Hi all! I know it's been a while, but I had important IRL issues to resolve, so I couldn't focus on fiction. I'm back and brewing a few more ideas, but for now here's what follows to the events of the previous chapter. ;) Hope you enjoy.
Summary: Love is a machine; it needs the right amount of calibration to work in full performance. Too little, and it doesn't start. Too much...
WARNING: Smut. Lemons. Sexy times. Explicit stuff. Possibly exploding pineapples.
Chapter 32 - Sensitive Calibration
Hiccup swallows nothing but dry air. He bites the inside of his cheeks in an attempt to get himself to focus, but this barely helps. His mind is still awakening from the aftermath of his orgasm, chest still rattling from the spasms that had overtaken him. The drumming of his heart pounds louder in his ears than any metal work in the forge ever did, but at the same time he swears he can hear Astrid whimpering.
Despite his better judgement, he just can't look anywhere else.
He knows better than this; he knows the respectful thing to do would be to look away. But he finds his eyes irretrievably riveted to the inviting figure behind that tree. To that evidence of golden hair, like a beam of sunlight among the dull browns and greens of the forest. To how her eyes widen, unreadable as she, too, observes him with cautious hesitation. To the way the rouge of her cheeks matches the colour of her lips, parted in a half-formed word… or a moan.
Hiccup allows his gaze to descend. He drinks in the milky skin he had never laid eyes on before, the curve of her thigh that he oh so desires to kiss. Yet what most intrigues him is the angle of her arm, and where her hand rests. He can't see it, hidden behind the tree, but…
When her hand suddenly moves, erratically reaching down to yank her leggings up, even from a distance he can see the wetness coating her fingers like fresh morning dew. A shiver runs up and down his spine. The resulting vibration makes the hairs on his skin stand up straight – thus reminding Hiccup of his very uncovered, and suddenly stirring, privates.
He hadn't even had the time to wipe himself clean. He merely tucks himself in best he can – but it's not like she hasn't just seen it, and in full action too… oh, Gods.
Hiccup drums his fingers into the palm of his hands, heart still beating heavily against his ribcage. He clears his throat and straightens his back, feeling the nods of the tree trunk against his shoulders. It is hard to hear over the pounding in his chest, but he can feel his voice cracking. "H-how long ha-have you… been… t-there?"
There is a moment of reluctance before Astrid finally steps out into full view; eyes downcast, hands behind her back. Her boots scrape the ground as she attempts to take a step forward, then recedes. She shakes her head and sucks in the air, her chest expanding with a tremor. "Long enough."
"Oh." He can't think of anything else to say, really. He casts his eyes toward the ground, at the little white blobs splattered upon grass and leaves and twigs. These have now gone cold, but the intense heat of his overflow remains fresh under his skin.
A vision of an undressed Astrid, down on her knees, hungry for his offering, dances unbidden in front of his eyes. Just now, knowing that she had been so close to him, that she had watched him pleasure himself and call her name, brings him just as much embarrassment as it does arousal. And so Hiccup hides his face in his palms with a groan, unsure of whether to be angry at her or at himself.
He needs to keep this under check. He needs to distract himself, to think of anything other than the vision. He tries to remember one of Gobber's favourite punishments for when he's late to work – putting Hiccup on smallclothes washing duty. This seems to do the trick. Yes. Gobber's old skivvies work wonders in keeping his palpitation from, well, palpitating any further.
Hiccup hears her stepping closer toward him, hears her voice. It's barely over a whisper, yet apologetic and sincere. "I'm sorry."
He still daren't look at her. He uncovers his face and rubs the back of his neck, diverting his gaze to a nearby tree. "Me, too. I… shouldn't have…" It had been a dumb decision, to go into the forest to relieve himself. He'd made it far too obvious. He should have kept himself under control. He didn't –
Her hand delicately touches his arm. A lingering stroke, so full of hesitation he can barely feel it at first, but it entices his attention. When Astrid speaks again, her words dance into his ears like music in the night. "We never got to that second kiss," she says.
Their lips overlap before he has time to respond.
And so they stand under the shade of the trees, fingers entwined, listening to the sounds they make even as their breath grows short. This time, he's not counting how long the kiss takes; only that he is no longer sure if his heart is beating for two, or if he feels hers beating along with his.
Astrid sighs when she tilts her head sideways, raising goosebumps on his skin. Her eyelashes flutter against his cheek, and Hiccup realizes how similar this feels to the butterflies spiralling in his stomach. It's like he's spinning, without moving from the same spot.
Her scent fills his head; he eagerly breathes her in, this delicious and enticing aroma that never fails to send shivers down his spine. Just like it had done before, when she had sat upon his lap, when their bodies had touched in places they'd never quite touched before; even with the clothes in the way, the experience had been tormenting in the most exquisite way possible.
Unfortunately, Hiccup recalls all too well the way she had clambered off him upon seeing his erection, and he feels like he is quite close to getting another one.
Gobber's skivvies. Gobber's skivvies. Gobber's skivvies.
"Hiccup, are you okay?" Even her voice is teasing him.
"I'm fi– ah, hah…" Hiccup clears his throat, and he feels as if he's blinking too harshly but he absolutely must, in order to dispel the vision, "I'm fine."
Astrid squints at him; Hiccup clearly underestimated her understanding of him. Then she pulls away, but so slowly even her fingers seem unwilling to part from between his.
"You're not comfortable," she says, "You want to stop."
"No! I mean, yes … I mean, no I don't, but… ugh." Hiccup wants to reach out to her, but then his hands fall limp to his sides. "I don't know," he replies earnestly, "I just don't know."
She toys with a strand of her braid, her eyes flickering to him. "Why?"
Hiccup could feel his ears burning. "Before… you told me to stop," he stuffs his hand in the pockets of his pants only to take them out straight away, because tightening the fabric only made his growth all the more visible, "and I just... don't want to do anything you don't want to do. I guess. I mean, you know... out of respect…"
He trails off, filled with a gnawing doubt that won't go away; this fear of admitting he wants her in the same way a husband wants his wife, because he doesn't know what answer to expect of her.
Astrid chuckles, a smile returning to her face. "Look… You should know this by now. I'll tell you whenever I feel like there's something I don't want to do."
"But, you told me to stop– "
"I told you to wait. That's what I said, Hiccup. I said wait, not stop." She lets the words sink in.
"But wait for what?"
"For nothing." She closes the distance between them, her smile broadening as she settles between his arms, beckoning for another kiss. "Right now there's nothing I don't want to do…" She purrs, hands pressed over his chest while her fingers tenderly curl upon his tunic. Her heavy breathing betrays her nervousness.
"Keep going where?"
"Does it matter?" She presses her cheek to his, whispering in his ear. "We'll know when we get there, I guess..." Astrid hitches one of her legs over his; her skirt rises, accompanying the movement of her body. And Hiccup does the one thing that comes to mind – he bends his knee, so that his thigh rests just at her focal point… and she squirms, pressing heedlessly into it.
Hiccup feels like a tempest has risen under his skin. Something inside him stirs like the waters of the sea right before a thunderstorm and she is the dark clouds, charged with an energy that is ready to burst and meld between them both.
"This isn't just a kiss… is it?" He knows the answer long before he asks the question.
"Why?" Now her lips hover just over his pulse, "do you want," she breathes down his neck, and the trail her exhalation leaves upon his skin feels like a droplet of hot metal, burning and blending and hardening, "… more?"
The implication of that word hangs in the air; the extent of its meaning begins to take alarming outlines in Hiccup's mind. "Aaaahh…" He unwillingly answers with a shudder, more of a sigh than anything else. Gods, the answer is yes. More to everything; more nipping, more grinding, more holding… just, Odin forgive him, less clothing. But he opts for the sensible answer, the reasonable one. The safe one. "Do… you want more?" Always respect her wishes.
Astrid kisses the slope of his shoulder so heavily that it almost feels like a bite. She answers with her body – pressing down on him, chest and stomach and nethers and legs, with so much force she would have brought him down were he not supported by the tree at his back. Then she looks up, holding her face so close to his that their noses touch. "Yes."
His blood rapidly flows to points far removed from his brain, and he recognizes the sweet dizziness that begins to take over him.
"Astrid, wait up… just a sec," he begs, cupping her face in his palms. Just to check, one more time. "I would never do anything you didn't want me to do."
Reassuringly, she touches his left cheek – her other hand on his hip – and kisses his nose, smiling. "I would never do anything I didn't want to do."
Hiccup can't help but chuckle. Of course, he was being thick-headed. Astrid always knows what she wants, what she's doing. She was telling him what she wanted, just… not through words. It is only appropriate he responds in kind.
He's still holding her cheeks when he brings his face to hers. He lets her lead – lets her bite his lip, accompanies her to whatever angle she turns to, feels her tongue inside his mouth but never ventures into hers. Then he allows his own hands to roam, from her cheeks to her neck, to her collarbone and the top of her chest, then to the sides, down her ribs and finally onto the small of her back. His thumbs rest on the belt that holds up her skirt; this time, he resists the urge to tug at it.
Astrid keeps a hand on his right shoulder – but she slips the other hand inside his pants' pocket. And suddenly, Hiccup is nervous. Truth be told, he still isn't comfortable about having his erection pressed up against her, and it's just threatening to grow once more. Blood is rushing everywhere but his brain. He guiltily welcomes the dizzying sensation, and distractedly wonders how is it that his head can be so fuzzy and light while, at the same time, each touch ignites a lightning storm on his skin.
How can his thoughts be so jumbled up, but his body is feeling so many things all at once?
She's kissing his jawline again. There's something terribly distracting about having your neck kissed, because it is almost like you're feeling the lips treading your skin elsewhere – as if, somehow, she were kissing him in two spots at the same time. And while his neck is crooked upwards, receiving all of Astrid's loving attention, again his mind plays tricks on him, pulling him in and out of focus. He imagines her stripped of all clothes, going down on her knees; the crown of her head, like a plate of gold, hovering just under his waist…
Gods, no. He needs to keep it under control.
Gobber's skivvies. Gobber's skivvies. Gobber's skivvies.
She pauses her ministrations. "… what?"
"Um. What, what?"
"You just said 'skivvies'," she informs through puffy lips. The hand in his pocket moves conspicuously. If she stretches her fingers now, she'll touch his swollen flesh…
Hiccup gulps, even more nervous than before. "What? Er… no, I didn't."
"I'm pretty sure you did," she insists, and when he starts to shake his head she adds stiffly, "It's okay, Hiccup. I'll do it." She doesn't give him a moment to reply. Her right hand leaves his pocket; her left one falls from his shoulder, both of them taking hold of his waistband.
"Wait wait waitwaitwait what are you do – oh, Gods, are you sure you – ? Don't – " Shamefully, his attempts to stop her aren't even half-hearted. And, really, why should he try? He wants this. She clearly wants this as well. It's just… new. They're about to cross a boundary together, into a new level of intimacy.
Maybe he'd just like to have planned it ahead.
Then again, it just wouldn't be them without some level of impetuosity.
Astrid bites her lip to keep her smile from broadening at the sight she's just set free. "Well, at least some part of you is being honest. Right?"
Hiccup chuckles anxiously, appreciating the way her fair eyelashes flutter as she examines him. "Sorry. I'm just a little nervous," he says earnestly.
"I am too, you know…" she says, and then looks up and smiles broadly at him before kissing the tip of his chin, "but I'm so happy it has freckles! I've always imagined –" Astrid blinks; then trails off, embarrassment stamped on her face.
It takes Hiccup a moment to catch on. "You've, er… imagined… what it looks like?"
Gods above, he feels like bursting out laughing. At the same time, it's an enormous relief for him; he's daydreamed about Astrid's privates more than he'd care to declare. And it might be a little mean of him but… he's not about to admit it to her right now. Let this be a confession for some other time. A giddy sense of pride washes over him, and his smug smirk only makes her predicament worse.
"It's not like I'm a pervert, or anything!" Astrid snaps defensively, the redness in her cheeks reaching her ears, visible even behind her swaying hair. "I was just curious – don't laugh!"
But Hiccup can't resist; even though she looks a little mortified and despite the energetic blow of her fist to his gut. He bends over, amused yet complaining about the sudden pain, burying his face on the slope of her neck and kissing whatever bit of skin her cleavage allows him.
He stops laughing when her fingers squeeze his cock.
He gasps so loudly he nearly chokes. Now it's her turn to disconcert him; he can hear her snigger over his unsteady shudders. Hiccup leans his weight on her, and his hands fumble to grip her arms with uncertainty. It is a foreign yet delicious sensation, to feel his member being held inside a hot palm that doesn't belong to him.
Astrid gives him a couple more shaky squeezes, and her fingers drum along his shaft while trying to get the best hold on it. With her other hand she rubs his back, letting her nails rake the patch of skin between his shoulder blades. She kisses his earlobe and whispers gently, "Hiccup… I… don't really know how to do this."
Oh. Right. She's barely doing anything at all, and he already feels like melting into her, which isn't a very good sign. He's just too Thorsdamned sensitive.
"… mmmfeels good," he mumbles into her neck distractedly, eyes closed shut, trying to gather his wits and work up some courage to answer properly.
Astrid clears her throat. She hesitates before blurting out, "I want to do it like … like you were doing it. I want to do it right. Tell me how."
Hiccup smiles despite himself. Astrid, ever the perfectionist, admitting she was trying to figure out how to pleasure him.
Hiccup pulls his face up, heart frantic in his chest and throat as dry as a frozen well, but she looks back at him with utmost resolve. "You've gotta, uh, go up and down. Move your hand like – ouch." He winces, sucking in some breath at the sudden pull. "Wait, you gotta be careful with the skin. Let me, uh…"
Why was he embarrassed to look down? It was his own penis. Astrid's hand was on it, granted, but there's supposedly nothing embarrassing about hands.
Unless, of course, they're not yours and they're on your genitals.
He gently guides her fingers into suitable positions and settles his foreskin at the right height. "You, uh, can't pull the skin back too much. Or it hurts. And, um, you can hold tighter as you go up c-closer to the, er, head. Then loosen when – not so tight," Hiccup hisses, and for a moment Astrid is so startled she draws her hands back.
"I'm sorry!" She says, a little jumpy. "But your skin's a little dry…"
Maybe out of reflex, her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
Now, Hiccup knows she can't possibly be suggesting what his brain thinks she's suggesting, but this doesn't stop his imagination from bursting abruptly into some blood-racing scenarios that cause his heart to pound even further.
His gaze is obviously fixed on her mouth, because she immediately terminates any little fantasy he might have with a sharp jab of her knee on his thigh; Hiccup nearly topples over, but manages to fall with his back against the tree and holds on to it.
"Stop thinking what I think you're thinking!"
"Well what in Odin's name do YOU think I'M thinking?"
"Weird stuff, of course!"
"What?" Hiccup rolls his eyes and stands up straight, pulling himself to his full height and glaring at his very flustered girlfriend with the most offended look he can pull off given the circumstances. "You're the one doing the thinking, I didn't say anything!"
Her eyes dart up and down – from his exposed hardness, bounding with the motion of his body, to his face – and then she crosses her arms. "Sorry. I thought you meant… well, it doesn't matter… maybe someday… but not now."
Everything in him stiffens; just the idea that Astrid might one day use her mouth to pleasure him is enough to make his knees wobble a little. All he can do is shake his head and shrug; his hands hide the evidence of her effects on him, as he's far too self-conscious to remain uncovered to further scrutiny.
She approaches him again; diffident and slow, her touch on the back of his hands is as shaky and light as the leaves rustling on the trees above them. "Would it actually help if it were wet?" She asks.
He keeps shielding himself, but his throbbing hasn't eased one bit. "Yes, but you don't have to –"
"I'm not going to do that, you dummy," she sighs, bringing her right hand up to her mouth and licking it. A little trail of saliva dangles from her chin and she catches it with her fingers, chuckling softly at the messiness. "That oughta do it."
She keeps her eyes focused on his lips, for whatever reason; and he can't stop looking at the way her chest rises and falls, feeling the anticipation coil in his belly. Tightness wraps around his shaft once again, but softer this time – wet and warming up with each slow movement.
Breath stills inside his lungs; his eyelids shield all daylight and, for a few moments, Hiccup is submerged in a wild, galloping sensation. Astrid is more careful this time: shy strokes, trembling still, almost sweet.
"Guide my hand," she whispers, a demanding plea he doesn't hesitate to follow this time. They both look down, their foreheads rested together, at how his hand encircles hers. The tip of his head, pink and glossy, throbs between their overlapped fingers.
"What's that?" She sounds a little breathless, and very curious about the little transparent droplet that has started to form at his very tip. It's pre-cum, Hiccup wants to say, but sudden bashfulness stills his tongue. She barely waits for an answer, anyway; it finally overflowed and, very slowly, began to trickle down the side of his head – she caught it with her thumb and rolled it around testily, clearly amused.
"It's sticky," she says with a smirk. Then she adds, thoughtfully, "You're not… finished, right?"
His free hand settles on her behind; he gives it a soft squeeze for good measure. "I'm close," he growls, before claiming her lips for a heated kiss, and he revels in the way she whimpers into his lips.
Her hand stops moving. She pulls back. He watches, mesmerized, as she deliberately pulls her skirt up her waist and then, even more slowly, drags her leggings downwards. Hiccup can see the shadow of golden curls hidden behind the partially transparent fabric of her subligar, and he follows her fingers with wide eyes as they work the small knot on one side of her undergarment.
Gods, he's been dreaming of this for far too long now. He feels like just going down on his knees and kissing her between her legs. His tongue yearns for the taste of this unknown oasis, almost as much as his shaft aches to bury itself in the anticipated heat. He waits for her to beckon his approach; to guide his hand to where she wants him to touch her.
Hiccup runs the tip of his fingers across her guarded folds, inflamed and slick, and he feels her convulse against his frame. Her eyelashes flutter and her lips part to hum a delectable moan, before joining with his again.
And their hands had never been so delightfully busy. His on hers, hers on his; touching and leading the other into the right movements, panting and gasping for breath, lost in a mist entirely of their own.
She pushes harder at the tips of his fingers, her other hand – the one around his cock – going motionless more often than not, or shaking whenever her body shudders. Astrid moves like rolling thunder on his skin, an indolent sort of energy swelling with each deliberate caress; it's only a matter of time before the clap of lightning falls upon them.
Hiccup finds himself addicted to everything about her: to the little hitches of her voice when his fingers twist against her; to the way her thighs clench as her hips roll onto him; to how her eyes droop, out of focus, staring at him from somewhere deeply lost in sensation.
And then she mewled his name loudly, a jagged whine she held no control over, causing her grip to frantically choke his shaft. If anything could have driven him rougher and bolder, this was it. The tempest that unfurls within his gut threatens to turn him over, like a vessel surrendering to an unyielding tidal wave.
He no longer follows her guidance. Discovering every inch, every groove of her womanhood became a priority in this hazy newfound territory. He knows he can delve into her if he just presses his middle finger a little further, so he does; in one fluid motion, back to front, running through the damp silky heat between her folds until he is met with a little pearl of flesh.
This sends Astrid writhing flush into him, an abrupt spasm vibrating through her whole body. Her legs shiver. Her back arches. Her voice calls out his name with renewed urgency, between deep gasps and searching lips – and at this moment, Hiccup feels like he's flown into one of his late-night fantasies. Everything is a blur. The line between what is real and what isn't is dimming, and his body seems to be weightless and heavy all at once, every nerve brimming with a fulfilling, unrelenting vigour which conveys toward one single point at his centre.
Before he knows it, it's far too late to turn back.
He needs to know. He needs to know before it's over. What she tastes like.
Hiccup wants to apologise to her, but never fulfils this intention. It becomes buried in the hazy whirlwind of his jumbled thoughts, as he eagerly withdraws his hand from her core and brings his sultry fingers to his mouth.
"Oh, Gods… mmmf." Astrid's flavour is a sweet and sour rush of tender pleasure on his tongue, an outburst of adrenaline inside his chest that sets his lungs aflame, a consuming flare that meets with the coiling pressure just under his abdomen.
Surprisingly enough, her hand doesn't stop thrusting.
For a few seconds, his world is engulfed in a bright darkness; and the breathless whisper of her name caressing his lips drowns out all the other sounds.
Hiccup veers forward. He falls away into that ecstatic weightlessness, holding Astrid's curves in his shuddering embrace. Thoughtlessly, he buries his face between her covered breasts – as if his body were trying to meld into hers by instinct. The frantic flutter of her heart resonates against his skull, and he can almost feel the waves his orgasm boom inside of him along with that out-of-pace rhythm.
It is the rise and fall of her chest that gradually lulls him back from his reverie. And then he opens his eyes, still facing the ground.
"Uh… Sorry." He mumbles between jagged intakes of breath, wincing at the white splatter on Astrid's skin and clothes.
Her body remains unmoving against his. Her left arm is secure against his ribs, but her right arm hangs loosely by her side, her hand thinly coated with his release. It takes her a second to reply. "Are you done?" There is no frustration or bitterness in her tone.
Hiccup straightens his back and stands on his own, still recovering from the flighty sensation. He's surprised to find her smiling at him, eyes gleaming and soft. "I'm, uh… yeah. Think I'm all out now." He stands there sheepishly, cursing his choice of words, wondering why she's still smiling.
Astrid looks down at the messy situation. She titters, eyebrows arching. "That's good. The only thing you missed was my shirt."
"I'm sorry –" Hiccup blurts out, unable to meet her gaze. "I don't know what it is with me today! It's usually not this much, a-and I was totally not planning for that to happen… to your clothes I mean, but uh, to you also! Not that I didn't want to – I mean, no, please ignore that, just –"
She laughs heartily, patting his arm with her clean hand. "Relax, Hiccup!" And he does. He looks straight into her eyes and he bites back a sigh. "It's like you're always going on about with your gadgets and your machines, right?"
Hiccup blinks. "How do you mean?"
"Well… Your calibration's a little sensitive…"
"Oh. Har har," he says flatly, feeling his cheeks heat up with renewed embarrassment, scowling at her demure giggles. He wants to comment on how it's mostly her fault – she just has a way to push all of his buttons in the right way – but he says nothing else. In resigned silence he fishes the cloth from his pants' pocket and hands it over to her. "Ladies first," he mutters.
She reaches out to take the fabric, but hesitates; she seems lost in thought while standing there, uncertain. "I want you to do it." When Hiccup balks and tries to question her, stammering, she insists. "Please, Hiccup."
He knows better than to ask for her reasoning, and he figures he at least owes her this much. He starts with her hand; he holds it gently, on the clean side, wiping the traces of him off her skin. He wavers before lowering the cloth to her thighs, but she nods at him reassuringly.
There is a renewed frenzy of excitement within him now; it's more of the sort of thrill he gets when he has an adrenaline rush from risky flight manoeuvres, than the sweltering heat of sexual arousal. He's too spent for the latter, but what he feels is no less exciting. It's nice, this intimacy they share in a moment like this, still partially bare, still standing so close together.
But the way Astrid is breathing, and how her legs seem to sway as he gently cleans the tense flesh of her thighs, suddenly remind him that he'd left her hanging on unfinished business.
Hiccup feels the blush bloom to his ears before he speaks. "Do you, um… do you want me to, you know, continue… where I, uh… left off?" He mindlessly draws his hand too close to her sex and she whimpers audibly, before biting her lips and shaking her head.
She says no, but her body screams yes. He traces the inside of her thigh, so close he can now feel how wet she still is. Astrid bares her teeth, exhaling eagerly, digging her nails into his shoulder –
They both jump, startled by Stormfly's unmistakeable squawking. Then they realize, mortified, that she was stomping through the forest toward them.
"Rain check," Hiccup says, hastily swiping himself with the worn cloth and fastening his pants as fast as he could.
Astrid doesn't even bother tying her subligar before pulling up her stained leggings and flattening the skirt down to its proper place. "I hope so," she winks, and the devious grin she flashes his way makes him want to undo their clothes all over again.
Well, I guess that's a wrap... :) Thanks for reading! Kindly review, lemme know what you think: "yay" for "I love sexy times" and "nay" for "you need to find Jesus". :p Please forgive any typos and mistakes, but it's hard for me to catch those on my own since my brain's been over these lines a few times already. LOL.
(Well I lied about the exploding pineapples in the warning, but yeah, better safe than sorry.)