You, Soarin's human next-door neighbor, have heard his abusive relationship going on for too long.
Because sometimes people find themselves sexually attracted to fictional equines, and those equines happen to be stallions. Because sometimes those stallions are talented fliers that have made a few bad decisions, and you wish you could just tenderly hug them for eternity. Because sometimes fanfiction authors take requests, and readers believe that letting sweet affection destroy the gender lines and racial lines keeping humans from stallions is beautiful. Because, let's face it, Soarin' is painfully handsome and it's not like you can resist him.
You, Soarin's human next door neighbor, have heard his abusive relationship going on for too long. You finally come over after a particularly painful fight. He finds solace in your arms. You don't quite know what to do, but you feel like you're making a connection that will last a lifetime.
This second-person "you" fanfic is in response to several requests. Please note that it includes violent domestic abuse, humans, bisexuality, and frank depictions of sexual situations. Spiritual prequels include 'Getting Braeburned', 'Trixie's New Assistant,' and 'Black Coffee in Caramel's Bed'. Thanks for reading.
You slide your backpack onto the last stair-step, taking a deep breath. You feel glad to be back to your apartment for a bunch of reasons, even though you love your new job. After all, you've had a surprisingly tough time finding a career that doesn't make your brains wither-- the typical "move this, pick up that, carry this, talk to that mare, and run over to his place" routine wearing very thin very fast-- and McDougal's took advantage of your expertise. Ponies have just looked at your human hands, feet, height, and so on, making silent assumptions about your ability and your worth. "On the other hoof" as Equestrians say, McDougal's has put you in as a middle manager and let you pour through their books, putting your mind to work.
You smile as you recall telling them that they had it all wrong, focusing on average costs and average productivity when they should be investing in new machines on the margin. You finger your keys, admiring the picturesque night with hardly a cloud in the sky. Sometimes, those ponies are so naive. Of course, you've had your naive moments as well. After accidentally applying for apartments made for pegasii, without a single stair for those without wings, you dotted the Is and crossed the Ts that transferred you to a mixed neighborhood.
You shove the key into the door, nudging your backpack closer. You can't wait to strip off your cheesy lime-green uniform and your matching bright white fedora, feeling as itchy as being attacked by a thousand fire ants. Stupid McDougal, putting me in his son's old clothes. Stupid ponies with their thick fur and their un-sensitive bodies.
*Crash!*
You take a step into your living room, your foot hovering a few inches above the frizzy shag. "She's drinking again," you moan, picturing the remains of the shattered lamp scattering across Soarin's apartment next-door. Don't get involved. Don't get involved. You imagine cranking up some "colt contemporary" music from Pony Osmond and heading right to the shower, pretending that your apartment hovered in an imaginary zone above the fray. Don't care. Don't care.
"You think this is a joke! You think this is a game, you sniveling little brat!" Clover shrieks from next-door, the mare's hooves pounding against the floor. You hear her knocking their sofa on its side. You let out a little sigh, and you slide into your apartment, flicking the lights on. You crumble onto the floor besides the empty wall, a hand going to your mouth.
"Honey, please," Soarin' weak voice mutters.
"Yeah, yeah..." Clover whimpers, hooves tapping against her body.
"Honey..." You picture the pegasus with his hooves out in supplication, his ears drooping. A bunch of soft clanging sounds appear from the other side of Soarin's bedroom. You unconsciously nudge yourself with your back against the wall, feeling the sound rubbing down your shoulders.
"Don't you honey me, you bucking idiot!" Clover calls out, all four hooves slamming onto the bed. You know that she's trying to poise herself over him, trying to convey that power and authority over "her stallion" and "her male" as she often said. You hate those words, treating Soarin' like a desk or some other stupid piece of personal property.
"Sorry, sorry."
"Enough with the 'sorries'. I'm sick to bucking death of the 'sorries', you no talent has-been," she mutters, hopping on the bed. You hear a painting coming off of the wall as Soarin' ducks. Clover lets out a gigantic moan, and you can tell that she's shedding waterfall tears. "I'm ruined my life with you. Being with you, putting all my cards on you." She makes a hard, feminine scream.
"On me, Clover, but this isn't-- come on. Please. This is silly," Soarin' replies. You rub your back up and down the wall. You know that he's putting on the masculine charm, making that handsome smile that you always adored seeing every time you ran into him-- from the gym to the laundry room to Colgate's Diner across the street.
"I ruined myself," Clover repeats, not listening to a single word from Soarin', "with a-- a--" She always loved to build up to that horrible term, those five letters that shot an arrow straight through Soarin's tender heart. "A doper!"
The stallion has heard that term hundreds of times since his bitter, sudden fall from grace several weeks ago. You know the whole routine between the lovebirds backwards and forwards, screamed in every single blasted fight every few days. You bite your lip, hurting for Soarin' although you don't know why. It's not like I can really help them at all in first place.
"I know," Soarin' calmly replies.
"My male," Clover says, stepping right in front of Soarin'. You hear her panting, adding some menace behind every word. "Shouldn't do this thing to me. My male, my stallion, should be sitting calmly and patiently at my apartment eating my romantic dinner rather than bugging around with my bucking step-sister."
"I'm telling you! I was only talking with Colg--"
*Smack!*
You picture Soarin's face with a big, red hoof print along his cheek. You feel the color draining from your face, with your hands shoved in your pockets with fingers frozen. Oh, Soarin'... You sniff. She can get one-hundred percent away with this stuff, why? WHY!
"The Celestia-certified court panel found you to be, what did they say again? Oh, yes, 'a proven liar'," she recites, walking over to the kitchen. "Besides, you know about Colgate, right? You reallly want to dip your hooves into the same holes that have had griffons shove their ugly things inside? Not to mention the occasional dragon?"
"It's... it's..." Soarin' can't form a coherent sentence, staggering over to the bed and falling onto it. You know that he expects to be whomped a couple more times tonight, and that fact breaks your heart.
"She's a slut, you dumb pegasus," she smarts off, "don't come crawling back to my apartment after chatting with her, picking up things for her, and walking her back home for Celestia's sake. You idiots!" She thrusts open the refrigerator and seizes a tall bottle, probably guzzling down those Princess Midnight Dawn-made iced teas that she's so addicted to. Fortunately, Clover isn't spiking it with alcohol like most nights. "Don't think I'm not watching you, Soarin'. Behind every tree. Under every lamppost. Inside every bunch. I'm always watching my male."
"Of course you are, sweetie."
"And I've been loyal to you, you pathetic little worm. Celestia knows! With the cameras rolling, I was always loyal. Loyalty gets rewarded. I expect a reward," she says, grabbing another drink before marching to their apartment's door. Reward? That word has made a scar inside your mind, reminding you of those horrible break-ups that your old human friends went through.
You slide over to your own door, nudging it open just enough to peek. Clover stands in the middle of the outdoor terrace besides the metal stairs, posing straight upwards with fire in her eyes. Your own eyes move down her long, flowing blue and gold mane to her glittering white dress and finally to her slender, smooth hooves. Her soft yellow body shines brilliantly in the moonlight, having such nice, seductive curves.
You can see why Soarin' fell in love with her. That doesn't make you hurt for him any less. At any rate, she trots down the stairs out to one of her bratty friends' places.
You watch Soarin' himself pop out of the door. The stallion's eyes trace Clover wistfully as the mare's flanks wiggle step-by-step. You see him sigh, letting out so much air that his insides should collapse, before shutting the door ever so softly.
"Don't get involved. Don't get involved," you mutter to yourself. You turn, looking over at the huge photograph on your wall. One of your most prized possessions, it features you, Rainbow, Twilight, and Fluttershy standing besides the new Canterlot electronics factory, Celestia's pet project. In the picture, a kitsch statue of an earth pony standing atop a pegasus while reaching up and holding a gear rests behind you, with the human hands stretching under the base silently paying tribute to the mostly hushed-up contributions. I wish I could have been part of that factory project.
Rainbow and Fluttershy show some obvious affection, their hooves holding each other's shoulders tight while their wings intermingle. You never felt surprised that they became an item. You pick up the love in their eyes, pure love that spilled over to how kindly and gently they treated you when you literally fell out of the sky. You spent a while as Dash's biggest fan next to Scootaloo, until Twilight and Celestia picked out your first "post-humanfall" (the royal jargon term) job. That's life-- love creates more love.
"Goddammit," you groan, and you burst outside. You stand on the empty terrace in front of Soarin's place, having no idea what to say. But you're going to say something. You just have to.
*Knock!*
"I'm not... I'm... just give me... please, come by later..." Soarin' moans, not knowing what to say either. You feel a steely sensation going up your sides. You're going to talk to me, right now. Now.
*Knock! Knock!*
"I'm sorry. I can't come over," he comments; this time, he tries the false composure routine. You know he's explained his bruises with the "I just hit something while flying" line, said with a straight face time and time again.
*Knock! Knock! Knock!*
"Get your ugly human paws off of my door, you bucking moron!" Soarin' screams, pulling it open just a few feet and locking eyes with you.
You say nothing, simply breathing hard. He's panting as well, the huge mark across the side of his face exactly as you had imagined it. You know that he wants to cry out, to blab at you for hours, and to just lie on the ground besides you. You can see it all buried in those huge, handsome eyes of his.
"Bye," he says; going back to the calm routine of pretending that nothing happens between him and Clover.
You shove you hands into the open space, wincing with pain as the door hits you. Soarin' opens it up wide, a surprised look coming over his face. He mutters something incomprehensible.
"I'm okay," you say. Of course, you're not, and you plan going to dip your hands into some ice cold water for a while as soon as you can get to his sink. "But you're not."
Soarin' opens his mouth, prepared to make an argument. You feel rather shocked as he hesitates and then simply says, "I know."
"You're not going to live like this."
He nods ever so slightly.
"Right." You glance around his apartment, all of the various awards, exotic souvenirs, ceremonial pictures, and other accouterments from his once-gloried career arrayed about. He has such fancy black and white, modernist kinds of furniture. You turn the couch back on the right side, and you sit down.
"How long until you, well..." you mutter, "leave her."
He can't bear to look at you anymore, and you know that the overly macho-kind of culture that the Wonderbolts have-- drilled down into his brain like a bolt into a skyscraper's beam-- causes him to feel paralyzed by shame. He can't fill the role. He feels like a tiny foal for failing. He glances at spots in the wall, keeping his bruise away from you.
"How long?" you ask again, this time putting some emotion into those words.
"Forever," he replies, heading over to the bedroom.
You hear him pick up a broom and dustpan, taking care of the smashed lamp and the rest of Clover's mess. You feel the oddest mix of anger, love, fear, and sheer confusion. Finally, you make your way over to the kitchen. You wait for Soarin' to finish, and you take the opportunity to thrust your hands, wiggling in the air like in a seizure, into the freezing water.
"There's nothing that concerns you about this," he says. Those seven words sting like seven bees needling into the back of your neck. He's right. He's goddamn right.
"Why forever?" you ask, going back to the door. You already know the answer, but somehow you just have to hear it from him one more time.
"She stood by me, when I needed somepony most," he says, gazing wistfully at the nearest photograph-- Clover and him at the seminal Pan-Equestrian Time Trial before the results, and his trophy, went down in flames-- and curling his hooves down into the carpet. "So, I'll stand by her when she needs me the most."
You can't respond, simply going back to your own apartment right next-door. You freeze as you open the door, a scroll rolled up on the ground. You pick it up, wondering who or what needed to reach Soarin' at this hour. You start to read and quickly realize that somepony meant it for you.
{{ Hello,
Great work installing the new converters. I know that I said over and again that we wouldn't have to stay late, but Stubby Stripes accidentally cracked the casing on the last converter. He couldn't quite reach into the big white space atop the amplifiers, and the nubby-end (the one with the two electrical poles shifted in ninety degree directions) got caught on those XLR cables stretching along that inner seam besides the door. You know what I mean.
Long story short, they have no hope of getting these up and running tomorrow morning unless we troubleshoot these now. And I do mean now. Celestia bless them, those boys appear to be panicking. I'm heading over as fast as I can, but I have so many prior commitments that I'm trying to escape from. Expect double-pay over overtime, just like usual.
So, please come over. Empahsis on the 'please'. I hate breaking my word about this.
Sincerely, McDougal }}
"Why the hell can't Subby learn to use a goddamn ladder?" you groan. You feel really obligated to stay, to help out Soarin', but you don't expect to make any progress until tomorrow morning. Since Clover most likely has gone for a while, he should be safe.
You march over twoards the commercial complex across from your apartment. You look back, staring at Soarin's blank apartment door. Unlike yours, with a friendly "Come on in" sign, it's as barren as the wall of a prison cell. You let out an angry sigh.
You shuffle along the fancy concrete path towards your apartment complex, arrays of beautiful tulips and happy looking garden gnomes stretching across both sides of you. As much as you've come to view your co-workers like family, a lot of them appear to be the dullest knives in the whole kitchen, let alone the drawer. Customer service and inter-office management issues aside, you feel so very glad to make you way up those familiar stairs. You eye Soarin's apartment.
"The door's ajar," you mutter. Oh, no. Oh.... no. No! Praise Celestia, no! Knowing that Clover had barged through in one of her feminine moods, feeling even hotter than during the usual fight, you brace yourself on the wall alongside the door. You lean forwards slowly, trying to hear what's going on. All you can see through the slightly open door are some crumbled papery bits scattered along the carpet. Everything is as quiet as a funeral. "Hey..."
"Well! Buck you!" Clover shouts, hooves pounding over to the door with the sound of a gigantic dragoness.
"No," says Soarin' in a gruff voice.
You hear Clover stop, and your heart races. You can't think, fighing being eons away from your strong suit. You find yourself just freezing completetly in place.
"Buck.... you, Clover."
A enormous grin breaks out across your face, and you feel your heart rocketing up to the stratosphere. He's finally standing up for himself. He's finally starting to believe in himself again.
*Slam!*
The door flings open right onto your left shoulder, knocking you down on your side. You make a torrent of quiet coughs, mind filling up with a weird black haze. You somehow manage to see Clover hurling herself down the stairs, hooves sliding upon the railings. You blink uncontrollably as you clutch you head, trying to stand back up. You spot Clover, now just a little dot on the horizon, still storming off.
You smile once more, and you take a deep breath. You feel fine enough, although you can't believe you forgot that the doors opened outwards. You brace yourself, and you lean over inside Soarin's place. "Hey, there. Is everything... everything..."
You can't finish the sentence. Your eyes swell to baseball size as you take in the horrible scene. Smashed glasses and plates litter across the upturned furniture and emptied out dressers, clothes torn up. Every other picture got smashed. The rest ended up tossed randomly amidst loose garbage.
You suddenly hear a low moaning, and you scurry over to the entrance to the bedroom. You lean over and rub up against Soarin'. You stare upon the thick, ugly bruises going up his chest and belly, black amidst the blue. His other cheek sports a matching mark, just like the last fight, and he seemed to have taken a bucking right to the chin. You can't believe the horrible welts across his front and back hooves, and nasty cuts seem to stretch along every few inches of his body.
"No, no, no," you groan, and you immediately run your hooves through his body. He tries to look up at you, but you just throw your head around, checking to see if he's broken any bones. "No!" You fantasize about dropping Clover from the top of Celestia's Canterlot Castle.
"I'll... I'll make it through okay," he says, slumping himself up against the wall.
"No, we have to get you to a hospital or something!" You try hard not to panic, your hands clutching Soarin's hooves tightly.
"Listen, you," he says, putting a lot of affection into that last word, "I know injuries, and I know I'll make it through fine."
You know that he'd lie to you. Yet you can tell, from his posture and his specific tone of voice, that he means every single word. You sit besides him, looking over at the open bathroom tub. "Please, just relax or something. Get in the shower. Let me get some potions and some, uh, some band-aids, and some... uh..." You tense up, having almost no idea how Equestrian medicine works. It mostly seems to scare you, especially when the doctors wave vials that smell like year old salad.
"A shower'd be nice," he says, trying to stand up. You immediately get behind him and hold him upwards. You wish that you could cradle him gently in your arms, picking him entirely up. He just seems to0 darn big, but, still, he curls up along your shoulder and lets you lead him step by step.
You flick on the water and set it to a nice, warm spray. You run your hands along his back, your arms brushing against his crumpled wings, and you place him right in the middle of the stream. In a way, you can't imagine it. You're so close, so intimate with him, and you've nursed such an intense one-way crush for weeks and weeks. Yet you hate yourself for even enjoying a little bit of this, given the horrible circumstances.
"I'll just stay with you, ready until you can make it to bed," you declare, "and then I'm going right to the police."
"No," he mutters, his face bathed by the torrent of water. "That's not necessary. It's over." You feel a strong sense of finality in his voice.
"This isn't a goddamn argument about what to serve for dinner. This is goddamn assault. This is like attempted murder. Domestic violence," you sputter, hands smashing against the bathroom sink in frustration. I'm not letting that cold, hard bitch get away with this. You grit your teeth hard, your eyes narrowing on the red marks upon Soarin's cheeks. "Clover."
"Clover is gone!" Soarin' screams, and he has his turn to smash his hooves down, making a big splash that coats your shorts with water. "History. Left and left forever."
You can't think of a response. The torrents of emotions coursing through you-- relief that he dumped her, fear that he's still really hurt, sheer hatred towards her for doing this, a lovey-dovely kind of feeling at seeing his soaking wet mane and body curl in the water, and so on-- bring your logical mind to a standstill. You just breathe deeply, finding yourself with your hands under Soarin's shoulders for support. You lose track of time, hoping that Soarin' has started to feel better.
"That's not good enough," you finally mutter, kneeling down and looking at Soarin's face eye to eye.
He seems to see right into you, picturing what's inside your heart. You do the same. He doesn't seem tense, worried, or lonely anymore. That endless pain, something like a splinter in the back of his mind that always drove him crazy even in happy movements, has disappeared forever. You can tell, and you smile.
"You need some magical something," you comment, "something to get you to feel better." I wish that I had some idea how the physics in this freaking stupid pony world works!
"Behind the teas in the refrigerator. It's small, grey, and out of the way," he says. You pull back your hands, and you sigh in relief as you see him stand on his own. You run over to the kitchen, open the door, clutch a vial, shut the door, and return to Soarin's side. He smiles as you hold out the vial, popping the cap.
He takes a drink. Immediately, a small white aura oozes across every inch of his body. The bruises don't seem to go away, but the cuts shrink and the ugly colors start to fade. At any rate, he's smiling for the first time in a long time. You just seem to feed off of his happy expression, trying not to overly swoon.
"Thanks, my friend," he says. You find yourself already moving closer, inch by inch. The torrent of water splatters along your shirt and down your shorts. "I guess I'll spend a long while in here."
"Sure," you comment. You take a deep breath. What... what am I going to do now?
"Can you help me with my wings, though?" he asks, turning his back to you. "I'll feel so much better if I clean those out."
"You bet!" Your hands already shoot out, almost acting my themselves, and you nestle your fingers into Soarin's feathers. The contrast with your skin feels amazing, especially with every inch of his body being soaking wet. You flow your fingers upwards through his wings, letting the water flow. You nudge your hands over and make two long scratches along his back, massaging the base of his wings. Your hands curl along his lower back, pressing against his cutie marks. You give his feathers one last run through, this time twittering your fingers and trying to tickle him.
You gaze at his face, turned back over towards you, all the while. Ripples of pleasure show on his handsome mug, and you love it. As you pull your hands back, he makes a sudden pouty expression. You almost want to make a "squee" noise.
"Thanks a lot, but I think I've got a problem," he says.
"Problem?" You don't like the sound of that.
"And, by the looks of things, you've got that problem too," he says as he turns around.
Your eyes run down Soarin's body, that beautiful sky-blue on dark blue figure that you seemed to fall in love with at first sight, over to his throbbing colthood. You take a gulp, seeing his thick thing pointed right up in the air twoards you. He makes a soft moan, a hoof touching against your shoulder. You glance over at yourself, and you discover your pitched tent on your shorts.
"I... I... I..." you stammer. You've always found Soarin' attractive in so many ways. He doesn't just have the taught yet sleek body, coated in muscles, of a champion flier coupled with the pretty face of Photo Finish's latest model. He also has an eternal inner sweetness, the sort of personality that would stop mid-trip to soar down and help an elderly mare across the street. He's like Fluttershy's heart in Dash's body, almost. You hardly care about him being a stallion and you being a human, you've heard about such parings in Appleoosa and elsewhere.
"Well, how about solving our problems together?" he asks.
You open your mouth up wide, not able to say anything.
He laughs. "I guess that last sentence has to be one of the stupidest pick-up lines ever," he comments, putting a hoof through his long, flowing mane.
"There's something... something..." you say, stepping over towards him. You click to turn the water off. He gazes at you intently, a look of surprise going over his face. You reach out with your hands, and he puts his hooves onto them.
"I don't want it like this."
"Like this?" He has no idea where you're going with this.
You sniff, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. He leans over closer as you hold your fingers upon his hooves. "Like this. Here, now. You've just broken up with Clover, finally. And, praise Celestia, I'm so happy for you. I just... you're not yourself. I don't want a one-night-stand. I don't want to be your comfort boyfriend, your fall-back." He seems to understand, nodding. "I don't want to be the afterthought, the post-break-up sex partner in disposable sex that doesn't mean anything."
"Meaning," he says. You spot a few tears popping up on him as well. He shivers in place, emotions long bottled-up starting to pour out.
"I want you," you say, and you put your hands and his hooves over to his chest at that last word.
"I know you do..."
"I won't take advantage of you. I will love it if you could see me tomorrow morning before work, coming over to Colgate's place. We could have some drinks. Talk. See what blossoms. And then, if things work out, I'll find out that you and I can have something serious," you say, crying at every other sentence. You finally wipe your nose and meet eye to eye, just mere inches from Soarin's face. "I can't prey upon you like this, when you've gone through what you've gone through."
What feels like an eternity passes, and Soarin' stands straight up. He takes a deep breath, quivering in place. "You're a gentlecolt... you... and..." he mutters.
"Gentlemen," you whisper, making a little laugh at the misplaced wording. Oh, seriously. I have morals. Morals-- why is that so unique?
Soarin' suddenly screams out a loud whine, hooves rubbing up along his cheeks. The tears just flow like rivers from his eyes. You can hardly think before he collapses down into your arms, his head buried in your embrace.
"It's been so hard," he groans. "So hard, so awful. Ever since I cheated. I had the world in the middle of my hooves before. But I wanted more." He pounds his hooves into your chest. "I had to have more. I thought I was invincible, with nopony able to catch me." He babbles on incoherently, letting it all out. You feel the load coming off of his spirit, and you feel so happy to just be there for him.
"It'll be okay," you mutter.
"I didn't ever listen to you. I just thought-- I just knew. Every last time she hit me, I thought that I deserved it. I was hitting myself. I knew that I deserved the punishment. I had to have her, only someone as pathetic as me could... and she..." he went on, his tears soaking up your shirt even more.
You just take in his words, but you finally have to stop him. "S-s-soarin'..." You push him a little bit away, your voice quivering. "I'm..." You feel shame swelling up inside of you, holding you down like an anchor. "I'm sorry that I left you here, going back to work. Left you back alone." You shift you head to the side, sniffing. "I'm sorry that I left you alone, day after day. Not getting involved."
Soarin' doesn't say anything in response. He simply sits down and taps you on the nose. It's such a cute guesture, especially under the circumstances. You think he mouths that "It's will be okay."
"It's okay," you mutter. You stand up.
He stands up as well, stepping out the bathtub and lining up right in front of you. You've never seen him looking so handsome, his cheeks blushing and his mane rubbing along his shoulders. "It will be okay if..." His hooves move down your chest, over to your sides. "You go out with me, maybe like tomorrow morning." He pushes you to the side, leading you out of the bathroom. "Maybe before work?"
"It's a date," you reply, smiling. Your emotions feel out of control, your brain bathing in hormones. It's different if he really loves me. It's different if I really love him. It's not just pointless break-up sex. It's not simply taking advantage.
"You know," he says, curling his head around your leg seductively, "I can already tell that it'll go well, and I can already tell that we'll hit it off together, wanting to go serious."
You believe him, thinking of the various times where you coincidentally happened to be in the same place having lunch and talked. Those are basically dates, right? "Right," you reply as he leads you to his bedroom.
"So, there wouldn't be a problem with taking our relationship to that level right now, would there be?" he says. You sit down on his bed.
If he loves me. "No, I guess there's no problem," you say. I need to know. I have to know if it's love. Love!
Soarin' leaps over into the bed and turns on his back, head up along the pillows. You see his soaking wet mane and tail spreading out into the sheets, his hooves prancing idly in the air. You feel yourself throbbing even harder within your shorts, screaming at you to get started, but your heart feels incomplete.
"Soarin'," you moan, getting up on the bed. You perch yourself right above the handsome stallion, hands shoved down inside his moist mane. You lean forward, your legs rubbing up against his. His wet fur feels truly wonderful against your bare skin.
"I love you," you whisper. You close your eyes, and you kiss him. His lips meet yours, and the emotions come to a boil. His hooves migrate to your chest as you make out. His head tilts up and down, side to side, and around in a little circle dozens upon dozens of times. You feel bursts of pleasure going through your head, and your hands slide over to the back of his head, your face still buried in his flowing mane.
He moans. You moan back, feeling his tongue tease along the bottom of your mouth. You don't really know what to do, able to count on one hand the mostly unhappy times you've gotten this far. Still, you take in his wonderful scent and tender touch, savoring every moment. After a torrent of quick kisses, bodies rubbing up and down from the tops of your heads to the bottom of your feet, you pull back.
"I love you," he whispers back, smiling. You see his cheeks blushing, covering up the horrible bruises from before. You feel something deep in your soul, almost like a key fitting into a lock. He means it. You take a deep breath. He does.
You swing around, your head moving down his neck over to his chest. You make big, sloppy kisses as your hands massage his sides. He loves it, panting hard. You finish up the kisses, head buried in his thighs. Your hands travel from his wonderful, muscular legs up to his flanks. You glance up at his face, and his anticipation-filled expression looks absolutely adorable.
"Y-your going to k-kiss my... colthood?" he mutters, trying hard to breathe.
You nod. You try not to show your nervousness-- having never done this to anyone else. You'd only ever been on the receiving end a few times, when your ex-girlfriend was in an unusually good mood.
Your fingers nestle around his sack. He moans softly, and you slide your head over. You gaze at his colthood, mouth watering. You slurp upwards, just like with a huge ice cream cone. He lets out a muffled scream, and you pause. Well, well, well... I suppose poor Soarin' has one of those 'hair triggers' or whatever girls call it. You run your tongue around the tip, amping up as Soarin's hooves touch your back so seductively. Your fingers massage along the base as you slurp repeatedly up and down the tip.
He's loving it, pulses of pure pleasure rocketing up his sides. You use a little teeth, scraping gently along the edges of his colthood's tip. He shivers, making a feminine kind of coo. Well, more of that, then? I guess that's how you do it. You kiss the tip several times, hands pumping along his colthood. You thrust your head forward, taking Soarin's rod entirely into your mouth.
His legs buckle, and you can feel the intense joy coursing through him. You slurp his colthood inside your mouth, hands pressing against the sides. You use your teeth as you lean up and down. He can hardly stand it, his hooves wiggling along your shoulders as his pre-cum bubbles out.
You throw your head back and take a little breath before you go again. As your lips go over his colthood again, bathed in that wonderfully masculine scent of a strong young pegasus, your fingers clutch his sack. You move down, slurping inch by amazing inch, until you take it in as far as you can go. You slide your body forward and pull upwards, taking your sweet time. You finally clutch his colthood tightly in both hands, feeling him right up against the line, and you give the tip one last passionate kiss.
He screams, so loud that they can hear it across the street, and his body shivers uncontrollably. Soarin's thick cream pours into your mouth, flowing down your throat. You shoot upwards, trying to breathe. You swallow, feeling rather weird. It doesn't taste bad at all, but it didn't really taste as good as you had expected either. Stupid lying ex-girlfriend!
"You swallowed," he moans, his mind floating up into heaven. You stand up over him once again, gazing both at his limp colthood, dripping a tiny bit of his cream upon his left leg, as well as his wonderfully satisfied face.
You shrug. He pants as he sits up in the bed, hooves digging into the sheets. You feel rather confused as he moves his head over to your belly. "So, do you... uh..."
He tries to think about what to say, but he gives up and just slants his head. He bites the top of your shorts and pulls them down along with your briefs. He gazes at your manhood, eyes bulging.
"I guess you've never seen a human's... uh... organ," you mutter.
"It's all one color? That's so weird!" Soarin' calls out. You cough. He freezes for a moment before putting on a sheepish expression. "Uh, I mean... it's fine."
Your thing sticks out in the air, throbbing, but you really don't know what to do. "Soarin', uh," you say, twiddling your fingers together, "I was hoping that maybe you'd... you'd... let me treat you like the girl then, now."
You want to kick yourself for sounding so awkward, but he understands. You gaze upon the stallion's beautiful body as he rolls around on his back again, this time with his flanks curled up in the air. He looks incredibly nervous, cheeks flush. You move forward, trying to look confident as your eyes focus along his waggling tail over to his plot. His tail seems so incredibly cute, almost calling out to you.
"Do the parts... fit?" he mutters. He looks shocked at himself for saying those words out loud.
"Yeah," you mutter without really thinking. In a way, you feel honored to be both his first guy as well as his first human. You also wonder if you'll be left sorrily disappointed in a moment, pressing your manhood down along his thighs. You run your fingers through his tail. He quivers with anticipation. As you take a gulp, you gaze at his tailhole, a pretty blue thing that already seems soaking wet just like the rest of his body.
You move your fingers down and press in a little. Soarin' moans, head going to his side and biting a pillow. You see him pick the pillow up between his hooves, eyeing your every move. You massage your fingers a little inside his tailhole; you can't believe how snug and cuddly it feels. You pull them out, clutching his tail with them. Your manhood seems wet enough to start, and you can't hesitate another second. You close your eyes as you poise your thing right against his tailhole, hands now locking with his hooves.
*Thrust!*
You let out a deep groan as you push forwards. Ripples of sheer pleasure course up your sides, making your hands jiggle. You shift yourself deeper, inch by heavenly inch. His plot feels incredible, even more snug, soft, and tender than you could have possibly imagined. You nudge all the way to the base, feeling his sack rubbing along your leg. Your old girlfriends have nothing on his handsome stallion.
Soarin', for his part, sputters with tingles of joy. You start to pull out, insides overwhelmed by the pleasure, and you barely keep yourself from falling right on top of him, hands popping onto his shoulders. You take yourself almost completely outside of his warm body, and you savor his intense panting as his head buries into the pillow.
"Soarin', please," you mutter, hands moving over to his neck. He shifts the pillow over, gazing eye to eye with you.
You shove yourself forwards again and you kiss. You can't believe the passion, the total abandonment as his mouth seems to become yours and vise versa. You quiver as he holds you in snugly, your manhood pouring pure pleasure through your sides. You know that you should take your time, going through slowly. You pull back a little, loving those moans of his. You're tired. He's tired. You've both had very long days, and you've both waited long lifetimes for a true love-- where you could give yourself over mind, body, and spirit to someone else-- as well.
Your thrusts become something animal, something intense. He keeps on kissing you; it feels almost as good as what's between your legs for both of you. You know you can barely hold it in much longer, body building up higher and higher with pleasures you've never known. He knows as well, and you feel him curl his wonderfully wet legs behind your back as well as nudge his wings over to your sides.
You pound him all the way to the base, his sack bouncing against your legs. He breaks the kiss, letting out yelps just short of screams. His face seems so totally adorable as he flips from side to side, blushing profusely. Your manhood flows into him time and time again, the wave after wave of bliss inside your mind coming right up to the line. He leans his head back, mouth opening up wide. You start your one last thrust, hearing him make a smooth gasp rather than a full shout.
You smother you face into his, kissing passionately, as you pump right inside of him. His legs against your back press you in even deeper, his wings bathing your sides with dozens upon dozens of little feathery kisses. You feel jolts of sheer joy course through both your bodies, and your manhood pulses inside his amazing snugness. Your hips thrust up and your hands grind against his chest, both of you zooming right over the line.
You melt inside of Soarin', pouring out very last drop inside of him. Your head moves up against his, your mind covered in endless bursts of pleasure. He makes a torrent of gasps, completely overwhelmed. You'd marvel at how long you lasted under the circumstances, but you can't make a consious thought at all. You just shift over to the side, collapsing on the soaking wet sheets besides Soarin'.
You hear your warm cream dripping out of Soarin's plot, his front hooves nudging against his chest. Rather than say a world, you simply snuggle over to his side, bodies locking from your toes tickling the ends of his back hooves to your face buried inside his cheek. You feel his mane rubbing all along your neck and shoulders, the fur gently embracing your bare skin so wonderfully. You can't picture yourself ever feeling this good ever again.
Soarin' nudges just slightly upwards, gazing at your longing expression. You see his eyes droop as he smiles. His front hooves slide up and down your hands for a little while. You yawn as his head curls a few inches over, Soarin' flying off into dreamland. You grip him even closer, his wings wrapping your like a blanket. Finally, you close your eyes as well, making a happy sigh.
You feel feathers nestling themselves up around your shoulders, tickling ever so slightly. You take in a little breath, loving that scent. You sense little drippy bits of the sheets under you, still wet from last night, and you start to jerk around. You slide over to a drier part of the bed, eyes glaring up at the blank ceiling above you.
You can sense Soarin' right there beside you, breathing softly as he clings to sleep. You don't even need to look over. That feeling somehow sends your heart a soaring-- now, for once in your life, you just might have that absolute dependably of knowing someone is there to care about you.
"What the hell time is it," you mutter, rubbing your eyes and then the whole rest of your face. The tiny black clock on the wall reads 1:13 PM, making you shudder. "God damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" You stand up, suddenly realizing that you're in your birthday suit.
You leave Soarin' sleeping, figuring that you'll explain things to him when you get back on your bearings, and you make your way into the living room. Where... where... come on, where the hell are his scrolls! You eye an upturned box at the corner of the room next to a shattered picture, and you head over, suddenly careful not to step on any crinkles of glass. You pick up a pen and scroll, sighing.
{ Dear McDougal,
I sincerely apologize for missing work today. I'm more than able to make up for this in the future, with longer shifts taking in the missed hours. My neighbor, Soarin'...
You pause. Oh, Praise Celestia, what am I supposed to say? I need to report that bitch. I need to tell somebody. You hear Soarin' shifting around in his bed. Well, maybe not. She's gone for good, or so he said. And who's the say that I can trust the Canterlot justice system, or whatever the hell they have here. I doubt juries would believe a human, honestly, with the attitudes in this town. Not to mention that Soarin' isn't credible and Clover's a rich bitch. Golden rule: the gold makes the rules. Or maybe not. Isn't this pastel colored world supposed to be "perfect"?
Soarin' curls about on his bed, hooves gently clopping against the floor. You find your train of thought crashing. Oh, dammit, it's not like this has ANYTHING to do with poor Mr. McDougal. You move the pen along the scroll. "Well, I guess I..."
*Click!*
You accidentally hit the 'send' button at the tip of the scroll. You make an angry moan. You know that most ponies send those off with their own magic rather than built-in scroll magic, all of this something that you barely understand in the first place. You hear the pegasus walking over behind you. You turn around, and you gaze at his content smile. You smile back.
He moves over to you, a hoof out. You whisper under your breath to yourself, "Oh, hell-- I don't care if I get in troub--"
*Flash!*
A scroll smacks you upside the head, knocking you right into Soarin's hooves. He keels over, and the two of you find yourself up against the couch. He reaches for the new scroll.
"Uh, good morning," he says, letting out a chuckle as he gives it over. You open it up.
{ Dear Sir or Madam,
Your message has been discontinued for the following reason:
Leaf Erickmare Greensville Day / LEG Day / Leaf Erickmare Day
Given official royal Canterlot policy:
Holiday Code 1120a; Subsection Protocol 24
And please note:
Business acitivies are closed today as per Canterlot regulations.
We apologize for the failure of delivery.
Sincerely yours,
Casanova Frankenstein, the Mailer Demon }
You marvel at the image of a thick flaming skull impaled with two knives through the eye holes, the disturbing 'Mailer Demon' icon that you've only seen once before. Oh, holy geez, I wonder what that pony looks like. I'm sure he's all black with all red hair, maybe even one of those "secret alicorns" everypony gossips about. And who the hell is "Leaf Erickmare"? You suddenly freeze. Wait a moment... "No work!" You leap up, dancing a quick jig.
Soarin' simply watches your little scene. As you stop, turning over to him, he simply says, "Ready for our date, sweetheart?"
You nod, running your fingers in the air.
"Right," he mutters. He sniffs himself and touches his nose against your chest. "Of course, we'll freshen up first."
You watch him heading over to the shower, and you grin. You feel pretty spent for the moment, waking up with a thick wood for the first time in weeks, but you know Soarin' has something fun in mind. He turns on the water, and you get in right besides him. He motions over backward, his wings sticking up straight.
I wonder how sensitive pegasii really are in these things? Probably loaded with nerve endings, or something. Your fingers make little circles around his feathers. You wonder if you're doing it right, but as soon as your hands reach the ends of his wings, he screams out in pleasure. You make a happy sigh, and you keep on going.
Shampoo and soap flow over you both, still trying to make things as functional as well as naughty. You're surprised how you both feel pretty limp downstairs, but you find yourself not really caring. He shifts back his front hooves, and your hands shimmy along them as well as stroke the tips. He almost bites his lip, legs trembling. You almost worry that he'll collapse on you, but that somehow makes you massage the ends of his hooves even more.
He finally lets out a torrent of moans, and he slides down against your chest and belly. You switch off the water as you sit down, letting him sit on your lap. You cradle him close, rubbing his mane along your face as you kiss his neck. You know it probably looks as cheesy of a scene as a romance novel cover.
He surprises you by getting up and clutching a towel. His stomach grumbles so much that you can see it along his belly, and you figure that it's time to seriously get ready for the day. You wave and nod as you lean the door open. Nopony's around, so you can make the quick dash to your next-door apartment for your own stuff.
Of course, he'll be wearing nothing more than a simple vest-- looking like a third of the Wonderbolt's outfit-- and you might be able to get away with bouncing about naked in Canterlot. Still, it feels too damn weird. You quickly brush your teeth, comb your heart, put on deodorant, and throw on a simple blue shirt with matching pants. You open your front door to see that angelic looking pegasus standing there, leaning up against the metal pole behind him so smugly.
You walk down the stairs with him, rubbing together pretty close. You thank goodness that ponies and humans are so close in size. That just might be why Celestia let's them bonk without putting somepony in jail. You wonder about griffins, dragons, and the like. They're supposed to visit Canterlot constantly, many of them living there even, but you've only ever seen one dragon, an adolescent one named Spike, in your entire life.
Soarin' seems to just watch you closely. You know that he's expecting you to say something romantic or something friendly, and you cringe inside. Your success with these kinds of social small talk is the reason why you can count your exes on one hand. "So, Soarin'," you mutter, a hand going through your hair. He makes an odd expression, almost like jealously. You instinctly move your hand down over to his shoulder, brushing up against his mane. He looks happier, and you go aheand stroke inside his mane as you keep walking.
Mane, wings, and hooftips... those are the key spots. You try to think back to that CD and DVD that your little sister used to love so much, A Very Minty Christmas, and you wonder. Didn't they something about brushing manes being the best thing ever? Or something. It's tea parties, mane-brushing, musical numbers, and other girly saccharine stuff all the way through. You've given up long ago trying to connect the world of ponies you're in with the Donny Osmond-style shows you were a least a bit little familiar with back on earth. It's all too damn different!
"Ahem," Soarin' says, snapping your out of your thoughts. You see Colgate's place up ahead, right besides a huge office park. You make your way to the door. The restaurant looks pretty anodyne in grey and white, reminding you of once of those science fiction movies where Schwarzenegger fights Martians or something, but you know that Colgate's frachise has to get her some serious bits.
"So," Soarin' comments, clearly trying to get you to say something back rather than just reflect, "How has work been going?"
"Frustrating as anything," you reply, "don't even get me started." You mentally kick yourself with that last phrase, seeing that Soarin' has interpreted it as a rebuke. Dammit! We've already fast-forwarded to the post-first date sex, and the first date had to work!
"Oh, that's a odd thing," Soarin' remarks, a hoof picking up a sigh upon the diner door.
{ Sorry, but we'll be right back! Just minutes or less, promise! = Colgate *hugs* }
"You know what," you say, hands rubbing up along your cheeks, "I've never once seen them put up that sigh before. Ever. It's been gathering dust besides the Whack-A-Parasprite game for months." What the hell is going on? You shrug. "Well, maybe we--"
You freeze mid-sentence as Soarin' accientally pulls the sigh right off the door. He blushes, and he tries to press it back up into place. A white magical aura around the sigh seems to tickle Soarin's sides, and he pushes harder.
*Squeek!*
The door suddenly opens, leaving Soarin' pressing against thin air. He falls flat on his face.
"Well, that's odd that she put that up and didn't lock it," you say. Is there something wrong?
Soarin' pops back up into place, and he comments, "Maybe we should just wait outside."
"Nah, I need the A/C," you say, and you step in. "Besides, it's not like she'll care. Just five minutes, anyways." I wonder what she needed the sudden break for?
Soarin' and you look around for a second. The lights automatically turn on as you make your way through the fancy dark grey booths with little mini-jukeboxes besides them. The very modernist sort of style, from the big blocky things on the walls to the torrents of small fans stretching around, always impressed you, or at least looked cool somehow.
"What was that?" Soarin' freezes in place, ears perking.
"What was what?" you ask back. The pegasus frown, his eyes narrowing. He side-steps into an employee access door. You follow, wondering what on earth the pony's sensitive ears picked up. "Well?"
"It's so odd. It's like squishing almost, but then shuffling." He taps a hoof against his chin.
"Squishing?" You strain to pick up something, anything. "Seriously, I think--"
*Bang!*
You leap up as you hear some heavy box hit the floor in the room right in front of you. Soarin' slides over to your side. Without even thinking, you reach forwards and push the door open, left totally ajar as well. You see nothing but a wall of boxes.
"Still used to those loose griffon whores? You'd better last this time! Oh, you wimp! Harder!" Colgate screams, her hooves clopping hard upon the floor. She lets out a loud squeal.
You and Soarin' silently step up and to the left, looking out into the rest of the room. There's another pile of boxes atop two small tables, and you both duck to see what's going on.
"Rut me! I said rut me! Rutting!" Colgate calls out, head tossing side to side. Your eyes open wide as you see the blue and gray unicorn propped up atop bags and bags of potatoes with something like white sugary cake frosting going across her chest, belly, and hooves. Her horn drips with thick blue magical goo onto the floor besides her, her face clenched in pure passion. "Move, you! Move!"
You hear a huge squawk, and you shift your head deeper under the table, trying to pick up the rest of the scene. Your eyes grow wide as dinner plates. You feel Soarin' nestling himself right besides you, letting out a gasp.
A very tall and very skinny griffin, body half like a lion and half like an eagle, steps a little bit backward and perches himself over Colgate. He pants hard, his huge emerald green eyes almost pulsing, and he puts a claw through his fluffy white features along his neck and head. He's got a funny kind of feathery tuft right on top of his head, almost like a mohawk but angled to the left side, that has pink frosting oozling over it. Spots of frosting and smashed cake bits litter all over the rest of his fur.
"You're taking me, right now," Colgate orders, hooves rubbing up and down along the griffon's chest. "Rut me like I'm your own mare, own mare for life, Scamper! Her eyes seem to burn into his face.
He makes a set of weak chirps before pressing himself forwards. Your eyes curl around Scamper's body from his back paws and wiggling tail to his throbbing griffonhood. He nudges it down along her puffy pink slit, soaking wet with caked on bits of blue and white sweets, and he groans.
"Faster, you dweeb!" She smacks her legs into his, pulling him into her embrace. You see Scamper thrusting inside of her once more, beads of sweet pooling up over his face. He makes a loud sqwuak followed by more of a weak whimper, and his lion-like hips start pumping her.
"C-C-colgate, s-sweetie, I'm c-close," he mutters, his front claws gripping Colgate's shoulders tightly as his face rubs up into her mane. His thrusts move in a deep rhythmi, jolts of sheer pleasure coursing through his body and making his face erupt with joy. Tears dot under his eyes. "Colgate! I'm!" He pants even quicker.
She's smacking him again and again with all four of her hooves, somehow managing to pump him even farther in. You see her head tossing about, tounge flipping up and down, with her brains boiling from the nirvana. The frosting rubs from body to body, Scamper's feathers coating all across her chest and belly.
"HARDER, SCAMPER! HARDER!" She slams her head behind her, hooves shivering from the intense emotions, and she shoots upwards. She bites against his chest, mouth filling with feathers. Scamper makes a half-scream, voice seeming to crack.
He leans out, just the tip of his griffonhood stuck inside of Colgate, and her magical arua starts to wrap around his back. He lets out a surprsed moan as he's shoved forwards into her once more. His wings wrap up around her shoulders, her mane interminxing with his feathers perfectly, and somehow he manages to fit even ever more snugly than before.
Colgate's face contorts, making huge gasps. Scamper starts building up a low moan that turns into a loud groan and finally a sheer scream. He suddenly slides his head over to hers, both their bodies trembling. Amazingly pleasure erupts along their sides like being struck by lightening.
"I'm going!" Scamper calls out. "I'm going right into your womb..."
"You'd better cum," Colgate declares, her magical aura now flowing all around their bodies. "And you'd better cum a lot!" She grinds her teeth, eyes focused with hormones melting all her senses. "So much that I'll-- I'll-- I'll have your eggs!" She goes to pure panting.
"Oh yeah, all my eggs... filling up your womb..." groans Scamper, sweat pouring off of his face, "I'm so bucking happy... having eggs with you..."
"And you're mine forever!" She pounds him mercilessly with her hooves, so close to the line. "Fill me up! Go, you dweeb! You're never having griffins again!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" Scamper hollers at the top of his lungs, your hands instinctively going to your eyes. You see him smashing his paws against the floor tiles, starting to crack them.
"OH CELESTIA YES!" Coltage screams, her horn exploding like a fountain with thick blue magical creamy pouring across their bodies as well as the floor.
You see endless waves of pleasure slamming into their minds, their faces locked in sheer emotion. They meet in a passionate embrace before their bodies slide down, Scamper's wings retracting. They soon find themselves desperately gasping for breath, a weird mix of frosting, cake batter, feathers, sweat, and fur scattered across the kitchen around them. Colgate kicks against the ground, now with her cum-soaked vulva-- the dripping white and pink flesh looking unbelievably hot against her quivering blue fur around it-- facing you and Soarin'. Soarin' nudges forwards for a better look, wings suddenly smacking the table legs.
*Crash!*
You hear the boxes tumbling around you, Soarin' shooting over to your side. You feel something like an out of body experience-- going from your hiding spot to in the middle of the bare floor. The lovebirds, still totally weak, lock eyes with you. You then see them glaring off at Soarin', his cheeks turning so red that you almost expect him to pass out.
"Well..." you mutter. You take a deep breath. "Hi."
"Hi," Soarin' repeats.
You twiddle your thumbs. Come on, then, say something! Dammit! "What... are you guys... doing?" you ask. You feel like slamming your face against the floor a second later, saying something so stupid.
A painful twenty seconds of silence passes.
"Soooooooooo, uh," Colgate says, tossing over onto her stomach and looking at you. She awkwardly ambles herself onto her feet, "w-would y-you like to t-try our p-potato soup special today?"
You nod sheepishly, as does Soarin'.
"Right," she says, standing up straight and muttering some quick spells. She glances over at her boyfriend, leaning awkwardly against a refrigerator. "Oh... uh... this is Scamper."
You look over at the griffin, his rod stick poking erect into the air. You feel surprised at how human-like it looks, although it's not like you've ever seen one of his kind before. He looks so embarrassed that he probably wishes he could just lock himself into the refrigerator and never come out. "S-s-sup," he mutters, meekly holding up a claw.
"Thank goodness," Soarin' mutters. You both move back out of the room and head towards a booth right besides the kitchen.
"Thanks for what?"
"I thought that they'd reply to you with some kind of food-realted sex-pun," he responds, "Something like: 'He was just buttering my muffin.' Or: 'He was just frosting my cupcake.'" You cringe. "Or: 'He was just skewering my kebab.' Or: He was just basting my--"
"Well, Soarin', I'm curious about, uh," you start to say, eyes peering over the small grill window to your far left as you wonder what on earth Scamper and Colgate are doing now. You clear your throat. "What have you been doing since you left the Wonderbolts?" The word 'left' is a damned lie, but you don't want to hurt his feelings. "You're with that performance troupe, right?" Okay, now, I have to make our real first date be a success. I have to be sociable for once, dammit.
"Oh, yeah!" Soarin' replies, his face suddenly lighting up, "We're called 'Shambala', and we've got all these fancy new things coming up. Like, uh, there's this one pony from Hoofington, 'Scruffy Scribe' or something I think he's called, and he's made up this new play that's all like parodic and subversive but funny, with all these bouncy musical numbers." He hops in place, and you try to pay attention, not really in the mood for babbling. "And we're like putting on these fake pink heads with human faces and use these stick things to have long, human-like arms." He sticks his hooves out and waves them out like Frankestein's monster, groaning just like it as well. "So, we're like you, only it's a satire so we make humans out as the undead among the pony living--"
"Undead, sure," you reply, really starting to tune him out. You glance out the window, seeing somepony heading over in the distance. She's got a very tall, lanky, and dumb looking earth pony at her side. That can't be her. Can it?
Soarin' just rambles on, acting out various parts of his play. It looks basically like The Sound of Music with zombies and lesbian sex mashed into it, and you can hardly care, just trying to avoid staring at the couple walking to the restaurant. Scamper suddenly bursts out into the middle of the floor-- appearing almost out of nowhere-- and he makes for the door. He rips off the sign, looks left and right, crumples it up, and eats it. You just gawk at him for a moment, breathless.
"Doesn't, uh, that taste like, uh, paper?" you say, abruptly interrupting Soarin's spiel.
"I know, isn't it delicious!" Scamper replies, smiling with his eyebrows wiggling. He waves over at the little window between the tables and the grill, and Colgate's face pops up. You hear some kind of commotion in the kitchen, some more pony voices.
Damn, Colgate, you have weird taste in males. You shrug, as does Soarin'. I guess the other cooks are here, so we're back to normal lunchtime. That's great as long as--
"Oh, can't you open the door like a normal pony?" Clover calls out, slamming into the entrance. She stops, brushing off her sunny-looking white and yellow striped dress. You think back to Rarity in her smart sundress, although she had a creamy core of kindness inside her elegant sugary exterior. "Seriously, retard, you push on the right and pull on the left. Elementary school stuff, you r-tard." The stallion behind her lets out a sigh.
Soarin' can't bear to look behind him, he just leans forward and puts his head down on the table. You stare at Clover, expressionless. "R-tard"? Really? She doesn't notice you, she simply turns around and puts a hoof on her new coltfriend's chest. She taps hard, and the big lug-- his incredibly pale white fur looking like he's never seen the sun in years-- stands still as a statue.
"Why don't you get us a seat, then!" Clover smarts off, turning with her flanks wiggling in the air. Her coltfriend idly points at an empty spot, one of the dozens of them. She takes a seat across from your table. She leans back with her bottom hooves on the table, acting as if she was on the couch at home. "Well, Dexy, are you seeing where the hay my sister is, or not?"
Before Dexy can say a thing, the blue and white mare pops out of the server's entrance and walks out. Clover smiles, but that fades as she sees Colgate head over to you and Soarin's table. She barely notices you, but she sees the pegasus' familar wings sticking out behind him. She makes beady eyes, and you wink at her. She frowns. After you don't reply, just picking up the bowls of soup and spoons Colgate just gave you, Clover scoffs, going back to glaring at her coltfriend.
No screaming arguments with us? No, nothing. I guess Dexy's her new toy now, with Soarin' being dead and gone to her. I wonder how long until she breaks Dexy. Poor thing. I've got to warn him or something. You see Soarin' simply staring at his food, paralyzed by fear.
Dexy chit-chats with Colgate a little. She bobs her head up and down inside the little grill window, and Dexy waves dismissively over at Clover. He walks out the door as Clover becomes engrossed in the mini-jukebox besides her, clopping across the screen.
You don't want to pay that stupid girl any more attention. You eye Soarin' as he mutters with his face in his hooves. He seems to be having something like an out of body experience. Your potato soups appear on your table, but neither of you do a thing. You finally reach out and put your left hand around Soarin's shoulder. He puts his hooves down, and he looks up at you.
You gaze into his handsome eyes. An unspoken understanding occurs. Clover's part of the scenery now. That's it. Nothing more. That mare won't affect him anymore. Meanwhile, Clover clicks over to an obnoxious electroclash song. Her mini-jukebox spurts out random sounding beats coupled with idiotic whining-like singing.
You shoot her a dirty look, without even thinking, but she appears to be totally engrossed in her purse. You see Dexy pulling up a heavy box, letting out a gasp as he plants it atop the table. He winces as Clover turns up the music, hardly liking it any more than you do. You let out a breath as Clover whacks her hooves upon the box, making a sudden grimace. Dexy slants to the side, lying down across his side of the booth.
"You."
You snap out of that scene, looking back at Soarin'.
"She's not coming over here, is she?" he asks. He puts on a very pained expression, ears curling down.
You stare at his bruises and cuts along his body, still healing up, and your heart sinks. You lean over, spying on Clover once more, and you take a deep breath.
She seems to have gotten into a serious argument with Dexy, uncharacteristically keeping her voice down. They snap into normalcy as Colgate walks over with a plate full of bread, butter, and oils. The moment Colgate turns her back, the lovebirds go back to bickering. Clover slams her hooves against the plate, knocking a dish of butter over towards Dexy.
"Well, is she?"
You nod your head 'no'. At just that moment, as Soarin' started to smile, Dexy thrust himself out of the booth. Dexy's eyes narrowed as he wiped butter off of his chest, standing up straight.
"Oh, that's it. It," he mutters, walking over to the grill. Colgate shrugs through the little window. He makes a huge frown, and he starts walking over to you and Soarin'.
"Oh, no," you whisper.
"Excuse me for a sec," Dexy says, standing besides your booth and jutting his hooves against the table, "how did you handle this ball of hate? Flippin' seriously? You stayed with her for, what, months? Holy cheese, brother." He leans over. Soarin' simply freezes like a statue, barely even breathing. "What's the secret buttons to push, or somethin'? I got nothin'."
"Look, seriously," you say, giving Dexy a clear 'get lost' eye to eye stare.
"Fine, fine," Dexy replies. He waves his hooves in the air, shrugging, and he makes for the door. He stops a moment, looking back at Clover. She simply shakes in place with her eyes closed, trying not to explode with insane rage. "See you-- maybe--" He pauses for emphasis. "The next lifetime, sugarpie." He laughs at his own joke.
"You're at least going to help me mail my box of makeup supplies, you lazy piece of trash!" Clover shrieks, jumping up into the air and dripping spittle from her mouth.
*Slam!*
Clover lands, jostling her heavy package. She shakes as her hooves run through her hair. You see her turning in place. Her eyes narrow right upon Soarin's back, looking like lazer beams shooting into a paper target. You feel her hear racing. No. Not here. Not now.
Soarin' glances at you, understanding. Clover's steps feel and sound like the approach of a serial killer in a slasher movie, and you can almost hear creepy pianos going. You open your mouth, determined to say something. It's time. Now is the moment. This has to end.
"Well, at least you can be useful at times," Clover spits out, slanting side to side in place. "It's a bucking holiday so the places are all closed. I need a special courier delivery. How about you get off your ugly rear and start--"
"AND HOW ABOUT YOU START LISTENING!"
You're stunned. Clover's stunned. Colgate's stunned. Everyone simply looks at Soarin' standing up on his hind hooves and perching himself right over his ex-marefriend with eyes wide open.
"I... just..." Clover murmurs, the color draining from her face.
"Yes, yes! How about you start listening for a change? How about you start caring for a change? How about you start thinking for a change? How about you open up your heart and treat other ponies like they deserve to be treated? Of course, darling, that implies that you have a heart--" Soarin' presses his bruised cheeks with his hooves, grimacing. "And I know that's not true."
You feel like crying. It's taken a life-time, or what feels like it, but Soarin' will finally set things right. You smile wider than you can ever remember.
"So, how about you turn around--" Soarin' spins his front hooves to complete the image. "And sit right back at your spot like a grown-up mare rather than a foal. And then leave me alone. Forever." He grits his teeth. "And I mean it. For-ev-er."
You can hardly believe it, but Clover seems to deflate before your eyes. She opens her mouth a tiny bit, wiggling her cute mane around her shoulders. Soarin' glares back at her. She closes her mouth, turns slowly, and she goes back to her seat.
Soarin' sits down again, this time nudging himself right besides you. You feel his hooves going over you hands, and you hold him close. He eyes his soup, and you do the same. He lets out a happy sigh. It's over.
"Hey, sis, can you help me with this box?" Clover asks, sounding as close to a calm, normal mare as you've ever heard her. The other mare speeds over, leans over, and takes a look.
"Heavy..."
"No kidding, seriously." Clover brushes her head against her seat. "I can't ship it anymore through the deluxe network. And it has to be there by the day after tomorrow. I'm totally lost. All because of those stupid government ponies and their stupid holiday today."
"I can't think of a thing to do," Colgate replies, shrugging. "Just wait, I guess."
"I know!" Clover's eyes light up, and she rummages through her purse. "I can magically forge a foreign administrations label on the package. That's the ticket. And then the idiots over at the--"
"No, no, you should never do that!" Colgate calls out, making a disturbed expression. "It's a crime. A real serious, no foolin', no hooves crossed, up the foursquares, no mulligans, no time-outs, ready teddy bo-beddy crime! You'll be in big trouble if they catch you!"
Clover kept on grabbing various items from inside her purse, making an evil expression with eyebrows curled. "So what? I'm not supposed to be sending chemical supplies via the mail, anyways."
"Yeah, well--" Colgate began, rubbing her face with her hooves, "what if they do catch you? You could have to go to court. Goodness, the Mailer Demon might even notice! It's a holiday for crying out loud! He'll know!"
"The Mailer Demon? That's just a stupid myth used by Celestia to make idiots cower before her." Clover laughed as she put the finishing touches on a huge sticker. Colgate muttered something quitely, and the sisters exchanged dirty looks.
You look over at Soarin'. He seems totally confused. You don't know what to think either.
"Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy!" Clover calls out as the box magically lifts into the air. You blink, seeing something like electricity going over it.
*Blam!*
You first feel your toes. Then, you notice your fingers. You wiggle them all. You stagger to the side, trying to shake your head. You blink, seeing nothing but dust and haze.
You hear Soarin' coughing besides you, and you lean to the right. You pick yourself up with the table. You wave the air around, making out Colgate and Clover somewhere way in front of you.
"Who!"
"Oh, dear sweet," you whisper, feeling your insides turn to ice.
"Dares!"
Soarin' clings to your side.
"To attempt!
"Mail fraud!"
You can hardly believe your eyes. The alicorn stands as tall as you and as long as a car. Your eyes run along his muscular jet black body, hooves seeming so powerful that they could crush your hands in a microsecond, over to his vibrant blood red striped wings. His feathers look almost like hundreds of knives, with his wings out at full force.
He opens up his mouth one more, steam flowing out. His eyes glow like on a beady dark red security camera. His eyes move, and his head follows. He surveys the room, shifting his gigantic, flowing black and red striped mane along his back. All of the other ponies in the room as well as you hardly want to move.
"It's really him!" Soarin' moans.
"Casanova Frankenstein... the Mailer Demon..." you whisper. You can't believe that he's actually real.
"Who was it?" His voice seems to descend from the heavens, booming across the whole restaurant in less than a second.
Hooves and hands immediately point right at Clover. The mare staggers over to the door, hooves flailing. She lets out a loud, painful whine.
"Haha-hahahaha-hahaha!" The alicorn reaches out with a hoof. A thick black arua covers Clover, sending her flying up into the air. She struggles, eyes bugling as she screams. "I love it when the mortals struggle. And such a body. My, my, I shall enjoy--" He licks his lips, his forked tongue looking as long as your arm, and the sides of his huge face curls up. "Sensually feasting upon you."
Your heart beats faster than a jackhammer, but you can't move a muscle. You don't know if that's his magic or just sheer fear, but it doesn't matter. You feel Soarin' locking against you, hooves wrapped tightly around your legs.
Thick, pulsing tentacles curl up beneath the alicorn's wings. Your eyes move along the soaking wet ends over to Clover, floating helplessly in the air. You blink.
*Boom!*
You blink again. You glance around, seeing nothing left of the two ponies except for empty air. Colgate walks over to you, shaking from step to step. She falls flat on her face, and Soarin' leans over to help.
You find yourself reaching over and cuddling the two ponies. All three of you terrified out of your minds, you can't think. You shimmy over to the kitchen door, barely able to move that much.
"And I thought that my break-ups were bad!" Colgate finally says, finding the silence too terrible.
Soarin' laughs. You stay quiet. Colgate stands up, walking over to the back door of the restaurant. Well, that was... interesting. I guess that it's over, then. It's all over. The two of you alone, you hold your arms over his sides. You lean over, and you close your eyes with your head against his shoulder. He lets out a happy sigh.
