Burning Truce

Berk never did peaceful truces. But this one? It felt like sitting on a powder keg. A rogue bunch of dragon hunters—split off from the main guild, meaner and dumber than anyone Hiccup had dealt with—had started hitting both Berk and Viggo's supply lines. Burned villages, snatched dragons, left no one alive. So for once, the enemy of my enemy wasn't automatically my enemy. That's the theory, anyway.

“I don’t trust him,” Astrid said, arms crossed, while Hiccup tightened the last strap on Toothless’s saddle. “He’s a Grimborn. They don’t do alliances. They do traps.”

“I know.” Hiccup gave his prosthetic leg a final check. “But we’ve got the same problem. And he’s smart. Smarter than anyone I’ve gone up against. If we can use that—keep him busy fighting with us instead of against us—maybe we’ve got a shot.”

Astrid sighed, kissed his cheek, muttered, “Just don’t let him charm you into anything stupid.”

He laughed then. Not laughing now.

The skirmish was a disaster from the start. Viggo’s remaining forces met the rogue hunters on the eastern tip of some nameless island, trying to cut off their supply line. Hiccup and Toothless showed up right as it went sideways. The rogues set fire to the brush, trapping Viggo’s men between a cliff and a wall of flame. And there was Viggo himself—standing tall, an arrow sticking out of his left shoulder, directing his retreat with cold precision.

“Toothless, we’re going in.”

The Night Fury growled—I don't like this either—but dove anyway. Hiccup fired a shot of concussive gel into the flames, cleared a path, then swooped low and grabbed Viggo by the collar.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Viggo snapped, feet leaving the ground.

“Saving your life.” Hiccup hauled him onto Toothless’s back. “Try not to bleed on my dragon.”

The flight to Hiccup’s secret base was short but charged. Viggo pressed a hand to the wound, breathing in sharp, controlled gasps. Hiccup felt the heat of his body, the steady thud of his heartbeat through the back of his tunic. Disconcerting. Worse—it reminded him that underneath all the scheming, Viggo Grimborn was still human.

The base was a small cave system on a secluded island, hidden behind a waterfall. Hiccup had used it for years—workshop, refuge. No one else knew about it. Not Astrid, not his dad. His place. And now he’d brought his greatest enemy to it.

“You’ll be fine.” Hiccup helped Viggo down into the main chamber—a wide space lit by a single fire pit. “The arrow didn’t hit anything vital. But I need to get it out.”

Viggo’s eyes swept the room—maps, half-finished inventions, a small bed, a workbench. “Charming. You have a certain… rustic aesthetic.”

“Shut up and sit down.”

Hiccup worked fast with the tools he had. Viggo winced but made no sound as the arrow came out, as the wound got cleaned and bandaged. Finally Hiccup stepped back, wiped his hands on a rag.

“You’ll need to stay here tonight. Can’t risk infection. Your men won’t regroup till dawn.”

“And you trust me not to slit your throat while you sleep?” Viggo’s voice was low, almost amused.

“No.” Hiccup said flat. “But I trust myself to wake up faster than you can move with that arm.”

Viggo laughed—quiet, appreciative. “There it is. The spirit I admire.”

Hiccup felt heat rush to his cheeks and turned away, messing with the fire. “Get some rest. We’ll talk strategy tomorrow.”

That night, Hiccup lay in his narrow bed, staring at the cave ceiling, trying not to think about the man sleeping on a pile of furs ten feet away. Impossible. Every creak of the fire, every shift of weight from Viggo’s corner made his heart race. He hated it. Hated that after all the years of outsmarting each other, trading insults and blows, he still felt this pull. This stupid, irrational attraction to a man who’d tried to kill him more times than he could count.

He closed his eyes, tried to think of something else—Astrid’s smile, the feel of Toothless’s scales, the satisfaction of a well-laid plan. But his mind kept sliding back to Viggo’s voice, the way he said spirit I admire with that knowing lilt.

Not fair. Not right.

And yet, when his hand drifted down his chest, when his fingers brushed the waistband of his trousers, he didn’t stop.

The fire had dimmed to embers. Viggo’s breathing was even, steady—asleep. Hiccup bit his lip, stifled a groan as his hand moved lower. He pictured Viggo’s hands—long-fingered, precise—the way they held a map or a blade. Imagined those hands on him, tracing the lines of his body with that same patient attention. Hot and forbidden. Made him ache.

“Viggo,” he whispered, barely audible, the name a confession in the dark. His hand moved faster, pressure building, the fantasy sharpening until he could almost feel Viggo’s breath on his neck. He gasped, muffled the sound against his own arm, and then the wave broke over him, leaving him trembling and ashamed.

He lay there a long time, trying to catch his breath. Trying to convince himself it meant nothing. Just stress. Just proximity. Just a body deprived of intimacy.

But he knew it was a lie. He’d been thinking of Viggo long before tonight. During their arguments, their battles, their chess-like maneuvers across the archipelago. Thinking of him in ways that had nothing to do with strategy.

In the corner, hidden in shadow, Viggo’s eyes were open. He’d heard everything.

Next morning, Viggo said nothing. Ate the dried fish and berries Hiccup offered, discussed the rogue hunters’ movements with calm professionalism. Never mentioned the night before. Hiccup was grateful, and suspicious. Viggo was always watching, always calculating. But his behavior stayed neutral, almost pleasant.

Over the next few days, as Viggo’s wound healed, Hiccup kept him busy. They worked on a joint plan to trap the rogue hunters using a mountain pass as a bottleneck. Viggo contributed ideas that were sharp and elegant, and Hiccup found himself genuinely impressed. The competition that had always defined them started to shift. Instead of trying to outdo each other, they built on each other’s thoughts.

“You see the flaw here,” Viggo said one afternoon, pointing to a sketch of a catapult trap. “The counterweight’s too light. It’ll release prematurely.”

“I know.” Hiccup grinned. “Testing if you’d notice.”

Viggo’s smile was slow and appreciative. “Always testing me, Hiccup. I do enjoy it.”

Hiccup’s stomach did a strange flip. He looked away.

That night, after a long day of planning, Viggo claimed trouble sleeping and wandered the cave. Found a gap in the rock near Hiccup’s sleeping alcove—a small fissure that offered a view of the bed. He didn’t intend to spy. Just curiosity. A need to understand the young man who fascinated him so.

But when he heard the quiet, ragged breaths coming from the alcove, he didn’t turn away.

“Viggo,” Hiccup whispered again, voice broken and desperate. “Gods, Viggo…”

Viggo stood in the dark, listening, his own pulse hammering. He watched Hiccup’s silhouette—the arch of his back, the trembling of his hands. The sight stirred something deep and possessive. He’d always admired Hiccup’s mind, his fire, his refusal to break. But this—this raw, unguarded need—was something else entirely.

He returned to his corner, lay down, body aching with a desire he hadn’t anticipated. Replayed the sound of his name on Hiccup’s lips—spoken like a prayer—and felt a smile spread across his face.

The game had changed.

Next morning, Viggo’s demeanor shifted. The hostility that always simmered beneath his words was gone. Replaced by a playful, almost teasing warmth.

“You look tired, Hiccup,” he said as they reviewed the trap designs. “Something keep you up?”

Hiccup’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he recovered. “I’m fine. Just thinking about the hunt.”

“Of course.” Viggo reached across the table and brushed his fingers over Hiccup’s hand—light, deliberate. “You always think too hard. One of your most… endearing qualities.”

Hiccup snatched his hand back as if burned. “What are you doing?”

“Offering a compliment. Accept it graciously.”

That night, Viggo caught Hiccup’s wrist as he passed, turned him around. “You know,” he said, voice low, “I’ve spent years trying to outthink you. Studied your patterns, your weaknesses. But I never noticed the most obvious one.”

“Which is?”

Viggo leaned in, lips close to Hiccup’s ear. “You’re attracted to me.”

Hiccup jerked away, face scarlet. “That’s ridiculous. You’re my enemy.”

“Am I?” Viggo tilted his head, a predator’s smile. “Then why do you tremble when I touch you?”

“I don’t—I’m not—this is insane.” Hiccup backed away, nearly tripping over a coil of rope. “You’re trying to get in my head. It’s a tactic.”

“Perhaps.” Viggo’s eyes glittered. “But I think we both know I’m right.”

He let Hiccup go, watched him retreat to his alcove in a chaotic jumble. The confusion was delicious. The chase had begun.

Three nights passed. Each night, Viggo listened at the fissure. Each night, Hiccup’s whispered confessions grew bolder. “Viggo… what are you doing to me?” Then the soft, muffled gasps, the sounds of surrender. Viggo was rock hard every time, control frayed by knowing this brilliant, stubborn, beautiful young man wanted him so desperately.

On the third night, Viggo decided to act.

Next morning, during a lull in planning, he cornered Hiccup in the map room. Small space, walls lined with charts and sketches. Only exit blocked by Viggo’s tall frame.

“We need to talk,” Viggo said, voice deceptively calm.

“About what?” Hiccup’s voice pitched too high, too quick. He knew something was coming. Could feel it in the charged air.

“About the nights you spend whispering my name.”

Hiccup’s face drained of color, then flooded red. “I—what are you—you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” Viggo stepped closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “I’ve heard you, Hiccup. Every night. The way you say my name. The way you moan it. The way you come undone thinking of me.”

Hiccup’s breath caught. His hands shook at his sides. “You were spying on me?”

“I was curious. And I was rewarded.” Viggo reached out, traced a finger down Hiccup’s cheek. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Or did you want me to?”

“No—yes—I don’t know.” Hiccup’s voice cracked. He was trembling all over, caught between shame and a desperate, aching need. “This isn’t—we can’t—”

“We can.” Viggo cupped his face, tilted it up. “I’ve been fighting the same battle. Denying the same truth. I’m tired of pretending, Hiccup. I want you. Have wanted you for longer than I care to admit.”

Hiccup stared, eyes wide and bright. “You… want me?”

“With an intensity that frightens me.”

For a long, frozen moment, they stood there—two enemies on the edge of a precipice. Then Hiccup made his choice. He surged forward, grabbed Viggo’s tunic, and pulled him into a kiss.

Forceful. Desperate. Everything they’d denied for so long. Viggo responded in kind, hands tangling in Hiccup’s hair, pulling him closer. They kissed until they were breathless, until the world outside the map room ceased to exist.

When they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Hiccup let out a shaky laugh. “This is insane.”

“Completely.” Viggo agreed. “But I find I don’t care.”

They sat down on the floor, legs tangled, and talked for hours. Admitted the absurdity of it all—the rivalry, the hidden attraction, the way they’d circled each other like planets doomed to collide. Viggo confessed he’d begun to see Hiccup not as a pawn, but as an equal. A worthy opponent he’d rather have at his side. Hiccup admitted he’d fantasized about Viggo since that first encounter, when Viggo called him the most interesting Viking and meant it.

“We can’t tell anyone,” Hiccup said, hand resting in Viggo’s. “Not yet. Not while the truce lasts. If the tribes find out—if your people find out—this could destroy everything.”

“I know.” Viggo squeezed his hand. “We keep it secret. Our alliance against the hunters gives us reason to spend time together. No one will suspect.”

Hiccup nodded, a fragile smile touching his lips. “A secret. A dangerous one.”

“The best kind.”

They stayed up until dawn, talking, touching, learning each other’s bodies with gentle curiosity. First light painted the cave in gold and rose. Outside, the waterfall roared, drowning out the world.

That morning, when they emerged to continue their work, the air between them was different. Charged with a new understanding. They spoke in double meanings, touched in passing, exchanged glances that said everything and nothing. The truce with the rogue hunters would end eventually. The war between Berk and the Dragon Hunters would resume. But for now, in this fragile pocket of time, they had each other.

And that was enough.

The night after the rogue hunters were finally defeated, Hiccup and Viggo returned to the secret base. Sat by the fire, side by side, watching flames dance.

“What happens now?” Hiccup asked quietly.

Viggo looked at him, eyes soft. “We go back to our lives. We lie. We scheme. And when we can, we steal these moments.”

“That doesn’t sound sustainable.”

“No.” Viggo agreed. “But nothing about us is sustainable, Hiccup. We’re men of two worlds, destined to collide. Let’s enjoy the collision while it lasts.”

Hiccup leaned into him, rested his head on Viggo’s shoulder. “I can live with that.”

They sat in silence, fire crackling, waterfall thrumming, and for a single, stolen night, the war didn’t matter. Only the warmth of a body. Only the truth of a whispered name.