AN: Good God! You people really want more of this. On the one hand, I'm humbled that there's so much interest (my wife nearly died laughing when she saw how many people favored this.) On the other hand, we should all be ashamed of ourselves. It just has to be said. Now, if I'm going to continue this, I'm going to do it at my own pace. I'll keep the sexy up, but I'm not writing a lemon this chapter. That wouldn't make any sense. So with that out of the way, let's get this party started.
Chapter 2
Eugene and Rapunzel avoid each other over the next few days.
She's avoiding him because every time she sees him, she blushes so badly that she's sure that everyone will know exactly what happened, and she has a suspicion that that would be a bad thing. Eugene is also pretty sure that with the tint of her cheeks everyone in the castle will know something's up, but unlike Rapunzel, he thinks that people will assume much more than the truth.
He's avoiding her because everything she does nowadays makes his blood rush from his head to leave him dizzy and winded and warm. One morning he came across her in the gardens where she had bent to smell a flower. Her ass was tilted towards him, looking perfectly squeezable, and she was humming with pleasure, and Eugene turned on his heel and marched in the other direction. At dinner one night she was presented with a chocolate mousse, and unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on what time of night it is when Eugene thinks about it later) she guessed that she should eat it with her fingers, sucking each digit clean, closing her eyes, and moaning. It was just too much, and he had to excuse himself on the pretext of feeling sick. He went out and took a long walk in the rain.
His reactions are embarrassing and he hopes to God that no one can tell. For this reason he's avoiding the queen as much as possible too. He's absolutely sure at this point that she can read him like a book. He feels really guilty about the whole thing, and he's convinced that Rapunzel must be mad at him for his actions. That's why she's avoiding him. Of course this isn't true at all, but even if there was someone who could tell him that, he most likely wouldn't listen.
He feels especially guilty when he wakes in the night, covered in cold sweat and shaking after dreaming about her.
He dreams that he's rescued her – really rescued her, not her rescuing herself or her rescuing him – and she's just so grateful that she wants to give him something special, she wants to reward him, and she lies back in the grass, open, inviting, perfectly beautiful and in awe of his prowess as a fighter and a protector. She moves beneath him, all the softness of her body molding to fit against him, her rhythm perfectly following his own, and she's warm and wet and tight and welcoming. The sweat on her skin is slick and salty. She purrs, her face buried in his shoulder. "Please, Eugene. More. More." He dreams of how her face would look as she calls out his name, head thrown back, spine arched, lips parted in ecstasy.
He dreams that they're in her tower and he's bound to a chair by her blond hair. She gives him that devilish look that doesn't grace her face nearly often enough - the one she wears when she figures something out and then sets her wicked mind to using the new information mischievously. But in the dream, the look is just sinful, and he'd be rooted in place even without his bonds. She walks towards him, her hips swaying and hypnotizing. She easily slips into his lap to straddle him with a sigh, and slides forward slowly to rub against the entire length of his thighs and finally press against his chest so he can feel the fullness of her breasts. He would do anything for her. Anything at all.
She's leaning so as to be just tantalizingly out of reach of his mouth, and his arms jerk against his restraints wanting to hold her. Fingernails drag across his skin, over his scalp, to fist in his hair and pull his head back so she's just out of reach. She lingers for a moment, her lips just a breath away from his. She smiles seductively and yanks his head back to expose his throat and slowly – so painfully slowly – she drags her lips over his pulse point. She breathes hotly against his ear, whispering that she wants him, torturing him with kisses and touches.
He wakes up panting, and after several deep gasps, he runs a hand through his damp hair and curses.
As it happens, the only person who he can talk to – and he uses the term "person" loosely – is the horse. The horse. The one that hates him. Which is weird because horses don't have feelings so they shouldn't be capable of hatred, and horses can't understand speech so there's no point talking to them. He finds himself sitting on the short wall near the stables after one of his many trips to get some fresh air when Maximus appears.
The horse glares at him.
"Hey," says Eugene.
I hate you, says the horse.
"Riiiiight." He scratches his head and looks up at the sky in an act of forced casualness. His eyes dart back to the horse.
Glare.
Eugene sighs. "Look, pal, I'm really not in the mood for this today. I get it. You don't like me because you have no sense of style and no sense of humor. I'm sure It's not your fault, and we can blame it on upbringing. You don't like me. I'm not too fond of you. So can you just spit at me like usual, or whatever you're going to do, and go away?"
The horse narrows his eyes, as if trying to decide what to make of this. He shakes his head with a snort, and sits down. Eugene's never seen a horse sit before. He thinks that Maximus might be broken.
Stare.
"What?"
Stare.
"Quit being nosy."
Snort. Eye roll.
"There's no way I'm talking about this with you of all people."
Eyebrow lift. And since when do horses have eyebrows?
"It's nothing, alright? I'm just a little… frustrated."
Maximus jerks his head towards the castle. With your new life? he asks.
"No. But that's not going so great either."
The horse cocks his head to the side. What is it then?
Eugene rubs the bridge of his nose, squeezes his eyes shut, and admits it. "It's Goldie."
The horse blinks at him. Why?
"She's just… I'm just…frustrated, you know?"
Blink
"…Sexually."
Glare.
Instead of fearing for his life like he should, Eugene's face splits into a grin. "Hey! Someone around here knows what I'm talking about! Finally. I was starting to wonder. So you got yourself a little filly somewhere, eh, buddy?"
Glare.
Eugene holds up his hands in a pacifying manner. "Not my business. Got it."
Snort.
Maximus bats his eyelashes to get the conversation back on track.
"Oh right, Blondie. She's just…" He takes a deep, preparatory breath. "She's driving me crazy. You know when you've got an itch you can't scratch and that itch just gets sexier and sexier until you find yourself talking to a horse?"
No.
"Well, it's not fun. Let me tell you. And usually I'm not one for self control, especially if I'm in as bad a dry spell as I am right now-"
Glare.
"- but there's something about her that's different. It's like when she's around all my mojo is just sucked away."
Good.
"I think I might… I don't know I think I like her a little too much."
Eyebrow lift.
"A little too much for my own good."
Eye roll.
"And her own good too."
Damned straight, Maximus says with an enthusiastic nod.
"Thanks, buddy."
Anytime.
"I just think that… I'm no good for her. I'm going to hurt her."
That's for sure.
Eugene frowns and lowers his head in a sulk. "It might be better for everyone if I just leave."
Maximus rears up and shoves him, making him tumble backwards off the wall to land awkwardly on his shoulder on the ground. The horse glares over the wall at him and shakes his head with something between irritation and pity.
Idiot.
Maximus walks off, leaving Eugene in the dirt to question his sanity.
As it happens, Rapunzel seeks advice from a very similar source: a chameleon. It turns out that Pascal doesn't have any suggestions about the tightening of her chest and the flutter of her heart, unless it means that she's ill, which might very well be the case because she seems to have a fever.
Something happened to her and she doesn't quite know what it is. She feels like she's so close to understanding it – so close she can taste it. But she's still not there, just like how Eugene was close to touching that spot on her stomach and she knew he was close to something but she didn't know what. The thought of it has her blushing again. She tentatively presses her hand over the spot he touched. It's sensitive, ticklish almost, but it doesn't make her jump, it doesn't make her gasp, it doesn't send thrills through her body. Strange.
That thrill was terrifying. But it was also wonderful. Maybe now that she's expecting it once, it won't be so shocking in the future. Maybe if they kissed again, she wouldn't have to stop him because she got so frightened. She wants to keep going because she can remember how good it felt and she wants to be able to feel it again, to feel it more. It was good, but scary - just like how talking to Eugene and finding out what's going on will be good, but the knowledge might be frightening. Just like how every new experience she has is like a double edged sword of thrilling joy and thrilling horror.
She wants to keep going to prove she can. Sometimes she just becomes overwhelmed by sensation. It's happened pretty frequently lately. Everything's just too much too fast. She can't take it all in. Sometimes when more than one person is talking or when there is music in the background, she can't understand what people are saying. Once she went into a fabric store and the vibrancy of the colors made her so weak she had to sit down. Once she went to the castle kitchens and the aroma of so many different kinds of baking bread made her cry. Feeling the texture of flower petals or drinking a new kind of tea sometimes makes her tremble. There's too many different things to sense and there's just so much of it. Lately she has been swinging dangerously back and forth between being overly excited and threatening to weep.
Obviously she will have to overcome her sensory overload problems if she wants to feel Eugene touch her again. Maybe they can just take it very slow. She doesn't want to rely on it, but maybe he'll be patient with her and let her cry if she gets overwhelmed. He's been pretty good about letting her cry other times. He's really good at comforting people, even though it seems like he wouldn't be. And he was kind to her the other night when she made him stop.
When Pascal proves to be ignorant of the subject as well, she does the next best thing to asking a reptile: she goes to the library to do some research. Unfortunately, she has no idea where to look or even what to look for. She ruffles through the K volume of the encyclopedia and does not learn anything new about kissing. She reads the entry on hugging in the H volume and doesn't learn anything there either. T for touching is likewise unhelpful, and "feeling tingly" in the Fs doesn't have an entry at all. She makes a frustrated noise and looks down at Pascal for assistance. His eyes roam over the page again, just to see if the entry has appeared in the last few seconds. He looks back up at her and shrugs.
There's no help for it. She's going to have to ask Eugene what this thing that's happening to her is called so she can find a book about it. Or maybe she should just force him to tell her what's going on. He seems to know, and he has been so good at helping her understand other things. He helped her walk in heels that first time when her balance was already off because she had just lost twenty-five dragging pounds off the back of her head, and for the first time she had something on her feet that were more substantial than warm socks in winter. He showed her how to pick a lock, and he told her not to tell anyone that he had taught her, and she had kept that promise. He had even explained more delicate things like why she shouldn't mold a snowman out of her mashed potatoes at dinner. Surely he could help her with this.
But then it hits her. There's someone else she can go to. Someone who's protective enough not to take advantage. Someone candid enough to give her a straight answer. Someone who wouldn't feel embarrassed or confined by modesty. The person who already explained to her that although Tor was a great guy, she should probably steer clear of him because of his opium habit. They then explained what an opiate was.
She gasps and claps her hands together. "I've got it, Pascal!"
She runs from the library, not even bothering to re-shelve the encyclopedias, and searches high and low until she finally finds Eugene lying on his back, staring up at the sky, hidden behind a low wall.
"Eugene!"
"Goldie! How'd you find me?"
"That's not important," she says, her face lit with excitement and triumph. "Can you take me to the Snuggly Duckling? I want to talk to the guys."