“Have you ever felt bad that we don’t have kids?” 

Lyra’s brows rose at the question. She’d just shut the door on the Ingermans after passing their youngest back into his mother’s arms. He could tell she was watching them leave a little wistfully, and it was no secret that she enjoyed babysitting the island’s many children. 

It left an uncomfortable pang in his chest. Like a pebble caught in his throat that he wasn’t quite capable of swallowing down. He watched his sister become a mother, watched Astrid and Hiccup becoming parents. There was no denying that there was some magic in children– some inexplicable change that overcame a person when they brought an infant into the world. He was content to help his nieces and nephew cause havoc, and Macey would always be his partner in crime, but he didn’t feel that obligation. There was nothing in him that craved parenthood or was left wanting.

Lyra, though. Sometimes Lyra looked at the kids like she did. 

She locked the door and crossed the living space, bending down to pick up a whittled toy that had been forgotten on the floor. “I… don’t need them.” Shrugging, she passed him in the sitting chair and leaned back to sit on the edge of the kitchen table.

Tuff let his head loll back so he could look at her over his shoulder. “That’s not what I asked.”

The corner of her mouth quirked, and she folded her arms. “Well, it’s where this conversation is going to end up, so I thought I’d give you the abridged version.”

“What’d I say about book talk?” he accused with a pointed finger and narrowed eyes. “You know I don’t read.”

“Not for lack of ability,” she gently teased back. Straightening, she began wiping crumbs and child-sized bites of mutton from the tabletop. 

“Fiendish woman, you know me too well.” 

He watched for a second as she cleaned up. She wore a pretty smile as she did so, and not for the first time, he wondered how he ended up with such an attractive young wife. High cheekbones, wide brown eyes that belied her every emotion. Shiny hair eternally trapped in tight marriage braids. If it weren’t for her old, geriatric husband, she’d likely be receiving all sorts of love letters from various suitors. Planning a wedding to a handsome, able-bodied Viking her own age or sewing tiny little tunics. 

“Seriously, Ly.” He sat up and twisted in his chair. “Do you ever… wish maybe you’d married somebody you could have a family with?”

Her content smile stiffened into a frown as she emptied her hands over the garbage bin. Then she grabbed a damp rag to wipe them clean. “I don’t like that kind of talk.”

“That means yes,” he retorted. 

“It means,” she corrected, balling her hands on her slender hips, “that I don’t ever wish I’d waited even a minute longer to leave that place.” His wife didn’t say who or where or what that place was, but they both knew. “I don’t ever regret choosing to leave with you instead of waiting for some guy from my own village to- to find the balls to rescue me.”

The crass choice of words from the usually proper and polite young woman sparked a feeling that was half pride, half humor in his chest. Like a child propping her feet up on the table and demanding an ale. It was hilarity– that something so pure and sweet could spew words like balls. Just another example of him rubbing off on her. Even after eight years, it would never cease to amuse him.

It wasn’t enough to distract him from the strange pangs of guilt, though. His flat expression didn’t change. “You’re still not giving me a straight answer.”

Lyra scoffed, then lifted her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. After a minute, she lowered her gaze again, something determined glinting in her features. “Do you ever wish you’d married somebody you’d have sex with?”

Tuffnut nearly choked. He gaped, stammering and furrowing his brow and tripping over his words. “Are you–? What–? Why would you say that?”

Folding her arms over her chest, she shrugged defiantly. “If you want to talk about regrets, I think that’s a fair one to bring up.”

“No,” he answered succinctly. “I don’t.”

For a long, tense minute, they held each other’s gazes. She started to chew on the inside of her cheek, a nervous tell, and then she crossed back into the living room. She stood in front of him, letting her arms drop. Then he heard her take a deep breath and knot her skirt in her hands. She pulled it upwards, making him all at once very confused, and then lifted herself into his sitting chair, straddling his lap with a huff and a blush. Her hands went to the arms of his chair, and she gave him an almost glare. 

Tuff’s heart suddenly lurched, slamming imperatively in his chest. His lungs seemed to collapse, and he coughed a wheeze that was distinctly undignified.

“I know you miss it.” Lyra lifted her brows as if to accuse him. “I hear the things Snot says.”

“Snotlout Jorgenson is stupider than the entirety of Sven’s flocks combined.” He tried to make his statement without a rasp, but his throat was feeling tight. It had been a while since he’d had the warmth of a woman above him, the feeling of slender thighs parted around his hips. Eight years, to be exact. It wasn’t the blinding arousal he remembered from his youth that had struck him, but the shock of his wife’s forwardness. 

She was white nightgowns and dainty hands. Early morning breakfasts and dust swirling in rays of sunlight. Lyra wasn’t the secret smiles and heavily perfumed women he found to satisfy the desires of a hot-blooded young Viking. She wasn’t sweaty sheets or gasping breaths. She was innocence, and he’d carefully trained both his brain and his body over the years to remember that.

“He says what nobody else will,” she shot back. “You want me to tell you that I’m sad I can’t have a family, but you won’t even admit that I’m keeping you from something you need.”

Sighing heavily, Tuff let his head fall back against his chair. His hands went to her waist out of reflex. “Ly, I’m not an animal. I don’t need to get off.” When her flat expression didn’t change, he went on. “Children and sex aren’t even in the same category.”

One thin brow hitched at him. “Exactly what I said. I don’t need kids.” Her eyes flicked down in a brief flash of self consciousness, and then she reached up to hold his face between her palms. Her hard gaze softened with affection, and she lowered her voice. “You’ve given me so much, Tuff. My whole life it was me and my father, and then all at once I had a husband, a brother and sister, nieces… I have a family. I have a home, a village, and I have people who love and protect me.” She gave him a hesitant smile, rubbing a thumb over the scar Ruff’s wedding ring left after a punch a few years back. “You’ve given me everything, but what have I been able to give you?”

Something about her words felt wrong and made his chest squeeze. “If you think you have to use your body as some kind of remuneration, you’re an idiot.” 

For a moment, something scary glittered behind mahogany eyes. Dark memories he’d done his best to erase from her mind. Of course she’d think sex was some kind of necessity for men, some sick sort of way to atone for existing or express gratuity. 

“I’m not thinking anything,” she argued quietly. The crackle of decaying firewood popped from the hearth. Wetting her lips, she gave him the tiniest shake of her head. “You know I think you’re handsome, right?”

In his defense, until she asked him that, almost a decade of abstinence seemed like nothing. But with those soft words and the sincerity in her gaze, something in his blood caught fire. His mouth fell open with the intention to reply, but all he was able to manage was an unintelligible, “Uhhh.”

That made her laugh. Lyra’s hands slid over his jaw, down his neck, traveled over his shoulders and settled to flatten against his chest. “I do. I think you’re very handsome.”

His heart was racing again. She could probably feel it pounding against her palms. Shadows painted her fair skin with flickering tattoos of darkness, making her close-lipped smile seem almost… provocative.

“Ly… No.”

Tilting her head, she evaluated him curiously. “Are you saying that because you don’t want me? Or because you don’t want to want me?”

“Both,” he shot back before his distracted brain had the chance to make him seem even more dumbstruck. “Both.”

Her smile faltered but didn’t drop completely. His wife leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. “Tuffnut, I’m not a sixteen year old girl anymore.” He could feel the heat of her breath on his face. “I’m not… scared of you.”

“Where is this coming from?” he swallowed hard. “Did Snotlout say something to you?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. For years even, maybe.” Her small, cool hands found his wrists, dragged them higher up her ribs and around her back so that his thumbs could just barely make out the fabric of her bindings beneath her dress. “I want to make my husband happy. Why shouldn’t I be able to do that?”

Excellent point! exclaimed a part of him he’d tried to bury. 

“I know we’re not… like the rest of them…” 

She meant the chief and his wife. His twin and her husband. The Ingermans, and every other couple on the island that married for love. They both knew very well that it was them versus the rest of Berk. Their unconventional, caring and chaste marriage– it wasn’t fueled by passion or need or attraction. There was love there, yes. Affection and humor and devotion. But their relationship had never been about wanting each other. 

Satisfied with the placement of his hands, Lyra brought her own back to his chest. They smoothed slowly up and down the front of his tunic. “But you’ve sacrificed so much for me,” she continued. “I’m not something you could sully, and I do feel desire.” Angling her face lower, she hesitated with her mouth hovering just above his. “This is something I’m okay with, Tuff.”

He wished he could control his heavy breathing. She smelled like freshly baked bread and honeysuckles. Despite himself, he felt his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of her sides. His eyes closed, and he tried inhaling through his nostrils to redirect the suddenly blazing thoughts assaulting him. For the first time in a very long time, he found himself at the mercy of an attractive woman. 

He felt the first nervous brush of her lips with all of his body. Electricity sizzled down the back of his neck. Then when he didn’t push her off or pull her away, she pressed firmer against him. Her soft mouth melted against his, tasting sweeter than honeyed mead. She kissed him like a woman, like she wanted him. He got welcome home kisses. Affectionate I missed you kisses flavored with warmth and admiration. Even laughing kisses stolen at the end of a dragon race or when she’d had too much to drink. A thousand kisses, they must have traded during the duration of their marriage, but she’d never tried to kindle a fire like the one growing in his groin. 

 He pulled her closer, and her hips shifted just enough to tell him she could feel the reaction she’d stirred in him. He raised one hand to tangle in her braids, feel the silky strands captured in his fingers. Pulling away for just a quick gasp of air, she cupped the back of his neck before returning to him. Her lips were unsure, inexperienced, but she pressed against him with all the determination of a shield maiden on the battlefield. Tuffnut wasn’t sure who moaned first– whether it was his weakness or her innocent surprise– but the sound sent a jolt of pleasure straight through his gut. 

Lyra pulled away sooner than he truthfully wanted. He let himself blink up at her, and there was some of his own shock reflected in her features. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze a little hazy, and her hair was coming undone around the invasion of his hand. 

“Tell me you’ll think about it,” she breathed, chest heaving in such a way that his damned eyes were drawn to the neckline of her dress. 

Gods take him, she had no idea what she’d started. He dropped his gaze respectfully and pulled his hands back, holding them up in surrender. There was a throbbing at the apex of his thighs that was as unwelcome as it was demanding.

“I’ll think about it,” he panted, unable to meet her gaze. His chaste and gentle wife had turned him into a hungry, wanting youth again with just a few passionate kisses. He was incontestably conflicted. 

Satisfied with his answer, she wet her lips and nodded. Then after a moment of indecision, she dropped a quick kiss to his forehead and crawled off of his lap. Shaking fingers tucked a falling lock of hair behind her ear. The shy way she wrapped one arm around herself as she disappeared upstairs told him that her moment of bravery had passed. He spent the next few trying to chase down his rationality.