Rainbow fireflies flitted in the advancing dusk, blinking all colours of the spectrum. The chorus of night was just getting started, warming up really, and sleepy bats were just waking up for the nightly feast. It was the perfect sort of night, the sort of night that could only exist on some delta or bayou. The salty tang from the ocean tickled the nose and with every other sight and sound, the senses were left dazzled.
For Buttermilk, it was a night made all the more perfect by sharing it with somepony. She and Copperquick sat on the porch together, enjoying one another’s company, that soul-satisfying feeling of just being close. Little Esmeralda explored the grass while Mighty Midge remained close to her side. This filled Buttermilk with joy, because Esmeralda was getting to know her grandfather—at least, this was how Buttermilk saw what was happening. It was a perfect night, filled with perfect dreams, and all hopes for the future seemed possible.
The fuzzy-headed intoxication of love made everything better.
“Copper”—she kept her voice low, above a whisper but below her normal volume—“Moomy said some stuff about earth ponies, and rather than live in fear of it or wondering if it was true, I thought I’d just ask some questions and know the truth for myself.”
“She got inside your head, did she?” he responded, his soft tone matching hers.
“That’s what worries me, Copper. There’s probably a grain of truth to some of what she said, at least enough truth to build a really believable lie, or to give credence to her distortion of the truth. I refuse to live in fear and doubt though, so I want to sort these out. If there is some truth to it, and there probably is, then I hope to find it.”
“Seems reasonable, Miss Oddbody.”
“You’re being flirty… I like that. Calling me, ‘Miss Oddbody.’ You’re a funny pony.” Reaching up with her left foreleg, she touched Copperquick on the neck, just so she could feel his life-force with her frog. “Some of my questions might be shocking, Copper, so let’s try to maintain a scholarly bent during our exchange. And I need you to be honest. I can’t stress that enough. Don’t hold back for fear of being embarrassed or for the sake of being polite. I’m a big filly now, I’ve been bred and everything, so you don’t need to worry about causing irreparable harm to my delicate, virgin ears.”
“You really are serious about this, aren’t you?”
“I need a serum to get my mother’s poisonous words out of my head.”
At that moment, Buttermilk realised just how serious the problem was with her mother. It had occurred to her before, but never with the clarity she had right now. Butter Fudge was a product of her upbringing, the sum of her collected experiences. Thoughtful, reflective, Buttermilk wondered if there was some way she might help her mother, but other than getting her mother to question her long-held beliefs, not much came to mind.
Something about the way Copper smelled right now intrigued her senses. There was the invigourating scent of soap; beneath that, there was something else, something that could not be described—she could not say what it was—only that it left her feeling giddy and excited. Could trust have a scent? It was a curious question that lingered in the undercurrents of her thoughts. She had trusted him, she had laid on the bed, legs wide, with everything she kept concealed now left exposed and vulnerable to him; in doing so, she had claimed a most extraordinary reward. Since then, there was something about how Copperquick smelled to her and it had a curious reaction with her perceptions.
She longed to bury her face into his pelt and breathe deep, but maintained her composure, because she was focused and had purpose. Later though… later tonight, she would rub every inch of her body against every inch of his and breathe in his essence until she found whatever satisfaction was there to be had. The very thought of doing so was titillating—and distracting.
“Copper, how much do you think about… you know. Are you thinking about it right now?”
He turned his head and his ears, splayed out in relaxed position, stood up. “Just what did your mother say to you?”
“Nevermind what my mother said, let’s keep this scholarly and preserve the outcome. I don’t want what my mother said influencing your answer. Just be candid and let’s try to sort out the truth amongst ourselves, shall we?” As she asked her question, she heard him sigh, a resigned sound. She applied light pressure with her hoof and felt a chilly-hot thrill when his light, corded muscles rippled beneath her touch. “Now, out with it. Are you a pervert that has constant thoughts of copulation?”
“That is suggestive language, Miss Oddbody and I feel that—”
“Give me an answer, Copper.”
Again, he sighed, and then responded in a low whisper, “The thoughts of sex are pretty much never-ending. They’re just there. It’s part of being an earth pony. It’s like an itch in the back of the mind. Yes, even now, especially now, I am thinking of all the things I’d like to do with you. And to you. And how you might respond. And what you might do to me in return.”
“But… we just did… it. Not all that long ago.”
Copperquick’s silence spoke volumes and after what felt like several minutes, Buttermilk realised that she wasn’t going to get a response. It occurred to her that they had different needs, different expectations; she was sore and sated, while he was ready and willing to go again, no doubt at a moment’s notice. So there was an element of truth in what her mother had said. She had so hoped that her mother was wrong, that she was lying, that her words were baseless, so all of this was rather crushing.
Buttermilk chose a different approach. “Copper, tell me, what’s it like being an earth pony? Help me understand you. I don’t want our future spoiled with thoughts of fear, doubt, and uncertainty. My mother, she put a lot of gobbledygook into my head, and it’s stuck there. It’s not coming out or going away until I find something to replace it with.”
“The itch starts young,” he said, his words only barely audible. “My father said it’s a type of magic… our magic. Pegasus ponies fly, unicorns cast spells, and earth ponies, we make more ponies. My dad gave me the talk… I don’t recall how old I was. Almost ten?”
There was a long sigh followed by a deep breath.
“He told me that pegasus ponies have to learn how to fly and that unicorns have to learn how to focus magic. Pegasus ponies have to learn all the rules of the sky and unicorns have to learn what they should and shouldn’t do with their magic. He called it being responsible. Then he told me that earth ponies have to do much the same. We have to learn to control our magic and use it responsibly. Unicorns can go bad with their magic, hurting others, and so can earth ponies.”
Feeling him shudder, Buttermilk leaned in a little closer to Copperquick and listened.
“I’ve tried to be good. I’ll admit, I went a little wild for awhile when I first came to Equestria. But nothing that wasn’t consensual. Just… reckless I guess. Sowing my oats. I was aggressive in my pursuance, but understood that no meant no. I did make mistakes though, and I’ve told you about that. You slapped me. But I can behave myself… I’ve slept next to you in bed and didn’t jump your bones unawares, or wake you up with surprise sex. I’ve been tempted though… you’re a warm body and I have strong needs. The itch gets pretty bad sometimes, but like a unicorn controls his magic, or a pegasus pony controls the wind, I keep my magic controlled.”
A heaviness settled over Buttermilk, an actual physical sensation, and she was keenly aware of the fact that she had slept with Copperquick. She had trusted him, she had trusted that she could sleep unmolested, and while it was unsettling to hear him admit to being tempted, it was reassuring to know that he knew how to behave himself. Therein lay the difference, perhaps; somepony had a talk with Copper and instruction had been given. A sense of responsibility had been instilled. Perhaps her mother’s father had never received such a talk, or a sense of control hadn’t been established. But Copperquick, while driven by powerful magical compulsions, was no mindless sex fiend.
Control or no, it didn’t change the fact that he had powerful urges, and she found herself reflecting upon these. There was, afterall, a grain of truth to her mother’s words, and poor Moomy had seen what happens when somepony had failed to take responsibility. It had scarred her, and rightfully so. Left her wary of her own kind. There was no excuse for bigotry, but there were explanations for its cause. Butter Fudge had seen the worst of what an earth pony could do, which was very much the same sort of destruction that a unicorn might do with no control over their magic, but on a different scale. The outcomes were similar though; harm had been done to others, irreparable harm that stemmed from a lack of control.
A blue-blinking firefly zoomed past her nose, but Buttermilk failed to notice.
“I’ll try to be considerate of your needs—”
“No, no it falls on me to be responsible for myself,” Copperquick said, quick to assert himself and to establish his position on the issue. “I know what you are about to say, and my father warned me about this. It’s easy to use this as an excuse for poor behaviour when and if the circumstances change. You’re not beholden to relieve my needs.”
For some reason, this frustrated Buttermilk, though she could not think of why. This was a problem—a real problem—and Copperquick it seemed, was determined to face it on his own. Even worse, what he said made sense. Whatever lessons his father had given him had sunk in and now that Copperquick was maturing, settling into his role as both a father and soon-to-be husband, he was taking these lessons to heart.
Still, it went without saying; Copperquick had needs and possessed a sex-drive greater than her own. While she wasn’t beholden to him—there was an important distinction in this thought—she could choose to be supportive of these needs or indifferent. Therein lay the distinction; she had a choice. This is what her mother had failed to grasp. For Butter Fudge, marital duties were more like a contractual obligation—you did them, frequently and often, or you faced the consequences, either real or imagined. Butter Fudge had witnessed these consequences, though they stemmed from different circumstance, and they were very real to her.
Buttermilk was lucky to have parents from two different tribes. Her father had taught her pegasus stuff—important pegasus stuff, and from her mother, she had some earth pony perspective, though perhaps flawed. These perspectives, flawed or not, still had value, they had meaning, they were something that could be learned from. Perhaps she had learned more from them because they were flawed, and they had come from an earth pony that had inherited faulty values. Little Esmeralda would learn about being an earth pony from Copperquick—and for some reason, this thought was immensely reassuring. But… if Copperquick stayed with Moomy due to circumstance… every feather on her wings fluffed out and she suffered a dreadful case of piloerection down the length of her spine.
Some of Moomy’s awful teachings could rub off on poor Esmeralda.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied, right away and without hesitation.
“You’ve doubled in size—”
“Shush, you, I had a troubling thought about Moomy. I’d rather not mention it.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I’m glad we had this talk. I think I understand you just a little bit better. Understanding your needs and what they are have given me a lot to think about. I know what you said, and I respect that, but that doesn’t stop me from being mindful about your needs. Our needs are very different though, as I’m sure you’ll find. I have nesting urges, for example. They started when I was young. I’d construct extravagant nests and Moomy, she always thought they were a bit silly, but Daddums encouraged me to build bigger, better nests. I’m not sure our needs compare though… I just want to build nests and you… well… you—”
“Those nests have to be filled,” Copperquick murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
A hot flush burned along the base of Buttermilk’s neck, rose along her throat, and set her face ablaze. “Indeed. Quite. Perhaps our needs are more complimentary than I first thought.”
Biting her lip, Buttermilk thought of a new way to indulge in her quirk, of making a nest and luring Copperquick into it. The very thought of doing so ignited a fire in her loins that rivaled the inferno blazing upon her face. All of her belly muscles tightened when her groin clenched and she realised that, even with as sore as she was, or as tired as she was, she could most certainly have another go; it was just a matter of arousal, of getting the fires stoked again.
But the day was long and Copperquick had a race to win on the morrow…