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// 2. Fluffier Than the Best Pancake 
// Story: The Sweetest Treat 
// by Carapace 
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Maple came trotting over to the kitchen table, where his family always dined in the back of the building, free from the customers’ prying eyes, with a bowl of warm water and a soaking washcloth balanced on his wing casing.

The handsome pegasus sat at the table, his face still singed and feathers bristling indignantly. He sniffed, glaring at the wisps of smoke wafting from his coat. Then he glanced over at Maple.

Those eyes burned like molten gold, full of the raging storm of Hurricane’s kin. Maple’s heart skipped a beat, he turned to show his burden to Alto before slowly setting them down before him.

“Here,” Maple said softly as he took the dampened cloth in hoof and wrung it out. Then he held it toward Alto. “Let me help you.”

Alto’s glare faltered. He looked down at the table and huffed a breath through his nose. “You don’t have to,” he muttered just barely above a whisper, enough that Maple could detect a hint of bitter shame. “I can clean myself.”

Maple pulled the cloth back so it was a just out of reach, shaking his head. “You protected me and made sure I didn’t get anything on me. It’s the least I can do.”

“I blew up an experiment in your Aunt’s shop. I doubt she’ll be happy about that.”

She wouldn’t, but Alto didn’t need to know that. Besides, it wasn’t like crazy things hadn’t gone on around here before. “Breezy’s done worse. Far worse. Please.” Maple decided to play a little dirty. He bent low so he could meet Alto’s gaze, then tilted his head to one side and stuck his bottom lip out ever so slightly. “Please let me help a friend.”

Periwinkle feathers twitched and fluffed. Alto ducked his head, muttering something under his breath as his cheeks took on a rosy hue.

Then he let out a sigh and nodded once, and sat up straight so Maple could more easily clean his face.

A happy chitter nearly rolled from the back of Maple’s throat, but he managed to swallow it down. He stepped closer and reared up, gently resting his free hoof on Alto’s shoulder. “Hold still,” he commanded softly. “You’ve got a lot all over your cu—your face.”

Either Alto missed his slip or simply paid it no mind. Thank love for small mercies, the young cook thought. He gently placed the washcloth against Alto’s cheek and slowly began wiping his handsome face.

Those golden eyes fluttered then slowly shut. The pegasus let out a deep sigh and leaned into the warm, soft caress, the tiniest of smiles tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Maple didn’t bother hiding the merry grin that split his face. He set about his work with all the concentration and tender care with which he prepared his pancakes. Slowly, but surely, he washed away the remnants of burned coat and ash staining Alto’s periwinkle cheeks and muzzle, his eyes drawn to wander over that contented, peaceful face.

And such a lovely face it was! One that almost begged to be kissed with every inch of blackened coat he chased away.

What he would give for the right to do just that. The right to lick and kiss and nip it all over until those gorgeous wings unfurled and feathers fluffed as Alto arched his back against Maple, exposing his tender neck for several sweet kisses. Enough to draw a shuddering gasp and a whimper, then a blind puckering of his lips. And then, if Maple kept up his pursuit, a whine and whispered plea that he stop playing and grace those lips with the sensuous kiss they so richly deserved.

Not yet, he reminded himself. They had only just met. It might have been the way in Paradise, where his charms were welcome and encouraged to help ponies let go of their inhibitions and let their desires and feelings spill forth, but it wasn’t so in Respite.

Still the want was there. So much affection to lavish, so much sweet, delectable love.

“Uh, excuse me, changeling?” Alto’s voice cut through his thoughts. “I think my face is sufficiently cleaned, it doesn’t feel quite as crispy now.”

Maple let out a startled chitter, drawing back as if he’d burned his hoof on a hot stove. “S-Sorry! I was just lost in thought!”

Alto gave a wry smile. “It’s okay, changeling. It happens to me too. Quite often when I’m bored and would rather be doing my experiments.” Suddenly, his smile faltered. He furrowed his brows in thought, his golden eyes bored deep into Maple’s. “I’ve only just realized that I never asked for your name. And after I demanded you call me Alto, too. That’s quite rude of me.”

“What? No, I’m sure you—I mean, I’m pretty sure you asked, didn’t …” his voice trailed off. Maple tried to wrack his brain. Thinking back, Alto was absolutely right. He hadn’t asked.

Maple had failed to seize the opportunity to make such a sweeping introduction, to make a real impression like a proper Enchanter. Clenching his eyes shut, he cursed himself. His parents and siblings would laugh themselves silly if they ever heard! First an Enchanter enchanted by a pony he fancied, then he’d been undercut after failing to make an introduction!

But wait. He’d washed Alto’s face! Surely that counted as something suitably flirty and sensuous for an Enchanter, right?

“So,” Alto said almost hesitantly, “I’m, uh, Alto, like I said. It’s nice to meet you, even though it came with blowing myself, and nearly you, up. What’s your name?”

There it was. His chance to make a proper impression as an Enchanter, dashed upon the stones.

Ducking his head, he mumbled. “Maple. I’m Maple of the Enchanter hive. It’s been lovely to meet you, Alto.”

Maple expected the usual reaction from visitors—a thousand questions about his hive, why he and Auntie Vigil left Paradise for Respite, and so on. Or, always his favorites, if he used his charm on patrons.

Of course, the answer was no. Never. But he did feed when permitted, of course. And they were all delicious. Always.

Alto didn’t so much as blink, though. Instead, he tilted his head in consideration. “Maple,” he repeated as if testing it on his tongue. Or perhaps tasting it. After a moment, he smiled and waggled his ears.

Maple felt like he could just melt at the mere sight of such a dazzling smile.

“Maple,” Alto repeated again. “I like that name. It suits you.”

“O-Oh?” Maple found himself stammering. “How so?”

“You’re warm. And sweet. Just like maple syrup from Vanhoover.”

Like maple syrup from Vanhoover? Oh! Be still, my heart!

Forget Enchanter culture and pride. His parents could suck misery if they took issue with the way his entire face burned as the blood raced to fill his cheeks, or how he bit his bottom lip and buzzed his wings.

Flirting and honeyed words could get a dose of venom for all he cared. Maple was going to chase his love the way his Caretaker cousins did.

And he would see it end with either friendship or Alto held snug in his hooves, then dozing off in a warm cocoon in his slime bedpod.

“I-I’m …” Maple licked his lips. Oh, how he longed for a kiss! But he had to say it, his heart hammered in his chest and ached for him to speak his mind.

Beguile was the first. Let himself be the second. For such a handsome colt—no, not a colt. For such a handsome stallion, he would happily sing it from the mountains of Paradise to the Neighagara Forest surrounding Respite.

Maple grinned from ear to ear. “I’m enchanted to make your acquaintance, Alto.”