> Sleeping With A Friend
>  by Comet Burst
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

        The beat of his wings flooded Soarin’s ears as he plummeted from the upper stratosphere, holding his breath as the icy cold air stung his skin through his suit. He thanked his lucky stars that his goggles were suction-cupped onto his face, since he was already squinting to see the tiny cloud ring floating in the center of the stadium. His legs stretched out as far as he could make them go, causing his joints to burn as they fought the wind. Thermals made dives like this dangerous, but you didn’t get to be a Wonderbolt by wussing out when there was a bit of danger.

        A smug grin crept onto Soarin’s face as he pressed his ears to his head and renewed flapping his wings with extra vigor. At max speed, it took him barely twenty seconds to reach the crowd and six to hit the point where he needed to slow down to pull the turn. With each deep breath he took, he counted slowly in his head.

        Six..

        The sheer volume of the mares screaming his name below floated up as a dull screech behind the thunderous roar of the air. Soarin snorted at that. Like his ego even needed the extra fluffing from his gigantic female fanbase.

        Five..

        His stomach gave a small grumble, angry he had already forced it to work through breakfast. The quiche he had eaten had already been digested, which would no doubt astound his friends. Eating a whole nine egg breakfast pie and then asking for some more after the show earned him the nickname of ‘The Iron Stomach’.

        Four…

        His mane swept at the side of his ears, flailing about like a filly falling from Cloudsdale. It was getting too long again, which meant he needed to pop by Clippy in Canterlot for a quick cut. He always suspected he was scalping him, but Clippy did make a fifty bit manecut look pretty darn good.

        Three…

        The thermal was pushing back more now, making him sweep his wings harder. Stinging cold air swiftly became balmy and slightly stuffy summer air, making his suit now uncomfortably warm against his skin. Perhaps he’d have the design team add some new padding to work in both cold and warm temperatures later.

        Two…

        By now, he’d slow his wingbeats down in preparation to flare them and ease his descent. However, a nasty little thought wormed its way in. That goofy mare in Ponyville, the rainbow colored one, didn’t bother to stop her dives until she nearly flattened herself on the ground. While the Wonderbolts were a performance group, she did show all of them up at the tryouts.

        One…

        Soarin’s grin peeled back to show his pearly white teeth as he flapped his wings furiously, pulling away from the others. If an amatuer like that mare could do it, he should be able to do it with no effort at all. Glancing behind, he saw one of his wingmates slow down. Fleetfoot always played it safe.

        Zero…

        His other wingmate grinned as widely as he did, her bright orange mane flapping about like a live inferno. She knew what he was about to do and, judging by her acceleration towards him, she wanted in. Soarin turned back forward, watching as the cloud ring widened at an alarming rate. He leaned a bit to the left, allowing his star wingmate to join him in the mad descent.

        “Hope you’re ready!” she called out over the wind.

        “Let’s do it!” Soarin shouted back.

        Together, they picked up more speed as the bright green ground raced to meet them. The wind disappeared from Soarin’s ears, replaced by his pounding heartbeat. His skin tingled and his hair felt like electricity was coursing through it. Adrenalin highs were dangerous things for a stuntpony to experience, but dear Celestia did they feel good.

        Compensating for distance on the fly was a deathwish many Wonderbolts had learned the hard way, but Soarin knew the cloud was well above the ground to make the impossible turn. His speed was worrisome, but it mattered little now. He was committed to the dive and so was his favorite wingmate, Spitfire. Together, they became little more than blue blurs against the clouds while Fleetfoot screamed at them from above and the crowd did from below.

        With his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes pinched into a squint and a wide grin on his face, Soarin fell through the cloud ring before flaring his wings as wide as he could. The sudden deceleration hit his body like a kick to the face, causing him to inhale sharply. He swung his rump down and kicked his legs instinctively while his wings struggled to alter his momentum. Thankfully, he felt the gravity on his body shift as he shot parallel to the ground, but his joy was short-lived as the solid stone wall of the stadium sped towards him at lethal velocity. His training decided to kick in right then as he pinned his right wing to his side and flapped his left one violently while his legs curled in to avoid collateral damage. Amazingly, the wall curved away from him and soon he was racing along the wall, clearing the ground by a few feet.

        “Woohoo!” he screamed as he saw the blue and orange blur of Spitfire approaching from the opposite end. Extending his legs again, they continued towards each other and hoofbumped as they passed by, the clack echoing across the stadium before the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers that shook the air itself. As the duo regained control of their speed, they spiraled into the center and shot back up through the cloud as Fleetfoot joined them, posing in mid-air as the crowd roared louder.





        “That was awesome!” Spitfire shouted as she tore into the locker room, Soarin and Fleetfoot in tow.

        “Darn right!” Soarin shouted back, his initial wind deafness still messing with his ears.

        From behind them, Fleetfoot mumbled something, causing both Soarin and Spitfire to turn to her and shout in unison, “What?”

        “I said,” Fleetfoot repeated in a much higher tone. “You two are stupid for doing that!”

        “Why?” Spitfire asked, sounding like she was still fighting her own deafness.

        “You could’ve killed yourselves!” Fleetfoot responded, glaring at them with an unusual anger in her eyes.

        “But we didn’t!” Soarin said, trying to be louder than the ringing in his ears.

        “She’s right,” came a new voice.

        All three heads turned at once to the door, the same confused look twisting their faces. At the door stood a pretty mare, bright pink with a sky blue mane and crystal green eyes. She stared at them with a disinterested look, pausing when she got to Soarin. Immediately, she scrunched up her face into a pathetic whimpering look and trotted up to him, her bottom lip trembling the whole time.

        “Soarin, how could you scare me like that?” she asked, batting her clearly fake eyelashes at him.

        Soarin’s eyes shrunk as his throat constricted, staring at her. Behind them, Spitfire let out an annoyed groan before the lockers clattered open.

        “Uh, I’m, er.. sorry?” he said, the air around him turning to ice.

        “I was so worried!” she whined, stomping a hoof. “Do you know how many Wonderbolts have died doing dangerous stunts like that? It was totally reckless and broke rule number one.”

        “It, uh, did?” Soarin asked, rubbing the back of his head with a hoof and scrambling to remember what that was.

        “Yes!” she said, her tone exasperated. “You’re supposed to behave yourself and not make me look bad!”

        “Oh! I’m sorry, Dewdrop!” Soarin shouted, panic filling his chest.

        Dewdrop whined some more while Spitfire slammed her locker shut, rolling her eyes in disgust.

        “Oh, give him a break!” she said, turning and throwing a mean glare at Dewdrop. “He’s a grown stallion and can take risks whenever he wants. Besides, it’s my job as Captain to tell him when he did something wrong.”

        Soarin turned to face her, a concerned look on his face, while Dewdrop’s eyes swiveled to Spitfire, the sadness replaced by an icy glare.

        “Spitfire,” she replied sweetly. “I don’t think you realize what that stunt did. There were foals in the audience, which are prone to imitating what they see. Do you want our shows censored if one of them claims they were copying your stunt while jumping from a building?”

        Spitfire jerked her head back, shock replacing her irritation. “What? No! That’s not what I—”

        “Then I suggest,” Dewdrop continued, the kindness in her voice straining, “You get cleaned up and stay out of our private business. You still need to make a statement about safe flying practices and how you are trained professionals.”

        “And why can’t you do it?” Spitfire snapped back. “It’s your job.”

        Dewdrop’s eye twitched a bit, stopping just as Soarin turned back to her. “Because, believe it or not, it’s your job as Captain of the Wonderbolts to be the responsible one. I know you have a difficult time with that, but you did sign up for this,” she hissed.

        Spitfire opened her mouth to give a particularly nasty retort when Soarin cut in, stepping between them. “Hey, hey, hey! It’s no big deal! Spitfire can issue a statement later and I’ll make the appearance. Besides, she did more stunts than us today, so she needs a rest, okay?”

        He smiled stupidly at the both of them, praying his gamble would work. Much to his relief, a smile came to Dewdrop’s face and she squealed. “Oh, Soarin, that would be wonderful! The press has been more interested in you than normal, and then we can spend some time together afterwards!”

        “Uh, yeah! We can!” Soarin said with a relieved smile. “We can… you know, spend time together.”

        Spitfire rolled her eyes before mumbling, “Whatever,” and stomped off to the showers, her mood ruined. The chatter of the couple disappeared when she rounded the corner, coming face to face with the white porcelain shower stalls. Grunting, she marched up to one and turned on the water, allowing the chilling water to soak her body before it became a scalding wash. Steam rose up around her while she sighed and gasped at the water, flipping her mane about and rubbing herself down with a bar of soap.

        “Hey, save some for me,” came Fleetfoot’s voice as she trotted up next to her.

        A couple squeaks of the faucet later, she was bathing herself in the same steamy water as Spitfire stood there, her face pointed to the showerhead. The warm water soothed the tense muscles in her face, as well as relieving the windburn she had gotten from the icy air.

        “So, care to explain?” Fleetfoot asked, breaking Spitfire’s revelry.

        “What?” she asked.

        “All of that back there. You, Soarin and Dewdrop. I haven’t seen two mares fight like that since high school,” Fleetfoot mused.

        Spitfire turned away from the showerhead and wiped away the water over her right eye before opening it. “Fleet, you know how difficult she is to work with,” she stated plainly.

        “Yeah, Dewdrop is a bit overbearing, but you and her butt heads like you’re about to come to blows.” Fleetfoot replied, shooting Spitfire a sly glance before resuming washing her mane.

        “She gets under my skin way too easily, like she looks for ways to annoy me,” Spitfire responded, her voice betraying no emotion.

        “Really?” Fleetfoot asked as she rinsed her mane. “You sure a certain strapping blue stallion has nothing to do with it?”

        Spitfire threw Fleetfoot a nasty look, though her eyes were closed. “Keep Soarin out of this,” she grumbled.

        “Oh? Soft spot?” Fleetfoot asked with a small chuckle.

        “You know he’s my best friend on this squad,” Spitfire said, shutting off the water.

        “Yeah, yeah. You two are practically legends. Best friends since foalhood, dreaming of becoming Wonderbolts and defying all sorts of odds to become the two most famous faces we have. Sounds like some sappy romance story.”

        “Only me and him are like brother and sister and I can’t stand the way she treats him,” Spitfire said as she pulled out a towel from the wall cubby.

        “Yeah, he is pretty whipped,” Fleetfoot mused. “She’s got a really short leash on him, but I can’t say I blame her when he’s in the running for the sexiest stallion alive.”

        Spitfire cringed a bit at that, rubbing the towel harder into her face. It was creepy to see his big dumb smile on the tabloid covers, their captions claiming he was perhaps the most fantasized about pony who wasn’t royalty. She moved on to her chest and wings, preferring not to expand upon this conversation any further. Soarin was her friend, nothing more.

        “I’m going to the bar tonight,” she called over to Fleetfoot. “You wanna come?”





        “So, to all you young and future Wonderbolts out there, be smart and leave the dangerous stunts to the professionals,” Soarin said with a big grin as spots danced before his eyes.

        Even though he was smiling, Soarin mentally loathed himself for what he was saying. He didn’t sound like an awesome Wonderbolt stud he pictured himself as; instead he felt like one of those goofy looking dolts on those anti-drug posters. While he knew what he said would make him look mature, he couldn’t recall a single one of his idols from his foalhood advising him to not try and be awesome.

        He smiled as the token applause rang around the press room, glancing over to see Dewdrops grinning widely back at him. His confidence in himself partially restored, he cleared his throat and stood still until all eyes were on him.

        “Thank you all for coming, but I’m afraid I can’t take any questions as of right now. The standard PR pack will be given out, but thank you for coming,” he said in a monotonous voice before turning to the curtain.

        A flood of questions and flashes assaulted him, but Soarin ignored them with practiced ease. Dewdrop’s grin only got wider as he approached, but she stayed rooted in the same spot.

        “Wonderful job, Soarin,” she said. “You’d make a great Captain.”

        “Yeah, well,” he replied, his ego swelling. “It’s all thanks to you, sweetie.” Glancing at her eyes, Soarin leaned in and puckered his lips, but felt them meet a hoof instead of her lips.

        “Easy there, big guy,” she said, stifling a laugh. “Remember rule number three?”

        Soarin pulled back from her hoof, wiping the small flecks of dirt from his mouth. “I thought that one was the no ‘super special time’ rule?” he said, cringing internally at the use of that phrase.

        “Yes, but that also extends to kisses, too,” she said with a small wink. “Can’t have you jeopardizing your career or mine, can we?”

        “But—” Soarin said before her hoof pressed against his lips again.

        “Soarin, sweetie, I’m doing this for your protection. Until you retire or become Captain, we can’t publicly show anything or the tabloids will scream of a scandal. When you’re above the damage rumors can do, then we’ll let the world know.”

        Soarin frowned and raised an eyebrow, confused by her logic, but nodded regardless. Dewdrop was usually right on matters like this. She wasn’t the PR manager for the Wonderbolts for no reason.

        “Thank you, Soarin,” she said with a soft voice. “I know it’s difficult for us now, but things will work out in the end. For now, though, let’s put on a brave face and do what we need to do, okay?”

        Soarin sighed, but nodded yet again. Dewdrop was a hooffull, but she was his marefriend and he needed to treat her like one, whether he agreed with it or not.

> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

        Spitfire sighed as she stared at the glass in front of her. The amber liquid inside glowed against the polished wood and jiggled as she flicked her hoof on the rim. She snorted in amusement as some of it spilled from the sides, leaning back on her stool and glancing about the bar. A few frat ponies stood not too far away sucking down the contents of some brown bottles. She smiled at them for a few seconds before the weight of her head disappeared and she stuck out her foreleg to balance.

        She snickered as she looked at the polished floor, matching the bar perfectly. Turning back to her drink Spitfire pulled herself forward before grabbing the shotglass and downing all the mystery contents in one gulp. She squeezed her eyes shut as the liquid stung her throat and left perhaps the best burning sensation behind. “Bucking unicorns,” she mumbled, her vision tilting. “Why does this taste so good?”

        As the words left her mouth, her tongue felt dry and scratchy, like it was one of those annoying dead leaves that got stuck in her teeth when she did performances in the fall. She sucked on it, hoping to alleviate the sensation. Sadly, all it did was spread it to her cheeks and roof of her mouth. Glancing around, she tapped the glass on the bar. From the other side, a brown colored pony glanced over to her and nodded before trotting over.

        “What’s up, missy?” he asked.

        “Gimme ‘nother one of whatever this was,” she said, pushing the shotglass to him.

        The pony nodded and turned to the back of the bar before Spitfire tapped the glass again. “Make it two, please,” she asked.

        The pony threw a curious look to her before his horn lit and a bottle levitated into the air. “Planning on getting plenty juiced alone?” he queried.

        “Nah,” Spitfire answered, waving a hoof at him. “I ain’t going to be alone for long.”

        “Ah,” he replied, levitating two clean glasses from below the bar. “Got yourself a date tonight?”

        “Eenope! Just got a feeling an ol’ buddy of mine will show up,” she said, cracking a sly grin.

        The pony nodded sagely and the glasses filled up simultaneously as his magic split the single pour into two streams, one draining into each glass. Nodding again, the pour stopped as the pony backed away, the topper to the bottle squeaking into place. “There we go,” he mused. “Two shots of Golden Armor for you.”

        Spitfire clicked her tongue as she reached for one of the glasses. “Seriously, who comes up with these stupid names? Sounds like some stupid book title,” she grunted before taking a small swig.

        The pony shrugged his shoulders and turned around. “Comes from somewhere down in southern Equestria called Floralda,” he said, looking over the label. “Ponies down there are pretty weird.”

        Spitfire shrugged as well, placing the glass back down and glancing at the clock hanging on the far wall. “Five forty-four,” she read, smirking a bit.

        Turning back to the glass, she flicked it again with her hoof and giggled once again as it spilled a drop of liquor. No matter how many times she did it, the sight of the drink swirling about in its container was amusing, since it resembled the dumb science project she had made for her grade school science fair. By swirling a couple bottles taped together and filled with water, she could produce the conditions needed for a cyclone, the most useless bit of knowledge in the world until she needed to brush up on weather conditions as Wonderbolt Captain. Who’d have guessed watching towns feed water to Cloudsdale was part of the job?

        She blew some raspberries at the glass, followed by a very girly hiccup and another quick swig of the stuff. The burn returned and she hissed before licking her lips, savoring the flavor.

        “Wow, one drink, huh?” came a voice she knew all too well.

        “Bout time you got here, blueberry,” Spitfire giggled, kicking the stool next to her.

        “Okay, lemonhead, I’ll play that game,” Soarin said as he plopped down onto the stool.

        Spitfire grabbed the second shotglass and slid it over to him, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Her head felt like one of her feathers; light and airy. She leaned back and stretched her muscles, moaning in pleasure as they strained a little. A snort came from Soarin and she squeezed her eyes shut.

        “What’s so funny, pretty boy?” she asked as she sat upright, her back thanking her for the workout.

        “Nothin,” Soarin mumbled before a slurping noise came from him.

        Unable to restrain herself, Spitfire let out a laugh and pressed her forehead to the bar, descending into a fit of giggles.

        “Now what’s so funny to you, lemonhead?” Soarin asked, his voice playful.

        “Nothin,” Spitfire said, raising her head to show off her lazy smile. “Just you drink more like a girl than I do.”

        “Oh, I’m so hurt,” Soarin said. “That’s it. We aren’t friends anymore.”

        Both of them broke out into fits of giggles at that before Spitfire turned to him, glancing her foalhood buddy over briefly. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen many times before, but liquor made a few things stand out, like his “official” off-duty uniform and the hard, bulky muscles on his rear legs.

        “Hey, buddy,” Spitfire said, causing Soarin to look at her. “Come down here.”

        Soarin reared his head back, confused. “What? Why? I’m less than five feet from you,” he said.

        “Not you, pretty colt,” Spitfire said, waving her hoof at him. “The barkeep behind you.”

        Soarin turned around to see the barkeep walk up, his old and haggard yellow eyes glancing about. “Ah, so this is your friend?” he asked. “Can we expect all the Wonderbolts to show up?”

        Spitfire shook her head and cracked a large grin. “Eenope! Just me and him today,” she said. “And we can use another round.”

        “You sure?” the barkeep asked, turning to the liquor line. “This stuff is pretty potent. Knocked out a farmpony in four shots and you’ve already had two.”

        “I’ve had two,” Spitfire said, leaning forward. “But this guy’s only had one.”

        “Woah, easy there, Spitfire,” Soarin said, propping her up with a hoof. “If he’s is warning you, then you might want to listen.”

        Instead of her calming down, Spitfire looked shot a drunken glare at him. “Oh, grow a pair already, Soarin!” she said a little louder than he would’ve liked. “Since when are you afraid to have a little danger in your life?”

        “Hey, I started that dive today, okay?” he replied, tensing a bit. “I think that’s enough danger for one day.”

        “Do you, or does Dewdrops?” Spitfire said with a sly grin.

        Soarin’s face scrunched up. “Ever since you ‘n her got together, you became some snobby rule-follower. Where’s the Soarin I remember who got into the Wonderbolts by doing stupid stuff?”

        “Stupid stuff is dangerous,” he said nonchalantly.

        “It’s also fun, which that dumb pony is training you to not have!”

        “Hey, don’t call her dumb! She’s the reason we’re not in loads of trouble when we do shows.”

        “And when was the last time you rutted her?” Spitfire yelled.

         “WHAT?” Soarin shouted, his own mind beginning to go numb. “Where the buck did that come from?”

        The barkeep watched them with mild interest as he uncorked the bottle again, wondering if there was anything he could make a few bits off of here.

        “Dang, buddy, she’s got you whipped good,” Spitfire mused.

        “I ain’t whipped!” Soarin rounded back.

        “Soarin, you don’t get any from her, yet she drags you shopping for clothes,” Spitfire said, placing a hoof on his chest. “You’re whipped more than the cream at the sweet shop down the road.”

        “An’ what about you?” Soarin said, his vision starting to spin a bit. “You ain’t had a steady coltfriend for more than a week!”

        Spitfire stuck her tongue out at him. “The only reason I don’t is because I can outdrink them.”

        “Pssh! I bet I could outdrink you!” Soarin replied, inching closer to her nose.

        “Bet you can’t!” Spitfire said, smirking.

        With less than an inch between them, Soarin and Spitfire stared at each other. It wasn’t until the shotglasses slid forward did Spitfire reach out and grab the barkeep’s foreleg. “Leave the bottle,” she said, her eyes still glued to Soarin. “We got somethin’ we need to settle.”

        “You got it,” the barkeep replied.

        “Four shots, back to back,” she said. “You finish first, I’ll leave Dewdrops alone and have a single coltfriend for a month.”

        “And if you win, what?” Soarin asked.

        “If I win,” Spitfire continued with a devilish grin. “You either get some from Dewdrops or break-up with her for a month.”

        “Why are you so concerned about me n’ Dewdrops?” Soarin asked.

        A twinge shot through Spitfire’s chest. “Because, Mr. Hottest Stallion in Equestria. You need to remember what fun was like before she came along,” she said with a straight face.

        Soarin watched her for a few seconds before grabbing a glass and muttering, “You’re on.”





        “Go! Go! Go! Go!” the crowd chanted in unison as Soarin stared cross-eyed at the bottle protruding from his snout.

        The sour apple taste he was chugging down stung his mouth and throat, leaving a slight burn his hazy mind could focus on. He squeezed his eyes shut and continued to gulp despite his stomach’s protests. Part of him knew there would be violent heaving and a splitting headache in his future, but for right now, there was a competition to win.

        Soarin slowed his swallows and opened his eyes, glancing to his right. The entire room was a blur of obnoxious colors that spun slowly, but he could make out the familiar yellow silhouette of Spitfire, who was sucking on her own bottle of none other than lemon schnaps. Her head was back as far as she could tilt it and her eyes were squeezed shut, but what caught his eye was that her bottle was almost completely empty, the last bit swirling down the neck. Refocusing his efforts on his own bottle, he managed a few more gulps before a cheer rose from the crowd.

        He pulled the bottle back and gasped for air as his head spun, forcing him to reach out a hoof to steady himself. A couple sets of hooves grabbed him and pushed him back into a standing position, where he swayed uncontrollably as the room did the wave. His front hooves gave out and he wrapped one of them around Spitfire to keep himself from falling.

        “Hey! *hic* No cheatin’,” she shouted, weakly trying to push him off.

        “Cheatin’? Whaddya mean cheatin’? I *ugh* drank almost all of it,” Soarin replied, trying to hold down the growing burning in his chest.

        “Pfffft! Ha, lightweight,” Spitfire chuckled, waving an empty bottle above his face. “You lose again.”

        Soarin groaned as pushed off her, stumbling to the wall of other ponies around them. “So? Whadda’s that make it? Three ta… uh, two?”

        Even though the crowd was loud, Spitfire’s laughter rang in his ears. “Three to two? Closer to five to one!” she said before roaring with laughter again.

        “Alright, alright! You got me,” Soarin said, his tongue feeling numb. “Ready for round… uh, what number is it?”

        Spitfire grinned as the barpony walked over with two more bottles of liquor and set them on the counter, nodding approvingly. He backed away as she grabbed for the nearest bottle and bit the cork while Soarin fumbled around for his. As soon as she spit the cork away, though, an all too familiar gasp rang out from the crowd.

        “Soarin! What are you doing?” Dewdrops shouted as she shoved past Spitfire.

Soarin’s eyes shrunk as he stumbled back, tripping over the ponies behind him and sprawling on the ground. “H-Hey! Dewdrops! I, uh… hi,” he said with a nervous grin.

“Soarin! What did she do to you?” Dewdrops cried as she wrapped a hoof around his foreleg and pulled him up. “I told you hanging out with Spitfire too much would be bad!”

“Hey, now! He came here to—” Spitfire began.

“Shut your mouth, you hussy!” Dewdrops yelled, throwing the nastiest scowl she could at Spitfire. “Can’t you just once think of somepony other than yourself?”

Spitfire spluttered. “W-What are you talking about! He came here on his own!”

“Sh-She’s right, sweetie,” Soarin mumbled.

Dewdrops scowl turned into a bright smile as she turned to Soarin. “Oh, shush now, Pooky. That’s just the liquor talking.”

A roar of laughter rang out at the name Pooky, causing Soarin to blush uncontrollably. “Dew, I really wish you wouldn’t—”

“No more,” she said with a giggle as she patted his snout. “Rule number one, remember?”

More laughter broke out as Soarin glanced to the frat ponies. His cheeks grew warmer as Dewdrops tugged on his leg and Spitfire shouted incoherently at her. Seeing Spitfire that upset triggered something deep in his memory as he looked at Dewdrops and scowled.

“No,” he said.

“What was that, dear?” Dewdrops asked.

“I said ‘no’,” Soarin said as he tugged his leg away.

Dewdrops blinked, her smile frozen. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sick of it,” Soarin said, pulling himself to his hooves. “The dumb nicknames, you telling me I can’t have fun.”

“Sweetie—”

“Telling me Spitfire is a bad influence when she’s my best friend.”

“Sweetie—”

“And now you’re making me leave this place like you’re my mother!”

“No, darling! I just—”

More laughter rang out around the bar as Dewdrops looked around, her legs starting to quiver. She smiled at Soarin again as he steadied himself on his hooves and grabbed the bottle on the bar.

“And you know what else? Nopony ever told me not to do risky stuff like that stunt today! Comet Chaser, Flashpoint, all of them! They never said ‘don’t try that at home, foals’ or stupid stuff like that! They didn’t—”

Soarin’s face contorted into one of shock as he hiccuped, his eyes growing wide. Dewdrops froze as the laughter died down and everypony stared at Soarin.

“Sweetie pie, are you—” Dewdrops began.

Soarin cut her off with a massive belch before a spray of fluid drenched Dewdrop’s mane and front. She screeched and scrambled back as Soarin burped again and groaned.

“Ew!” she screamed as she tried to wipe off the brown liquid.

“Nice one!” Spitfire shouted before laughing hysterically.

“Thanks,” Soarin said with a proud grin.

“Soarin! What the buck is wrong with you?” Dewdrops wailed.

Soarin raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, but I’m thirsty again.”

A massive cheer rose from the crowd as Dewdrops pulled chunks of mystery food from her mane, wailing as the stuck to her hoof. She glared at Soarin as Spitfire staggered over to him, cheering and waving her bottle in the air.

“You’re a pig, Soarin!” she shouted. “We’re through!”

Spitfire’s yell rang in Dewdrops’s ears the loudest.

“Don’t bother coming back to the hotel room tonight! Drink yourself stupid! See if I care!” she yelled as she shoved her way past the throng around them.

“And good riddance!” Spitfire yelled as the door slammed shut, raising her bottle in the air before gulping down the contents.





The rest of the night was a massive blur for Soarin after Dewdrops left. Drinks and bottles flew around him as he struggled to put them all down, listening to Spitfire cheer with each gulp. Ponies shouted his name endlessly as he thought he stood on the bar with Spitfire, chugging something from the same bottle with her.

Massive portions of black blocked his view after that. It had felt like a long time had passed, especially when he realized something warm and wet was playing with his tongue. A very hazy Spitfire came into view as she stared at him with half-lidded eyes, blushing furiously and panting heavily. She leaned in again and more black followed.

The sheets of a bed was the next thing he registered, along with a large weight on his belly. Something was on top of him and snaking its way towards his hind legs, leaving a wet trail on his chest. A set of hooves prodded his thighs, massaging them and causing him to moan. He tried to raise his head, but only caught a glimpse of a bright orange mane before that warm and wet something stopped.

His eyes rolled back as the weight left, only to return seconds later with something even more wet and warm coming down on him. He groaned once before his world went black again.

> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Spitfire’s eyes shot open as her stomach lurched, staring at the ceiling of her hotel room. Rolling over, she felt hooves slide off of her as she placed hers on the floor, grunting as a wave of nausea washed over her. Her cheeks flared as something warm shoved its way up her throat. Reaching for the nearest container, she shoved her head in and heaved as the most disgusting mixture of bile and liquor came pouring out.

“Blegh!” she mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut as her head gave a mighty throb. She was given a few seconds respite before the next round of stomach rejects came, forcing her to hack as little bits of spittle dribbled down her chin. Wiping her face, Spitfire set the bin down and blinked as she licked her teeth, feeling their coarse texture. Glancing behind, she heard somepony grunt and she flicked her ear. Shrugging, she pushed herself up and—forcing herself to concentrate through the throbbing headache—she stumbled over to the bathroom and shut the door, ignoring her sore rump.

A hiss escaped her once the lights came on and she covered her eyes with her foreleg. Peeking from underneath it, she trotted over to the shower and turned the faucet on. A calming steam began to fill the room and she sighed, allowing the vapors to ease the headache. Once the throbbing calmed, she switched the shower on and prepared to step in when the door creaked open. Rolling her eyes, Spitfire turned to the door and growled, “You have ten seconds to leave before—”

She froze as a groggy Soarin blinked at her her, still half asleep. The two stared at each other for a few seconds before Soarin yawned and winced. “Hey, uh… whoever you are. Jeez, that was fun last ni—”

Spitfire’s eyes shrunk in unison with him as he finally recognized her.

A piercing scream tore the silence apart as Spitfire nearly threw herself in the shower, yanking the curtain to cover herself.

 With his mind already spinning, Soarin tripped over himself and fell flat on the carpet as his headache throbbed repeatedly. Scrambling back, Soarin ran to the bed and tripped over the comforter sprawled across the floor.

“Close the bucking door!” Spitfire wailed, her voice screeching in his ears.

Soarin ran back to the door and paused as a yellow hoof grabbed the handle at the same time. Spinning his head to the right, he locked eyes with Spitfire. Her mane was wet and flat against her head while her eyes were still tiny. Her cheeks flushed as she screamed again and shoved him back. He yelped as he tumbled back into the closet and the door shut with a resounding thud.

Rubbing his temples, Soarin moaned as he curled up into a ball, forcing himself to not let his stomach loose all over the floor. Pounding a hoof into the carpet, he pushed himself up and staggered to the door.

“Oh no,” he grumbled. “Oh buck no.”

Once he was out of Spitfire’s room, he trudged down the hallway, glancing at the numbers. “Dewdrops is going to kill me.”





Soarin pounded his head against the door, mentally bucking himself. The edge of a piece of paper bounced against the top of his head.

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” he repeated.

Looking back up, he read the note once more and cringed when he got to the part where he puked on Dewdrops. To say the note was scathing was an understatement. He had seen Dewdrops mad before, but he could only shudder at what she would be like to call him names like ‘pea brained doofhoof’ and ‘feathered flocker’ and ‘tree-headed porter’.

He scrunched up his nose at that last name.

Sighing, he tapped a hoof on the door and waited. Seconds slipped into minutes as he stared at the note, his chest writhing with dread and potential vomit. After a few more minutes had passed, he tapped once more and sighed before turning back to the hallway.





Soarin tapped on Spitfire’s door, expecting to be ignored again when the latch clicked and she peeked around the corner. “Soarin? You’re back!” she said, the surprise evident in her voice.

He nodded and looked back at his hooves. “Can I come in? My room is locked and judging by the note she left about me puking on her, Dewdrops is pretty mad at me.”

Spitfire nodded. “Not as mad as she’s gonna be,” she mumbled.

She swung the door open as she stepped aside. Her fluffy bathrobe tickled as he walked by, beelining for the beds. He placed his rump on the edge as the door shut and Spitfire trotted over. A tense silence hung in the air between them as Soarin stared at the floor.

“So, Dewdrop’s really upset, huh?”

Soarin nodded and gulped. “You got a trashcan?”

A plastic bucket rolled to Soarin’s hoof and pulled it up. Once it was close enough to his face, he let the vomit escape into the bucket, heaving twice before wiping his lip. He set the bucket on the floor and looked up at Spitfire. “Yeah, she kicked me out of my room,” he mumbled.

Spitfire grimaced and said, “So just get another one.”

Soarin shook his head. “It’s not that simple, Spits.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

“Because she’s the one who arranges the rooms.”

Spitfire groaned and rolled her eyes. “Look, Soarin. You’re my best friend and I know you’re well known enough to get another room. Just stop moping about Dewdrops. She’ll get over it.”

Soarin shook his head weakly. “Not after she finds out about this.”

He looked up at her and she shifted on her hooves, glancing at the floor. Another tense silence followed until she looked back at him. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Spits, we—”

“Yes, I’m well aware we did! Do you think you were the only one who noticed?”

She snorted and looked back at the floor, her cheeks turning red again. Her nose scrunched up as she looked back at him while he started to pace back and forth.

“Oh horsefeathers, what is Dewdrops going to say? She’ll be so mad, she might not stay with me!” He paused his pacing and looked at Spitfire, his bottom lip quivering. Her eyebrow arched and he blinked.

“What?” he asked.

“Well?” she replied.

“Well what? Dewdrops is so going to—”

“What do you remember?”

Soarin froze and shook his head. “That’s a little beside the point, isn’t it? I just cheated on my marefriend!”

Spitfire shrugged. “No, it isn’t. Now tell me what you remember of last night.”

He ran a hoof through his mane. “Spits, this isn’t the best time to ask me—”

“Admitting is the first step to recovery. What do you remember from last night?”

Soarin squeezed his eyes shut. “I remember drinking a lot, then… uh…”

“We made out,” she said.

Soarin grimaced. “Yeah.”

“And then?”

“And then… I was laying on the bed and you, er…”

More silence followed as Spitfire stared at Soarin, making him shift uncomfortably. “What? What do you want me to say?” he burst out.

Spitfire rolled her eyes once again. “Was it good?”

It was Soarin’s turn to blush as he locked eyes with her. “I, uh, I… erm—I don’t really… remember.”

Spitfire snorted. “Well, I do.”

Soarin closed his eyes as he braced for the worst insults possible.

“And it felt right.”

Soarin’s eyes shot open as he looked back at Spitfire. His jaw hung open as he tried to process what she said before Spitfire giggled. “Yeah, you were really good last night,” she said, cracking a smile.

“I was?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Sure, for drunk sex, it was messy and you drooled all over me, but you were so into it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that,” Spitfire said, walking over to Soarin.

“M-Messy?” he asked, his voice squeaky.

Spitfire nodded and grinned slyly. “Yeah, you really went to town.”

Soarin gulped hard as he looked down at the floor again and Spitfire sat next to him, her wing spreading out and rubbing his back. “You really had a thing for my wings, too.”

“Okay, please stop before I—” Soarin began before belching.

Spitfire shoved the bucket back to him and Soarin closed his eyes for a few seconds before nodding. “You alright?”

Soarin shook his head. “No. Never been hungover like this before.”

Spitfire sucked her teeth. “Dewdrops had you on a real short leash, huh?”

Soarin grimaced. “She wouldn’t let me even drink hard cider.”

Spitfire leaned in and placed her chin on his shoulder. “You know,” she began slowly. “I could get used to this.”

Soarin glanced over at her. “Get used to what?”

“This,” Spitfire said, gesturing with her hoof. “Waking up hungover, feeling good from last night.”

Soarin shifted again. “Spits, I don’t think—”

“Besides, didn’t we bet you had to break up with Dewdrops anyway?”

Soarin’s voice caught as he turned to her, noting her smirk.

“Why not have a little fun on your break? I know you’ve thought about bucking me more than once.”

“You can’t believe I was serious about that bet?”

Silence ensued as they stared at each other before Soarin stood up. “I need a shower,” he said.

Spitfire smiled wider as he trotted to the bathroom. “Think about it!” she called.





Soarin pressed his head against the wall as the hot water rained down on him, soothing his aching muscles and clearing his head. Somehow, the shower was freeing up more memories from last night, allowing him to recall how soft Spitfire’s hooves and body was, especially her wings. Sensations washed over his body as he reacted to the echoes of her moans and grunts in his head.

He shook his head, spraying water around the shower before cringing. “Spitfire’s my best friend,” he mumbled.

He had known her since they were in flight camp together, struggling to keep herself balanced in the air. They had been through the hells of school, first crushes and the trials of becoming Wonderbolts. She had always been by his side and was like a sister to him.

But she was right.

Ever since junior high school, he had noticed Spitfire was a mare. She was pretty, fit and sexy when she wanted to be. His other friends often teased him about her, asking when he was going to stallion up and claim her, despite him protesting about how weird it would be to date her.

Looking back at the curtain, he thought about what she had said. She liked the way he acted when he was drunk and said he performed pretty well. When he woke, he could only smile about how good he felt until the headache hit. Now with his memory starting to return, the obvious answer became more hazy as he ended turned the water off.







Spitfire stood in front of the mirror, grooming her mane as her tail swished about, whipping the remaining water from her. She hummed to herself as the brush worked its way through, leaving the familiar fiery points she was known for. Grinning, she set the brush down and sat, spreading her wings. She leaned to her right and began to nibble at her feathers, her thoughts turning back to the situation she was in.

Seeing Soarin that upset didn’t help her own nerves, despite her acting otherwise. As his friend, she really needed to respect that he was in a relationship, no matter how much she hated the pony he was with. It wasn’t her and more than likely never be her, which was just fine, but Soarin was a grown stallion and liked who he liked.

She sighed as a feather fell to the floor, using her teeth to maneuver the others to cover the empty space. In all her time with him, she never once thought of him as anything other than just a friend, but last night changed something. When she was in the shower earlier, a small portion of her wanted to just run up and apologize to him. His hurt face stuck in her mind now, reminding her that she just might have ruined her best friend’s life permanently.

The bitter voice in the back of her mind, though, told her otherwise. Soarin deserved better than Dewdrops. She was a selfish nincompoop who cared more about her career than him, which only made things worse. There was no doubt she’d punish him for this somehow, thinking she needed to break him some more. Soarin was so much fun to be around before she came along. He was loud, strong and had a smile that always warmed her cheeks.

She knew he didn’t need that kind of mare pushing him around.

Pausing in her preening, Spitfire glanced up to see Soarin stood at the bathroom doorway, staring at her with a towel wrapped around his rear. He gulped and trotted over to her as she lifted her mouth from her wing. When he stopped, he looked at the floor again as she raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Soarin sighed.

“Look, Spitfire,” he began. “I can’t do anything like this. I’m already committed to Dewdrops, even if she is mad at me. I’m sorry about last night, but I just… I can’t agree to something like this. You’re my best friend, not just some buck-buddy.”

Spitfire’s eyebrows raised further. “Soarin, are you friendzoning me?”

Soarin’s voice caught again as his pupils shrunk. “No, I’m not! I just don’t think it’s a good idea!”

Spitfire’s eyebrows came down as she stared at him with an unimpressed look.

“Stop it,” Soarin said. “We’re not a thing. We’re friends, without benefits.”

They stared at each other again for a few seconds before Spitfire sighed and looked over her wing. Nibbling at a loose feather, she glanced back up at him and said, “So what do we say if anypony asks?”

Soarin scratched his head. “Well, it’s obvious we were drunk and I don’t have my room key.”

“So you stayed with me last night until you sobered up,” she finished. “Nothing happened. I slept on the bed and you slept on the floor.”

Soarin nodded, a smile returning to his face. “Thank you, Spits.”

His turned and trotted back to the bathroom, glancing back to see Spitfire nudge her feathers around. He stared a bit too long, however, as Spitfire looked at him and raised her eyebrows. Soarin smiled once more and closed the door. Once inside, Soarin sighed heavily as he pulled the towel off his flanks and peeked at his underside.

“Traitor,” he muttered before looking at himself in the mirror.

> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

        “Tuck your wings! Roll, roll, roll!”

Soarin gasped for air as his wings pressed close to his body, pulling him into a sharp corkscrew. The ring he was aiming for began to spin as he dove to it. He managed to count to three before his trainer shouted again.

“Flare those wings!” his voice roared over the wind.

His wings shot out, catching the warm air rising beneath him and nearly bringing Soarin to a complete stop as he passed through the ring. Despite his body’s protests, he flapped them with all his might, rocketing into the air before his trainer could speak.

“That’s it! Get up to the next ring!”

Soarin’s squinted as sweat streaked across his forehead and nose, stinging his eyes. As he rose to meet the next marker, though, a streak of yellow shot past him and straight through the ring. The blur paused for a split second, allowing him to see Spitfire’s back and orange tail whip forward. His eyes immediately travelled down her frame, slowing to a stop on her rump as he flew past. Despite how warm the air was for training, Soarin felt his cheeks burn as he watched her shoot off to the next marker.

“Whoa there! Soarin!” his trainer yelled. “Turn! Follow her!”

Soarin shook his head, realizing he had overshot the turn by a few good yards. Snorting, he flared his wings again and tucked his legs in. His weight shifted to his front and when he was aligned perfectly with the next ring, he flapped his wings as hard as he could. The sudden shift in momentum made his stomach churn, but he gulped and laid himself out flat as he hooked through the ring, hot on Spitfire’s trail.

Despite how hard he was trying to ignore her, every little movement Spitfire made broke his concentration. The slight shifts her legs made when she turned pulled his gaze back towards her rump while just the act of her glancing back at him made his cheeks uncomfortably warm. After several missed turns and two collisions, Soarin’s trainer forced him to land at the far end of the arena.

“Okay. Start talking,” he said.

Soarin pulled the water bottle from his lips, despite the scratchy feeling still in his throat. “W-What? I can’t h-have a rough day tr-training?” he asked between gasps.

“I’ve seen you on your bad days, Soarin. You’ve never made such rookie mistakes.”

Soarin wiped the sweat beading on his forehead. “Yeah, well, I’m… I’m not really into flying today.”

The trainer raised an eyebrow. “You can’t expect me to buy that.”

Soarin shot an irritated look to him. “Yeah, because you’re not the one actually trying to do the course.”

“Excuse me?”

Soarin squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Buck! Sorry! Just… ugh, I can’t concentrate.”

“I noticed. Now, care to tell me why you’re being snippy with me?”

Soarin sighed. “If I tell you, this doesn’t leave us. Okay?”

His trainer snorted. “I’ll be the judge of that. Anything dangerous going on needs to be reported. You know that.”

Soarin grimaced. “It’s not dangerous, it’s just…” He bit his lower lip as his trainer raised his other eyebrow.

“It’s just?”

Soarin gulped. “I, uh… broke up… with Dewdrops.”

A few seconds of silence passed between them before Soarin looked up at his trainer.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“That’s it? You wanted an answer, I gave it to you,” Soarin said.

His trainer sighed and pressed a hoof to his forehead. “You know that’s no excuse to do this bad at your training, right? Your performance made me think you were injured or something.”

“Yeah, I know,” Soarin mumbled, looking back at the training course.

He watched the Wonderbolts weave in and out of the clouds, each one pretty easy to tell apart. Fleetfoot was doing full laps around the grounds, evidently trying to improve her speed while Golden Wing stuck to the rings. Velocity dove at incredible speeds while his wingmate, Overdrive, followed closely.

Despite all the action, Soarin found himself unable to look away from Spitfire as she weaved through the dives and rings, her trainer barely able to keep up. She was fast today, even faster than she normally was. He watched her perform three dives and passed through four rings in six seconds, making him whistle. There was something different about her and Soarin was sure it had something to do with what happened two nights ago in that hotel room.

“Soarin! Eyes up!” his trainer yelled, causing Soarin to snap to attention.

His trainer glared at him and opened his mouth to say something, but a whistle rang out across the arena. As all the ponies around them slowed to a stop, Soarin’s trainer closed his mouth and grunted. “Hit the showers,” he said. “Come ready to fly extra tomorrow. I need to be sure you’re at one hundred percent if you want to perform.”

Nodding, Soarin turned and flapped his wings, heading back to the locker rooms when Spitfire flew past him, landing and trotting through the door before anypony else could approach.

“What’s gotten into her?” Fleetfoot asked as she landed next to Soarin.

“I don’t know,” he said, placing his hooves on the fluffy clouds.

Fleetfoot raised an eyebrow at him, but Soarin walked off before she could say anything else.





“You going to talk or am I going to have to ask the questions?” Fleetfoot asked as she turned on the shower.

Spitfire glanced over to her as she rubbed her soapy mane.

“What’re you talking about?” she replied.

“I want you to tell me, Spitfire. We’re teammates, remember? You shouldn’t keep secrets between them or it undermines the trust we have in each other.”

Spitfire shrugged and kept on lathering her mane before shoving her head under the nozzle.

“Alright. What happened with you and Soarin?” Fleetfoot asked as she rinsed her mane.

Spitfire shot Fleetfoot a confused look. “What gave you that idea?”

Fleetfoot threw a glare at her as she put shampoo on her hoof. “Don’t act stupid, Spitfire. You outperformed everypony on the field and Soarin couldn’t fly in a straight line. Something happened. If you don’t tell me, I will ask Soarin.”

Spitfire scrunched up her nose. “Nothing happened.”

“Not at the bar? Not when the two of you made the front page of every tabloid for your drunken behavior?”

Spitfire sighed, looking down at the tile below. “Soarin spent the night in my room, Fleet.”

The sound of running water filled the room as Spitfire mulled over the night and following morning. They agreed to not say a word of it to anypony, but it somehow made her upset when she thought of Soarin asking her to not speak of it.

“He was really drunk and lost his room key,” she said tonelessly. “He needed a place to sleep, so I invited him in.”

“And then?”

Spitfire sighed. “He slept on the floor and went to find Dewdrops when he woke up.” She shut off her shower and turned to leave when Fleetfoot stomped her hoof.

“Really!” she shouted. “Come on! You have him all to yourself and you make him sleep on the floor?”

Spitfire glanced back. “Yeah. He’s got a marefriend.”

Fleetfoot groaned and jammed a hoof into her mane. “I’m so disappointed in you, Spitfire,” she hissed.

Spitfire picked up a towel and walked back to her locker. “Yeah, me too,” she mumbled.





Soarin peeked around the corner of the door, glancing about the office. A diploma from Canterlot University hung on the wall, right above a huge stack of papers and several unopened bundles of mail on an overcrowded desk. Pushing the door open, he looked around the wall to see two empty chairs.

“Huh, she’s usually here by now,” he said, pulling his head out and closing the door.

Once it clicked shut, he trotted down the hallway back to the locker rooms when he bumped into another pony, flinging a bunch of letters into the air.

“Oh, excuse me!” Soarin said, reaching for the letters as they flew.

“No, no! I’m sorry!” the pony responded, grabbing for the letters as well.

Eventually, all the envelopes were collected and Soarin grinned at the pony. “Hey, I’m sorry for bumping into you. I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” the pony replied, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “It’s not every day I get run into by a legend.”

Soarin snorted. “Nah, not a legend yet.”

“Well, you’re a legend in my book, Mister Soarin,” the pony said, nodding his head.

“Uh, thanks then… uh…”

“Penbrook, Mister Soarin. I’m the mailpony for the managers.”

“Oh! Penbrook! Nice name.”

The pony blushed. “Naw, it’s not that good.”

Soarin smiled. “Say, do you deliver to Dewdrops office? I’ve been looking for her.”

The pony blinked. “Yes, but I haven’t seen her all day.”

“Odd. Did she notify anypony she wouldn’t be in?”

“Don’t think so.”

Soarin glanced back at the office with a curious look before a familiar bright blue mane rounded the corner.

“Ah, there she is! Thanks for your help, Penbrook!” he said as he trotted down the hall.

“Um, can I get your autograph sometime?” Penbrook called back.

Soarin’s smile widened as Dewdrops saw him and froze. “Hey, sweetie pie! I was wor—”

Soarin froze as another pony looked at him with the same look Dewdrops had. He was about Soarin’s height, but a little less built and orange with a brown mane.

“Sweetie?” Soarin asked.

“What are you doing here?” she replied.

“I was, uh, looking for you,” he said, looking from the new pony to her. “Is he a relative?”

Dewdrops shifted on her hooves. “No, he’s not.”

“Friend?”

The stallion smiled and held out a hoof. “Hey, you’re Soarin! I’ve always wanted to meet you!”

Soarin smiled and shook his hoof. “Nice to meet you too, erm?”

“Asteroid Smash,” he said, smiling widely. “I’m Dewdrops coltfriend.”

Silence rang out as Soarin’s leg went weak. “Coltfriend?”

“Yeah, she was real upset when we met and covered in puke. I helped her get cleaned up and she asked me out on a date.”

Soarin looked over to Dewdrops.

“Yep, a real gentlecolt,” she said smiling at Asteroid and hugging his leg.

“W-What?” Soarin asked.

Dewdrops shot him an icy look. “Well, since my last coltfriend ditched me for a night of drinking and then threw up all over me, I was understandably upset. Asteroid gave me some new clothes and allowed me to use his shower, so it was only natural we started talking and—”

“Can we talk for a second, Dewdrops?” Soarin asked quickly.

Dewdrops gasped. “If you can’t say it to both of us, then no.”

Soarin ground his teeth as his heart beat in his ears. “Dewdrops, I’m sure that whoever threw up on you is very, very sorry he did.”

Dewdrops turned her nose up at him. “He didn’t seem like it when he acted without thinking.”

Asteroid looked at both of them, a confused expression on his face.

“Perhaps that’s because he was drunk, Dewdrops, and he wasn’t in full control of himself that night.”

“Then he ought to learn his lesson the hard way and deal with what’s happened. After all, he brought it on himself.”

Soarin’s voice caught in his throat as he tried to respond, but Dewdrops spoke first. “Please excuse us, Soarin, but I’d rather not talk about my personal life so casually. Don’t you have something to go do? Like training or flying or whatever you stuntponies do in your spare time?”

Soarin felt his chest burn as he sucked in a breath. “Yes, I believe I do. Sorry for disturbing you.”

He nodded to Asteroid before turning down the hall and trotted off, his hooves echoing with each step.

“Wow, he’s totally not what I expected,” Asteroid murmured as he watched Soarin round another corner.

Dewdrops giggled. “They’re a little jarring, aren’t they? Spitfire’s the worst of the bunch.”

Asteroid looked back at her. “Oh?”

“Yeah, she’s manipulative and just nasty to everypony. But forget about them, tell me more about this book you’re writing. It sounded so fascinating!”

Asteroid smiled as Dewdrops pushed open her office door. “Yeah, it’s about this really cool dragon who comes to Equestria and forges the sun.”





Soarin scowled at the bottle as he gulped down more of its contents. The taste of sour apples made him cringe, but he forced himself to drink the rest. He coughed a few times before wiping his mouth with the back of his hoof.

“You okay over there?” the barpony asked.

“Yeah, just get me another cider,” Soarin grunted.

The barpony popped the cap off the brown bottle and placed it on the counter. Soarin threw his head back and started chugging the sweet liquor before slamming it on the counter. “I hate mares,” he grumbled.

“Why’s that?” the barpony asked as he rubbed a cloth on the inside of a glass.

“They’re so bucking selfish, the lot of them! You make one mistake, especially while drunk off your flank, and they dump you the next morning! No room for sorry, no time to make it up to her, nothing! Just a new piece of flank shows up and that’s it!”

The barpony raised his eyebrows. “Seems like you got in a bit of a spot with one, eh?”

“Got in with two mares, if you can believe it.”

The barpony whistled. “Being you, I’m not that surprised.”

“Yeah, well, it sucks!” Soarin yelled before chugging on the remainder of the bottle. Once it was empty, Soarin placed the bottle on the counter and the barpony whisked it away.

“Well, I hope that one of them isn’t that petty,” he sighed.

Soarin grunted. “Yeah, but she’s not my type.”

“Why not? Sounds like you hooked up with her.”

“I did because we were piss drunk! We couldn’t control what we did and it turned my marefriend into a cold… harshwhinny!”

“Wait, so you cheated on your marefriend? Why are you complaining, then?”

Soarin bit his tongue and pounded a hoof into the counter. “Because she doesn’t know I cheated on her,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“I said, ‘she doesn’t know I cheated on her’!”

The barpony scrunched up his nose. “And you’re sure?”

“She certainly didn’t rub it in my face like she did with what she left me for!”

“And why did she leave you?”

Soarin sighed. “Remember how I said I was piss drunk?”

The barpony nodded.

“I drank too fast and puked on her.”

“Oooo. Ouch. Yeah, I’m not surprised she broke up with you.”

Soarin gave a pointed look at the barpony. “Then what do you recommend I do?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you want her back?”

Soarin froze before he answered. “Not right now, no.”

“What about the other mare? The one you slept with. Does she hate you?”

Soarin brushed some of his mane from his face. “I don’t think so.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

The barpony uncapped another cider and placed it on the counter. “Then why don’t you go see her? If she slept with and doesn’t hate you, then it’s worth a shot.”

Soarin stared at the bottle’s label, glancing over the apples hanging off the tree in the picture. “I told her we can’t be together,” he said tonelessly.

“Why not?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“As long as you answer them, I’ll keep asking.”

Soarin sighed, his head feeling like it was floating. “It’s complicated. Like, really complicated.”

“She special to you?”

Soarin gulped. “Very. She was my colthood friend and has always been there for me.”

“If you’ve known her that long and she’s comfortable sleeping with you, maybe she’s a better option. Sounds like she’s been there for you a lot.”

Soarin frowned as memories of Spitfire flooded his mind. They had been friends since before they could speak and had grown up outside the Wonderbolt stadium, watching the legends perform when they could afford to. He had done so much with her, from sharing small things like his slice of pie and even a scarf so she wouldn’t get a cold. Even when he broke his leg, Spitfire was there, egging him on to do better and smiling the whole time.

“You really think so?” Soarin asked.

The barpony shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt. If she says no, then she says no.”

Soarin picked up the bottle and sipped from it, savoring the flavor. The crisp green apple bite made him think of being at home, when his mom would cook fresh pies for the bakery his family owned. Of course, he and Spitfire would stand there drooling as she pulled them from the oven.





Spitfire lay on her bed, glancing over the pictures of windsurfers and occasionally reading a caption. In the back of her mind, her thoughts were about Soarin and what he and Dewdrops would be talking about. She was sure Dewdrops would forbid him from ever hanging out with her again and possibly talking about taking the story to the presses. It would be rather easy to paint the victim angle from Soarin’s side, especially with a class act liar like Dewdrops training him. 

Still, part of her wondered if Dewdrops would even take back Soarin. It wasn’t like Dewdrops would admit to cheating on him, even if she was caught. Part of her chest twinged as she pictured Soarin’s pained face and how he would blame her for ruining his relationship forever, assuming they would still be friends after this.

Soarin was the last pony she would ever dream of hurting, even if by accident. His family had taken her in from the moment they met and always made sure she had plenty to eat, even when her father lost his job and almost gave her up for adoption. Whenever she cried or needed somepony, though, Soarin was there with a slice of pie, a scarf or even a hug. 

She cherished his kind heart and fun spirit when they were little and felt herself losing touch with him once Dewdrops stepped in. Despite the reconditioning he was forced to go through, Spitfire always knew that at his heart, Soarin was the same silly pony she had grown up with. He would always be there for her, even when she didn’t know she needed him.

Her cheeks began to redden when a pounding came from the front door. She looked up from her magazine and leaned over to see out her bedroom.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Spits, it’s me,” came Soarin’s voice.

Rising from her bed, she hopped off and trotted to the door. She peeked through the small viewer to see the familiar blue mane. She unlocked the door and opened it, catching a waft of green apple cider.

“Soarin? What’re you doing here?” Spitfire asked.

“Hey, Spits,” he said with a glazed smile. “I just came by to see how you were doing.”

She gave the air another sniff. “Are you drunk again?”

“No,” Soarin said, the sharpness returning to his eyes. “I’ve had a bit to drink, but I’m not like that night.”

“Oh, then what’s up?”

“Well, Dewdrops dumped me,” he said, looking at his hooves.

Spitfire rocked on her own hooves. “Can’t say I’m surprised by that.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t able to tell her about, uh, what happened between us.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t?”

“Yeah, she got some new punk of a coltfriend. He’s orange and has some dumb name about comets or angels or something.”

“And you didn’t tell her about what happened… why?”

Soarin gulped. “Er, well, because she kept talking about me puking on her.”

“And that was it?”

“That’s what she said did it for her.”

Spitfire kicked a little puff of cloud before Soarin looked her in the eye. “Sorry,” she mumbled, looking down at her hooves.

“Hey, don’t be sorry. You didn’t puke on her.”

Spitfire’s vision began to blur. “Yeah, but if I listened to you and didn’t force you to drink—”

“I would’ve done it anyway. You know that.”

She shook her head. “No, you would’ve been sm-smarter than m-me and j-just left.”

A tear began to roll down her nose. She had done it this time. She had ruined his life. As she struggled to stop herself from crying, a blue hoof reached out and gently touched her chin. She looked up at Soarin while he wiped the tear off her, smiling the whole time.

“Spits, I may have changed for Dewdrops, but I’ll never abandon my friends,” he said.

He gave her no time to reply before pulling her into a hug. Spitfire shook slightly, but returned the hug, staving off the rest of the tears. His hug was warm, comforting and just felt right. She smiled as he let her go and they stared at each other for a few seconds.

“Hey, want to come in?” she asked. “I have some blueberry pie leftover.”

Soarin nodded and smiled. “I’d love some.”





To say Soarin was a messy eater was a massive understatement. The single slice of pie had become a mushy mess all over the plate. His hooves had turned as blue as his mane as he tried to lick the filling off, making Spitfire chuckle. Growing up in a bakery, Soarin adored pie above all other pastries. Apple and peach were his favorites, but he ate just about any other kind except pumpkin.

“Think you could’ve made a bigger mess?” she asked.

Soarin paused licking his hoof and glanced at her, his tongue still attached to it. His goofy face made her chuckle again as she picked up the plate with her wing.

“I’ll get the dishes. The bathroom is over near my bedroom if you want to use soap instead of saliva to clean up.”

She trotted into the kitchen and hummed as she turned on the water, rinsing the remaining pie from it. Grabbing the dish soap, she began to lather up the sponge when a hoof touched her back. Turning, she was about to say something when a set of lips pressed to hers, tasting suspiciously like blueberries. Spitfire gasped and pulled back, separating herself from Soarin.

“What was that for?” she asked, her voice on the verge of cracking.

“I thought about what you said back at the hotel, Spits.”

“We agreed we wouldn’t do that!”

“As long as I was with Dewdrops,” Soarin replied, his tone serious.

“I remember you saying you would never agree to it.”

“Well, let me make my offer, then,” he said, staring her in the eyes. “I want to make you happy and if this is what does it for you, I’ll happily do it as long as either one of us doesn’t have a mare or coltfriend.”

“Soarin, I’m happy just seeing you happy. Sex isn’t what I want from you! I don’t know why I brought that up then, but—”

“But you did, and I told you as long as I was still with Dewdrops, I wouldn’t do it. She dumped me for other reasons and now if your offer still stands, I would be happy to agree.”

Spitfire gagged for a moment on her own voice as her cheeks reddened. “B-but I nearly ruined your life!” she cried.

Soarin narrowed his eyes. “If you really don’t want to, tell me it now without an excuse as to why not.”

Her voice caught again as she stared at him, her excuses melting with each second. There were millions of reasons not to sleep with Soarin, but all the ones she could come up with were flimsy at best. She had enjoyed that night with him and she had been thinking about it almost nonstop since, despite her facade.

Now all she had to do was say yes.

“If we do this, I want to set some ground rules,” she said, lifting a shaking hoof. “First, this isn’t a romance of any kind. We do this to help each other feel good; no dates, flowers or anything.”

Soarin nodded.

“Second, you are to avoid any kind of sex with me during my heat. I will let you know when the next one is, but that whole time, you stay away from me. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“And third, nopony knows about this. We don’t tell Fleetfoot, the trainers, Dewdrop, anypony. This is strictly between you and me.”

Soarin smiled. “Done. Anything else?”

Spitfire shook her head. “Not unless you have anything.“

“Are fetishes banned?”

Spitfire gulped. “No bondage or domination. That stuff creeps me out.”

“Likewise,” Soarin said with a smile. “Is food out of the question?”

Spitfire gave a small giggle. “Whipped cream and fruits are fine. If you want something bigger, like pies, we need to talk it over.”

Soarin nodded. “I accept these terms and conditions.”

“You sure?” Spitfire asked, staring into his eyes. “Don’t say yes unless you are absolutely sure.”

Soarin stared back for a few seconds and leaned towards her.

“I’m sure,” he said before planting another blueberry flavored kiss on her.

Spitfire didn’t resist him this time as he picked her up and placed her rump on the counter, his tongue dancing about with hers. It felt right, and that was all she needed to know.