Disclaimer: Disney owns Tangled, and I'm not making any profit off this.
So. First of all, this piece is supposedly set several months after the "Ever After" short. Second, it is indeed "hard M" as the description says... i.e., smut. If it's too smutty for this website, I'll take it down and repost it somewhere else where it would be allowed (but I've seen far more graphic stories, to be honest). It is particularly intended for those of us with a thing about rebellion/the forbidden/bad boys/etc. Be warned, there is also light domination, light s&m, and Flynn being arrogant, but it's a roleplay scenario and that's the point. Enjoy!
Rapunzel pulled her traveling cloak closer, cold drizzling rain dampening her clothes and making her feel chilly and miserable all the way through. Beside her, Eugene grumbled and tried to keep her dry by keeping her close to him, but it was not working. They both felt cold and clammy, but the rain did not seem quite bad enough to justify stopping anywhere. There wasn't anywhere to stop anyway. They had passed a woodsman's house a ways back, when the drizzle first began, but they were not comfortable with the idea of stopping in a private residence. They were not dressed in rich clothes—he wore the same ensemble that he'd worn when they first met, and she wore an ordinary dark green dress under her cloak—but they both wore their gold wedding rings, ornately engraved with the sun symbol of Corona and far flashier than the plain rings that most people had. The ridiculous incident with their rings was still gossiped about, too. They might well have to explain themselves to an observant homeowner who took them in. Most people were probably trustworthy, but one never knew. It was better to stay on the road.
"Why did we think it was a good idea to take a walking trip in the middle of November?" he complained as they narrowly avoided a puddle in the dark.
"I don't know," she said. "I seem to recall something about wanting to escape from fuss and formality, even if only for a few days."
He laughed darkly. "Seems amusing now."
They continued on the empty road a bit farther before noticing a small group of lights in the distance. There was apparently a building nearby. If it was an inn, Rapunzel thought she probably would persuade him to stop there, assuming he even needed persuading. They were approaching the place when suddenly the drizzle became heavier and quickly turned into a downpour.
He grabbed her arm and together they began to dash for the lighted building. As she approached it, she realized that it was indeed an inn. It had three levels, with the second and third overhanging the first. They huddled under the overhang to escape from the rain. A sign suspended from it revealed the name of the place: Pandora's Box.
"Let's keep going," Eugene said as he read the sign. "I know where we are, and there's a better inn down the road about a mile."
"What?" Rapunzel stopped. "No." Now that she knew the name of the inn, she wanted to stay there. Unlike the Snuggly Duckling, this inn's name and reputation matched. In the approximately six months since she moved into the castle, she had learned a lot about the kingdom and its environs, and this inn was outside the jurisdiction of Corona for very good reason. The Duckling was a coarse tavern catering to ruffians and drunkards, its only connection to organized or planned crime being the secret tunnels for the blockaders who supplied the place with bootleg liquor. On the other hand, Pandora's Box was the focus of countless stories of intrigues, crooked schemes, private duels, and criminal meetings. It was a side of life that Rapunzel had seen very little of, and her curiosity was strong.
"Rapunzel, this place really doesn't attract the best crowd," he said. "Believe me, I know."
"I know all about this inn too, and I want to stay here."
That evidently surprised him. "Oh?"
"Yes. I've wanted to see this place for a while."
"Have you?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm curious," she said with a blush, eyes looking wide at him. "Please."
A sly smile spread over his face. "All right," he said, and pushed the door open.
A few heads turned toward the door when they came in, but no one paid them any additional attention. Though he probably would have been recognizable to some of the clientele, he kept his hood up, hiding his face in shadows. He left her at a small table for two while going up to the innkeeper to get some food and drink and take a room for the night.
While he was gone, Rapunzel glanced around the common room. A big painting, purportedly of the mythological Pandora for whom the inn was named, hung over the bar. The infamous mythical woman was dressed—if "dressed" was the proper term—in a translucent gold chiton that offered a clear view of her substantial bosom. She had an ornately decorated sinister-looking bronze box nestled between her voluptuous thighs. She held a dagger in one hand and a broken lock in the other, and leered out seductively. It was a rather different kind of art from what Rapunzel painted. She could not look at the painting without blushing, so she turned away to examine the room and patrons better. The light was dim in the timbered room, and the atmosphere was one of steady but low conversation. A musician played vaguely creepy minor-key music on the harpsichord in a barricaded corner. The cold rain provided additional dull noise to make any particular discussion indistinct. She liked that. She did not actually want to hear explicit details of any crooked goings-on.
The patrons were rather ordinary in appearance, which Rapunzel supposed to be a boon for secrecy and unobtrusiveness. Most had cloaks. Some had their hoods up, as she and Eugene did. She wasn't entirely comfortable wearing her wedding ring in this place, but she couldn't think of taking it off. However, no one was interested in either of them. The patrons were either alone or in isolated groups, and they did not interact across these invisible boundaries. Ironically, there was apparently some safety in being in a place where no one trusted anyone else. The other patrons must have assumed that they were just as shady as everyone else. They definitely didn't stand out in appearance. Her gaze darted down to the black corset-top bodice of her dark green gown, which was a bit on the revealing side, but most of the other women in here were wearing far worse. Yes, she blended in pretty well. And under his cloak he had on his old blue vest, brown pants, white shirt, and boots, rather than anything in fancy silk or velvet.
Rapunzel was careful not to keep her eyes on anyone in particular for too long, knowing that it would attract attention to herself. Her gaze flitted around the room unassumingly, from the dodgy-looking harpsichordist, to the dozen or so men and women gambling at the table in front of the fireplace, to the numerous lone travelers keeping their mugs close and their cloaks and hoods closer, to the pair of bearded men hunched over a table who were drawing out plans for something, to the bawdy-looking and very drunk couples at the bar. As she watched them, her thoughts turned to her husband. She dared not hope that he would take her up to the bar and join the couples, but perhaps later on, in the privacy of their room...
He returned with the food, interrupting her thoughts. He set down two mugs of ale, a small loaf of bread, hot soup, butter, cheese, and apples. He tore the loaf of bread in half, giving her part of it. Hungrily they began to eat their simple supper, their clothes drying from the heat of the fireplace. He had to go back for another round of drinks for them and a third for himself, but it was not long before it was all gone.
As curious as she had been about this inn, she was feeling a bit lightheaded from the drink and didn't think it wise to stay in the common room for too long, so she began getting ready to go up to their room. As she made to stand up, he leaned across the table and took her hands in his, stroking them with his coarse fingertips.
"What are you doing?" she said in a whisper. He'd had more to drink than she did, and perhaps it was getting to him as well.
"You know," he said, his fingers moving in circles on her hands, "you're rather naughty, aren't you?"
"No, I'm not," she protested.
"Yes, you are, wanting to go to a place like this and then consorting with a perfect scoundrel like me."
"A perfect scoundrel?"
"Wouldn't you agree?"
"I... yes," she said, a smirk breaking across her face as she caught on to what he was doing. "A perfect scoundrel. An infamous rogue."
His gaze was incredibly intense, making her breath catch in her chest. While she was mesmerized by him, he stood up, and, with a single stride, closed the distance between them. He leaned over her, put one hand behind her head, and pressed his mouth against hers. She quickly began to kiss him back and run her fingers through his dark windswept hair, oblivious to the looks that a few other patrons gave them briefly before turning away uninterested.
They pulled away from each other. "You want to get anything else?" he said huskily. "We can always eat it later."
She raised an eyebrow. "You think I'll be thinking of food?"
He smirked. "Actually, I think you'll be exhausted."
"You have a high opinion of yourself," she said with a flush. The drink was definitely lowering their inhibitions. She liked it.
"You will too after I'm done with you." His voice was low and sultry, and his deep gaze did not falter from hers.
She leaned in and grabbed his face again, pulling him into another kiss. This one was longer than the first and more intense, and she was in control of it, stroking his face slowly and deliberately. He gathered her in his arms to bring her closer. When they broke apart, he looked wild, breathing heavily, brown eyes fiery with lust.
She was ready to go too. "Upstairs?" she breathed. His eyes answered for him. He took her arm and led her out of the barroom and up the stairs. The hallway was dark and narrow, lighted by a single lantern at each end. The room he'd taken was at the far end of the hall.
He unlocked the door and walked in with her, making sure to lock it again. It gave a very satisfying click. He took off his boots, hung his cloak and satchel on one of the hooks on the wall, and waited as she did the same with her cloak. They faced each other. Her heart was pounding with anticipation. She noticed his gaze shift downward and recalled just how much her corset top revealed. She was now very glad she had worn this dress.
"Nice dress," he remarked, eyeing her chest. "It suits you. Especially the top."
"Impudent, are we?"
"Very," he said, pulling her in for another full-mouth kiss. This one was rougher than the ones they'd had downstairs. His tongue flitted and darted about her mouth, teasing her and yet completely possessing her at the same time. She couldn't stand it. She had to give back. Suddenly she bit his lip, eliciting a short, low moan of pleasure and desire from him. Pleased, she nipped him again and ground her body aggressively against his crotch. "Why, you little harlot," he mumbled against her skin.
"You heard what I said." He pulled away, stared greedily at her for a moment, and then grabbed her around the waist and tossed her onto the bed. She kicked off her shoes and watched as he mounted the bed and got on top of her. His hands traveled down her corset top, stopping at the dagger that she had belted around her waist. "What's this?" he murmured. He drew it out, and before she could stop him, threw it hard at the wall behind the bed. The blade sank into the wood.
"Eugene!" she cried, her heart pounding from his sudden violence.
He raised an eyebrow. "Don't call me that," he said.
He leered seductively at her. "Oh. You wanted disreputable, so tonight, my dear, you're going to have a tryst in a seedy inn with Flynn Rider."
With that, he flipped her over and began furiously undoing the strings that laced up her bodice. He made short work of it. Once it was undone, he removed the top, fingertips running down her bare arms as he pulled down the sleeves, making her shiver in pleasure. For a brief moment it was all gathered around her waist, and then he grabbed it all and pulled it off along with the skirt, leaving her wearing only her drawers and chemise. She felt a flush come over her exposed skin.
He rolled her over so that she was facing him and propped himself on top of her, pinning her against the mattress. When he pressed himself against her, she felt his belt and the metal buckles on his vest poking into her through the thin fabric of her underclothes. She was surprised at how blasé he was about being gentle. He was usually very tender, and it was sometimes easy to forget his true strength, honed by years of running, climbing, and living on the edge. Now she had only a thin layer of silk covering her body while his powerful form and large hands and tough rugged clothes pressed against her all over. She felt a thrill of excitement and wanted more, now. As if he were reading her thoughts, he gave her a rough, aggressive kiss, seemingly making a point of grinding against her so she could feel how hard he already was. She grabbed his clothes and arched upward to kiss him back, biting him as she had done earlier. This time he bit back.
She cried out in surprise and pain as his teeth raked over her lips. He pulled away, leaving her lower lip red, puffy, and tender. "Oh, now," he said with an evil smirk, "surely you didn't think you could bite me and get away with it." Before she could respond, he moved down and nipped her again, leaving a mark on her neck.
The idea of him leaving his marks on her drove her wild. "Again," she moaned. "Please."
His eyes opened wide in surprise, but his expression quickly turned into a wicked grin. He flipped her over again, held her wrists above her head with one hand so she would have difficulty moving, and leaned in to bite her earlobe.
She let out a gasp that ended in a whimper. Instantly she felt him release her arms and place his hands on the back of her head, running his fingers sensually through her hair. "When you make these sounds for me, I only want to hear more," he said. He stroked his fingers down her arms slowly, and then leaned in once more near her ear.
She was sure he was going to bite her again, but instead his tongue darted out and tickled her earlobe. "Oh!" she cried out in delight at this sensation.
He only chuckled darkly. "That's not nearly enough," he said. "I want to hear you moan and scream for me, gorgeous. I want you desperate."
She could practically feel the arrogance in his voice. He was toying with her now, and he needed to be challenged. "Is that so, Flynn Rider?" she said, pronouncing the nom de guerre with the same disbelieving, almost mocking tone that she had used when they first met. "Then make me."
"I will," he growled. She felt his weight shift as he removed his clothes. One by one she heard his vest, shirt, pants, and drawers hit the floor, her heart pounding faster with each thump. Then he leaned over, and with a single flourish, he yanked her chemise over her head and threw it into a corner. Another rough movement, and her drawers were gone.
The bed creaked as he mounted her again, and then she felt him spread her legs apart, wrap them around his waist, and enter her abruptly. Immediately—curse him, she thought briefly—she let out an involuntary scream. His hand immediately covered her mouth, silencing her. "Not yet," he said, gasping, as he began to move. "Just... moan."
She didn't need permission. She clutched the pillow, letting out grunts of pleasure in time with his thrusts. His hands traveled from her shoulders down her sides to her waist, finally gripping her hips to brace himself. This was very different from how he usually was, and it felt so good. She wished she'd asked for this earlier, but it wouldn't have been quite the same in the castle. Here, her imagination could take over... though in fact, this was exactly what he had said it was. The only detail left to imagine was that he was still a professional rogue and thief and she was still a runaway who had gone off with him. Her breath caught at the thought.
"Enjoying this?" he murmured, trailing his hands up her back to grab her shoulder blades firmly again. His hands felt hot and possessive and dominating.
"Yes," she panted, gripping the pillow. "You're... amazing... Flynn."
He leaned over. "I know," he hissed into her ear, biting her earlobe once more, and finishing with a caress of the tongue that made her moan in bliss. He drew back and soon picked up the pace, his breaths getting shorter and shorter. She was so close. Just a bit more.
"Harder," she finally gasped desperately. "As hard as you can."
He paused, and while she couldn't see his face, she knew that he was smirking. She felt him withdraw almost completely, and then, without wasting any time, he forcefully rammed back in all the way. It took her breath away. He did it again. Then he put his hand down there and stroked her with coarse fingers. That sent her over the edge.
She screamed and immediately felt her mouth pressed against the pillow to muffle the sound. His fingers tangled in her dark hair, pulling on it, a sensation that somehow only added to the flood of pleasure. The initial shock wave passed, and with it the need to scream, but she continued to cry out and clutch the pillow with a vise-like grip, digging her nails into it, curling her toes, and tensing her legs so hard it almost hurt, as the waves of pleasure rippled over her. At some point during it all she felt him yank his hands from her hair, grip her hips fiercely, release into her, and collapse on top of her, his weight now keeping her from moving.
"Ohhhh," she moaned, feeling all her remaining energy drain out of her with that one cry. As she came down and became aware of her surroundings again, she felt his chest heaving against her body with each lungful of air that he took in. He ran his hands down her sides, which were now hot and damp with sweat, and planted a kiss on her right cheek as he rolled off her.
"That was... oh wow," he said.
"Yeah..." she said, breathing hotly and heavily into the pillow. She wanted to touch him again, but she couldn't move, even to roll off her stomach. She was completely spent and her body would not stir. He realized it and rolled her on her side to face him, throwing an arm around her and pulling her close.
"Told you so," he murmured, lazily drawing circles on her back with his fingertips.
"You did," she said.
He saw that her eyes were barely able to stay open, so he gave her one last kiss for the night. "Good night, my naughty girl," he said softly.
She gave a soft little laugh. "Good night, my perfect scoundrel." Her eyes fluttered shut.
He smiled, stroked her smooth shoulder, and closed his eyes.