Work Text:
Art by MandolinDoodler: "Let's get rid of that distracting stubble"
Viggo was sure that Hiccup was saying something clever. Even captured and with his hands bound behind his back, he sounded self-righteous and indignant, and his words were, more than likely, perfectly eloquent. The problem was that Viggo couldn’t focus on his words, because he was too busy looking at his face.
How long had Hiccup had stubble? Had it always been there, and Viggo had just never been close enough to notice it? Maybe Hiccup normally shaved it each day, and for whatever reason he hadn’t got around to it today. If that were true, what did that mean? Was Hiccup getting so frustrated with their war that he was neglecting basic self-care?
It was all Viggo could think about, all he could focus on. His fingers twitched, and he was suddenly aware of the desire to touch Hiccup’s face, to find out whether the stubble was soft or rigid, to glide his fingers – or maybe his lips – over the texture of Hiccup’s jawline. His stomach dropped. Now that was a dangerous thing to feel.
“Viggo,” said Hiccup sharply, cutting through his distraction. “Hello, earth to Viggo?”
Viggo blinked, wet his lips, and decided that the problem needed to be eliminated. He drew a small knife from his belt, and Hiccup's eyes went wide.
“Woah, woah, Viggo, what are you –”
Viggo planted one knee in Hiccup's lap to hold him down and grabbed the back of Hiccup's hair, angling his head up so the stubble on his jaw caught the light. Hiccup made a distressed noise, so Viggo brought the knife up to rest against his neck. He was allowing himself to touch Hiccup, just not in the way he really wanted to, skin to skin.
“Let's get rid of that distracting stubble,” he said, letting a smile slide onto his face.
“What?” exclaimed Hiccup. “Viggo, no –”
Hiccup tried to pull away, so Viggo was forced to angle the knife more sharply and use his grip on Hiccup’s hair to hold his head still.
“Get off me!” gasped Hiccup, struggling against the rope binding his hands. He sounded angry, but there was an undertone of panic. Good. It was always difficult to rile the boy up. He curled his fingers tighter in Hiccup’s hair and relished the hitch of Hiccup's breath in response.
“Stay still, and I won't cut you.”
“Like Hel you won't,” snarled Hiccup.
Hiccup continued to writhe and squirm as Viggo gallantly attempted to shave the stubble off anyway. Inevitably, small nicks and cuts opened on Hiccup’s jaw, causing him to flinch and gasp. When Viggo was nearly finished, Hiccup tried to wrench his head away and the knife slipped, slicing a line down the edge of his jaw. The boy yelped and finally, finally, stopped moving – though his shoulders continued to heave.
Viggo tutted, taking the knife away and admiring his handiwork. “I didn't mean to cut you, Hiccup,” he told him, honestly.
He eyed the trail of blood down Hiccup's jaw and neck. It mostly covered up the remaining stubble, so he had done his job.
Hiccup wasn’t saying anything anymore; he just looked sullen and frightened. With reluctance Viggo released Hiccup’s hair and stepped back, wiping the knife clean with a handkerchief and putting it away.
“Now,” he said with relish. “Where were we?”