Purple
Prompt: During the kingdom dance scene after Rapunzel finishes her mural - Rapunzel's covered in chalk and Eugene thinks he wants to be too.
Warnings: This one's tame.
A lock of her hair has come loose from her braid, and as she finishes her masterpiece, she reaches up to tuck it back behind her ear, leaving behind a purple streak from her eyebrow to her ear then from her ear across her cheek, the angle of the smear setting off the natural lines of her face, the color setting off the pink in her cheeks and the green of her eyes and that one yellow flower that stands out more than the others.
Eugene tilts his head to the side and catches himself smiling in appreciation at the way she stands back to inspect her finished product, but when she turns to him and smiles, he stops caring that he might look a bit silly.
She skips up to him and he finds himself reaching out to rub the chalk off her face with a thumb, only succeeding in smearing the purple streak into her hair and getting the color on his own skin.
He looks down at his hand in surprise, and she bends to inspect it herself, before she holds out her fingers to show that they are absolutely covered in a thick layer of purple. The sight makes her laugh, and she reaches for his hand, and he pulls it away not particularly wanting to be in the same colorful state she’s in.
She gets this look in her eyes, a mischievous, playful, challenging look, and his eyes have only a moment to grow wider before she rushes at him and he dodges back and away, staying just out of her reach as she grabs for him. They seem to dance about the square as he ducks backwards, careful not to tread on her work, and she laughs, drawing him in so he’s always only a breath away, only just out of reach.
Rapunzel leaves a hand print on his sleeve and a cloud of chalk dust on his collar as she tackles him to the ground and pins his arms with her knees. And she giggles hysterically, and he struggles and scoffs while she runs her hands over his face, using him like a hand towel, making him sneeze.
But his protests die as she runs her hands through his hair, as she leaves a trail of color down his neck, slipping her hands just beneath his shirt to brush his collar bone. He stares at her in choked fascination as she grins and focuses on her work, passing her hands meticulously over his shoulders, over his chest, over his arms, covering every inch of him in an uneven coat of gritty color, alighting every last bit of his skin with sensation. Something is stuck in his throat and he’s not sure if he’s breathing because he feels lightheaded and warm and shivery, and does she have any idea what she’s doing?
She looks over his figure with the same satisfaction she held for her art laid out across the cobblestones, taking in the result of her efforts piece by piece, her eyes appraising the entirety of his upper body. She comes to rest at his face, and she must see some of the shock and surprise and lust in his eyes, because she returns swiftly to the moment, blushes, and scurries off of him to brush her hands on her skirt and look up at the setting sun as if trying to judge the time.
He pushes himself slowly off the ground and rubs at the marks on his face. He avoids her eyes as he casually suggests they grab some dinner. She avoids his as she smiles and agrees.
Warnings: This one's tame.
A lock of her hair has come loose from her braid, and as she finishes her masterpiece, she reaches up to tuck it back behind her ear, leaving behind a purple streak from her eyebrow to her ear then from her ear across her cheek, the angle of the smear setting off the natural lines of her face, the color setting off the pink in her cheeks and the green of her eyes and that one yellow flower that stands out more than the others.
Eugene tilts his head to the side and catches himself smiling in appreciation at the way she stands back to inspect her finished product, but when she turns to him and smiles, he stops caring that he might look a bit silly.
She skips up to him and he finds himself reaching out to rub the chalk off her face with a thumb, only succeeding in smearing the purple streak into her hair and getting the color on his own skin.
He looks down at his hand in surprise, and she bends to inspect it herself, before she holds out her fingers to show that they are absolutely covered in a thick layer of purple. The sight makes her laugh, and she reaches for his hand, and he pulls it away not particularly wanting to be in the same colorful state she’s in.
She gets this look in her eyes, a mischievous, playful, challenging look, and his eyes have only a moment to grow wider before she rushes at him and he dodges back and away, staying just out of her reach as she grabs for him. They seem to dance about the square as he ducks backwards, careful not to tread on her work, and she laughs, drawing him in so he’s always only a breath away, only just out of reach.
Rapunzel leaves a hand print on his sleeve and a cloud of chalk dust on his collar as she tackles him to the ground and pins his arms with her knees. And she giggles hysterically, and he struggles and scoffs while she runs her hands over his face, using him like a hand towel, making him sneeze.
But his protests die as she runs her hands through his hair, as she leaves a trail of color down his neck, slipping her hands just beneath his shirt to brush his collar bone. He stares at her in choked fascination as she grins and focuses on her work, passing her hands meticulously over his shoulders, over his chest, over his arms, covering every inch of him in an uneven coat of gritty color, alighting every last bit of his skin with sensation. Something is stuck in his throat and he’s not sure if he’s breathing because he feels lightheaded and warm and shivery, and does she have any idea what she’s doing?
She looks over his figure with the same satisfaction she held for her art laid out across the cobblestones, taking in the result of her efforts piece by piece, her eyes appraising the entirety of his upper body. She comes to rest at his face, and she must see some of the shock and surprise and lust in his eyes, because she returns swiftly to the moment, blushes, and scurries off of him to brush her hands on her skirt and look up at the setting sun as if trying to judge the time.
He pushes himself slowly off the ground and rubs at the marks on his face. He avoids her eyes as he casually suggests they grab some dinner. She avoids his as she smiles and agrees.