So Iabri said this, and I did this. It's probably not at all what she was thinking, but it's what I came up with. Merry Christmas a little late, guys!
Everywhere they walked villagers hailed him with fond greetings that he answered in kind. More than a few younger girls giggled as they called, eyes raking sharply over her and lingering rather warmly on him. A mad impulse urged her to step closer to him, to show those girls that, for the moment at least, she had what they wanted, and she nearly obeyed. But from further away it was easier to admire the line of his jaw and the smattering of freckles across his cheeks, his quick grins and quicker wit, his glance gentle when it lit on her.
* * * * *
Though Stoick did his best to appear interested in the queen’s garden, so unlike anything on Berk, his son was having a harder time; no flowers could hold his attention while the princess walked alongside him. Next to her he felt gangly and graceless, envious of her loose-limbed ease and despairing of the way she seemed unaffected by his presence, contrary to her effect on him. Or so he thought, until a wild swing of her arm caused their hands to brush each other. As a shock coursed through his body she stumbled, face scarlet, and he let hope rise.
* * * * *
Her dad’s singing cut him off midsentence, and he looked so boyishly lost and confused at the interruption that she laughed quietly. His expression changed as he watched her chuckle, something just short of a smile on his lips. Then, with a squeak and a scrape unnoticed above the din, he pushed his chair closer to hers and picked up where he’d left off; his voice was low enough that she had to lean in to hear, though she found herself distracted by the mesmerizing progress of his fingertip tracing whorls on the tabletop, movement and murmur making her shiver.
* * * * *
Gobber had demanded they share a drink, but he couldn’t seem to keep his attention on anything the smith said; it kept wandering away across the hall, to where her head was thrown back in a laugh, curls dancing, cheeks rosy with firelight and drink. He was lost in the sight until she looked straight at him and he felt it like a blow to his gut, knocking the wind from him. Her face dropped to the mug cupped in her hands; then her eyes flicked up, meeting his again, and she bit her lower lip against a shy smile.
* * * * *
His fingers, light against the soft skin of the underside of her wrist, made her pulse fly. She couldn’t bear the waiting anymore, the unanswered expectation, and nearly wrested her arm free and snapped at him; but the look on his face, the admiration and desperation and determination there, stopped her short. A gentle tug brought her closer, finally close enough to feel the steady, dizzying warmth of him. Her breath caught in her throat, and eyes that had widened now shut slowly, and she sighed against his lips, and twisted her hand in his to twine their fingers together.
