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Early on, when the whole dragon thing was still relatively new to Berk, Hiccup found himself… embarrassingly enraptured by the topic of dragon courting rituals. It had all started innocently enough—he’d been curious, intrigued by the idea that dragons, like humans, had their own unique ways of wooing a potential mate. So, naturally, he’d scoured every book, scroll, and scrap of parchment he could find on the subject, which, to his dismay, wasn’t much to start with. Berk wasn’t exactly a treasure trove of dragon literature, especially when most of what passed for ‘knowledge’ on the subject was either wildly inaccurate or, more often than not, the fevered ramblings of someone who clearly had no idea what they were talking about.
Still, Hiccup pressed on, determined to learn. Luckily, the few books that actually contained some credible information were relatively educational. Unlike the majority of dragon books found on Berk, which ranged from extremely ignorant to downright offensive—usually penned by someone too terrified of dragons to even consider studying them seriously.
He had, however, noticed something peculiar about the author of these more informative texts. Whoever wrote them seemed to be plagued by a morbid curiosity similar to his own, the kind that’s equal parts fascination and dread. It was a peculiar but enthusiastic interest that Hiccup couldn’t help but find amusing, and regrettably, in some respects, relatable. (Either way, Hiccup decided it was probably best to peruse these particular texts somewhere a little more private. After all, there was no need to invite questions about why he was so engrossed in the mating habits of dragons…)
It only took him a couple of days to analyze them to what he considered a satisfactory amount. He absorbed the information like a sponge, which was both a blessing and a curse, given that his mind now held an impressive yet slightly disturbing collection of dragon courting trivia. But, as expected, he found nothing on Night Furies. Not a single mention, not even a passing reference. Night Furies, it seemed, were as elusive in literature as they were in the skies.
Still, years later, Hiccup could recall, with perfect clarity, Toothless’s late-night encounter with the Light Fury. The way they had circled each other, testing, teasing, their every movement a careful dance of intelligence and instinct. It was a far cry from the fiery dramatics of that Monstrous Nightmare couple he’d once observed—whose idea of courtship seemed to involve setting everything around them ablaze—or the fastidious pair of Nadders back at the stables, who spent more time preening each other than actually engaging. Furies, on the other hand, valued skill. They sought someone who was their equal in all things, someone who matched them, mind and soul.
From his camouflage in the green brush, Hiccup had watched the entire encounter unfold, utterly captivated. But when Toothless had let the Light Fury fly away, Hiccup had been rendered clueless. He sorted furiously through the parchments of dragon logic in his mind, but ultimately, it was beyond him why Toothless would allow an opportunity like that to slip through his claws. Yes, he had complicated emotions of envy on the subject, and no, he doesn’t want to talk about them. But he would never discourage Toothless from connecting with a dragon who was as biologically compatible with him as she was. In fact, he’d brag that he had expertly played off his jealousy by encouraging the Furies to interact. (Especially when those interactions required his own absence.)
It baffled him. And whenever Hiccup looked over at Toothless, the dragon would fix him with a look—one that was both knowing and slightly exasperated, as if to say, you really don’t get it, do you?
(Perhaps Toothless had known exactly what he was doing all along…)
But of course, Hiccup didn’t quite understand. Not yet, anyway. He was still caught up in the logic of it all, the part of him that needed to make sense of everything. But dragons, he was beginning to realize, didn’t always operate on logic. They were creatures of instinct, of heart, and perhaps that was something even the most pristinely preserved books couldn’t teach him.
~
Hiccup couldn’t help but laugh to himself whenever he saw his helmet hanging by the door. The poor thing had gone through a plethora of heartfelt meanings. First, a keepsake of his mom, then a gift given to him by his dad, and now, it was a reminder—a sentimental, slightly ridiculous, and wholly cherished reminder—that maybe he should’ve caught on a lot sooner. (Really though, the helmet remains a bizarre mix of all three.)
It was during that strange, dragonless Snoggletog that Hiccup had a bit of an epiphany. While every other dragon was off doing their best to contribute to the perpetuation of their species, Toothless had been on a very different mission. Rather than disappearing into the wilds with a potential mate, he’d spent his time scouring the seas for something far less glamorous—a helmet Hiccup had accidentally lost while they were out flying.
Hiccup had tried to brush it off at first. He’d insisted that Toothless didn’t need to worry about it and that they’d find it later. But it was something that belonged to Hiccup, something important. And Toothless, being the devoted dragon that he was, had decided it was his personal responsibility to get it back. For three days, Hiccup lay awake at night, worrying, agonizing, thinking of all the ways his independent tail mechanism could’ve malfunctioned, stranding him someplace Hiccup couldn’t find him. But eventually, he returned with the missing helmet clutched in his jaws, back from his grand quest. Hiccup isn’t sure he’d ever felt a greater relief in his life.
But that’s when it hit him. This wasn’t just a highly intelligent dragon doing a favor for his rider. This was something different, something that went beyond mere loyalty or affection. This was Toothless’s own, obscure way of adapting to the instinctual endeavor of wooing a mate. Offerings.
The realization struck Hiccup so suddenly that he almost didn’t believe it. Of course, he had been a little slow to catch on—slow enough that it was almost laughable now—but when it finally clicked, the world around them seemed to pause, as if even the air held its breath, waiting for him to process it.
Hiccup knew what Toothless meant by it. The purity and simplicity of it was admittedly staggering. The Night Fury wasn’t just returning a lost thing. He was saying that Hiccup had mattered more to him than anything else. More than mating season, more than instinct, more than everything.
And Hiccup, in that moment, felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the Snoggletog fires burning throughout the village, crackling with all kinds of fuzzy feelings he didn’t know he could have.
(And he one-hundred percent reciprocated.)
Toothless knew, just like Hiccup had known when the dragon had dropped the helmet on his head (slobber and all,) eyes shining with that gentle, knowing look only Toothless could give. They didn’t need words. They never did.
Sometimes, he’s still a little embarrassed about the audience of folks in the Mess Hall who had witnessed the moment. The way their heads turned, crowding around and sharing in the elation of Toothless’s return. Their heartfelt reunion, one that would be out of place just months before, was something that shouldn’t have made sense but did. It was a moment so mesmerizing, so tender, Hiccup was almost bitter that it hadn’t happened somewhere more secluded.
(Ever so often, he would question the nature of that recurring thought. It certainly was one of debatable origin. Other Vikings don’t stare at their dragons wistfully and get seized by an all-consuming, full-body feeling of love and admiration. So it appeared. This seemed to be exclusively a Hiccup Thing.)
This shy, burgeoning feeling had become something of their own little secret, hidden in plain sight. There were times when Hiccup had questioned if he was the only one. Was he just projecting onto every dragon and Viking pair in some sick, twisted way to validate his secret longings? Had he skewered his own perceptions with the obscure concept of romance he’d come to frequently find himself in the middle of? It wasn’t like Hiccup hadn’t felt something similar before—an odd flutter when Toothless was near, or a spark of exhilaration when they flew together.
What was it about the fierceness, and the terror, and the breathtaking unconventionality of his bond with this beast that made him second-guess a very delicate part of himself? Why was this, in the fast paced and unpredictable life of a Berkian, the affair that changed everything?
In a life that was bleak and stagnant, promising only of ships sailing the seas and wars waged for fleeting matters, the life of a Viking had never boasted days filled with excitement or any other desirable amenities for the stay. It was an occupational hazard; a battle that you were thrust into and then unavoidably killed in. Hiccup, before Toothless, did not know how he was going to assimilate into that grand image. That grand image, that had no place for a runt like him.
Toothless was his hero, in more ways than he could count. He’d saved him from a passionless existence, rooted to the ground, set into motion by the bitter winds of tradition and expectation. Suddenly, Hiccup had an opportunity to do something that no other Viking in past generations would ever think possible; and that was the opportunity to create a life well wandered, a life well discovered, and a life well lived. The bounds were limitless on the backs of dragons, and Hiccup had never felt a greater relief that the distant horizons he’d stared at as a kid were no longer out of his reach. Toothless connected Hiccup to everything he never thought he’d touch. How could he not love him down to the skin of his bones?
So surely, there were other Vikings who felt it too, right? Hiccup couldn’t be the only one who felt a thrill at the implication of wandering the world with a being whose soul aligned perfectly with his own. The thought was both comforting and curious, that somehow, in some way, he and Toothless were direct mirrors. Based on one another. Made for each other…
If others felt it with their dragons too, then maybe it wasn’t so unprecedented after all. But if not… well, that was a bridge he’d have to cross later.
(He’d come up on that bridge far sooner than expected; and it came in the form of one parent lost, another parent found.)
~
For a long time, Hiccup struggled to come to terms with his mother’s return.
It wasn’t the manner in which she had left that troubled him. It’s that after discovering that she had the choice to return, she had instead chosen to start anew with the Stormcutter —a creature whose gaze, she’d professed, had pierced through to the very core of her being. She was transfixed, captivated insolubly by the gentle soul of the dragon, whose spirit mirrored her own in ways she had never anticipated it could.
Twenty years later, the bond between them was tangible in every lingering glance, every meaningful touch, and every shared moment of trust. It was as though she had become attuned to the dragon’s every movement, instinctively leaning into each sharp turn and bracing for every nosedive before it even occurred. Their unity was almost telepathic, a perfect symbiosis that transcended ordinary connections. Hiccup often watched them, secretly, with a kind of reverent fascination for the way they dominated the skies. They’d disappear for hours, sometimes even days . The way they merged with the heavens, consumed by the thrill of adventure and the freedom that came with it, echoed the way he and Toothless sometimes vanished into the horizon, seeking the same boundless liberation.
And while such a deep bond between dragon and rider was not unheard of, to Hiccup, there was something extraordinary about the relationship Valka and the Stormcutter shared in particular. Hiccup suspected that over the years they’d spent together, something else began to simmer beneath the surface of their seemingly perfect bond. It was something he’d sensed for a long time, a quiet understanding that had always lingered just out of reach: a suspicion that had gnawed at him for years, one he wasn’t sure of how to confront. After all, there are just some questions that are better unspoken, especially the ones that probe the depths of certain feelings that wouldn’t exactly be considered natural. Especially the ‘in-love-with-your-dragon’ types.
(Because he doesn’t know what he’d say if someone asked him such a thing about Toothless. Especially because he has resigned himself to the fact that it’s starting to hold some weight.)
Hiccup feels a vague sense of detachment from the fact that he doesn’t understand Valka the way his friends understood their parents. The way she would throw her arms open to the wind, her face alight with joy as the breeze whipped around her, was the height of the peace and contentment he’d been chasing with Toothless ever since they first met.
Living in a dragon’s nest for twenty years with no human contact or communication had certainly …set her apart from the average Berkian. Words often escaped her, and though she was wise, it wasn’t by any definition of the current understanding of the word. She knew more about dragons than anyone in the archipelago. She’d studied them for half of her life, lived alongside them, flown amongst them.
But one does not become immersed so completely in another world without falling in love. (Hiccup knows this firsthand.)
Valka’s connection to Cloudjumper was more than a mere partnership; it was a profound, life-affirming bond, built from quiet moments and fraught with perils they’d overcome as one. These were the stories she’d feed her son, like birdseed, casually over breakfast or when flying their rounds. But her eyes, crinkled by age at the edges, are steady on the horizon. Her smile is calm, reminiscent. Imbued with so much love. He wanted to hear more about how the skies had become her sanctuary, as much a part of her as her own heartbeat.
It’s why she was almost never on the ground, and the only glimpses he caught of her were when she and Cloudjumper cut above the clouds—where they belonged, where they were meant to be. Together, they moved through the skies as if they were actors on a grand stage, gracefully taking their places in a cosmic performance that appeared intrinsic to their being.
With his recent observations, it became clear why she had seemed so stifled and distant when Stoick had tried to court her again. To her, the gestures of a traditional courtship must have felt painfully inadequate, or at least simplistic in their execution. The world she had come to know—shown to her by her gentle giant of a dragon—was far more nuanced and layered than the structured and compartmentalized expressions of affection offered by man. It lacked the depth and spontaneity that she had found in the skies. Among the dragons.
Up here, in the realm of the beasts, there were no scripted roles or preordained paths; there was only the raw, unfiltered essence of mutual understanding and shared existence. It was this that had shaped her view of relationships and companionship. The rituals of human courtship would never again measure up to the richness of the life she had built with Cloudjumper.
And so, her ongoing (but sort of noncommittal) attempt to fit back into society was not just uncomfortable—it was inconceivable. Because the space she left behind when she was taken away had grown misshapen, and she had peacefully accepted that she would never fit there again. Not like she did before.
His mother’s brazen, unapologetic attitude was something he envied and hoped to someday emulate. What was it like to not care about what assumptions others would undoubtedly make? It was obscure to those who didn’t look closer, but to Hiccup, it was as plain as day.
He supposed though that it was really none of his business. There was a reason she was so private about it, and he respected that.
…There was also the high chance that he was projecting, once again.
(But there had always been a noticeable leniency between the things he would talk about with his dad, and the things he could talk about with his mom.)
Inexplicably, telling her felt welcomed.
“I love Toothless,” Hiccup blurted out suddenly, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. They were flying over Berk, getting some airtime before the sun went down. “In a way that I probably …shouldn’t.”
Valka doesn’t react in any of the ways he half expected. In fact, for a long while, she didn’t react at all. He was starting to question if she’d even heard him, when—
“Admitting that is hard,” She finally said, her voice calm and measured. Far calmer than Hiccup had anticipated. There was a weight in her tone, a kind of understanding that made his heart ache and ease at the same time.
There was no shock, no raised eyebrow, no hurried attempt to shush him. Instead, her face remained serene, her eyes soft as she gazed at the horizon, soaking up the last lights of the setting sun. Then her gaze fell on Toothless, whose dorsal plates drooped slightly, bashfully, and his eyes suddenly became avoidant. He understood. And if Hiccup didn’t know him any better, he wouldn’t be able to sense that he was mildly anxious now that their unusual relationship was out in the open. Hiccup soothingly rubbed a hand atop the dragon’s head, asking for his trust.
A stunned silence stretched for a moment, the air filled only with the distant sounds from below of the village winding down for the evening.
“It is, yeah,” His voice was quieter then, almost sheepish. “It is…”
“Well?” Valka tilted her head, and a gentle smile pulled at her lips. “Are ye feeling any better?”
(He …didn’t feel better. Relieved, maybe. But not better.)
Deflecting with a bit of humor, he asked, “Oh, gee, is it really that simple?”
Valka adjusted her stance on Cloudjumper, chuckling, “Oh, Hiccup. Love is many things, but ‘simple’ is rarely one of them.”
“Yeah,” Agreed her son, a smile worrying onto his face. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”
The truth was out there, no longer festering inside him, no longer tangled up in the knots of his thoughts. But there was still an unease, a lingering doubt that gnawed at him.
‘Some people are just born different,’ She’d told him once, when they were first reunited. The words echoed in his mind now, aligning perfectly with everything he’d ever felt about himself. Hiccup had always known he was different, long before he’d ever met Toothless. The things that intrigued him were… impractical at best. His interests? Dangerous, according to most. While other kids had been content with axes and flails, he’d been more in his element building contraptions that usually ended in minor explosions.
And then there was the small matter of befriending the most feared dragon in the archipelago.
(‘Different’ didn’t even begin to cover it.)
Hiccup chewed on his lip, feeling like his question had not yet been answered. “So, it doesn’t …bother you? That he’s a dragon, and I’m…” He trailed off, realizing how ridiculous it sounded out loud, even though it made perfect sense in his heart.
“And you’re Hiccup,” Her voice was filled with warmth and a touch of amusement. “The boy who saw beyond what others feared. The one who befriended the unfriendable! If anyone were to be involved in a love that defies expectations, it’s you.”
Hiccup chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “Ah, so you’re saying I’m just doomed to be the weird guy with the dragon for the rest of my life?”
Valka laughed with him. “Doomed? I wouldn’t say that. Blessed, maybe. Blessed to have found someone who understands you in a way no one else ever could.”
There was something undeniably comforting in her words. In her acceptance.
He smiled.
“Well, maybe you’re right,” Hiccup said, finally settled. He looked out at the horizon where the rays of the sun were fading into twilight. “It’s just… It’s been hard to wrap my head around, to be frank.”
Valka nodded, flying close enough to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It will be, for a while. But there’s no rush to figure it out.”
Hiccup noticed the peace and empathy in her voice, a kind of serenity that suggested she knew exactly what he was going through. It wasn’t just understanding—it was experience.
Oh.
It brought that same question to the forefront of his mind; the one he’d had for the longest but never quite knew how to ask. With the air between them honest and open for dragon related laundry to air out, now felt like the closest he’d ever get to the ‘right time’ to deploy it.
“So does that mean you and Cloudjumper are…?” He trailed off, his voice tentative, not entirely sure what it was he was asking. The words hung in the air between them, absurd, but… oddly fitting.
Valka’s eyes crinkled with a mischievous grin that spread across her face. There was something secretive in her expression, something that spoke of long-kept confidences and shared understanding. “If that’s what you want to call it,” She said, her tone cheeky and elusive as she looked out at the horizon instead of at him.
Hiccup couldn’t hide his amusement as a chuckle escaped him. “Woah,” He breathed, the word carrying both surprise and a strange sense of relief. It was one thing to suspect, but it was another thing entirely to hear it confirmed, albeit in a roundabout way.
Valka, leaning to rest her arm on her bent knee, humored him further, “Let’s just say; I had a realization very similar to yours.”
There was a part of him that was slightly bewildered, but there was also a part that felt oddly comforted, knowing that he wasn’t alone in this strange, uncharted territory of feelings.
“You know,” Valka continued, her tone light and teasing, “You’re not the first Viking to fall head over heels for a dragon. And I suspect you won’t be the last.”
Hiccup laughed, awkwardly, feeling Toothless’s loose hover stiffen into a self-conscious glide.
She gave Cloudjumper a playful noogie on his head, and Hiccup decided that he had no further comment on the matter. Something warm glowed in his chest long after they returned to the ground and surrendered to their huts for the night.
~
On the isle of Berk, there wasn’t much to be said about the art. Totems, statues, murals; those were some of the run of the mill methods of expression here on the wet heap of rock he and some several-hundred Vikings called home. There was the occasional tapestry, commissioned to be strung about the mead hall’s great walls. There were animal hide rugs and charcoal paintings depicting the great victories of the ancestors. Grisly stuff, really. But these expressions were only beautiful in the sense that they were intimidating; their very purpose being to ward off enemies with their ugliness. Aside from the sunset, prompt at different times during different solstices, Berk did not boast much of a color scheme.
But that was before Hiccup had made his greatest contribution to the portrait of his home, and that contribution was dragons. The huge and the scuttly, the drab and the colorful, like a streak of paint in the skies. There were the fiery, sharp-edged Nightmares, gentle but intimidating. There were the azure and spiny Nadders, graceful in their flight. There were also the bumpy Gronckles, like sentient pieces of rubble and sediment.
But Hiccup, in his own, humble opinion, believed Night Furies to be the most captivating of all dragons. They were midnight incarnate, mystery made manifest. How the lovechild of lightning and death itself could be gentle to a defenseless man like himself fascinated him to his very bones. That a Night Fury extended the same mercy he’d shown him, and then some. That in itself was one of the things that always caused him to lapse into a contemplative mood.
Toothless was in full-on feral mode with his trout, and it was both mesmerizing and mildly terrifying. The way he was tearing into it with that primal energy made Hiccup imagine what it might be like to be on the receiving end of those jaws—a tragic fate involving a series of muted but persistent growls and a vice-like grip from those claws. It sounded like the plot of an overly dramatic Viking saga. Many times, Hiccup had felt like he was as good as a goner, but this time—miraculously—he was the lucky one. (He always was when it was a Toothless thing.)
As he watched, entranced, he found himself absently slowing, then completely pausing, the consumption of his own afternoon snack. Toothless, ever the perceptive companion, noticed the distraction and promptly mirrored Hiccup’s staring. He’d sensed a disturbance, one that he intended to resolve. His pupils are thinned, but not slit-like how they were when he was entirely wild. No, his dragon was just a show off. This was his performative display of sass at Hiccup’s gawking.
When their eyes met, Toothless’s half-lidded, unamused stare made Hiccup feel as though heat had fanned over him. Trying to save face, he shoved a big chunk of fruit into his mouth with exaggerated enthusiasm, pretending to be deeply engrossed in his snack. There is embarrassment in his stare he’d forced somewhere faraway, giving the assertive dragon his respect while eating. This, of course, does not stop a stubborn Viking from stealing sidelongs though. Toothless was going to have to get used to it. After all, the two had already made many adjustments to accommodate their life together, be that consciously or not. Hiccup admired Toothless… he’s never done anything to hide that. It was all a learning curve; one that he documented diligently.
(The verdict? It takes a surprising amount of self restraint to not coddle your dragon.)
Other times, Hiccup found himself completely at a Night Fury’s mercy, which, for obvious reasons, was at times daunting. For the first time, since he was that naive little boy freeing the dragon he’d shot down in the woods, Hiccup feared Toothless. But it wasn’t the primal kind, slotted between precious life and certain death. It was a softer kind, a mix of guilt and shame. Toothless would never hurt Hiccup. That was the thing. Had he accidentally made him too soft by loving him too hard?
Right now, he risked everything he’d endeavored to hide. The one thing he hid but everyone could see. There it was, laid bare between them, beating raw like his heart had been ripped from his chest.
What, he wondered, was hidden behind that verdant stare? Those mirror-like eyes, showing him a crystal reflection of his very own soul. The ones that looked at him, but didn’t fear. The ones that were feral, but didn’t kill. The ones that witnessed slaughter, but wouldn’t imitate it.
Hiccup is backed into a corner by Toothless’s slow, impending gait. He was stalking low to the ground like he’d pounce at any moment. (He doesn’t pounce, but instead, corners the young blacksmith until he’s pressed firmly against the spruce.)
“I, uhh. Bud?” He anxiously grips the wrench in his hand, not knowing what exactly he intended to do. He slowly lets it slide from his grasp, forgotten in the grass below.
Hiccup swallowed hard when he finally felt muzzle on his chest, going rigid and not daring to look down at it. If he does, he knows he’ll break. Instead, he blinks at the sky. The stars are almost mocking in their serenity. They have nothing to say to him.
He heard a gruff exhale from the dragon’s nostrils against his chest, demanding his rider’s attention. His heart raced, shamefully, excitedly, anxiously. He knows Toothless can feel it. Every beat of it, rapid and reverberating with every feeling he kept secret. So he sucked in a shaky breath, slowly, allowing the calming rumble low in Toothless’s throat to disarm him. A refined possessiveness clutched at his heart; one that had burgeoned for the last six years.
Carefully, he brought a hand up, cupping his jaw, skimming his thumb along his scales, letting the tactility of it keep him from floating away. The tension in his muscles softened. Toothless loved him. He would never shame his human for doing something similar. (Loving him…)
Except… this wasn’t part of the plan. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with a dragon. Of all things he already is that he could have chosen to be, he chose to be in love with a dragon. (Even though most days, it hardly felt like he ever had a say in whether it happened or not.)
Now, he’s left holding his father’s hefty responsibility of leading Berk, when all he had ever wanted to do was be anywhere but on the ground. The solitude of the skies was where he belonged, a place only Toothless could take him.
The only thing that truly brought Hiccup a sense of fulfillment was uncovering the mysteries of the world and inventing new ways to connect with them. There was always a new corner of the map to fill, a new dragon species to discover, each with its own set of secrets and wonders that begged to be understood.
He wanted to explore every peak, every valley, every treacherous stretch of sea that others feared to cross. The thrill of soaring through the skies on Toothless’s back, the wind in his hair and the world laid out beneath him like a giant, ever-expanding canvas—that was when he felt most alive. It wasn’t just about discovering new places or new dragons; it was about discovering parts of himself that only surfaced when he was out there, on the edge of the world.
How distant was the feeling of desire for another human, and how long ago had he last felt such a thing? …He can’t remember. He wishes he felt more contrition at the thought. He wishes he were harder on himself for letting it happen like this. Why couldn’t he just do this one thing right? Be the man that Berk needed him to be; a chip off the old block, cut from the same cloth as Stoick the Vast. If word got out, this would undoubtedly sully the family name, and maybe even Berk’s as a whole.
What would the other isles think if they learned of the chief’s affections for the Night Fury he’d tamed? Nothing lighthearted, that was for sure. As a leader, Hiccup had become fairly acquainted with the minds of his peers. He could only imagine the rumors they’d pass around, coming up with filthy ideas about how he’d managed to make docile such a notoriously ferocious beast.
Everything he did, he did it with restless admiration for who he’d discovered was the last Night Fury left on earth. Every prototype he developed, every improvement to the island, and every thought of ingenuity was born from a love that compelled him to invent. All of his notebooks are filled with absent-minded charcoal sketches that captured the intense, focused gaze of the creature he felt favored by the gods to have. The damp sand of Berk’s beaches, at some point or another, had been marked with drawings of a Fury’s unique dorsal plates and loving recreations of his mighty wingspan.
It was easy, convenient to let this particular feeling get stronger over time. Hiccup, at heart, was not set apart from the barmy, savage flavor of Berkian. Though, many would argue that his clandestine affairs with an injured Night Fury six years prior had softened him up more than the rest of them. And still there was nothing to compare the feeling to; his enormous, larger-than-life gratitude that Toothless had chosen him.
~
Hiccup and Toothless didn’t go everywhere together, not in a meticulous sense. On average, a day at the stables consisted of pulling a thorn from a Gronckle’s foot, or plucking a rotten tooth from a Hotburple’s mouth, (why was it always the Boulder class dragons that needed such frequent maintenance?) but Hiccup still made a point to volunteer and help out any way that he could. His friends would often join him on those days, busying themselves with similar tasks while indulging time spent with the chief, who rarely even had the time for himself these days.
They’d toss around their usual banter, easily settling back into the familiar momentum of their friendship. Hiccup’s personal favorite, served in-house on every occasion, was Snotlout’s complaint about being on dung duty, and Astrid's varying response that never strayed from the lines of, ‘It’s a job fit for a Jorgensen.’
All while Toothless… goes off to do his own thing. Which is well and good. They spent every other hour of the day together, anyway. Hiccup is glad that Toothless feels independent enough to be out and about without him nearby. Besides, maybe an appearance without the two of them together for once would do them some good. Even so, Hiccup was always possessed of a peculiar sense of longing as he watched his dragon fly away, somehow still graceful in his short flutters and low-to-the ground glides without his rider to operate his tailfin.
But even as Toothless found his own adventures, there was something about the dragon’s presence that never quite left Hiccup’s mind, pulling on the invisible string that connected them.
Later that evening, while Hiccup observed a beaker through his magnifying glass, Toothless’s scales caught his eye in the background. It was just the two of them in his study, ensconced in the crisp darkness seeping through the walls from the wild night outside, but the orange glow of his oil lantern had kept the chill at bay.
Hiccup had picked up on Toothless’s restlessness a while earlier. Usually, he’d fall asleep in the corner, curled up in a peaceful bundle of darkness whose only movement was the soft rise and fall of his back. Now though, he’d risen from his restful position and perused the small space until he’d made his way over to Hiccup, poking his nose curiously at the various things strewn across his workbench.
“Well, hello,” Hiccup said, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Interested in a bit of science?”
Toothless settles beside him more comfortably, listening.
“It’s… it’s not much to look at, actually.” He realized, mussing a slightly embarrassed hand through his hair. “It’s just, you know, a standard, non-toxic solution that will hopefully keep the dragonroot from…”
He slowly lost interest in his own words when he noticed Toothless nudging his snout against his chest, feeling for the heartbeat beneath.
Even calm, Toothless was a formidable presence, yet there was something soft in the way he looked up at him. Everything unknown and mysterious about the world seemed to reside in those green eyes—deep, uncharted, yet somehow calm under Hiccup’s touch. Their eyes fixed on each other, something private and raw hanging between them.
“…Gods, Toothless.” The word escaped as a soft laugh. Not because anything was funny, but because of how unbecoming it was how easily this dragon could turn him into a bumbling mess with just a look.
Secretly though, these were the moments Hiccup treasured; when Toothless would sneak up on him with these quiet moments of reciprocation. But he almost always went away more starved, more curious than before, left speechless by the tingly impression of something warm plucking at his senses. He presses a bit of space between them, just enough for him to pull his apron over his head and toss it rashly across his workbench.
Absently, he scratches along his face where the beginnings of beard started to stubble. Hiccup never knew exactly what to do at this point. Of course, there nagged the desire to relieve himself someplace private; let his humanity indulge in something a little more wild and forbidden. But always the glance down, and the slight but noticeable difference below the belt that remind him that he is merely… a man.
(A man, perhaps, who yearned for unusual things. But a man, no less.)
That’s when he felt Toothless’s tail curl along his waist, pulling him closer. He resigned himself to the hotness pooling in his gut, tingles seizing his body everywhere they touched. They couldn’t catch the closeness quite the same, but Hiccup nudged against him, molding to the shape of him, and it was sweet and warm and lovely.
Hiccup couldn’t help the tender smile that curled his lips as he clumsily brushed his own smile against Toothless’s snout. “You know, I never exactly took you for the romantic type,” He murmured, but his words were laced with an affection that betrayed the jest. Toothless, for all his wild power and fierce instincts, melted under Hiccup’s touch.
Hiccup’s hand moved with practiced ease, feeling the steady, powerful pulse beneath Toothless’s scales. It quickened as his fingers traced over the familiar contours of the dragon’s neck, reaching for the intricate mechanism he’d created that allowed them to fly together. Hiccup knew everything about Toothless, just by feel; every bit of him was memorized by touch. He knew which pulley of his saddle unhooks from what, how to unclasp this without messing up that. Hiccup is never quite sure what this is or how exactly it was coming across to his Night Fury counterpart, but there is something addictive about the way warmth rose beneath his scales under his trailing touch.
There was a calm rumbling in his throat while Hiccup’s fingers worked, deftly undoing the fastenings and the buckles, letting the saddle fall off of him. Toothless’s deep purring resonated through them both, a rumble of satisfaction that was as unrestrained as it was primal, rolling deep into Hiccup like a comforting vibration, grounding him even as it stirred something in his chest. This creature could torch him with one breath, could maul him with no effort; but here he was, like putty in his hands.
The rest of it had been a blur. How Toothless had bared himself to him, letting the day’s tension ooze out of him with every soft kiss, every gentle stroke from deft, knowing fingers along his most sensitive areas. Hiccup remembers how fire raced down his spine, how his throat went soft at the sight, at the implication, at the trust.
He remembers how nervous he was that he wouldn’t suffice for a dragon, perhaps too small a Viking, or not understanding enough of his needs that he wouldn’t manage to pleasure him the way he deserved to be. But he remembers even more colorfully the dulcet noises of satisfaction rumbling beneath him at every experimental touch, the tail that flailed weakly against the floorboards, the leg that twitched restlessly in the air. He remembers how his teasing ‘look at the mighty king of dragons,’ remark had earned him a light tail-slap on the back of his head. How he saw the desire burning, there, heavy in his deep green eyes, and the spine tingling realization that it was Hiccup’s touch that made it enough for Toothless. More than enough.
He remembers how that desire sparked something in him, how he straddled Toothless, moving together in a makeshift rhythm that was just enough. How Toothless let go first, and then how the swell of love and warmth and the ache in all his muscles gave Hiccup the last nudge he needed to go careening over the edge right after him. How it was pure love, really, and nothing else that could’ve made something so hasty and fervent feel like it had spanned a lifetime.
He remembers laying there afterwards, heart pounding. How he stared at the ceiling but only saw stars. Only felt the rapid, deep expansion and emptying of his lungs, fiending for air after it was stolen away by the full body effort to prove how he really felt about the Night Fury. Then there were wings encircling him, and then the familiar shape of a large body, bending around him in a warm, protective curl.
(Then came his final, belated thought for the night; Thor Almighty, he hoped that no one would come looking for him and stumble upon the very questionable sight of the chief, half-naked, fallen asleep in the local Night Fury’s wings.)