"So," she said, running a perfectly painted nail over the counter top. "This is the great Flynn Rider's place, eh?"
Flynn shrugged a little, sliding off his shoes. He was all out of smarmy lines, it seemed. Maybe because he didn't really know what this woman was doing in his apartment. He looked her over. She was leaning against his fridge now, her long dark hair touching her waist. She had nice tits.
She smiled knowingly. "Like what you see?"
Flynn got the urge to shrug again, but he didn't feel like getting slapped in the face. So he smirked, which was always a safe bet, and moved towards the ladder. He was in weird state of mind. They should just get it over with.
She followed, and once they were both in the loft she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a very aggressive kiss. She tasted like tequila, which wasn't his favorite. He probably did too, since this all started with her challenging him to match her shot for shot. If he were drunk, he might even be enjoying this. But he was very unfortunately sober. He returned the kiss half-heartedly, which just seemed to egg her on, because she backed herself onto the bed and pulled him down with her.
She was objectively beautiful, and she felt good, and she smelled good, but Flynn was bored. He ran his hands lazily over her body, and all of her reactions were predictable, like they were running through the script of every one night stand he'd ever had. Even with her top and her bra gone, and the pads of his fingers trailing over her warm, smooth skin, it all felt very clinical to him. And he couldn't get Tom's voice out of his head: "Right. You've barely touched her. And yet you describe her in more sensory terms than women with whom you've been intimately acquainted."
Then they got to the part where she reached her groping hands down to his crotch, only this time, she looked up at him rather incredulously. "Something wrong?"
He raised an eyebrow down at her. Not on his end. She was the one boring him to tears. Except... oh. Nothing was up on his end. At all.
Heh.
Whatever, he'd just blame her. "What can I say," he breathed against her neck, "takes a little something extra to get me going."
She practically growled at the challenge, rolling them over and stalking down his body like a beast of prey. She flicked his belt away, yanking his jeans and his boxers down unceremoniously. Flynn thought about objecting, because he was finally beginning to accept that for once in his life he just wasn't in the mood for a blow job, but he was too lazy to even push her away. He was also too lazy to mention that blowing a guy you don't know without protection is a dumbass move - he really couldn't care less about her health.
It wasn't long before she got what she wanted - maybe he wasn't in the mood, but that didn't stop him from being human. She grinned in triumph and ran her tongue over him one last languorous time before finally cluing in (apparently she didn't care about getting sick, just getting pregnant) and asking him if he had anything.
He deliberated saying no, just to extricate him from the situation and see how furious she got, but out of habit he reached for his bedside table drawer and tossed a little packet at her. She ripped it open with her teeth - as if that were a new move - and put it on him with her mouth. She was so original, really.
She rubbed herself over him a few times, like she could tease him, like he honestly gave a crap whether she went through with it or not, before moving astride him and moaning dramatically as they connected. Usually a moan like that would go straight to his ego. But it kind of grated on his nerves. It was almost practiced. Stale, somehow, compared to the sounds he'd been used to lately from someone completely different.
He put in a little effort, at least. But only a little. And after a few minutes of her wild enthusiasm, she noticed he didn't share her zeal. She pushed some of her hair back from her face. "You're not into it?"
He shrugged a little before remembering that girls really hate shrugging.
She sat up, disgusted. "Are you shitting me? What's your problem?"
Flynn repressed yet another shrug. "I dunno, it's kind of an off day for me. This doesn't usually happen."
She scoffed, digging her fingers into the roots of her hair in frustration. "You get on top, then."
Ugh, his reputation was going to suffer for this. "I don't think so," he said reaching down to gently push her off of him and reach for his pants. "You should probably get going."
"Are you serious?"
He tried to remember the last time he'd left a woman so unsatisfied, but he wasn't sure that had ever happened before. "Unfortunately." He didn't even care about the hit to his reputation. Something really was wrong with him. "Listen... Amanda-"
"Abigail," she corrected crossly, grabbing her bra and her top.
"Abigail," he said, reaching out to help her clasp her bra, but she swatted at him angrily. "I'll give you a rain check."
She looked at him like he was completely crazy, which he was, and fled down the ladder and out of his apartment at record speed, his fastest one night stand ever. Did it count as one night stand if he could hardly even maintain his erection?
He'd allow himself the post-coitus cigarette, regardless.
After a few more similar encounters, Flynn stopped bringing women home. For the first time since hitting puberty, it felt better to be alone than with a beautiful woman. In rare moments of honesty, he realized that it wasn't so much that he wanted space, he just wanted to be with one particular person. He panicked for a bit - had Rapunzel ruined women for him? No, no, he'd snap out of it. But until then, he was better off alone and not embarrassing himself.
Then something very surprising happened - The captain showed up on a Tuesday.
"Open up!" he shouted, pounding on the door. His voice was unmistakable, but Flynn was still amazed the captain would deviate from his routine.
Flynn rubbed his eyes a little and opened the door. "What are you doing here?"
"What kind of idiot question is that?" the captain barked, striding in. "It's my job to be here. And today, I'm really going to find your stash. You weren't expecting me, where you? You haven't had time to hide it. Might as well just give it up, Fitzherbert."
Flynn rolled his eyes, rubbing a tired hand over his stubble. "You're right, every day but Friday I just leave it lying around."
The captain huffed, heading for the ladder. Flynn said nothing, filling a glass of water.
"Aren't you going to try to stop me?"
Flynn took a few gulps, trying to wake himself up. "Why should I? You are so clever, Captain. Why try to hide?"
More huffing as the captain poked around in the loft. "This is disgusting," he said.
Flynn always made his bed in the morning and kept it neat, so he could only assume that the captain found his very existence nauseating.
"Let me make it easy for you," Flynn said, leaning against the counter. "In the closet, there are some drawers. Check the middle one."
The captain scoffed. "You want me to believe you keep your stash in your sock drawer?" But the captain rummaged a bit anyway, sliding drawers open and pushing stuff around. "There's just a bunch of cigarettes and office supplies in here. Where did you even get a paperweight this ugly?"
"From the dentist's."
"Why in the world do all of your physicians give you souvenirs? What is it about you?"
"They don't," Flynn said, "I take them."
"That's enough out of you," the captain muttered. "Why would you take this random nonsense? You're absurd, Fitzherbert, but I'll get to the bottom of this. You've stolen some of the most valuable items in Corona. Why would you be taking stationary?"
Because he'd been screwed over by his partners and fences. Because he'd had to leave items in hiding while he escaped, and 'friends' took them before he could go back to get them. Because when he had money he wasted it, and when he reached the prime of his criminal life, he was thrown in prison for five years.
The captain descended briskly from the loft, handing Flynn the regular little sealed cup with a glare. "I'll catch your system off guard, too. If you've been on drugs again, I'll know it."
Flynn sighed and headed for the bathroom. Drugs would make all of this a lot easier. And harder. He heard the captain poking around in the cabinets before opening the fridge. "What kind of front is this?" he said, "why is there a chicken in your refrigerator?"
Because Flynn hadn't had the heart to eat it, or throw it away, or even look at it. So he'd been avoiding the fridge and consuming warm beer and cup'o'noodles.
Flynn spoke over the stream. "You tell me, Chief." He emerged from the bathroom as the captain took the platter out, poking the chicken with his club and then turning a scrutinizing eye on the potatoes. "These are laced with something, aren't they?"
"Yeah. Garlic."
The captain grunted and grabbed a spoon, pushing back the cling wrap to grab a bite. His eyes slid slowly, disdainfully over to Flynn. "...these are delicious."
Flynn shrugged, putting his piss on the counter and washing his hands.
The captain watched him thoughtfully. "You're helpless in the kitchen. Who's been cooking for you?"
Flynn shrugged again, staring into the sink. There was something about the way the captain said that that made him sad. She had cooked for him, she had cared for him, in her way. And now she didn't show up at the bar or call him or text him anymore. It would be like he'd never met her, except there was too much evidence of her in his life, so he thought of her constantly, and missed her constantly.
"You're not allowed to have secrets, Fitzherbert," the captain said sternly. "Who's been feeding you?"
Flynn was pretty sure he was entitled to some secrets, but what was the point? "Just a girl."
"The same girl who apparantly painted half of your wall yellow? What's with that, anyway?"
"She has... unusual taste."
"You let a woman stay in your apartment, and refrained from ravishing her long enough for her to paint and cook an elaborate meal for you?"
"Yes."
The captain looked at Flynn like he was joking. "Oh, sure, and you're going to stop thieving and settle down with this woman and get a job and support her. And then you'll get a dog. And I'm sure you're going to convince me that you actually care about another human being. Really. Where did you get this food?"
Flynn said nothing, running his hands through his hair slowly, tiredly.
The captain stared, quiet for some time. "You're serious?"
"Does it look like I have a dog?" Flynn snapped. "And you just saw the evidence of my thieving. Yeah, she came over and made dinner. Nothing has changed. Nothing's going to change. What's new?"
The captain continued to stare, thinking so hard Flynn thought smoke would come out of his ears. "This girl is really affecting you."
Flynn crossed his arms over his chest.
"Is that why you look like shit? Because I forgot to mention earlier that you look like shit."
Flynn rolled his eyes. "You always think I look bad."
The captain nodded. "But now in particular. Fitzherbert, you done gone got your heart broken, didn't you?"
"How do you know I didn't do the breaking?"
The captain ignored him, taking another bite of potatoes. "You're an idiot, Fitzherbert," he said around a mouthful. "This are damn good potatoes. Your lady friend can cook. And she must be something if she holds your attention. What did you do?"
He had pushed her away, and berated her, and tried to fool her and himself and failed at at least one of those endeavors. "I lied to her, a lot."
The captain stopped chewing, gesturing towards Flynn with his spoon. "You know, I think this is the first show of regret I've ever seen from you."
Well, it was the first regret he'd ever felt.
The captain shook his head, tossing the spoon aside, grabbing the piss, and heading towards the door. "If you can call yourself a man, then you're a sad one. You're a sad, sad man, Eugene Fitzherbert."