'd like to, but somehow manages to drag her over the edge with him, fingers clumsy against her in those last seconds of muscle clenching bliss. She flops down against his chest with a groan, panting and limp with her hands on his shoulders.
"I thought I was joking when I said anytime."
His hand lands between her shoulder blades and strokes slightly and she whimpers. "Don't stop that." Her stomach rumbles between them and she shifts, obviously trying to ignore it.
"Breakfast?"
The pause lingers for a moment and he shifts, more nervous than he probably should be, considering she's sweaty and draped over him.
"Yeah, and I guess I'll walk home. Because your car is still at the bar." She teases him, resting her nose against his cheek and laughing.
"Right." He sighs. "That's what I get to deal with this morning."
"Come on, your morning wasn't so horrible." She bites her lip. "Friday."
"What about Friday?"
"Pick me up on Friday," she leans onto her elbow and thumps his chest with a casual palm. "Seven. Friday at seven."
"It's a date."
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So. Last Chapter.
Crackle, Snap's sequel will hopefully be ready to post by the end of the year.
I will respond to reviews at some point tomorrow, I'm running a little behind right now.