- 8 -
Ma'am said goodbye, but didn't say to where. The next time I got the card that detailed where to meet for a security detail, complete with one gold and six silver, I wasn't surprised to learn Grimoire would lead. There were other supervisors I'd worked for by then, but Grimoire—the navigator who knew every street in the city—often took over. He directed us when we saw suspicious ponies trailing us one afternoon, one time taking on four ponies himself and sending us on. This pony had nerves of steel and the demeanor of a leader. Never asked what he wouldn't do.
I didn't want to get on his wrong side.
A bunch of us met, including Breakaleg and a relative newbie named Citron, who I'd seen break somepony's pastern bone when the idiot decided to haze the lemon meringue pie-colored yearling. He was a quiet, dangerous pony who was always business and never horsed around. I got why Grimoire had asked for him—us.
Grimoire began with, "We're going to be hit. No sugar-coating the danger, so if anyone wants out, I'll vouch I gave you the choice. Who's out?"
Pig Pen stepped close enough that I could lean on him. Knowing we would have to fight made it better, right?
"Anypony? Nopony?"
I shook my head when Pig Pen did.
"In that case, we're splitting up." In exchange for a mare's pack of Lotsobub gum, he magicked over a black saucer-shaped object that got put into her companion's messenger bag. The white stallion brayed.
He'd become the mule.
Grimoire gave the four ponies instructions and sent them off. It seemed irregular that the security detail would carry the hot potato. More so, since I recognized the saucer shape. My mother had the same makeup compact, imported from Prance.
When they disappeared from sight, as Grimoire walked us down the street, he said, "I'm the mule."
Pig Pen said, "No way."
Grimoire had explained his deal, that he never carried product. That's how I gathered he was a gang lieutenant-in-training, not hired security like Pig Pen and I. I said, "Which is why you suspect opposition?"
With a sour expression, Grimoire said, "There were clues." He gave me an evaluating look. I wore a black jacket and pants for warmth and to hide my blue fur so I wasn't as easy to see. "How much for your giddy-up?"
"Five, with the cost of the tailor."
"Good," he said, stopping at the mouth of an alley, magicking over five silver bits and a uniform. "Strip."
I changed into— This was embarrassing. A powder blue waitress uniform, with a skirt and a white peytral apron. I had to cut wing holes, but the fabric was sturdy; my tailoring didn't destroy the garment, though maybe I should have slipped and put the kibosh on the whole daft idea. At least the skirt was long enough that I could pull it down to hide my gender.
Pig Pen waited at the end of the alley, hoof on his jaw, having watched. As I passed, he said lowly, "Looks really good."
"Not my kink," I hissed back.
"Mine maybe— Wait, you have one? Do tell."
Grimoire smiled, missing the by-play. "Trust me. My route, best we don't stand out wearing what looks too much like C.A. Syndicate colors. Wait."
He pulled out a smaller makeup compact for a final indignity. He brushed on blue sparkle eye shadow, pulling down one lid then the other, finishing with black eye liner. Stuff that Daylily and I had agreed we didn't, hadn't, needed.
Citron asked, "What's with the makeup?"
"A fetish." To me: "Can you fly?"
I nodded, fluttering a few seconds.
"Good." We trotted north together, me taking point. Suddenly, magic redid my mane into a mare's bun. Then he braided my tail.
I turned and grumbled, "Not your action figure, Grimoire."
He grinned.
Citron quipped, "The proper term is doll."
"What-ever." I did feel like a dress-up doll. At a glance, I supposed I looked like a ugly waitress. Citron wore a striped horse blanket with tassels. Pig Pen wore a brown knit sweater that blended with his coat, but in the light looked preppy. Grimoire wore his hooded cape. Not a group I'd peg as gang-affiliated.
On a bench seat at the rear of a bus rolling toward the northern suburbs, I asked. "The plan?"
Grimoire's face looked uncharacteristically concerned. "We catch the 3 PM Downtown Local at the train station."
The long way back to the harbor where we usually made drop-offs. We all nodded.
"And this," Grimoire nodded. He had previously popped two sticks of gum into his mouth. He pulled with his teeth half of the pink bubblegum, which fizzed with blue-green sparkles, then gave it to Citron.
The dour guy popped it into his mouth.
"Unsanitary," Pig Pen said and instantly clenched, turning green. I reflexively put a wing over his shoulder, pulling him into me. "Hey," I said under my breath. I patted. "You okay?"
He nodded as Citron gasped, eyes widened. He pulled out the gum and Grimoire accepted it, popping it in his mouth. I hugged Pig Pen tighter.
"Yeah," he whispered. "If I can deal with blood..."
"Okay, then." I didn't move my wing because it felt good.
"You have to keep it in your mouth," Grimoire said.
Citron said, "Right. Contagious magic. Impressive."
I tightened my grip on Pig Pen. "Not a contagion." I'd researched encyclopedia articles on magic, and read a magic kindergarten primer. "Two objects in contact stay in contact separated."
"Tin Cans. Foal magic," the unicorn clarified. "After five seconds out of your mouth, the spell fades. Let's see the range. Crystal Skies?" Pig Pen had let my name slip, so we used it now. Grimoire bit off a piece and shoved it into my mouth. I did look at Pig Pen. It wasn't as if I was going to be kissing him, tonight. "Put it between your teeth and cheek."
I glared at him, then heard muted through the bone, "Fly out to the drover and ask how long to the station."
My eyes went wide. "What's a drover?"
Citron said, "The last pony on the left of the team pulling the bus."
"The driver?" I asked.
"He's not sitting on the bus, so he's a drover."
I flew out and asked, then reported, flying beside the green Clydesdale. "He says five minutes."
Grimoire nodded. I gave him a pinions up with my first primary feather, and zipped back in. He was pretty amazing. We all had to accept a chewed piece of the communication magic and it had nearly a two block radius. Pig Pen looked less than thrilled, though I could tell he liked my wing over him when he didn't push me away.
That got us sitting on a train that didn't depart for forty-five minutes. Grimoire brought a newspaper as he was wont, offering it as he spread us out. "A group is more suspicious than late travelers." When I grabbed the home section, which had the cooking columns and advertising insert, he asked, "Why?"
"Waitress, right?" Besides, living by myself in Baltimare had taught me coupons saved bits.
Pig Pen sat facing into the aisle. I faced forward across it, two seats behind. I couldn't see Citron or Grimoire who were further back. I found a pegasus reviewer named Genuine Gold who mourned a rooftop restaurant that had closed while introducing a new South City Equidorian one, worth a visit if you liked saffron.
Feeling watched, I lowered the paper. Nopony had entered our car, the last one, but I noticed Pig Pen's eyes on me. A smile grew on his face, then he slowly drew his eyes down to my flank, then out to my hooves. I blinked in surprise as he slowly reversed the track, but I buried my nose back into the paper, snapping it. When I finished the article, I peeked at him.
He grinned back. The blue garment, it was special. Not something risqué I'd missed, but not cotton that could be easily washed. Instead of starched and stiff, it laid gently over my haunches and the medium-length skirt draped over my leg like a sheet. I revealed my form. Tailored, possibly couture. Like the hooded cape Grimoire wore that fit him so well. I rubbed my frog across my left haunch to feel the jersey-like material.
Pig Pen whistled. Not loudly, but enough to make me look up. He said, "You're looking mighty fine, there." He grinned.
I had heard that "the clothes make the mare," but I wasn't one. The only mare we'd talked about was Daylily; he'd only talked about guys he'd known. Was he into clothes? Was he taking an opportunity to bait me?
With a smirk, I pulled up my skirt a hoof-length.
He enthusiastically nodded, brown eyes twinkling.
I lifted my rump enough that I could pull it up further, revealing my feather and katana cutie mark only a quarter.
"That's the way," he said, wagging a hoof in an earth pony equivalent of a pinions up high-sign.
Grinning, I wrapped my tail to hide what I'd revealed.
"Awwww."
I said, "What, too coy?"
I flicked my tail, but before I lift the skirt more, Grimoire sang, "We can hear you."
Citron added, "Yeah, get a room already."
I snorted and dropped the newspaper, then laughed, realizing I was having fun. I heard Pig Pen chuckling. I took the opportunity to lift my rear end and brush the skirt completely back, revealing my entire cutie mark. The big-city full-sheet newspaper hid my gender.
I looked at Pig Pen. His eyes narrowed as he glanced to the back of the car, then widened as he lifted his eyebrows twice at me, nodding. I returned the gesture, looking at him.
Really looking at him.
The earth pony was as squared-off as they came. Chin, flank, and barrel. You might expect him to wear a Stetson and be a cowpony in Dodge Junction. Husky, but not so much that it hid his muscles when he moved. He didn't trim his fetlocks when he got a mane cut, but he visited the farrier often enough that his hooves, despite tramping across the city, had no nicks or edge wear. I paused on his cutie mark. A pile of leaves spraying out as if somepony had jumped into them. Autumn leaves, orange, deep red, brown—pretty unique. Not sure why I hadn't noticed.
My eyes flicked up. He tried coy and embarrassed, but failed.
I looked down. Then my eyes glided right to his gender. It was rude to look. Definitely male. I lingered there, thinking first of my own, then had a weird realization.
I had palled around with Daylily most of my life. Many where the times I'd followed behind her. She had never worn skirts since she'd become a mare. Dresses were only for events. She had never been one to hide herself with a stiff tail, and in the last few years she had wagged a lot more. I'd noticed that much, but I had never looked or stared despite opportunities provided me.
I hadn't been interested?
Somepony cleared his throat. Pig Pen.
I'd zoned out staring. My face heated up and likely glowed red. Not wanting to meet his eyes, I kept looking, then realized I held the paper and brought it up and put my eyes behind it. After a minute, I lowered the edge of the paper.
His eyebrow arched.
I noticed my eyes trailing down as a fascinated part of me took control. I straightened the paper and huffed, evaluating my thoughts. I decided I liked playing the game and was okay doing it. I folded the paper width-wise, as if I wanted to read a bottom column. I raised the edge and rotated my hip slightly left.
I heard a thump. I looked to see the fellow had slipped off the bench seat, surprise all over his face. I didn't unfold the paper until the train jerked into motion.
I had never flirted with Daylily. I wondered if I had missed something.
- 9 -
I felt certain Grimoire had been right about being hit when, at midtown, a dozen ponies dressed in light blue sweaters climbed aboard the first car. With the train in the station, even that far ahead, it was unmistakable. It wouldn't be a college pep team, not at 3:30 AM. I had often fallen asleep studying at that time. They made their way, checking passengers but not harassing them. They looked for territory trespassers. I had folded my newspaper beside me, but brought it up after properly arranging my skirt. They made it to the fourth car as signs announcing the next station flickered by.
Grimoire said, "Keep calm," through the gum.
I heard their hooves. I heard hooves gathering around where I sat, causing my heart to race.
I turned a page and saw coupons.
A stallion asked, "Why's a cutie up so early for her morning shift?"
Thank you Grimoire, I thought. Great camouflage. I found a coupon for 50% off Salerno's Finest olive oil. Turning the paper to support it with my left wing, I brought my right wing over and flexed it to show a slight red sparkle. I scissored out the coupon—and the shield hiding my gender—in firm, loud snips.
Half of the ponies jumped back, and a few stumbled. The train slowed and stopped at the station, causing the door behind me to swish open. I heard hooves scrambling and rushing out of the car.
When the door snapped closed and the train jerked into motion, Grimoire said, "You rock, filly."
I answered, chuckling, "Thank you, I think?"
He added, sobering. "That was not the attack from Mr. Nopony."
We exited at the steamship terminal, to which Grimoire said, "That's our fourth trespass." As we left close together, trotting for the bridge into the city, the generally unflappable cloaked pony often lost in thought, shouted, "Bring it on!"
That got ponies on benches waiting for the train or a bus to look at us in surprise. Nevertheless, I shouted, "Yeah!" in unison with Pig Pen and Citron.
- 10 -
The trek across the bay, then up the west side of the harbor, went as smoothly as always with Grimoire. He knew the city well. I flew above the street lights, sometimes over buildings when blocked by skyscrapers. Constables didn't avoid streetlights, but gang patrols often did. I had good night vision, and could weave a block this way or that and still keep contact through the gum. As the others traveled west on Eastern, I spotted another pegasus in the sky above me on the outskirts of the park.
The pegasus turned toward me. Everypony was turning onto Bank. "Trouble," I warned.
Grimoire turned left on Castle, then galloped toward Spark as I tried to glide away nonchalantly from what I suspected was a constable. He had a flashing sky-telegraph on a peytral.
Moments later, a second pegasus shot from a rooftop perch toward everypony. This one had a flasher, too.
Had they expected us? I dove in toward the group, in case I was wrong about them being "coppers" as Grimoire called them. Was this the hit? I flexed my wings, ready to slice and dice.
I landed with a bang beside Grimoire, wings out, ready to protect everypony.
Constables galloped from either direction. The second pegasus skidded on sparking steel horseshoes to seal us between two streets in a warehouse district.
I knew Grimoire was a top lieutenant-in-training, but Pig Pen had mentioned syndicate in-fighting. At least I knew that a note sent to Vanhoover would get my family to bail me out before bawling me out. Didn't know if they'd help the others. It showed something about me that I didn't flee when I could have.
A pony detective with with a tan trench coat ambled in. "Flank down, you four. You're under arrest."
A constable let off a red bolt of magic that caused a puddle to hiss before Citron. I saw the yellow nebulosity fade around his horn.
"No worries, guys," Grimoire said loudly, then through only the gum, "Let this play out. I can handle it."
Pig Pen whinnied in dismay, but I sat after he did, then Citron. Grimoire sauntered into the light of a street lamp before sitting as the earth pony detective took out a spiral notebook.
He asked, "You... must be, uh, Gelding?"
Grimoire subvocalized. "That's the game."
Who was Gelding? Grimoire? I whispered, not moving my lips. "What'll we do?"
"Cooperate. Trust me." Audibly, "What's your name?"
"Does it matter?"
"When I lodge a false arrest complaint, it will."
The detective flipped over a page.
"What's the charge?"
"Carrying contraband. Transporting. Conspiracy."
Grimoire smirked. "I see."
"You want to surrender it?"
"Come again?"
"Surrender the contraband. Are you really a gelding? Do you understand Equestrian? A gelding is—"
I knew: pre-Equestrian Zephryn pegasus royalty castrated stallions to make court and palace servants safe. Babbleloin earth ponies used gelding as punishment. Unicornia's matrilineality dominated early Equestria and brought an end to both practices that reportedly ended up with geldings being more than average stupid.
"Call me Sir, if you prefer."
I sniggered.
The detective shouted, "Search them!"
A constable patted me down. Other than bits, I had naught. The mare had me stand and splay my wings downward. The mare wasn't careful. Tensed up, I had not unsharped my feathers.
"Ouch!"
She lifted a bleeding leg. Before the mare could then frisk my feathers, I relaxed them. When she finally checked my tail, she tensed.
The constable near Grimoire said, "Uh, Gelding doesn't have any!"
"What? Gelding...? He's a gelding?"
"Sorry, sir. He's a she. Definitely a she. Not an illusion."
"What?" I hissed.
"Shush," came back from Grimoire.
My mare piped up. "The waitress is a cross-dresser, too."
My face heated up and went beet red.
Grimoire said through the gum, "Crystal, am I good or what?"
I hissed. "Shut it!"
With that tone of being funny while trying to overcome nerves, Pig Pen said, "More of a drag princess."
Grimoire/Gelding turned her flank toward the detective and provocatively moved her tail aside, while she murmured through the gum, "Does that make me a drag prince?"
The detective pointed at a long, skinny cardboard box that slid out of Gelding's saddlebags. "That! Contraband."
"He recognizes the box," Gelding told us, then aloud, "Please don't."
He asked, "Don't? What?"
"You really don't want to look."
The fellow rolled his eyes, pointed. "Constable Beignneigh?"
"I warned you," she said. Beignneigh hesitated.
"Are you a crazy pony?"
I heard, "Yeah!", through the gum and saw her shrug. "Well. It is embarrassing."
Beignneigh, a lieutenant with a gold bar on his peaked hat, tore the end of the sturdy box. He grunted, pulling hard, struggling until something made a slithering noise as it pulled out. Something long. He stopped when everypony could see a dome top. In the street light, the thing had an unmistakably fleshy pink color.
Long.
I knew something as pink as that which became long. Intimately. I mean, I am a stallion, well past puberty. I knew that part of my anatomy well. Urges? I learned pretty early I had to deal with such things or deal with bed sheets I'd have to explain, or simply go completely crazy.
Long.
Fleshy pink.
Grimoire, no Gelding... was a she! Did mares...? Of course they did. I'd figured out that I misunderstood Daylily's signals and frustrated her urges. If mares didn't have a special somepony willing to share their—theirs, did they need a stand-in? I blinked for a moment, then our little flirting game on the train came back to me. I began to wonder about Pig Pen. What I had stared at. My heart began beating faster and I felt... I was feeling... More than pleasant. Speaking of urges, I swiftly became glad the constable mare hadn't stripped the cloaking clothes off of me.
The lieutenant broke my train of thought, saying, "Um. Sir?"
Gelding chimed in. "I warned you it was embarrassing!"
It had to be. I had to know what... tool a mare would use and I fixated on the box.
"Open the stupid thing!" the detective roared.
Beignneigh ripped the box along the glue seam, revealing...
Eh, disappointing. The gold cursive lettering read Petites-filles, literally Little Fillies. Mane conditioner, I figured since I was close enough to read the smaller print in Prench. Provocatively shaped, very like the Prench; we were more open about sex than Equestrians. Not the something mares used for fun. Did a tool like that have a name?
Gelding caught the discarded box, rotating it, slapping the cardboard to get the attention of the stunned audience—pointing. "See the address label. 'To Gelding.' Was taking it to my aunt. She always took care of me and my friends, and we thought—"
"Open it! What's in it?"
I heard the seal crack. I smelled... honey?
Gelding grumbled, "You're going to have to pay for that."
It took until past dawn for the constables to fail searching for the real contraband along the streets Grimoire had galloped. The pegasus constable verified where they'd spooked, and that I'd landed directly and couldn't have been the mule.
Gelding departed tail high, smirking, the detective's name and badge number in her saddlebags.
Despite plenty of ponies on the street, we had to be followed. Gelding went into a few busy five-and-dime stores and walked through a cafeteria restaurant that had an exit on a different street. She made sure we saw her pack of Minties gum, at which point we discarded ours.
"Is it over?" I asked.
"Nope. Gotta make the delivery. Expect trouble." She led me ahead and whispered as we passed ponies hoofing it to pier and warehouse jobs. "I knew they couldn't arrest us without cause. Your cutting the constable could have gotten us popped."
I shuddered; nightmares of getting bailed out by family returned.
She said, "It's all about self-control."
I nodded, remembering, "I saw Princess Grim win the championship when it looked like she should lose. She controlled her frustration; she used it, channeled it. I understand."
Gelding huffed. "Was that what she did? Interesting. That's the idea, though. After it's all over, I'm going to teach you to evade me. That'll give you more confidence."
"Sure, thanks, sir—ma'am."
Gelding laughed then, but not when we stopped in another restaurant with an awning covered patio and a surrounding hedge. "I am going to try magic that's really hard to do. It takes concentration— I need you guys to touch me and stay touching."
Her magic dragged me to lean against her side, to which I exclaimed, "You're a mare."
She sighed. "And I prefer colts. Wanna date?"
I shook my head.
Pig Pen took her right side. When she magicked Citron's hooves onto her flank by her tail, to hold while walking, his face went so red I'd swear I felt the heat. "A-ar-are you sure?" he asked.
She'd been female for two hours and he had a crush on her? Could have been funnier. She could have had him clamp her tail with his lips, which would have provided a more detailed view. I thought of Pig Pen's cologne. Her scent, too...
"Positively. Would you rather walk three-legged? You need to see and fight, if need be."
"Yeah, but—"
"You're not mounting me. Do it!"
The spell made us invisible to the extent Gelding could keep a clear picture in mind of everything around us. We marched very slowly, but the bussers in the restaurant looked around when they realized we disappeared, so it worked. We had to dodge pedestrians and wagon traffic, but we got to the meeting spot without getting run over.
It worked by making ponies not want to look our way, or hear us so long as we whispered, so she said. We squeezed past the guards at the front door without touching anypony, which would break the verisimilitude of the spell. Five minutes later, waiting for our opening, we scooted into a small warehouse off to the side from other ponies.
I could rightly call them gangsters, not ponies in a street gang. Family in the Salernitano-sense. They wore suits and jackets, open-necked collars, not a few with gold chains, and three bodyguards with knives. A pegasus with a black shirt held a short javelin upright. Tables arranged like a horseshoe had ponies impaneled like at scholastic jury. None resembled a professor. The highest-up mare by her demeanor, had a scar that ran from her right jaw to her left forehead.
One pony on the right returned from another room, complaining about his late shipment. Gelding stiffened. The headmare, a pink earth pony with grey hairs on her face and in her brown mane, told him, "Cool your rusty horseshoes. I'm sure Grimoire was waylaid and sent the mule on a long detour."
My body went cold. Grimoire had been made the mule. If the others had been caught and the Detective had gotten the contraband... Had the detective been clued into us coming? To steal the shipment?
"I tripled the shipment," the red stallion declared. Hooves banged. Everypony argued.
He had to be the "Mr. Nopony" Grimoire had mentioned. In cahoots with a rogue constable, were they ripping off the syndicate? Bad idea. Bad news.
Here we were, in a den of thieves.
Did Gelding have the original shipment?
Gelding whispered, "Stay with me. You won't be seen. Pretty sure, at least." The glowing nebulosity around her horn bifurcated and grew brighter. Sweat dripped from her. She shouted, "What's this about a mule!?"
Everypony looked as Gelding "appeared," pointing at Mr. Nopony. She levitated over the glued-together box of mane conditioner, setting it down on the table before him as other ponies stepped back. "You and Mustang clearly gave me the package and told me over my objections that I was now the mule. 'Join the herd, do the work.' Carne Asada made a deal with me that I would never be the mule. Perhaps you owe us an explanation?"
In a quick swoop, the pony grabbed the package and leapt for a rear door.
"To Tartarus with that!" Gelding screamed and shot a dazzling beam of blue-green at him. She missed, probably just as intentionally as Princess Grim had. The lintel burst into flames with an explosion of black smoke and splintered. Mr. Nopony reared and pedaled his legs, dropping the box. Ponies gathered around him; others surged around the pink pony, while others leapt at Gelding.
Pig Pen tackled Gelding to the ground as a dazzling beam of red shot over their heads. Jack-knives clicked and flashed. Citron shot a dazzling beam of yellow that set tables, then ponies, ablaze. I leapt into the air, feathers sharpened to protect our two downed ponies. I sliced an ear, which went flying, but Mr. Nopony's partisans were desperate.
I got a lot of blood on my feathers.
- 11 -
After separate interrogations, Gelding explained she'd triggered a "lower management reorganization." Turns out she'd safely hidden the shipment, not trusting Mr. Nopony that Carne Asada had broken their agreement.
Carne Asada was the head of the Family.
I dragged Pig Pen home with me since I lived closest; spattered with blood, we looked like refugees from a Nightmare Night party gone horrifically wrong. I hated making him climb five flights, but I'd snagged the coop apartment. It had a pegasus bathtub wider than my three pony length wingspan. More importantly, it had an enchanted washing machine. I set the taps filling the tub, strew strawberry salts, and got Pig Pen rearing so I could pull off his sweater. He'd looked drained, but he perked up when he realized I undressed him. I thunked the garment into the machine.
"Can I return the favor?" he asked.
I wore the waitress uniform. Gelding had told me to keep it and tailor it, and given detailed cleaning instructions, sporting a knowing gleam in her eyes. I thought about the flirting and about the difficult night. I nodded and reared.
He found the maximal way of having to touch me while removing it, especially my flank. He smiled a lot.
I thought about attraction.
In the fight, during the arrest, I realized how badly I would feel if I lost him. I liked looking at him. I liked making him happy. I liked feeling him near. He made me glow the way Daylily never had.
I pushed him into the shower, made sure I rinsed off the dirt, sweat, and blood then, two hooves on his rear, marched him into what he called a birdbath.
We soaked away the aches, then splashed each other. Finally, I had to preen. Since when my mère had taught me, nopony had watched me do it. I channeled my embarrassment into excitement and made a show of it, slowly moving the oil from the quill-tip up the feathers with my lips.
"That doesn't look so hard," he said.
I surprised us both by saying, "Wanna try?"
He only wrenched two feathers, but in a minute got passably good enough that I let him work one wing while I preened the other.
Then he did something with his tongue...
It took everything not to gasp. My legs began to shudder as I let him continue, not wanting to interrupt lest he stop. I collapsed with a splash in the water much too soon. He put hooves out to keep me from retracting that wing. I put a hoof to my mouth to hold in noises that wanted out.
When I couldn't take it any longer, I shoved him back and did the one thing I knew would keep him from trying again. I kissed him.
That worked.
His frown afterwards showed he didn't like that we stopped there, but he was a gentlecolt. He slept on the couch. I spent an hour after I heard his faint snore thinking things through.