Author's Note: after much lurking and bingeing on the awesome Tangled fanfic of others, I've finally decided to throw my hat into the ring. What follows is something that I've been messing with for too long; I decided to post it so I could stop making endless pointless edits and move on. Oh yeah - it will become rampantly obvious over the course of reading this (if you get that far) that I am British. Sorry about that. As such, Eugene uses some potentially out-of-character swear words in his head. I considered removing them, but I rather like them, and besides, Eugene is theoretically European...
Rating for language and possible subsequent sexiness. As ever, reviews/critique gratefully received.
The amorous subject, according to one contingency or another, feels swept away by the fear of a danger, an injury, an abandonment, a revulsion - a sentiment he expresses under the name of anxiety.
Roland Barthes, 'A Lover's Discourse'
Flynn Rider had always considered himself something of a sack artist, and unlike his literary namesake, he was happy to brag about it, too. A consummate technician, he'd seen – and done – it all, leaving a string of satisfied customers in his wake, as well as some considerably less satisfied families of formerly innocent young maidens. It was perhaps to his credit at least that he'd invested some of his early ill-gotten gains in a handful of waxed linen prophylactics; although it never felt quite as good, they'd helped save him from the clap or worse, and at least he'd not had to worry about getting any of his conquests knocked up. But then again, perhaps that was Eugene pushing through the façade. While Flynn simply didn't want any commitments, any ties beyond the moment, poor orphan Eugene remembered the loneliness and stigma of his own childhood – he wouldn't wish that on anyone, even if any child of his would doubtless inherit his super-human good looks.
For the better part of a decade, Eugene had been pushed aside by Flynn, his flashier, and largely fictional, evil twin. True, it hadn't exactly been torture having to go along for the ride when Flynn bedded a buxom farmer's daughter in the back of a hay wain, or an agreeable bar wench after hours. But if he was honest with himself, there was always something missing. Girls would scream his name as they clutched at his back, but that only served to underline the artifice of the situation; it was always Flynn's name on their lips, never his. Flynn could fuck a girl six ways from Sunday, but his heart was never in it. It wasn't that he was an inconsiderate lover; on the contrary, he had quite a reputation for his talents in the bedroom. But fundamentally, it was still all about the physical gratification, an impersonal exchange of animal grunts and bodily fluids. Once it was all over, post-coital clarity of mind would inevitably hit him as swiftly as a guardsman's arrow. When it did, Flynn would be itching to roll off the woman and find some excuse to leave, his baser needs sated. He might enjoy a bit of banter, and a spot of physical congress from time to time, but all his long-term dreams were strictly solo affairs. Every so often though, Eugene would manage to break through Flynn's icy emotional fortress, and wonder what it might be like to actually care for someone, to have them care for you. To fall in love. Had his heart ever leapt at the thought of seeing a girl? Had he ever felt that curious fluttering of the belly he'd heard was supposed to happen? Had he ever even really cared what anyone else might think of him?
She'd so not been his type. A skinny, flat-chested little thing with eyes like saucers, and a frankly creepy amount of hair. He wasn't overly enamoured with her propensity to whack him over the head with kitchen equipment, either. No, Flynn had gone along with her ridiculous plan for one reason and one reason only – to get back that damned crown. He'd tried to shake her off countless times that first morning, but there was no budging the girl; he'd had to admire her tenacity, if nothing else. But gradually, something had changed – all it took was a well-timed near-death experience. No, that wasn't all if he was really honest with himself. It took a lot of pride-swallowing for Flynn to admit it, but she impressed him, with her curiosity and her earnestness and her obvious intelligence. Not only that, but she was the first woman in God knows how long who'd failed to be won over by the smoulder – he had to confess, sometimes he got tired of battles he knew he was going to win.
Rapunzel never bored him. Sure, at times she came across as batshit crazy, but there was a profound honesty to her, a genuine interest in this new world around her – and even in him. She was the first person to call him by his real name in longer than he could remember, and certainly the first to whom he'd volunteered this information since he left the orphanage. This was a glaring weakness, a massive chink in his armour, and all of his own making. How had she succeeded in conning him like this, in tricking him into disclosing his most shameful secret? She'd beaten him at his own game. And yet as he'd sat beside Rapunzel that night, her face flushed in the glow of the fire he'd built, he'd wanted to spill it all, to let her catch a glimpse of the real him behind the carefully crafted exterior. His body had also decided it wanted to do quite a lot more besides, and so he'd had to excuse himself hastily, retreating to the forest to collect more firewood and bang his lecherous head against a tree. Since when did Flynn Rider beat himself up over amorous thoughts about innocent young maidens? By letting Eugene out of the prison at the back of his mind, Flynn had left himself vulnerable to all manner of emotional turmoil, and now Eugene was out there was no shoving him back.
Flynn wasn't entirely dead and buried, though. He had his appetites, and he knew what he liked. Every so often in his former life, he'd come across a woman who stood out for him sexually, who gave as good as she got; there was nothing more dispiriting for him than a girl who just lay back passively to be penetrated. When it was good, he'd sometimes had to come back for more despite himself and his fear of emotional attachments. He'd never worried himself unduly though if things didn't go quite to plan; the world was his oyster, and there was an infinite number of sexual pearls to be found within it.
All that changed, however, with Rapunzel. For once, he wasn't just thinking with his dick; he didn't know a lot about love, but Eugene felt instinctively that her heart was not to be trifled with. He couldn't woo her with words by day, then slink off to bed with another woman by night; his rediscovered scruples wouldn't allow it, and neither, he was sure, would her parents. There was that other complication – one day, she's this crazy chick with magical hair and a frog for her only friend; the next, she's the lost bloody princess. It was a miracle he'd managed to bring her within a mile of the castle without getting a crossbow bolt through his head; it was one greater still that the king and queen had allowed him to remain by their daughter's side.
Nonetheless, Eugene still didn't entirely trust himself – or Rapunzel's judgement. Gorgeous though he was, he was the first man she'd clapped her enormous eyes on. For longer than he cared to admit, doubts lingered in his mind. Was it all just dumb luck, a matter of being in the wrong place at the right time? She'd lived in a tower bereft of human contact for eighteen years; what the hell did she know about love? At least he knew about it in theory, if not so much in practice.
It had all come to a head about five months after they'd returned to the kingdom together. The parties of the early days had been fun, and in the carnival atmosphere he'd felt like a teenager again; drunk on wine and his second chance at life, he'd given in to his growing infatuation with Rapunzel, flirting and teasing and kissing without a care for who might see. However, as the days became weeks, the enormity of the changes facing him began to overwhelm Eugene. Before all this, he'd coveted the very castle in which he now found himself, but he was surprised to find that living the dream left a somewhat bitter taste in his mouth. He'd been Flynn Rider – a wanted criminal, yes, but a notorious and damned successful one. Now what was he? The princess's hanger-on? Her kept man? The Captain of the Guard continued to view Eugene with suspicion and contempt. Rider, Fitzherbert; a mere name change made no difference. And why should it? One act of heroism didn't tip the scale – especially since the whole dying thing, which made Eugene sound that bit more noble, tended to get edited out of the version of events for public consumption as being simply too unbelievable. As did Rapunzel's magic glowing hair, for that matter. At any rate, the abrupt change from a life on the edge to one in the lap of luxury came as a tremendous culture shock. After years dreaming of the easy life, surrounded by wealth, it staggered Eugene to find how ill-suited he actually turned out to be for indolence and inactivity. To begin with he revelled in his new fine clothes, elaborate meals and plush lodgings, but they soon began to pall. Love reading though he might, there were only so many days he could spend cooped up in the library, waiting for Rapunzel to finish whatever lessons or duties were on her increasingly hectic schedule. He seemed to see less and less of her, and what time they did have together was seldom spent alone; after the initial giddy excitement at having their princess back, concern for propriety took over for The Powers That Be. Sometimes Rapunzel and Eugene would manage to slink off together for an afternoon to the forest, and they could just be two young people getting to know one another, not the heir to the throne and her less-than-savoury suitor. They'd hold hands and lie in one another's arms in the grass, talking about everything and nothing. It was at once the most chaste and the most intimate relationship he'd had with a woman.
Five months since everything changed for them both. Six since he'd last had sex. It was probably his longest dry spell since he'd legally come of age. It was becoming harder and harder to keep his hands to himself; he wanted her, so badly. He shouldn't have been laying a finger on Rapunzel, but by degrees their kisses wandered. Together they discovered that sweet spot between her neck and her shoulder that made her gasp so needily, while Rapunzel delighted in how Eugene's breath would catch when her little fingers slipped open the collar of his shirt and pressed against the bare skin of his chest. What a difference half a year makes, he thought, exasperated; six months without sex and the slightest touch from a girl's hand had him helpless. But this wasn't just any girl. Lying alone in bed at night he'd take himself in (his own) hand, extrapolating these snatched sensations into fully-fledged fantasies that soon left him spent and gasping against the sheets. It was ridiculous; Corona's number one player had put himself on the sidelines, saving himself for his virginal princess.
He'd bedded other virgins before, sure; in fact, he was rather good at putting them at ease, if he said so himself. But the idea of somehow spoiling Rapunzel was sickening to Eugene, even though his own wants and desires were driving him to distraction. Personally, he thought the idea of attaching some massive premium to a woman's 'virtue' was a load of bollocks; unfortunately, pretty much everyone else seemed to disagree with him. The only way he could legitimately possess Rapunzel was through marriage, yet looking at the situation through Flynn's eyes, that seemed like an awful lot to go through to get laid. What if they weren't… compatible like that? Oh God. On some level, Eugene simply could not shake the fear that he'd fuck it all up. He'd trick Rapunzel into letting him have his wicked way with her, then turn back into the bastard he'd secretly been all along. She deserved better than his emotional ineptitude.
And so he'd left. He hadn't planned to do it; it just happened one evening. He simply went for a walk after dinner to clear his head, and didn't come back. Eugene had found himself wandering down to the square, then over the bridge to the mainland, and before he really knew what was happening, he was back in the forest. He ended up stopping in a clearing very close to where he and Rapunzel had spent the night, that first day he'd met her. He had nothing but the clothes he stood up in; in that respect, it was as if he'd wiped the slate clean, and he was back in his old life. He sank onto a tree root, and stared at the heavens. And shivered. Five months ago, it had been early summer, and fine weather for sleeping outside; now winter was setting in, and it was bloody cold.
He gathered his coat around himself and thought about what to do next. He couldn't return to the castle; by now it was well past midnight, and while most of its inhabitants would be asleep, all of the entrances would be crawling with guards. That would never have stopped Flynn Rider, but Eugene Fitzherbert had a different kind of reputation to uphold, however tarnished. The Captain would probably have a field day reporting to the King that the princess' beau had been caught pursuing nocturnal interests. No – best sit it out, and try to slip back in once the sun was up and things looked less suspicious. What to do in the meantime? Eugene sighed. His thoughts were no less muddled than they'd been when he left, and now he'd probably just made things worse. He didn't really want to think about the whole situation anymore; it was just making him miserable. Surely the best means of avoiding thinking was to go and get gloriously, ludicrously drunk; he'd got time to kill, after all. At least half a lifetime spent on the run brought some benefits – Eugene knew the area like the back of his hand. It wasn't more than an hour's walk to the Snuggly Duckling; it might not have been his watering hole of choice, but it was the closest, and one of the few in the kingdom that could be relied upon to ignore all official restrictions on alcohol licensing hours.
His decision made, Eugene trudged on.