The Book
Prompt:Flynn would do anything to get his book back
Warnings: Smut. Dub con
Flynn slipped into the shop as swiftly as possible, pulling down the paper blind to cover the window and pressing his back against the door, as if flattening himself and holding still would help to hide him from his pursuers, as if he would be able to barricade the door with his body if they decided to charge in after him. A moment later he had the bright idea to lock the flimsy deadbolt and reach under the blind to flip the “open” sign to “closed.” Then he flattened himself once more, squeezed his eyes closed, and listened, expecting at any moment to hear the shouts and cheers that he had been spotted.
After a long moment of silence save the pounding of his heart, he slumped, allowing himself to double up and gasp, hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath.
He couldn’t believe that that had gone so horribly wrong. Not only was he caught mid heist, and not get the loot, and now there was the distinct possibility that he was not going to leave this small provincial town alive, but on top of it all he had dropped his book. It had slipped out of his satchel when he leapt off the roof and hit the ground in a roll.
He couldn’t believe he was stupid enough to lose it. He’d hung onto it for - what? - ten years? Eight? Something ridiculous like that. He’d been through hell and back with its limp spine by his side. He’d forged his identity out of its yellowing pages. It had given him hope on wet nights. Damn it, he loved that cracked covered, beer stained, pulpy piece of fiction.
Its loss made him want to bang his head against something and scream in frustration.
Or at least it had until he sprinted around the corner and beheld the most glorious sight on earth right across the street from him. It was like it had been placed there by magic, like it was waiting for him. It’s façade seemed to glow, as if illuminated by a beam of sunlight.
A bookstore.
Why did this tiny excuse for a village even have a bookstore? Flynn didn’t care, because it was exactly what he needed.
He pushed himself from the door and hit the first bookshelf like a man possessed, his eyes darting back and forth, scanning over titles and bylines, his fingers drumming anxiously across leather bound spines. Brown, Borden, Humphrey, Campbell… were these in any order at all? He took a step back to survey the shelf as a whole and decided that, no, they weren’t.
Shit.
He hissed in irritation and redoubled his efforts, thinking to himself, “If I were a nutty shop keeper in a backwater town, how would I organize my books?”
It didn’t take him very long to find it, but given his anxiety level it felt like much longer, and he made an audible noise of triumph as he snatched it off the shelf at the level of his knees. It was a different edition than his old one, with a blue cover instead of black. The text was a bit smaller, and there was an illustration on the title page that he wasn’t sure he liked. Something about it felt off, but after reading a paragraph or two he sunk into the reassuring familiarity of the words.
Good, he sighed. That’s that taken care of. Slipping the book into his satchel, he turned his thoughts to how he was going to escape without being-
“Can I help you?”
-seen.
Shit.
He stiffened and turned slowly to face the irritated voice. In front of him stood a girl, just a touch shorter than he was, her brown hair pulled back from her face to frame surprised eyes the color of cinnamon. She stood half way behind a shelf, from where she’d most likely been watching him and his crazed search. Her gaze darted from his face to his satchel and back to his face again, her lips parting and her eyes widening as comprehension dawned that he actually was intending on stealing one of her books.
“Ah.” They stared at each other for a moment. How did he get caught again today? Then he cleared his throat, slipped on a winning smirk, and purred at her. “Hi.”
This only seemed to confuse her as she blinked at him a few times, then pursed her lips and planted a hand on her hip. “Who are you?”
“Flynn.” He cocked his head to the side to emphasize that he was handsome and convince her to let him go. “What’s your name?”
“Your name’s Flynn?”
“That’s right.”
“Like the title character from the book you just slipped in your bag?” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Creative.”
His face fell. No one had ever called him on the Flynn Rider thing before. He didn’t deal much with well read people. He doubted most of the people he interacted with were even literate. And aside from that it was unheard of for someone to see through him so easily.
He found himself taking up a defensive posture, his brows lowering into a glare. “Yeah, I’m named after a literary character. That’s part of why I like the book.” Hey, it was mostly true. “You got a problem with that?”
She backed up a step, looking startled now and unsure.
Good. Let her feel embarrassed. He didn’t care. He continued to glare at her as she chewed her bottom lip, hesitating before taking a breath and reciting.
“He traveled the earth, his sails filled with dreams. He flew through life on the wings of adventure.”
“He faced every danger with a grin and a prayer, knowing that if this was to be his last day on earth, he would not leave disappointed.” Flynn automatically supplied the next line, the words easily rolling off his tongue, as he stared at the girl in poorly concealed surprise.
“You have read it.”
“So have you.”
Hell, she had part of it memorized! How long had it been since he met someone who had read it? How long had it been since he’d admitted out loud that he’d read it himself? He had to swallow down his need to enthusiastically rant about every little detail he had discovered over the years, every character quirk, every subtle moment that he found so relatable.
Yeah, he was not having that conversation. He had things to do, and the first one was to move along.
“Well, this has been great, but sadly I must be off now,” he said with a smile he didn’t feel as he moved to pass her and exit out the back door. “It’s been fun. Really. You’re a peach. Don’t ever change.”
She pulled him to a stop, and he arched an eyebrow at her as something odd passed across her face.
“You’re going to have to pay for that book,” she said, her voice doubtful despite however much she wanted to sound strong.
Flynn smirked at her and bent his head to whisper. “Tell ya what. Neither one of us will tell anyone and we’ll call it even.” He swooped down for a swift peck against her cheek. “Sound good? Alright!”
She grabbed him as he tried to turn away. Her fingers bit into his arm. One hand yanked at his neck and pulled him down into a breathless kiss.
“Whoa!” Her grip burned into his neck as he jerked away. “Whoa.”
“Like I said.” She trailed off to swallow, to build up her courage, to catch her breath. “You have to pay for that book.”
He stared at her.
“…What? … You can’t…” She wanted him to pay for the book in sexual favors? Was she joking? She didn’t look like she was joking.
She nodded, her grip on him tightening ever so slightly, a determined fire building in her eyes. Or maybe it was lust.
This was crazy. It was degrading! He wasn’t a damned prostitute.
“Look,” he said slowly, taking hold of the hand wrapped around his neck. Maybe if he just reasoned with her he could get her to see reason. “I don’t- I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Belle,” she supplied.
“Belle,” he nodded. “Like the Keats poem.”
She let out a strangled noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and threw herself at him again, sealing hungry lips over his, her body hot against his chest.
Flynn gave himself a mental high-five because all that useless knowledge about literature that he’d been storing up was finally paying off. Or- no, wait. He had just dug himself in deeper, hadn’t he? Damn it! He was just too charming for his own good!
It also occurred to him that that particular poem didn’t end so well for the protagonist, and this girl must know that, and that was an especially bad sign.
She bit down on his lower lip, sending a surge of pleasure into his belly, and it was a struggle to pull himself away and not lose himself in the moment.
“Ok,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “You seem like a nice enough girl, and I know we’ve got loads in common. You like books. I like books. Sounds like the basis of a beautiful friendship. I’m flattered. Really. You’re very pretty. There’s no denying it. But I’m kinda in a hurry and I’m sure you don’t really intend to-“
“You can always put the book back.”
“Huh?”
“You can put it back and go. But if you try to leave with it I’ll scream and wake up the shop keeper.” She gestured towards a closed door in the darker recesses of the shop.
Flynn had never been in this situation before, and he decided that he definitely didn’t like it. If this whole payment method thing had been his idea, that would have been different. Or if he had taken the book and then ravished the girl as two completely unrelated acts, that would be fine too. He’d done that several times before and never felt guilty about it.
It was an issue of who held the power. If Flynn used a girl, then that’s what it was: him using her. But in this situation, she was definitely using him. The fact that they both might get something out of it didn’t matter. He didn’t like being used, or manipulated, or blackmailed. He was the master of his own destiny.
Then he thought of the book. He thought of how much he needed it, and how painful it would be to go without it. He thought about taking it out of his bag, handing it to the girl, and walking away.
With a sinking feeling, he realized that that was not going to happen.
Well, he just needed to pretend that this wasn’t as messed up as it was. He gave the girl a more penetrating once over and told himself, yeah, he’d tap that.
And she liked to read.
And he had a thing for brunettes.
He took a breath and grabbed her.
A pleased noise rippled from her mouth into his, down into his lungs as he breathed her in. It was a noise so soft that he could only hear it because his lips were so firmly fastened over hers, as if he could spread her lips and devour her, as if he could claim the moment if he claimed the kiss.
He filled both his hands with the swell of her hips, as he pulled her flush against him, touching as much of her as possible, letting the heat of her body and the friction of their clothes alight his every nerve. He pressed forward, squeezing her between himself and the bookshelf, where she couldn’t escape, where she couldn’t be comfortable. She hissed, her breath hot against his cheek. She dug her nails into his arm as if trying to tear into the fabric of his shirt, as if trying to pull him deeper.
His hands dragged over her form, not some sweet, gentle caress, but rough and possessive with the need to feel her body and hold her closer and take from her more than she was taking from him. He wrapped her in his arms and let his hands roam to hold her shoulders, to thread through her hair, to pull at her waist and slip down to her ass, to squeeze and grope and make her gasp.
He drew her leg up to his waist, her foot rubbing up his calf on its assent, her knee brushing his satchel out of the way as his fingers buried themselves in the fabric of her skirt and the flesh her thigh, her hips meeting his more completely, inviting him to sink against her and relieve the tension building in his groin.
And she felt so good. Soft and eager and warm. Sending shivers into the bones of his legs as she squeezed him tighter, the heel of her foot pressing painfully against his ass to drive him onward and increase the chances of his knees giving out. He groaned and buried his face against her neck to trail light kisses across her skin.
She was not at all appreciative of this gesture and took the opportunity to bite viciously into his ear, sending an icy shock into his chest and arms. He instinctively clutched her tighter - too tightly for her to breathe, but it stopped her from drawing blood. And if that’s how she wanted to play it- He locked his mouth over her neck and sucked. Hard. The sensation rippling and singing through her veins, darting out from his lips across her skin in jagged, branching tendrils.
She cried out before swallowing down the sound, and fisted a hand in his hair, yanking at his scalp like a thousand stabbing needles. One hand shoved itself between their bodies to fumble and tug at the clasps on his vest - the only vest he had so she better not rip anything. He pulled an arm around her waist in frustration, lifting her clear off the ground to change their angle and slam her against the self, sending a deep rumble through the room as the shelf wobbled uncertainly. His vest was pushed back haphazardly, constricting his shoulders and one of his arms, and she ran a hand inside his shirt to claw at his chest.
Things escalated into a flurry of sloppy kisses and rough hands, of teeth and nails and fast, sharp intakes of breath. He hated that he was enjoying this twisted encounter, that her brutality was winding him tighter and tighter, that he was losing control.
Then he hated that he couldn’t possibly enjoy himself as much as was possible. Not as much as he wanted to. He couldn’t let go and feel because she had ruined that for him.
He hated how manic they were growing. He growled and thrust his hips harder and faster, chafing them both into a frenzy that built and built.
But most of all he hated her. He hated the way she had approached this, the way she had dismissed and destroyed any chance of this making any sense. He hated the way she made him hold her so roughly that he was bound to leave bruises, and the way she made him thrust against her like an animal.
She came undone with a cry and a cringe, and her nails cutting into his chest and ripping, leaving behind four, thin blistering trails. She slumped in his arms, limp and panting against his shoulder as he reminded himself that he hated her and kept grinding towards his own completion, which was minor and anticlimactic when it came, leaving him feeling disappointed and dirty.
They leaned against one another so as not to end up on the floor.
Flynn forced his chest to stop heaving and his legs to stop shivering. He reminded himself practically that he’d have to un-tuck his shirt to hide the stain on his pants.
She was beautiful. Beautiful and cruel. Her eyes were closed in contentment and a flush coated her cheeks. A lock of her hair had come loose, to fall delicately across her face. For a moment he considered tucking it back behind her ear. For a moment he considered kissing her in a lazy, “well, that was fun” kind of way. But she’d made it clear that that wasn’t what she wanted.
He guided her leg down from around his waist and propped her against the book self, steadying her until he was sure she could keep her feet.
He straightened his clothes, pulled at the strap of his satchel, and left without looking back.
Warnings: Smut. Dub con
Flynn slipped into the shop as swiftly as possible, pulling down the paper blind to cover the window and pressing his back against the door, as if flattening himself and holding still would help to hide him from his pursuers, as if he would be able to barricade the door with his body if they decided to charge in after him. A moment later he had the bright idea to lock the flimsy deadbolt and reach under the blind to flip the “open” sign to “closed.” Then he flattened himself once more, squeezed his eyes closed, and listened, expecting at any moment to hear the shouts and cheers that he had been spotted.
After a long moment of silence save the pounding of his heart, he slumped, allowing himself to double up and gasp, hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath.
He couldn’t believe that that had gone so horribly wrong. Not only was he caught mid heist, and not get the loot, and now there was the distinct possibility that he was not going to leave this small provincial town alive, but on top of it all he had dropped his book. It had slipped out of his satchel when he leapt off the roof and hit the ground in a roll.
He couldn’t believe he was stupid enough to lose it. He’d hung onto it for - what? - ten years? Eight? Something ridiculous like that. He’d been through hell and back with its limp spine by his side. He’d forged his identity out of its yellowing pages. It had given him hope on wet nights. Damn it, he loved that cracked covered, beer stained, pulpy piece of fiction.
Its loss made him want to bang his head against something and scream in frustration.
Or at least it had until he sprinted around the corner and beheld the most glorious sight on earth right across the street from him. It was like it had been placed there by magic, like it was waiting for him. It’s façade seemed to glow, as if illuminated by a beam of sunlight.
A bookstore.
Why did this tiny excuse for a village even have a bookstore? Flynn didn’t care, because it was exactly what he needed.
He pushed himself from the door and hit the first bookshelf like a man possessed, his eyes darting back and forth, scanning over titles and bylines, his fingers drumming anxiously across leather bound spines. Brown, Borden, Humphrey, Campbell… were these in any order at all? He took a step back to survey the shelf as a whole and decided that, no, they weren’t.
Shit.
He hissed in irritation and redoubled his efforts, thinking to himself, “If I were a nutty shop keeper in a backwater town, how would I organize my books?”
It didn’t take him very long to find it, but given his anxiety level it felt like much longer, and he made an audible noise of triumph as he snatched it off the shelf at the level of his knees. It was a different edition than his old one, with a blue cover instead of black. The text was a bit smaller, and there was an illustration on the title page that he wasn’t sure he liked. Something about it felt off, but after reading a paragraph or two he sunk into the reassuring familiarity of the words.
Good, he sighed. That’s that taken care of. Slipping the book into his satchel, he turned his thoughts to how he was going to escape without being-
“Can I help you?”
-seen.
Shit.
He stiffened and turned slowly to face the irritated voice. In front of him stood a girl, just a touch shorter than he was, her brown hair pulled back from her face to frame surprised eyes the color of cinnamon. She stood half way behind a shelf, from where she’d most likely been watching him and his crazed search. Her gaze darted from his face to his satchel and back to his face again, her lips parting and her eyes widening as comprehension dawned that he actually was intending on stealing one of her books.
“Ah.” They stared at each other for a moment. How did he get caught again today? Then he cleared his throat, slipped on a winning smirk, and purred at her. “Hi.”
This only seemed to confuse her as she blinked at him a few times, then pursed her lips and planted a hand on her hip. “Who are you?”
“Flynn.” He cocked his head to the side to emphasize that he was handsome and convince her to let him go. “What’s your name?”
“Your name’s Flynn?”
“That’s right.”
“Like the title character from the book you just slipped in your bag?” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Creative.”
His face fell. No one had ever called him on the Flynn Rider thing before. He didn’t deal much with well read people. He doubted most of the people he interacted with were even literate. And aside from that it was unheard of for someone to see through him so easily.
He found himself taking up a defensive posture, his brows lowering into a glare. “Yeah, I’m named after a literary character. That’s part of why I like the book.” Hey, it was mostly true. “You got a problem with that?”
She backed up a step, looking startled now and unsure.
Good. Let her feel embarrassed. He didn’t care. He continued to glare at her as she chewed her bottom lip, hesitating before taking a breath and reciting.
“He traveled the earth, his sails filled with dreams. He flew through life on the wings of adventure.”
“He faced every danger with a grin and a prayer, knowing that if this was to be his last day on earth, he would not leave disappointed.” Flynn automatically supplied the next line, the words easily rolling off his tongue, as he stared at the girl in poorly concealed surprise.
“You have read it.”
“So have you.”
Hell, she had part of it memorized! How long had it been since he met someone who had read it? How long had it been since he’d admitted out loud that he’d read it himself? He had to swallow down his need to enthusiastically rant about every little detail he had discovered over the years, every character quirk, every subtle moment that he found so relatable.
Yeah, he was not having that conversation. He had things to do, and the first one was to move along.
“Well, this has been great, but sadly I must be off now,” he said with a smile he didn’t feel as he moved to pass her and exit out the back door. “It’s been fun. Really. You’re a peach. Don’t ever change.”
She pulled him to a stop, and he arched an eyebrow at her as something odd passed across her face.
“You’re going to have to pay for that book,” she said, her voice doubtful despite however much she wanted to sound strong.
Flynn smirked at her and bent his head to whisper. “Tell ya what. Neither one of us will tell anyone and we’ll call it even.” He swooped down for a swift peck against her cheek. “Sound good? Alright!”
She grabbed him as he tried to turn away. Her fingers bit into his arm. One hand yanked at his neck and pulled him down into a breathless kiss.
“Whoa!” Her grip burned into his neck as he jerked away. “Whoa.”
“Like I said.” She trailed off to swallow, to build up her courage, to catch her breath. “You have to pay for that book.”
He stared at her.
“…What? … You can’t…” She wanted him to pay for the book in sexual favors? Was she joking? She didn’t look like she was joking.
She nodded, her grip on him tightening ever so slightly, a determined fire building in her eyes. Or maybe it was lust.
This was crazy. It was degrading! He wasn’t a damned prostitute.
“Look,” he said slowly, taking hold of the hand wrapped around his neck. Maybe if he just reasoned with her he could get her to see reason. “I don’t- I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Belle,” she supplied.
“Belle,” he nodded. “Like the Keats poem.”
She let out a strangled noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and threw herself at him again, sealing hungry lips over his, her body hot against his chest.
Flynn gave himself a mental high-five because all that useless knowledge about literature that he’d been storing up was finally paying off. Or- no, wait. He had just dug himself in deeper, hadn’t he? Damn it! He was just too charming for his own good!
It also occurred to him that that particular poem didn’t end so well for the protagonist, and this girl must know that, and that was an especially bad sign.
She bit down on his lower lip, sending a surge of pleasure into his belly, and it was a struggle to pull himself away and not lose himself in the moment.
“Ok,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “You seem like a nice enough girl, and I know we’ve got loads in common. You like books. I like books. Sounds like the basis of a beautiful friendship. I’m flattered. Really. You’re very pretty. There’s no denying it. But I’m kinda in a hurry and I’m sure you don’t really intend to-“
“You can always put the book back.”
“Huh?”
“You can put it back and go. But if you try to leave with it I’ll scream and wake up the shop keeper.” She gestured towards a closed door in the darker recesses of the shop.
Flynn had never been in this situation before, and he decided that he definitely didn’t like it. If this whole payment method thing had been his idea, that would have been different. Or if he had taken the book and then ravished the girl as two completely unrelated acts, that would be fine too. He’d done that several times before and never felt guilty about it.
It was an issue of who held the power. If Flynn used a girl, then that’s what it was: him using her. But in this situation, she was definitely using him. The fact that they both might get something out of it didn’t matter. He didn’t like being used, or manipulated, or blackmailed. He was the master of his own destiny.
Then he thought of the book. He thought of how much he needed it, and how painful it would be to go without it. He thought about taking it out of his bag, handing it to the girl, and walking away.
With a sinking feeling, he realized that that was not going to happen.
Well, he just needed to pretend that this wasn’t as messed up as it was. He gave the girl a more penetrating once over and told himself, yeah, he’d tap that.
And she liked to read.
And he had a thing for brunettes.
He took a breath and grabbed her.
A pleased noise rippled from her mouth into his, down into his lungs as he breathed her in. It was a noise so soft that he could only hear it because his lips were so firmly fastened over hers, as if he could spread her lips and devour her, as if he could claim the moment if he claimed the kiss.
He filled both his hands with the swell of her hips, as he pulled her flush against him, touching as much of her as possible, letting the heat of her body and the friction of their clothes alight his every nerve. He pressed forward, squeezing her between himself and the bookshelf, where she couldn’t escape, where she couldn’t be comfortable. She hissed, her breath hot against his cheek. She dug her nails into his arm as if trying to tear into the fabric of his shirt, as if trying to pull him deeper.
His hands dragged over her form, not some sweet, gentle caress, but rough and possessive with the need to feel her body and hold her closer and take from her more than she was taking from him. He wrapped her in his arms and let his hands roam to hold her shoulders, to thread through her hair, to pull at her waist and slip down to her ass, to squeeze and grope and make her gasp.
He drew her leg up to his waist, her foot rubbing up his calf on its assent, her knee brushing his satchel out of the way as his fingers buried themselves in the fabric of her skirt and the flesh her thigh, her hips meeting his more completely, inviting him to sink against her and relieve the tension building in his groin.
And she felt so good. Soft and eager and warm. Sending shivers into the bones of his legs as she squeezed him tighter, the heel of her foot pressing painfully against his ass to drive him onward and increase the chances of his knees giving out. He groaned and buried his face against her neck to trail light kisses across her skin.
She was not at all appreciative of this gesture and took the opportunity to bite viciously into his ear, sending an icy shock into his chest and arms. He instinctively clutched her tighter - too tightly for her to breathe, but it stopped her from drawing blood. And if that’s how she wanted to play it- He locked his mouth over her neck and sucked. Hard. The sensation rippling and singing through her veins, darting out from his lips across her skin in jagged, branching tendrils.
She cried out before swallowing down the sound, and fisted a hand in his hair, yanking at his scalp like a thousand stabbing needles. One hand shoved itself between their bodies to fumble and tug at the clasps on his vest - the only vest he had so she better not rip anything. He pulled an arm around her waist in frustration, lifting her clear off the ground to change their angle and slam her against the self, sending a deep rumble through the room as the shelf wobbled uncertainly. His vest was pushed back haphazardly, constricting his shoulders and one of his arms, and she ran a hand inside his shirt to claw at his chest.
Things escalated into a flurry of sloppy kisses and rough hands, of teeth and nails and fast, sharp intakes of breath. He hated that he was enjoying this twisted encounter, that her brutality was winding him tighter and tighter, that he was losing control.
Then he hated that he couldn’t possibly enjoy himself as much as was possible. Not as much as he wanted to. He couldn’t let go and feel because she had ruined that for him.
He hated how manic they were growing. He growled and thrust his hips harder and faster, chafing them both into a frenzy that built and built.
But most of all he hated her. He hated the way she had approached this, the way she had dismissed and destroyed any chance of this making any sense. He hated the way she made him hold her so roughly that he was bound to leave bruises, and the way she made him thrust against her like an animal.
She came undone with a cry and a cringe, and her nails cutting into his chest and ripping, leaving behind four, thin blistering trails. She slumped in his arms, limp and panting against his shoulder as he reminded himself that he hated her and kept grinding towards his own completion, which was minor and anticlimactic when it came, leaving him feeling disappointed and dirty.
They leaned against one another so as not to end up on the floor.
Flynn forced his chest to stop heaving and his legs to stop shivering. He reminded himself practically that he’d have to un-tuck his shirt to hide the stain on his pants.
She was beautiful. Beautiful and cruel. Her eyes were closed in contentment and a flush coated her cheeks. A lock of her hair had come loose, to fall delicately across her face. For a moment he considered tucking it back behind her ear. For a moment he considered kissing her in a lazy, “well, that was fun” kind of way. But she’d made it clear that that wasn’t what she wanted.
He guided her leg down from around his waist and propped her against the book self, steadying her until he was sure she could keep her feet.
He straightened his clothes, pulled at the strap of his satchel, and left without looking back.