The Warmth of Love - Chapter 5

Take today, for example. Snotlout, who’s about my age, got into a fight with Gustav, who’s maybe five or six years younger. And I swear, sometimes I think they enjoy fighting. It’s not like anyone else will tolerate being around Gustav for more than a few minutes, and most people have given up arguing back to Snotlout. It’s not even as if they fight about reasonable things. Today, somehow, one of them managed to set a barrel of water on fire. How does one even do that!?! No wonder my dad used to soothe his headaches with giant blocks of ice after a hard day. 

I returned to my house, half expecting Jack to be gone. But no, there he was, lounging by the hearth tossing tiny chips of ice at Toothless, who was trying to catch them in his mouth.

“Y’know, your dragon thing is basically just a giant cat.”

“Toothless is not a cat. He’s a Night Fury, the rarest and most powerful species of dragon known to vikings.” I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice, but Jack seemed to sense that I wasn’t feeling up for his games.

“You alright?” he asked, sitting up. Toothless hurried over to me, nuzzling my side as I sat down opposite Jack.

“Sorry, yeah. Rough day, y’know?” I rubbed my back, trying to get my sore muscles to loosen up. Dad used to carry his stress in his head, with headaches, bloodshot eyes,  sinus problems, etc. For better or worse, I seem to carry mine in my lower back and hips. Having a mechanical foot doesn’t help much either.

“Huh, yeah. Hey, wanna massage?” I glared at Jack, but he seemed dead serious. “Looks like you need it. I used to give Sandy massages when he was sleep deprived. I think he liked it. Never complained, at least.” He chuckled, then glanced at me, his piercing eyes boring into mine.

“Fine! Fine, massage away.” Astrid used to give me massages, and I can’t say they ever helped much. Or even felt good at all.

“Mmm. Take off your shirt and lay on your stomach.”

“What!?!” I glared at Jack again, probably blushing madly.

“Well if you lay on your back I suppose I could massage your chest, but usually you have to buy me dinner first.” There’s that smirk again. He flexed his hands and cracked his knuckles.

I sighed and pulled off my vest and shirt. I hate being shirtless, particularly around other people. And for some reason being shirtless around Jack was that much more awkward.

“Nice. OK, lay down on your stomach.” I did as I was told, feeling ridiculous as I maneuvered myself onto the cushions on our long bench. Jack rubbed his hands together and began kneading my shoulders.

“Lower back, not shoulders.”

“Gotcha.” He moved down to the part of my back that was hurting, and began working on it. To say that his massage was different from Astrid’s would be an understatement. His fingers were unbelievably smooth and nimble, dancing across my back and seeking out sore or tense muscles, then carefully working the knots out. “Man, you’ve got a lot of tension, Buttercup.”

“It’s Hiccup! …Ahhh…” He silenced me by running his palms up my spine, all the way up to my shoulders then back down again. There was a slight chill to his fingers, which felt surprisingly soothing this close to the open fire. Before I knew it, he was straddling my legs, putting his full (although slight) body weight onto my back. “Mmmmm… Jack, that’s amazing.”

“Heh, I know,” he responded, and I swear I could hear the smirk in his voice.