Lighting Wolflion

The fire in the hearth cast a soft glow in the hut, illuminating the interior. The flames swayed steadily to their own rhythm until the outside air caused them to coil away from the cold. The door to the hut opened and closed with a loud slam as bloodstained boots moved across the floor, stopping just in front of a woodpile in a corner. One hand tossed a log into the hearth while the other reached for a rug lying on a nearby stool. Dagur sat on the stool and started cleaning his axe, removing half-dried blood from the metal blades, then moved on to spots and handprints on the handle.

Not a moment later, a muffled voice sounded from the outside of the hut “Do not,” and the door slammed open “Walk away from me”, and slammed shut again with the same force “When I'm bragging and proving you right.” A second pair of bloodstained boots stomped across the floor to the same woodpile, tossing yet another log into the hearth; flames wavered again at the disruption.

“Uh, hello? Berserker chief? On Berserker Island.” He said, pointing at his armour, where the metal Skrill was bleeding from its wings, “If you haven't figured it out yet, I can do whatever I want.”

As he was swinging his hands, the other viking snatched the cloth from Dagur's hand and started cleaning their own sword.

“Hey,” Dagur tried to get the piece of cloth back, “I was using that!”

“Your axe’s clean enough.” You moved the rug out of Dagur's reach when he tried to grab it back. “Unlike your armour…” You bit your inner lip, eyes focused on the cloth sliding over the blade in your hands.

“Fine” he drew out the syllable while rolling his eyes. He grabbed a bucket with water and leaned against the table in the middle of the room.

“...or you”, you muttered under your breath once he was out of earshot, eyes looking up from the sword to stalk Dagur's every movement. “You gotta admit though today's hunt was much more fun than usual” you turned the sword towards the fire to check if you'd missed any spot, but the bloodied hands and forearms were far more enticing than any weapon maintenance.

“Definitely”, he let out this characteristic semi-maniacal chuckle confirming, his statement, “and how they all looked panicked when they saw us. Priceless!” He kept reaching into the bucket to wet his fingers the blood on them and his armour slowly dissolving while water droplet ran up his arm, creating lighter paths in the red coating, that glistened and shone in the light “Or when they started running wherever after we killed the first two” Dagur's fingers swiped and rubbed against the armour removing dirt and blood from the armour until he reached a particularly resistant spot. But no matter how many times he dipped his hand, some blood would still cling to his fingers, to his cuticles; hiding under his nails.

“And we did catch that buck,” voice steady and measured like you were approaching a wild dragon you didn't want to scare.

“Fuck yeah we did! It’s head will make a great trophy,” he said with a lilt in his voice, acting as if none the wiser of your slowly approaching figure.

“Since this hunt was sooo successful,” you made sure to emphasise the statement “Don't you have anything to say to me?”

Dagur let out a deep sigh momentarily stopping his attempts at getting rid of the stain and “I guess, I am happy we took your Terrors with us” he grumbled.

“Aaaand?” you drew out voice taunting trying to drag out a confession.

“And they're pretty good at tracking. There, I said it. Happy?” then he turned back to the offending stain using double the force to try end get rid of it. The more he moved the further the scent of blood reached in the room. And as he moved his arms and tensed his muscles scabs over the scratches strained to keep the wounds completely closed making little openings for the blood to lazily seep them.

“Very.” With your eyes narrowed to focus better you approached Dagur putting your sword on the table behind him and moving your hands to unclasp his armour. “It might be easier to clean if you take it off.” You helped him remove the armour “or…” you breathed in the metallic scent of blood mixed with a musky scent of forest where the wo of you have spent the better part of the day tracking a deer that was probably getting skinned somewhere in the village at that very moment. “You could leave it for now” you leaned in to kiss the corner of his lips and then moved to lick the stripe of blood from below his eye. Still wet, still fresh.

“Oh?” He leaned back to take a look at you fully. Your boots were in a decent condition save for a few darker spots, your pants were a bit worse off with additional dirt stains on your knees. But up from there it got messier. Your shirt at the hem was still wet and it still had that deep red hue which looked almost black in this lighting. But it wasn't the only part of your shirt that looked like that because Dagur could count at least 3 tears to the fabric that had this crimson blotch around them. However, this was nothing compared to your hands and arms. Your palms were rather clean since the worst of it has been left on the cleaning rug with the little bit of blood in the creases and a some red film here and there. The back of your hands and your forearms ,where the only way your skin could peek through the crimson coating was where a handprint would smear the fluid further up your arm, were like a carnage on a canvas. A few of your loose hair strands were matted, tangled and sticky at the tips all thanks to a mix of blood, sweat and dirt; some going as far as sticking to your face creating the illusion of dark veins or tattoos pointing at your eyes. Eyes that reflected the flames from the hearth highlighting their immense focus. Eyes that were meticulously scanning him like a predator sizing their prey. And at that moment Dagur wondered, if he sunk into your embrace just now would your scent match his; would the arms that embraced him stain his skin; was the blood on them still fresh enough to also leave a red tacky film in his hair as well. He wondered if you were to put your hand around his throat would it leave a red mark; would the handprint mirror the one you bear on your neck right now. And it reminded him of a time when similar thoughts crossed his mind.

Which was at most two hours ago while the two of you were tracking the deer a bit south of of Berserker Island. The animal was already hurt from Dagur's shot so now it was just a case of finding it and ending its misery. You threaded carefully following one of your Terrible Terrors you brought along. The little red dragon marched forward with its snout almost dragging on the forest floor occasionally climbing a tree or a bush and licking around.

“Admit it, it's much less tedious than blindly going around in circles.” You nudged Dagur yet again during your escapade trying to get him to say you were right.

Instead you got an eye roll in return “Maybe I like going blindly in circles. Maybe that's what I like about hunting.” he nudged you back “Have you thought about that? Hmm?” his face getting right into yours.

“Ha! Yeah right. If that were true you'd be looking for trolls and fairies” You pointedly stuck out your tongue to tease him. Just as Dagur was about to refute the Terror drew your attention “Oh she's got something! Come on!”

You pulled Dagur by the wrist and trotted after the dragon until it stopped before your prey. You praised the dragon by giving it chin scratches and some dried meat as a reward but it didn't rest. It kept walking around the area and sniffing around.

“Well… it's already dead,” he said, while examining the corpse by nudging it with his foot.

“Are you serious?”

“Man, I was really hoping to strike a killing blow. Or like crush its neck with bare hands” disappointment clear in his voice. “Now it kinda feels like cheating if I hang the head in my hut” Dagur swung his axe at a tree in frustration.

“Ugh, this sucks!” you said with irritation clear on your face. You then proceeded to whistle and make clicking sounds with your tongue to call the other two Terrors you brought along. You moved to stand next to Dagur and knelt beside the deer’s head moving it to the side. “Still looks pretty nice and it's rather big and we did follow it around for half a day. I say we— huh?” you paused for a moment “We didn't shoot it in the head, did we?”

“No?” Dagur turned from abusing the tree and turned to you “I definitely didn't aim for the head” He moved closer to see why you were digging around in the dead deer’s mouth “The fuck is that?”

“That, my dear, is most likely a crossbow bolt” You said with the mocking seriousness then presented the thing you pulled out of the animal. “I'm not sure if you're familiar with this kind of ammunition” you threw a glance at his crossbow right beside him

“You!” he tackled you to the ground “You know that's not what I meant!”

“Do I?” you lifted yourself up using his arm as a leverage, your face mere inches from his as you flashed him a shit eating grin. That's when you heard a growl from your right “What is it girl? What did you find?” You scrambled from underneath Dagur to stand beside your dragon who was growling and huffing in one specific direction.

And indeed the little dragon found something— a pair of footprints leading farther into the bush.

“Ooo hoo ho ho, the plot thickens” Dagur chuckled while peering over your shoulder “I wonder who these belong to.”

“I don’t know, maybe we should just get the deer, the rest of our dragons and go back” hesitation clear in your tone while you examined the size of the tracks left.

“Don’t you want to know who stole our kill?” he leaned in closer, then his expression changed suddenly to a smirk “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

You slowly turned your face towards him, closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh, “I hate how you can get to me in just a few words.” After that you leaned back to grab the crossbow and clicked your tongue to signal your red Terror to keep moving.

The two of you followed the tracks for a few minutes until the sound of waves clashing on the beach was loud and clear. That’s when Dagur yanked you down behind the last line of thickets before the forest turned into a beach. You threw an accusatory look his way but before you could say anything you saw him put a finger to his mouth and point farther into the beach with his other hand. You looked towards where he was pointing and you couldn’t believe your eyes.

“Dragon hunters?” you whispered under your breath. Then your eyes focused on the pair that was closest to the treeline one of them was a flyer sitting on a Singetail while the other person held two Terrible Terrors by their snouts “My boy–” Dagur slapped a hand over your mouth.

“I told you to shut up” he whisper-shouted.

You pulled his hand off your face “What do you want me to do? Wait till they’re gone with my dragons?!” you whisper-shouted in turn.

“Of course not. We definitely gotta tell Hiccup there are still remaining hunters and flyers scattered around. But now we have to think of a plan.”

“Riiiiight… a plan.”

Dagur kept talking to himself considering possible plans, but he stopped when he felt you reach into a quiver on his hip. “What are you doing?”

“Well, there’s no Hiccup here with his goody-two-shoes attitude,” you made a gagging expression “So I’m going to get back my dragons quick and easy,” you loaded the crossbow in your hand “And maybe take some hunter heads on the way,” you aimed at a target only known to you.

“What are you going to do? Fight them all?”

“Come ooon,” your expression twisted in annoyance “There’s like what? Five, six of them and one flyer?” you kept your eyes trained on the beach “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft…” realising it might be the perfect opportunity to use his own words against him, you took it, “Don’t tell me you’re scared,”you cast a side glance at Dagur and sent a daring smile his way.

Meanwhile, hunters at the beach discussed something only they were privy to, since you could hear them talking but couldn’t distinguish any actual words from a distance. The flyer kept pointing at different people directing them to other places and most likely barking up orders now and then. They turned towards the hunter standing in front of them as he explained something while he presented the two Terrors before forcing them into a small cage. He then pointed towards the forest in the direction you and Dagur came from. The flyer turned their head towards where he was pointing and not a moment later something flew towards them. A bolt went straight through their eye socket knocking them back into the Singetail's back. Before the hunter realised what was happening two shouting vikings were running his way, so all he could think of was getting to the nearest place where they put their weapons and alarm other hunters.

You rushed towards the flyer and chucked the limp body off of the Singetail. You then reached to take off the bridle but instead had to dodge a fire blast from a disturbed dragon. Thankfully it decided to take the opportunity at freedom and leave without causing any more damage, although maybe you could’ve used some more chaos. Sword at the ready; you scanned the area looking for your next target and your eyes landed on Dagur as he swiftly overpowered the hunter he was currently fighting. He knocked the weapon out of their hand and shoved them towards the nearest rock. You felt mesmerised as you watched him grab the hunter by their head and pound it on the stone as it became more and more deformed leaving wet stains on the stone. The sound of bone and flesh cracking and crushing on the ragged rock echoed through the beach in rhythmic hypnotising beats. His hands dug deeper into their face and skull. His thumb pressed straight into the eye socket as little droplets of blood kept framing his face. The eye gave out easily and you imagined the squelching sound it made as the finger sank deeper into it. All of that accompanied by the agonizing screams of the hunter as they clawed away at Dagur's arms leaving deep scratches in his flesh in a futile attempt to save themselves. You wondered if you were in the place of that hunter, would your skull last longer; would your blood fall in the same places on his face and decorate it like morning dew on grass; would you be able to make actual wounds while clawing at his arms; would you be able to leave a mark? Unfortunately your little daydream session was interrupted when you got hit with an axe which that knocked you back . To your surprise, it was the same hunter that was mishandling your poor Terrors just moments ago. To his misfortune, you already planned his demise, so when you recovered from the blow you immediately charged with your sword.

When Dagur decided the hunter was sufficiently mutilated he ran towards the shore only to be met with “Retreat! Run! They’re fucking maniacs!” as one of the hunters shouted jumping into a boat.

He only had a chance to get to one other hunter, yank them back and carve through their arm with an axe followed by a series of swings and cuts to their torso until there were more cuts than flesh and blood was pooling beneath them. By the time he was done the boat had already sailed away with the few remaining hunters rowing frantically.

“Boooo! Get back here! Nobody likes cowards!” he shouted their way while he threw the hatchet from a nearby box in their direction. The weapon almost hit the side of the boat but ultimately fell into the water. With his last attempt at inflicting harm failed he turned around scanning the beach for any sign of you. And there you were right in the centre straddling the hunter that attacked you as he screamed like he was being skinned alive. He wasn't but this was close enough. Judging by your bloodied hands, a sword in his chest and his ribcage spread open like the doors to the great hall during the feast you were having the time of your life. And with your eyes wide open and a wide teeth-bearing smile made it was that much more certain. And it was hypnotising for Dagur to watch as you pressed your bare hands to the hunters throat as they tried and failed to push them away. How you murmured threats to your victim while baring your sharp teeth making you look like a rabid wolf toying with their prey. All that while you shoved your hand in-between the hunter's teeth. The sound of tearing muscle and a jaw being dislocated mixed with bloodcurdling screams created a perfect music for a scene before him. A scene where you tore away the hunter's jaw leaving him to gargle with his own blood. And he wondered if he was there on the sand, would he withstand it; would you act with the same ferocity you do now; would he bite you through your skin as you choked him; would he leave a mark?

“...Oh.” you could see a thought clicking into place in Dagur's head as his gaze changed from distant to focused.

Before you had any time to react he sidestepped, snatched you by the front of your shirt turning you ninety degrees and crashed your lips together. The force with which he pulled you almost made you trip but Dagur's grip was firm and you quickly grabbed his hips to regain balance. And when you fully leaned into the kiss when you pulled his lower lip between yours he could smell it. You did match his scent. The sharp smell of pine trees and moss clinging to your skin mixed with that copper smell characteristic of blood.

Your right hand moved from his hip to slide along his arm and neck to finally tangle in his hair. The movement wasn't smooth but he did feel the trace of the tacky fluid you left behind. “Gods, I was at my last straw trying not to pounce you right in the middle of the village.” You breathed out in between the kisses.

On the other end a cold wet hand cradled your face while Dagur kept nipping at your lip with his teeth. “I could say the same,” he rasped out against your lips “I just wanted to tackle your right then and there on that beach.”

Your other hand busied itself with the hem of his shirt, crumpling it, pulling it up just enough to slip in to grasp his waist. He kept walking backwards one step after the other while pulling you along until the back of his knees hit the bed. You used this as an opportunity to push him down on the bed and straddle his lap. You broke the kiss and both of you were already breathing heavily.

“You know, I think I got an idea,” you slowly pulled Dagur's shirt over his head. “Where to hang that deer's head.”

He sucked in a sharp breath when the dried blood on the shirt pulled on his skin “Oh yeah? where?” His hands started playing with the hem of your shirt and pulling it up.

“Right where that Changewing skull hangs.” You leaned in, placing slow kisses on his jaw.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he stopped mid motion “Why do you want to get rid of the Changewing skull?”

“Because, since we don't kill dragons it's weird that it just hangs right there as a fucking centrepiece…” you motioned with your head towards where it was hanging

“Oh right okay that makes sense,” his fingers resumed tracing circles in your sides and pulling up your shirt.

Then you leaned in to whisper in his ears “And those hunters’ heads are too bludgeoned to look nice anyway.”

At this he jerked his hands and yanked your shirt up. Freshly formed scabs ripped away and you let out a groan and dug your fingers into Dagur's arm.

“Shit, sorry,” the shirt got pulled off the rest of the way, slower this time; a delicate kiss on your mouth, which was still pressed together and stretched thin while your eyes were shut. Followed by another kiss and another as Dagur slowly flipped you over so you were now laying on your back while he repeated little apologies between kisses. Once you opened your eyes you could see his own green ones partially reflecting the flames from the centre of the room as they looked down on you.

You cracked a smile in response. “I bet you can't do it again.”

His expression changed from that of concern to determination. Determination to step up to the challenge he couldn't and didn't want to back out of. He let out a high-pitched chuckle and leaned in, capturing your lips pulling them between his own and biting with his teeth and you reciprocated in kind. His fingers ghosted over your ribs causing you to shiver. He moved from your lips to your jawline, then to your neck leaving open-mouthed kisses and breathing in the metallic smell from the handprint still lingering on your neck. And it didn't sit right with him that a mark made by a worthless hunter in a futile attempt to save their life still lingered on his beloved. Why should you be marked by a dead man but not him? And that thought made him laugh against your skin. He pushed himself up and put his hand on your throat. He kept moving his hand trying to align it with the handprint. Every now and then he would let out a chuckle under his breath. When he was finally satisfied and certain that his hand was covering as much of that hand-shaped bloodstain as it could he flexed his fingers.

“What's so funny, Dagur?” you asked, letting out a little laugh yourself since it was so infectious. Your hand moved to brush through his hair.

Then his fingers on your throat tightened and so did your grip on his hair. Your other hand instinctively moved to grab the one that was restricting your air flow but Dagur pinned it down. He tenderly started drawing circles in the palm of your hand, a stark contrast to the iron grip on your throat. You tried pulling on his hair but every yank resulted in his hand constricting even more around your neck. You tried gasping for air but each attempt failed to bring you relief; failed to push air into your lungs, triggering all sorts of alarms in your head, and tears started to form in the corner of your eyes. With eyes wide you looked at Dagur looming over you as his face was frozen in this sort of disturbing visceral expression with narrow pupils staring right through you fixated on one point matched with a maniacal smile. This impossible to interrupt focus and determination reserved only for the fiercest of battles and for you. But before you could dwell on it further, before you could lose yourself amongst the flames dancing in his green eyes your vision started to get blurry and darken. Whatever strength you had started fleeing you rapidly as your heaving kept fading into silence. When Dagur felt your grip on his hair loosen he let go of your throat and stared at it scrutinising if any changes appeared at all. And maybe it was the trick of light but he could swear there was a bruise already forming in this place. He traced the outline of his own handprint this time wondering how long it will hold.

It didn't bother him at all that you were shaking due to violent coughing and the rapid breaths you tried to take. Only when you dragged his head down to lay against your chest did he finally realise what here and now was. He could now feel how your chest rose and fell in time with your shallow breaths. He could hear how your heart hammered in your chest. How it resonated with the blood pumping in his head from excitement. And all he could do right now was continue where he left of. So he pressed a feather-light kiss to your throat. Then moved further to your collarbone and down your sternum and stopped at one of the larger freshly opened cuts. It wasn't extremely deep but it still has some depth and the blood seeped from it creating a sort of gory smile. Meanwhile Dagur's hand kept playing with your nipple pinching and rolling it between fingers; drawing out quiet moans you kept muffling by biting down on your arm. Suddenly you let out a pained yelp when you felt something push itself into your own flesh. Warm and wet on one side and cold and tacky on the other both rough, both painful sliding along the very inside of your exposed and vulnerable skin and digging through your muscles. You willed yourself to open your eyes despite the pain rushing through every nerve and moved your arm to see better and there he was. Looking up, satisfaction clear in his eyes as he studied the tensed muscles on your arm, how stiff your shoulders were bracing for more of that sharp piercing sensation; your teeth biting into your lower lip breaking the skin from the sheer force. He lifted his head grinning from ear to ear. He licked his teeth leaving red smears as if trying to show off. You reached with your one hand to grab his that was still digging in your wound. Your other hand reached to cradle his face then tangled itself into his red hair. Doing your best to lift yourself off the bed closer to Dagur just to capture any lingering taste of yourself from his mouth. With his chest pressed flush against yours you felt his heart beating rapidly and so did yours. And when you had your fill you tightened your grip on his hair and pulled on them, earning yourself a grunt and a breath being knocked out of him as he hit the bed when you swiftly flipped him on his back and pinned his shoulder.

You locked eyes with Dagur while still holding his hand and pulling it closer to your face. “My turn.” You let out a rasp then licked the blood down from his wrist up to the tip of his thumb.

Once you were sure you got all the fluid cleaned you let go of his arm, which instinctively fell onto your thigh, and took in the view beneath you. His eyes, full of reverent, devoured every fragment of you, the flush on his cheeks disappearing into his beard, lips parted slightly with blood smeared around them. And yes, the scar on his face always drew you in, always wondering how deep that cut was if the scar itself was so wide? Did he do it himself or was he careless enough to get hit by one of the prisoners? But nothing could compare to the scars left by Skrill's lightning. The power carried by the beast that spreads its wings through each sail, each shield, each decoration on the island standing proud on Dagur's very own armour decorated his very own flesh. The thin lines you ghosted over with your fingertips, even though you wish you could dig your nails into them, spread like lightning across the sky from his shoulder to right below his navel. There used to be more, they used to cover his whole body creating a labyrinth of lines, but ultimately they faded leaving only the most prominent ones. Whether it was back then or now tracing them always caused the same reaction: a breathy halted sigh. One that you’ve always loved to draw out and steal from him; so you did. But all that you liked about this moment was pushed to the back of your mind as you grabbed his arm for stability and felt the scratches left on it. The traces left by a dead-man-in-the-making desperately trying to save themselves and it bothered you to your very core. Because why should your beloved bear marks of an insignificant hunter rotting on a beach and not yours? You guided his hand from your thigh to lay it beside his head and slid your hand into his to lay it flat and align your own hand with his. Meanwhile your other hand trailed along his neck feeling up for the right spot and when you found it you broke the kiss. Dagur's lips stayed parted as if waiting for your return, but your mouth moved on trailing down his neck ghosting over his skin until you reached the designated spot. You started sucking gently on the spot as if to test the waters and his reaction– the stretch of his neck to give you better access, the keen he let out, the fingers moving from the nape further into your hair– gave you all the confidence you needed to proceed.

When Dagur felt something sharp graze his skin he said your name with a questioning intonation “What are you doing?” But you didn't bother to answer, you just bit down on his flesh with all the force you had. “Fuck!” was all he could let out in a pained moan. He squirmed underneath you trying to get away from the piercing sensation but you didn't let go. The hand, balled up in a fist, instinctively tried to pull you away by your hair and despite it feeling like he would rip them from your skull, you didn't let go. Your hand that was splayed on his moved so that you could intertwine your fingers. And when he squeezed your hand back you broke through his skin. And just like his nails were digging into the back of your hand your teeth could finally sink into his flesh. He spat curses and profanities through gritted teeth, but you just sank deeper and deeper savouring the moment. Your mouth filling with the hot liquid, the metallic taste spreading to your tongue, palate and travelling down your throat. Whenever this thing beneath you tried to pull you away or move away you bit down harder like a predator on its prey. The hand clawing at your back leaving deep trails on your back enticed you to linger even longer savouring the burning sensation of nails dragging through your skin. And after few seconds, or maybe minutes, when attempts at escape finally ceased, you let go.

You let go and loomed over your work. Your pupils dilated to the point that Dagur couldn't see your eye colour at all. But what he could see was your open mouth breathing heavily, with shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Tongue sticking out dripping with red saliva and all that framed by a row of teeth crimson like the blood they were dripping with right onto his bare flesh. Right now he didn't care that his shoulder burned with the searing pain or that the blood from this wound seeped onto the furs on his bed. All he could think about right now was that he would do anything to see you like that every waking moment he spent with you. To see that primal, unbound look and behaviour that was reserved for the fiercest of battles and for him.

You were shaken out of your trance– from the blood lazily escaping your mouth, from its taste lingering on your tongue– when a tongue entered your mouth. And when your teeth clanked together, when your lips crashed into each other, when your eyes finally met his you knew this night was far from over.

And you just prayed to gods above that nobody would be stupid enough to ask tomorrow why their chief looks like a mauled dragon chew toy or why you look like you've been thrown off a cliff.

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