Chapter 8

Rapunzel scurries in that night, bounces onto his bed, and grins at him. It might be his imagination, but he thinks her nightdress is more revealing than usual.

"Something you want?"

She giggles. Then she scuttles under the blankets to press against him. Eagerly, she grabs his arms and drags them around her, and she looks up at him through her eyelashes while biting her lip to attempt to control her excitement. It's far too attractive a look on her. She prods him with a hip as he continues to stare - it's a more sensual movement than just a grab for his attention.

"You're feisty this evening."

"Kiss me here," she says, tilting her head and pointing to a spot on her neck near the hinge of her jaw. "I like it there."

"I've created a monster."

She takes a moment to stick out her lower lip in a pout and bat her eyelashes. This is also far too attractive. She reaches behind her and taking him by the wrist, guides his hand up and down her back in a mockery of a caress.

"Where did you want a kiss? Show me again."

She beams at him and points and he seals his mouth over her neck, immediately feeling her pulse quicken under his tongue. Far too soon for both of them, he pulls back and gives her a fake, clueless look as if he's finished and doesn't know what to do with himself next. It's called playing with your food. It's also called don't give the princess a hickey. Her eyes widen slightly and she makes a small noise of protest before she quickly points again to her neck - a spot just below the last one.

He smirks and kisses her again, easily following her finger as it trails slowly down her neck and over her collar bone. There he snatches her finger into his mouth and sucks it while she giggles. He pulls her closer, reveling in the fact that she has finally relaxed. She guides his lips back to her skin and almost hesitantly leads him to her breast. His fingers tighten in the silk of her nightgown as her free hand fists painfully in his hair and his loins clench. Her thin sleeve slips easily off her shoulder and she trembles as if she's cold in the second before he runs his tongue across her nipple. She gasps and her back arches, thrusting her breast against his lips and her hips against his stomach.

He rolls them both so as to rest on top of her. It brings her closer. It allows him to feel every one of her writhing movements, each stutter of her gasping breath. He guides her legs up around him and the pressure of her squeezing him is simply amazing. He attempts to burn the feeling into his memory. She holds him tight, both hands on his head to hold him in place. He tries to be gentle with her, to control himself, but she is doing no such thing, squirming and squeezing and digging her short fingernails into the flesh of his cheek. She's beautiful and uninhibited and shamelessly enjoying what he's doing to her. He grins and draws her skin between his teeth.

Then he hears the worst noise he could possibly hear: the clanking of an approaching guard, and he freezes, every muscle in his body tense.

And then he realizes that it isn't the worst sound. The worst sound is the cry that breaks from Rapunzel's throat, even though at any other time he would love hearing it.

"Shh!" He presses a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise, and she squeaks as her eyes snap open in fright. "Shh," he whispers against her cheek, holding her still with his weight, trying to calm his breathing and listen and come up with an escape plan for when the guards come to investigate. The balcony. That would be best. She could escape that way and the guards wouldn't find her if they search the room. She continues to stare at him, absolutely still, frightened as a little bunny. Damn it, he can't believe he scared her again just as she was feeling so confident. He kisses her cheek briefly to try to calm her, but he can tell it doesn't work.

The clanking grows louder as the guards approach, and after a moment she hears it as well. They both lie painfully still, holding their breath as the patrol moves closer-

And then passes.

The sound dies away and Eugene breathes a sigh of relief. He rests his forehead against hers and pulls his hand from her mouth.

"Sorry," he murmurs.

She continues to gaze up at him, her lip quivering slightly. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No! No, you're great."

"Then why'd you stop?"

"I don't want the guards to catch us."

She thinks on this for a moment. "I don't see why they would care. It's not any of their business. Is it?"

"Well, no, it's not. But if they knew then they would make it their business."

"Why? I'm having fun and you're having fun. Why wouldn't they want that?"

"Uh… well…" He shifts onto his back to give himself a moment to think. "You know when you went dancing in the rain?"

"Yeah, that was fun."

"Yeah. You remember how the guards threw a fit?"

She scrunches her face up with supreme distaste.

"This is like that," he says.

She rolls onto her stomach and props herself up on her elbows to bite at a fingernail in thought. "They said that I shouldn't be out in the rain because it would make me sick and ruin my clothes," she said slowly. "Why would they say that kissing is bad?"

He shrugs. "Because they don't like me and they don't want us to get too close."

"I like you," she mutters. He smiles and traces her cheek with his fingertips. "What if I was doing this with someone they did like? Would they be alright with that?"

Something in his chest contracts harshly at this thought. "No. I don't think so."

She rolls her eyes. "Then it's not about you. You're just being self centered."

He snorts and she gives him a cheeky grin. "You're right," he says. "It's not me. It's you."

"What do they have against me kissing? It's fun," she reiterates.

"They want you to be pure and unspoiled."

"And kissing is impure."

"No. They just think it is because they're stuffy and have no one to make out with themselves."

"Ah." She nods, "Ok, I get it."

Eugene doesn't really think she does as he didn't really explain it very well, but then she settles down next to him and sighs sleepily.

The next day he starts etiquette training. He doesn't do it so he can become a viable candidate to marry Rapunzel. He does it because he's bored and because the queen asked him to. His instructor is a thin man with a mustache that curls at the ends, and he's used to teaching knights and guards how to behave themselves, so he is not as taken aback by Eugene's lack of tact as he could be.

Getting straight down to business, they spend two hours shaking hands, which Eugene thinks is immensely stupid as he already has a fine, firm handshake – thank you very much. His instructor disagrees and they shake hands over and over and over and over, and eventually his arm gets tired and his fingers start to hurt. Deciding that he's mastered it "well enough for now," the thin man goes on to list all the people with whom he should not shake hands. This list includes royalty, lords, knights, people who are exceptionally impoverished, all women, and about a thousand other people. Eugene thinks it might have been easier just to give him a list of who he could shake hands with, but he's quickly informed that his smart mouth won't get him anywhere, with which he disagrees.

A bit put out, he wanders the castle looking for Rapunzel and eventually finds her in one of the little drawing rooms doing a jigsaw puzzle with the queen.

"Look!" she cries. "This puzzle has a thousand pieces. I only ever had one puzzle and it only had four hundred pieces. And I never had anyone to help me with it before. Do you want to help? Here. Sit down."

The queen gives her daughter a loving smile as the girl continues to ramble. "I did that puzzle over and over again. I got really good at it. One time I even did it upside-down, with the picture facing the floor, just to show I could, but mother wasn't very impressed."

The queen flinches, but does it so subtly that Rapunzel doesn't notice, and promptly recovers herself and clicks a piece into place.

"Well, I'm impressed," Eugene says. "Gothel just didn't appreciate what she had."

Rapunzel beams at him.

"How were your classes today, Mr. Fitzherbert?" the queen asks.

"Fine," he says focusing on a puzzle piece and pretending to look for its neighbors. He doesn't want to tell the queen that he had a horrible time.

"Do you want to show me your handshake?" she asks.

He skips straight over the part where she knows his curriculum, and says, "I'm not supposed to shake your hand."

"Indulge me." She reaches across the table, and he takes her hand. It feels like almost the exact same handshake he's been giving his instructor. "That's very good."

"Thanks."

Rapunzel watches the whole thing with ever growing interest. "Can I try?"

"Sure, Goldie."

She takes his hand and shakes it. Then shakes it again. Then she changes the angle of her grip. Then the pressure of her grip. And then the whole thing just disintegrates into her inspecting his fingernails.

AN: Short one today. Sorry folks. To make up for it, here's a self deprecating story: Today I was proctoring an exam and apparently making funny faces to myself, when one of the kids breaks the silence by saying, "Mr. -, what are you doing?" I look up and he, and now the rest of the class, are looking at me and I'm so startled that I tell the truth. "I'm practicing my smolder." "Oh, no, Mr. -. You don't have a face for smoldering." The rest of the class nods. A part of me inside died, and all I could say was, "Eyes on you papers, guys." The moral: don't practice your eyebrow movements in a room full of teenagers.