The rest of our afternoon passes by uneventfully, and the time of our date fast approaches. We bid each other a brief farewell to return to our respective homes before meeting again. Fluttershy told me to meet her on a vista about a mile out of Ponyville at civil twilight, but she didn't tell me why or what we would be doing, only to bring the food and nothing more; she would bring the rest.
And so I walk up the hill with nothing more than a picnic basket of provisions to find Fluttershy already there, having laid out a blanket for us to sit on. The breeze is light and cool, and it is just enough to lift her mane from her neck and float it in the wind. Every strand glows with a golden sheen, backlit by the setting sun. The golden gild frames her face, soft and gentle, adorned with a tiny smile. She is beautiful.
Fluttershy turns her eyes to me, and her smile widens ever so slightly. I smile back and quicken my pace to join her. Once I do, she extends a wing in invitation, and I place myself right next to her as she drops it on me in familiar embrace. We look to each other again before looking out upon our Ponyville. No further words are necessary.
The view is spectacular. Fluttershy chose for us to meet just as the sun was starting to cast its lovely red hues on our town. It flashes bright on the roofs of the houses where lightning rods and wind vanes have been posted. And as the shadows lengthen before our eyes, ponies turn in for the night, preparing to go to bed and ready themselves for tomorrow. What ponies that are outside fast disappear into their homes. We stay seated, holding each other, silent sentinels watching our town go to sleep. I've always known Ponyville was beautiful, but watching this presents a whole new perspective on that.
Fluttershy lifts an apple from the basket and presents it to me. So round and polished as Applejack's fruits are, I can see my reflection in it. I take a delicate bite of it just as Fluttershy does the same from the other side.
Fluttershy's home is just visible from our current vantage point, the border between Ponyville and the Everfree Forest. On first glance, it doesn't look like a home—perhaps a tree overgrowth—but it's there for those who look, a lovely mix of forest green, earthy brown, and golden orange. A pity, then, that it's so far away from my home on the opposite end of Ponyville. It's almost fitting that they're so far apart; one wouldn't think my cultivated glamor would like to be close to her nearly untamed disposition. That is, if one didn't know the pony inside any better. No—beauty is everywhere. Of course the path between my home and hers is more well-trodden than one would expect.
I light my magic and retrieve a single flower from the basket, nibbling on a petal of the dahlia. Then I snap another petal off and float it over beside me, feeding it to my Fluttershy. We take turns working over the flower down to the head before discarding the root, retrieving another, and resuming anew. All the while not taking our eyes off of our beautiful town. With the slow and intimate way we consume our provisions, it's clear there will be plenty for the animals around to feed on once we're finished.
The castle is the single anomaly of Ponyville, a flash of sparkle in a rustic neighborhood. Long have I thought my home was the most glamorous; I have since conceded that distinction. That fact makes it no less beautiful, though. The crystal that constructs it is translucent, and where the light of sunset hits and pierces it, it creates a dazzling mottle of colors on the ground below, a stained-glass pattern that migrates across the road leading to the castle as the sun's angle grows ever shallower. The castle scintillates as the wind blows; the wind flexes the massive branches of the castle just enough to reflect some of the sun's light into our eyes. There's a pony and a dragon working hard inside, oblivious to the beauty they're surrounded by. Perhaps they would benefit from slowing down and taking some time to appreciate it; Fluttershy has taught me that much.
There's endless beauty to be found, and one doesn't need to go far to find it. These pockets of beauty and tranquility in even the most familiar of places—Fluttershy has a special skill in locating them.
When we're both satiated and slow down in our feeding, I take what's left of our food in the picnic basket and cast it down the hill. The scattered fruits and vegetables are quickly taken up by the rabbits and squirrels and raccoons scampering in the meadow below us.
I lean my head against Fluttershy's. "Thank you for bringing me here, sweetheart. This place is beautiful." But even as I say that, I know she wants to show me one more thing, something possibly even more beautiful.
"Just wait," she says, never taking her eyes off our town.
Slowly but inexorably, the details of the eastward walls of Ponyville's buildings vanish, swallowed by darkness. Shadows grow in length and depth, soon finding every surface of our town and painting them dark. The light of yesterday grows ever weaker as the sun dips farther below the horizon, almost unnoticeable on the land and only barely so in the sky. And once the last light of sunset dies, leaving only a diffuse glow of purple, I feel a light prod against my side.
I look to Fluttershy, and she looks to me. She closes her eyes and faces back forward. I close my eyes and mirror her movement.
As Fluttershy well knows, and as she has since taught me, the beauty of the sight of anything can be complemented—even overshadowed—by the beauty of sound. It's a fast-moving life most of us live, but Fluttershy lives slowly enough to know of another invisible world that's always all around us—a knowledge she's passing on to me. Those quiet and near-unperceivable noises that make up one's soundscape can be of breathtaking beauty if one only takes the time to let them speak.
As we meditate, seconds turn to minutes turn to hours; time seems to matter little when there are no visual cues to tell you of its passage. And there are a lot of things to listen for. Twilight is a wonderful time where diurnal, nocturnal, and crepuscular animals are all active in some capacity.
The birds of day are nearly silent; their waking hours are nearly finished. I hear no chirps or songs or whistling now; it's too late for such things. Only the occasional drumming of wingbeats betray their presence. When they fly, they cross my soundscape and stop behind me with the light rustle of leaves. Then comes another brief drumming as the birds ruffle their feathers for warmth. When they're silent, they seem to disappear in my world. Minutes may pass before they present themselves to me again. And I know, eventually, there will come a time when all the birds fall asleep and vanish entirely.
The owls of night are waking; their lively hours are just beginning. They don't hoot at all, not yet, but they also cross above and behind me with their slower, broader wingbeats. They're such efficient flyers, though; I can just barely make out the sound of their wings, blunt and low. More overt is the breeze that reaches my coat as they fly above us. Thank goodness these owls get along with the smaller birds in the same tree. As much as I love the sounds of birds, I'm not so keen on the sounds of hunting.
I hear a small branch of the tree crack as an owl lands on one, too weak to support its full weight. As the branch breaks, the tree lurches, and every twig and leaf on it rustles and shudders. At the same time, a loud flurry of wingbeats reaches my ears as the birds, startled, briefly take to the air. This cacophony doesn't last long, though; the wingbeats fade away as birds re-land on their perches. Once again, their world grows silent and disappears from my soundscape.
The raccoon is one animal that bridges their life between day and night; they have equal stake in both. Strange, then, that right now, I don't hear much of them. I heard some scampering earlier where I cast our food, but I hear nothing there now. Our food must have been scavenged already, and the raccoons may have moved on.
Fireflies are another creature of twilight, however, and they seem quite active to my ears. The drumming of their wings is faster than the birds and owls, making a low-pitched buzzing sound. I can only hear them clearly when they cross close to my ears, but that happens frequently enough that there must be a lot of them around. There's something in me that rebels against the notion of being surrounded by bugs, but surely, there's beauty to be found here too, so I suppress the urge to swat them away. Truly, it could be any insect flying around us; every insect buzz sounds the same to me. (Fluttershy might disagree.) But fireflies are the only ones who seem to swarm at this hour. And if I'm right . . .
I open my eyes slowly and gasp in wonder. I was right. The curious little things seemed to have congregated around us, investigating who has found their way to their meeting grounds. Despite the darkness, though, I can see them clearly. With the sun well and truly set, sources of light are few. Any semblance of disgust I had is washed away by the moonlight filtering through the tree behind us and the floating green lights our new friends provide.
I prod Fluttershy's side softly, prompting her to open her eyes. When she does, she smiles, having seemingly already identified our new visitors. She clicks her tongue twice, and a single firefly is summoned to hover in front of her. She murmurs a few inaudible words to it, and it flies back to rest of the group, darting around within the mass. A few seconds later, the cloud of fireflies disperses only to re-congregate a small distance away. I gaze in wonder again at the fireflies, now in a ring around us, slowly circling.
The fireflies have enclosed us in our own little world, and my gaze drifts to the only other being inside it. She looks to me, and our eyes lock together. The fireflies cast dozens of moving catch-lights in her eyes, drawing scintillating patterns in her turquoise irises. As if her eyes didn't already sparkle enough. And her face is illuminated by a mosaic of moving green lights, casting short-lived shadows in all directions. This glowing, divine, beautiful being is Fluttershy. A master of nature. Unparalleled listener. Empathy embodied. Kindness incarnate.
The pony I love.
She leans in close to me and whispers quietly, "I love you so much."
Just as quietly, I whisper back, "I love you too."
She moves her head to mine and drops her eyelids. I do the same, rotating my head a little and wetting my lips.
We touch. I shiver.
Slowly, cautiously, I bring my forehooves from the ground to wrap around my lover's body, drawing our bodies together. She brings her own hooves to my back to match mine. Fluttershy moans happily and opens her mouth, letting us deepen the kiss. We draw ever closer still into more intimate embrace.
I only break our liplock for as long as it takes to draw a breath. I plunge back into Fluttershy's mouth, sharing my air with her.
Fluttershy summons a hoof from my back to run through my mane. I always take care to make sure nopony sees me without it perfectly in place, but Fluttershy, as with so many things, is an exception. I feel her hoof running through the curls, and as she does, some locks of hair break off from their companions to float freely and land on my face. I feel my coiffure becoming disturbed, disheveled. Yet, I can't find the means to do anything more than sweep them back when they interfere with our kissing. Let my marefriend play; personal presentation can wait.
I feel a tickling near my bottom, on the cutie mark. I flinch, thinking it an unwelcome animal to our date. Our firefly sentries should have kept them out, surely. But when I bring my tail to sweep whatever it is away, I find it was Fluttershy's own tail doing the tickling. Smiling against her lips, I do as she does and bring my tail over to her cutie mark. But before it touches, she bats my tail away with hers playfully.
Oh, I see. En garde, sweetheart.
We play our little game with our tails, trying to touch each other's cutie marks. We stab with our tails, parry thrusts, and try to gain the upper hoof. It's unfortunate that hers is longer than mine is, more able to strike and defend with the tip; I need to work strategically to get around it. I play her tail's position, feinting close to her body so she moves it there and I can circle around her guard. Surely she's left herself open now; she can't move her tail that quickly to—
Fluttershy whines into my mouth. I pause. It's only now that I realize I've been lax in my kissing while scheming, and she is reminding me of that, pleading me to give her a little more attention. I oblige, extending my tongue again to match hers. But Fluttershy is cunning, and with my mind momentarily occupied on the kiss, she strikes. Before I can counter, she pins my tail to the ground with the root of hers and brings its tip to my cutie mark once again.
Checkmate. I would cry foul for the move, but I won a kiss in our exchange.
I break our kiss and open my eyes for what feels like the first time in hours, Fluttershy following me seconds later. I touch her nose with mine, and we gaze at each other. The night has deepened, and some of our firefly friends have left. Even so, with the meager light and my unfocused eyes, I can just make out a wispy pink blush that seems to be permanently painted on Fluttershy's cheeks.
"Well played, sweetheart," I whisper. Fluttershy responds by unlocking my tail and putting her lips at the base of my horn. I crane my neck and lean back a little to try to match. But when we meet lips again, she drives forward into them, and I lose my balance. The world seems to slow down for us as I fall backwards and hit the ground, the blanket and grass under me cushioning my fall. Fluttershy follows in lockstep, holding me tight and falling with me, never separating her lips from mine.
With Fluttershy on top of me, she leads our dance once again, unlocking her hooves from my back to feel up and down my flanks. I mirror the gesture, bringing my own hooves up to find her wings. Fluttershy's wings willed her to be a pegasus, and they are incredible things. Large, warm, and more powerful than I think Fluttershy gives them credit for. I stroke and massage them gently, pressing just enough to spread her primaries and explore the roots.
When I move my hooves to slip them under her wings, I coax them open, feeling every one of her individual feathers. Her flight feathers are smooth and very stiff, while her coverts are softer and more downy. Every feather is a work of art, and they're all attached to a wingshoulder of phenomenal strength for its size. Everything coalesces together into a magical creation capable of flight. It's a masterpiece of near-infinite complexity, developed to foster an incredible ability. I will never understand everything there is to know about them, and those on Fluttershy intrigue and beguile me every day. The wings flap a few times, seemingly of their own accord, each time casting a mighty breeze to wash over the bodies below. I explore a little further down her wing, past where it attaches to her back. When I brush the point between her wingshoulders, she lets out a squeak and shivers.
Fluttershy wraps her wings around to her front, and her largest primaries brush against me. With strength that bely their appearance, she uses her largest feathers to lift my head from the ground and cradle it from underneath, a more delicate and tender caress than any hoof could provide. I crack an eye open to see a magnificent canopy of yellow feathers all around and above, disappearing at Fluttershy's back. That golden coronet frames her face, eyes still closed, blush more prominent . . . and I don't quite like that expression.
Slowly, Fluttershy starts moving, then rocking, then gyrating against me. Her lips break from mine to kiss in a few other places—my eyelid, my muzzle, my neck, and back to my own lips. In her movements, she starts generating a bit of friction between—
I quickly raise a hoof in the air. Even though she doesn't necessarily see it, she recognizes the gesture. She breaks the kiss, stops her movement, and folds her wings. "Rarity?" she asks, a twinge of concern in her voice.
I know what she's looking for, and I want it too. If only for her. Even as much as I don't want to see that expression, I don't like wiping it from her face. The one and only time when my sexuality and her gender come to conflict . . . It's the one thing I can't give her easily. Just because she's an exception to the rule doesn't mean the rule doesn't exist. I love her despite her sex, not because of it.
I know that it isn't insurmountable by any means, my preferences, but it is an obstacle that has to be overcome. It takes time, and it's difficult. Kissing, cuddling . . . Those gestures are lovely, even moreso from somepony who puts so much into them. But if my sweetheart is asking for more than that, I inevitably start thinking . . .
I’m not gay.
With nothing but our bodies on a night I wasn't expecting her to make advances on me . . . It's just like the night of our very first date. I felt it once, and I never want to feel it again: that horrible feeling of visceral disgust directed towards somepony I love.
I clamber out from underneath Fluttershy and sit up. The fireflies once around us are gone. The only light is that of the tranquil moon and the emerging stars. Even that light is weak and just enough to illuminate Fluttershy's face. Curious . . . but worried.
"I think . . . it's time for us to go to bed," I say slowly, despondently. There's an unspoken apology in that suggestion.
"Oh. Um, okay." Fluttershy says, trying to hide her disappointment. She was hoping for something different.
Should I? Should I continue? I don't want to disappoint her for something I know is possible—for something I know we are capable of. We can try—but what if I fail again? I'll only have disappointed my love even more than she is now. We've already found such magic tonight on this hill; I'll be risking it all by continuing, by trying to give her a greater happiness. I want it. I know I want it for her. She's hurt even now, and I can fix it. But when my first thought at that notion is apprehension, my instinct must be telling me something. I will never be disgusted by Fluttershy again; I will never subject her to that. I cannot—
"Rarity!" Fluttershy jumps up and embraces me in a sudden, tight hug. "It's okay," she says behind my shoulder. Her breathing is fast, almost panicked. It's now that I realize that mine is too. For something that should be so joyous and so easy, with Fluttershy, the one I love so much . . . "I don't mind, really. We don't need to do . . . that if you don't want to. Nothing's wrong."
'Nothing's wrong?' So she is upset . . .
"I still love you, Rarity. Please don't give up on me. I still . . ." She pauses for a moment before breaking our embrace and stepping back.
"W-wait."
I see Fluttershy extending one of her wings to its full span before crossing it in front of her and taking a hold of it in her mouth. She draws her wing across her lips like a sword through a sheath, stopping at the root of her last and largest pinion. She licks there a few times before taking it out of her mouth, moving it to the ground, anchoring the same feather there with a hoof. I realize what she's planning to do a moment too late.
Before I can stop her, she yanks her wing up in a swift motion, and with a sound like the snap of bone, the largest pinion of her right wing is ripped out of its wing. I cringe, recoiling instinctively. I can't imagine what pain that would cause or how sensitive that area is, but whatever the case, Fluttershy doesn't make a sound. Even as a few drops of crimson weep from her wing, she only brings the wing up to her mouth and licks its wound clean like it was just a scratch.
"Wh-what did you do?" I stutter, my previous thoughts completely gone and replaced with horror. Why did she . . . ? How will she fly now, her right wing so maimed and unbalanced from her left? It will be . . . I don't even know how long until that feather grows back to its former length. There must be some long-term damage. It might not even grow back properly. Not to mention that horrible snap.
Fluttershy doesn't answer with words; she takes the pinion in her mouth and drops it in front of my trembling hooves. "It's . . . It's a pegasus custom," she begins, "for a pegasus to give her longest feather when she—" Fluttershy swallows. "—when she finds someone who she feels is a . . . a part of her." She prods the pinion one more time with her muzzle before returning attention to her injured wing.
I'm . . . I'm shocked. I can't respond. Fluttershy's given me gifts before, but this one is so different. Nevermind me being a part of her—she has literally given me a part of herself. It's what makes her a pegasus, what willed her to be one—and a part of it is in front of me. "But wh—why did you do that?" I say again, my voice still shaking. "That's your wing. And this is you!" I point to the sacrosanct feather, not willing to touch it.
She peeks up from nursing her wing. She's cradling it like a broken leg. "I love you," she says simply. "It's supposed to be symbolic of what we're willing to give up for our loved ones." She tries to smile, her eyes moist with tears. I don't know whether they're from pain or weight of emotion. And I don't know which one's worse.
I rush up to her and give her a hug, careful to avoid even brushing against her injured wing or its liberated fragment. "Please, don't. You can't . . . hurt yourself for me. It's not worth it."
"I'm sorry, Rarity," she says, coaxing me away and prodding the pinion with her muzzle for a second time. Like a knight presenting their sword to their liegelord. "You're more important to me than that feather. It doesn't matter what we can or can't do. I just . . . I love you. I need you." She says the last part so quietly I can barely hear it.
I stare at her with awed eyes, as if searching for permission. I'm tempted not to accept this gift for the damage it's caused, but Fluttershy can't accept it back. Eventually, reluctantly, I gingerly pick up the feather with my magic. It's a glorious, regal thing, slightly curved and easily over a foot long. The vane of the feather is perfectly formed and tapered elegantly. There's not even a single break in its barbs, and each one has a tiny serration in it. It looks like a blade but weighs nothing. "Fluttershy," I say, my voice a whisper, "you didn't have to do that."
"I know." She gives her wound one last lick before folding her wing back to her side. The pinion's absence is less visible this way, but I can still see it; her right wing is not as shapely as her left. And there's still a telltale stain of trauma at the root. "But I love you," she says once again, a simple statement that means so much. As if that's the only explanation she needs.
"Oh, sweetheart." I walk behind her and wrap her in an easy embrace. "You didn't have to do that," I whisper again. But I move the feather with my magic to my picnic basket, anchoring it in the thatched weave to ensure it will go home with me tomorrow.
Just as I thought tonight would end in disappointment, Fluttershy instead makes it unforgettable. All the magic we found and the magic she gave me tonight will remain in my heart forever. While I retrieve extra blankets and get ready for sleep, I murmur soft words of gratitude and love and whatever I can think of to show her how special she is to me. It's all I can do in exchange for such a special gift.
It doesn't take long for the claws of fatigue to start at my eyelids, and I can see that Fluttershy is similarly struggling to stay awake. Carefully, I lay her down like a delicate vase. I ensure she falls on her good wing while cradling her hurt one with a hoof. Meanwhile, I take one of the blankets and lay it on top of us, lending some warmth to the cool midsummer night.
I keep whispering in her ear until she relaxes in my embrace and falls asleep. Heaven knows how much she deserves some good sleep now. When her breathing is slow and steady, I close my eyes, my hooves still spooning her from the back, and let myself drift away, thoughts of feathers, fireflies, and yellow pegasi in my mind.