//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: A fire in his heart // by basalisk120 //------------------------------// Spitfire smiled as the last of the cider slipped down her throat, the delicious flavoured liquid warming her chest. Setting the bottle down with the other three empty bottles, she sighed softly. This toffee apple cider stuff was great. No matter how much of it she had, she never felt drunk! She was sitting up in bed, her legs and lower body hidden under the embroidered purple duvet and her back propped up against the half-dozen or so pillows that were on the bed. On her right was the bedside table, on which lay the four empty bottles. To her left, nestled almost lovingly in the folds of the blankets, were another two full bottles, the sparkling condensation on the outside of the bottles dampening the cloth underneath them slightly. Next to them were the four bottle tops and the bottle opener. Turning her head toward them with a slight smile, she grabbed the closest bottle, and made to grab the bottle opener. On the third try, she grabbed it, and brought it up to the lid of the bottle, clumsily and violently tearing the top off and accidentally pouring half the contents of the neck over her lap. She frowned, but her mind felt all warm and fuzzy, and it didn’t seem like much of an issue. Bringing the bottle to her lips, she took a long, deep gulp, before sighing and slumping further into the pillows. Looking around her at the slightly darkened room, (Usually, she would have called it ‘mood lighting’.) she sighed, her smile dropping a little. She felt… Lonely. Or, I’m just horny and wallowing in self-pity. She thought to herself. Not in an argumentative mood, she decided that it was probably a bit of both. Normally, by this point in a vacation, she would have taken at least half a dozen ponies back to her suite, for a number of reasons. I’m probably just missing the company… She decided after a few moments of silent contemplation and another good swig on her bottle. Although… it’s not like I’d really want anypony like that now anyways. She thought, the realisation a sullen little mumble in the back of her head. But it surprised her. “Really? Nopony? Heh, you’re wrong this time…” She mumbled, not even realising that she had spoken out loud. “There’s a hunndred ponies out there I wouldn’t mind ta see trottin’ in right now…” She slurred slightly, looking down sulkily at her drink. I mean, what about that colt out on weather patrol last month? He was pretty hot… I mean, not mind blowing, but pretty good… Well, that grey coat wasn’t my favourite; I’d have preferred it in blue or something… Yeah, blue’s a good colour for a coat. And a mane too! And he had those lovely big green eyes… I like those… Although, if you ask me, he was a bit too buff. I’m all for athletes, but when they start looking like Clydesdales… It’s just not my thing… She smiled as she thought about this for a moment. Clearly she was still fine. Yeah, that would be the perfect colt… a soft, light blue coat, a nice, rich blue mane too… Preferably swept back. I like that in a colt. And nice green eyes… She thought to herself, taking another swig. Although she hadn’t noticed, the alcohol was really starting to slow down her thoughts. Strong and athletic… Kind, too. That’s always nice. He’d need to be a great friend outside of the bedroom too though… Wait. She gritted her teeth in frustration as she realised that she was describing the colt in the room across from her, and punched the bed viciously with her free hoof. Stupid Soarin. Why did he have to make everything so complicated? All this was his fault, after all. But then, she still found it hard to stay angry at him. He didn’t mean to, did he? Just as she couldn’t help being a sarcastic asshole, he couldn’t help being a hopeless romantic. I should cut him a little slack, she thought to herself. He can’t help having poor judgement… I mean, what sort of luck is that, falling for me? I mean, not finding me attractive, that’s different. I need to sort this whole mess out, and soon. Her inebriated mind decided, apparently glad to have made the decision. But… I don’t think this is something I can sort out by myself… She decided, proud of her judgement. All I’m doing is thinking myself round in circles here, and it’s just not helping… Pursing her lips, she made up her mind. She would go and confide in somepony. She wasn’t entirely sure who yet, but she definitely would. With a determined look in her eye, she straightened up in her bed and stretched her foreleg out, aiming to put her bottle down on the bedside table. To her surprise, she missed completely, effectively just dropping the bottle on the floor, where it spilled its contents into the rich shagpile. She frowned angrily at herself, cursing her clumsiness. This done, she squirmed herself over to the edge of the bed, ready to hop gracefully out with her usual style. But apparently, the blankets weren’t playing ball, and she was forced to wriggle yet further until she started to topple over the edge. She poised, ready to land, cat-like, on her hooves. Suddenly, she found herself lying sprawled on the floor, a faint throbbing in her head and a puddle of cider under her face. She groaned loudly, trying to get herself back on her hooves by flapping her wings. After a period of flapping that was, quite frankly, much longer than she would have liked from herself, she lifted her limp body up from the ground, trying to reorganise her limbs to stand underneath her. Trouble was, her flying seemed awfully wobbly at the moment, through no fault of her own, and it was hard to get her hooves underneath her body before she started moving again. Eventually, she managed to position herself just right, and she dropped to the ground, staggering a little. Okay… Maybe that stuff is just a tiny bit stronger than I thought… She made her way slowly and carefully to the door, which appeared to move and tilt almost constantly as she approached it. It was quite frustrating, really. Eventually though, after a couple failed attempts and a tumble, she made it to the door. She knew there was something that needed to be done at this point, but for a while, it evaded her. Then she realised that the door needed opening if she wanted to get outside. Splaying her right hind leg out wide to compensate, she lifted her right forehoof off the ground, reaching slowly for the knob. Being this mal-coordinated was starting to get on her nerves a little, and she wanted to get it right the first time. Somehow, more through luck than any semblance of sobriety, she caught the knob with her hoof on her first try, turning it sharply and stepping to the side, pulling the door toward her. Unfortunately, in doing this, she put herself off-balance, and unable to support herself with the door, she toppled over onto the carpet once more. Only this time, she wasn’t sure that she could stand up again. As if pulled together, her eyelids started to close, and sleep started sneaking up on her. The slowly drying cider stuck the carpet uncomfortably to her chest and face as she tried to move, and there was a dull pain in her cheek. She scowled, using her temporary immobility to think for a moment. Wait… Who am I even going to see? Who can I trust with something this weird? She thought, bringing one forehoof slowly up, into her field of vision. It blurred in and out of focus for a second, before she was able to concentrate on it. The obvious choice, of course, was Fleetfoot. But… She’ll just judge me… I can’t talk to her about this sort of thing… It’s too delicate… And of course, that only leaves Misty… Even now I’m all… Drunk… I’d rather shove a beehive up myself than talk to her about this… She’d flip out if she still likes him… The last part wasn’t entirely true, as the shy little mare would never manage to shout, let alone do anything that could be considered as worrying or dangerous. It was a wonder that she had managed to get her incredible talent recognised. Still, Spitfire was smart enough to leave her out of this for as long as possible. Really, in any case, that means… That there’s nopony I can turn to anyway… I’m stuck with this alone… She contemplated sobbing, for a moment. She felt unusually emotional at the moment. But then, of course, she remembered something incredibly important. But, of course… I’m Spitfire, aren’t I? She realised, thudding her forehoof down on the carpet. I can do anything I damn well want! Somehow, she mustered the wherewithal to drag herself up on her forehooves, ignoring the blue carpet fluff that stuck to her chest. I’m going straight to Soarin’s room, with friends or without! This time, one of her hind legs managed to rise to the occasion, and she leant up against the wall, struggling to get her final hoof beneath her body. Standing defiantly against the alcohol, she made her way steadily through the doorway, and out into the hall. Lurching, she swung her head left and right, to make sure that nopony saw her. The coast was completely clear, even of staff. Briefly, she wondered what time it was, before stumbling carelessly down the hall towards Soarin’s room. In fact, she was so focused, it didn’t really bother her when she bumped into the wall a couple times, or the fact that it took her several minutes just to cover about ten feet of ground. In fact, when she fell over, she only swore quietly, and managed to roll back up onto her hooves in only thirty seconds or so. As far as the fuzzy-minded Spitfire was concerned, things were going magnificently. And then, as if by magic, at last she found herself standing outside Soarin’s door, swaying gently from left to right. A strange sort of calm had overcome her anxiety, and she ignored the wobbly floor as she trotted over to the door and pushed it open with her muzzle. Soarin could never remember to shut his door properly. Soarin’s room was basically the same as hers, if a little less stained at the moment. The lights were also switched off completely, so Spitfire had trouble peering into the gloom compared to the bright lights of the hallway. “…SSoarin?” She whispered in what she hoped was a hushed manner, but really came out as louder than talking. “You in here?” Surprisingly enough, there was no reply. A little worried, she stepped carefully into his room, placing her hooves slowly and surely. Her breath sounded loud and choking in the darkness, and she looked about herself at the hazy outlines of various pieces of furniture. Nothing seemed to be out of place, so she stepped further into the room, making her way slowly toward the sofa on the far side of the room. Unfortunately, this meant that she wasn’t looking at exactly where her erratic hoofsteps were falling, and once again, she felt a lurch and the brief sensation of falling. Then, there was a sharp pain in her nose, and sparks exploded across her vision. Biting her lip against a cry of pain, she groaned, slumping to the floor and trying to comfort her breath, which was coming in short, shuddering inhales and not much in the way of exhales. She lay there, whimpering in the silent darkness for an unknown length of time before she finally returned to her senses. With a pained wince, she wrinkled her muzzle, touching it with her hoof. It wasn’t broken, she was pleased to discover, but she could feel something hot and wet on her fur as she gingerly wiped her muzzle. She groaned softly, slumping onto the floor, waiting for the pain to subside. By way of distraction, her mind once again wondered to where on earth her wingpony might be at… Whatever hour it was. It wasn’t like him to just up and wander off without letting anypony know, and she was in the room right next to his. To her, it was a fairly baffling conundrum. Then, a soft, innocent snore from the rough direction of the massive bed answered her question. Of course! I told him to go back to his room and take a nap… She thought groggily, fighting her way back onto her hooves. It was like watching somepony trying to swim through treacle. It’s nice how obedient he is at times… A short lifetime passed for the writhing mare, and she was back on her hooves once more, stumbling wildly to compensate for her lack of balance. “Soarin…?” She half whispered, half mumbled again, staggering deeper into his room. Only in the very back of her mind did she have any feeling that this might be a bad idea. She received only a small murmur in response, so she decided that it was a good idea to approach him. Strangely enough, she felt oddly… Naughty, trotting around in his room without his consent, while he slumbered quietly and (Quite possibly) dreamt of her. Especially given that she was so heavily inebriated and unable to control herself with any real clarity. Eventually, she found herself standing before him. In actual fact, she didn’t really remember walking over to him, only suddenly being in front of him. He was lying on his side, his face facing roughly in her direction as he lay, his eyes closed lightly and his chest rising and falling softly under the blankets. His mane was lightly tousled in his sleep, and there was a tiny smile gracing his lips. Spitfire had been right, thinking in her bed – he was handsome. It surprised her that it had only recently begun to dawn on her just how attractive he was. Time passed as she stared at him, swaying from side to side ever so slightly, but it might as well not have done – she wasn’t paying any attention. Five minutes or an hour might have passed as her cheeks slowly began to redden in the darkness. “Spitfire…” The sleeping stallion mumbled, shifting slightly and breaking the silence. As if called by her name, Spitfire leant in closer, her heart starting to flutter in her chest a little, much to her surprise. She wasn’t expecting to feel so sensual around him, or this excited. In contrast, the sleeping stallion had a huge, happy smile plastered onto his face that implied his dream was very good indeed. All of a sudden, Spitfire wished she was dreaming too. But it was too late for that. She felt herself drift closer to his sleeping face, feeling her own cheeks heat up intensely. Her breaths came to her in short, heated gasps, her breath mingling with his own as he lay, unaware of her presence. She was surprised to find out just how good he smelled. That was a little unexpected, and she’d never really gotten close enough to find out. But here, tonight… Just them and nothing to keep them apart… It felt almost magical to her alcohol-infused mind. Her face felt like it was on fire, and sparks seemed to fly between them. There was barely a hair’s breadth between them now, and her breath caught sharply in her throat. She could barely control herself, now – she felt almost as if she needed him. This was something she had never felt before in her life, an intense desire to be with somepony, and not in an entirely sexual way. (Although she couldn’t deny that was there too – it had been quite a long time for her.) She leant in even closer, barely even realising that it was possible to be any closer to the handsome blue stallion. Her soft lips parted ever so slightly, and her eyes began to close slightly. To her, it was now or never – She felt as if there had never been a time in her life where this hadn’t been an end goal, a constant desire she was just about to fill. She felt so…. Hot and cold and fiery and afraid and electric, all at the same time, a swath of emotions all washing together into an overwhelming feeling of desire for the unwitting stallion sleeping in front of her. Sucking in what little heated air she could get into her bursting chest, she closed the gap between them, kissing him almost ferociously. It felt… odd. His lips were delightful against hers, soft and warm and with none of the passionate violence that many stallions had. Although this could have been because he was asleep. As wrong as it felt to do this to him at his most vulnerable, it felt too good for her to stop. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing any non-Soarin thoughts out of her mind and giving in to the moment, and the sparks flying through her mind, leaving her feeling giddy and even more breathless than ever. Soarin let out something between a soft moan and a groan in his sleep, shifting and returning the kiss in slow, clumsy motions. It was an honest and peaceful gesture, filled with none of the fire and passion that coursed through the yellow mare’s veins, but with five times the love and earnest feeling. He laid his hoof gently on her cheek, trying to draw out the kiss, and Spitfire’s eyes shot open. Her mind felt suddenly free of the warm fuzziness that had lead her thus far, but had been filled only with dread. She had done something she should never have done, and there was no backing out now. The fact that he was subconsciously enjoying the whole experience, despite being asleep, somehow made the whole thing worse. Frantically, she pulled her lips away from his, hyperventilating furiously. She watched in what could only be abject terror as he frowned with disappointment, leaning forward out of his bed in search for her mouth. She stumbled backward, feeling the sharp tang of iron in her mouth as the bleeding started up again, heading as fast as she could out of his room, barely remembering to close the door after herself. The sudden realisation may have sobered her enormously, but she still staggered and stumbled wildly as she galloped down the hallway, thundering straight past her own room and carrying on, heading for the one place that she knew that she should have gone first – Fleetfoot’s room. Breathing hard, she rounded a corner to the last room on the floor, the room that she knew belonged to her white-maned friend. Still unable to stop or slow herself, she crashed painfully into the door, rattling the hinges. Her eyes closed, she took a few ragged breaths, before stumbling backward, sitting down on her rump hard, her tail a mangled mess beneath her. A few moments later, the door opened a crack, and the blue mare’s bright, emerald eye poked through the gap. Apparently noticing the colouration of her friend, she swung the door open. Unless Spitfire was mistaken, the little mare seemed pretty flustered. “S-spitfire? What are you doing here at- Oh sweet Celestia, what happened to you?” Fleetfoot asked, her eyes going wide with shock and horror. It was only then that Spitfire realised how awful she must have looked. Her mane was flat and dishevelled, lying in stuck-up spikes on her head like a nest of fiery thorns. Her coat was in a sorry state too, backbrushed and sticky with cider and carpet fluff all over her face and chest. Then, there were the blood-streaks all over her face and her muzzle, which was probably purple with bruises by this point, and her cheeks were streaked with tears she didn’t know she had shed. “Fleet…” She said, her voice unusually hoarse. “I… Think I need to… confide in you…” Fleetfoot gulped, her lips quivering as she looked for the right words in the hundreds that she apparently wanted to say. Her eyes flickered back to her room a few times like a fugitive backed against the wall a few times, and she spoke, her voice shaky and a little tense. “Y-you’d… Better come inside, Spit…” Spitfire stumbled to her hooves in response, nodding slowly. She staggered in approximately the right direction, looking down at the ground. But then, Fleet’s wing was around her shoulders, flattening her ruffled plumage and guiding her inside. Like all of the rooms in the penthouse suite, it was very difficult to tell the difference between the rooms when cleaned. And of course, Fleetfoot’s room was always clean. It looked like nopony had been living there, although she had done for more than twenty-four hours. Judging by the speed at which she had opened the door, and the fact that the light was on, Spitfire guessed that Fleetfoot had not yet gone to bed. So it surprised her when she glanced up at the clock, clearly displaying that in ten minute’s time, the date would roll over. “Who was it, Fleet?” Said a mysterious male voice that almost made Spitfire jump out of her skin. Staggering wildly into her smaller friend, her head swished groggily over to the bed, whereupon she found herself looking at a rather confused-looking cream stallion, his pale blue mane swept back to show off his horn in all its splendour. Spitfire found it rather annoying how he kept moving and shifting in and out of focus. It made him hard to look at. “I-I’m terribly sorry, dear…” Fleetfoot said, sounding unusually nervous. She glanced over at her friend, finding her easier to concentrate on. Her face was noticeably heated. “B-but it looks like something has come up…” Dear? That wasn’t like Fleet at all… Who in Equestria was this guy? “O-oh, not at all…” He replied, clearly faintly disappointed but utterly understanding, getting to his hooves slowly. Spitfire noticed that he avoided looking at her. “I-I’ll see you again soon… Okay?” He asked, and Fleet nodded. She wished she could be that understanding of other ponies when she wanted something. I bet Soarin could understand me like that… She thought bitterly, sabotaging her own thoughts venomously. The mysterious stallion trotted over to Fleetfoot, smiling shyly at her. In return, the speedy blue mare took a tiny step away, blushing and smiling bashfully at the ground. Unfortunately, this had the effect of nearly taking out the inebriated orange mare, and she staggered sideways to balance herself. Seeming not to notice, the couple exchanged a delicate nuzzle, looking all for the world like they were a pair of love-stricken foals. Spitfire resented them already. But then, the mysterious stallion, with a backward glance and a small wave, had trotted smoothly out of the door, closing it almost silently behind her. “Who… What…” Spitfire managed to struggle out, looking at her friend with a raised brow. “N-nopony can know…” Fleetfoot muttered quietly in response, glaring at Spitfire until she dropped the question. This done, her expression changed faster than Spitfire would have thought possible, instantly shifting from a defensive stare to the sort of look a protective mother might give after a night of heartbreak. Not that Spitfire had ever shared that sort of moment with her own mother. “Okay, dear…” She said softly, reaching out with a gentle hoof and wiping another thin trail of blood that tried to trickle its way down from her nose. “Let’s get you sat down…” Spitfire let her friend wrap her wing back over her shoulders, nestling into her warm, soft down that covered the insides of her wings. In her mind, she could only see the loving nuzzle that her friend had shared, and the terrified, stupid and passionate kiss that she had stolen from Soarin and compare the two. It made her feel horrible just to think about it. I could have had what they have… If I wasn’t so damned ass-backward about things. Fleetfoot lead her up onto her bed, getting some soft tissue and wiping the worst off her face. Consumed by her thoughts, Spitfire made the right faces as her friend fussed over her, spitting on the tissue and scrubbing the cider off her cheeks. “Now…” Fleet said at last, sitting down next to her. Spitfire looked over at her, only to find her wingpony looking at her with an intense, extremely concerned expression. “Let’s get serious. Something is… Really wrong with you, Spitfire.” That much was fairly obvious, given her condition. “Does it have something to do with the way Soarin was acting this morning?” Dang, she was a fast one. Spitfire wouldn’t have been surprised if her insightful friend had already worked it all out, and was only asking to be polite. Spitfire nodded wordlessly. “Okay. Now… We’re getting somewhere. I’m going to help you, because you asked me to, and because you’re my best friend, but… You’re going to have to explain. Everything, preferably.” Fleetfoot stated firmly, surprising Spitfire with her conviction. “W-well.” Spitfire began, looking for the right words. It was difficult to say just where to begin. At the party? Just what had happened earlier? How much did she want to know? And just how should she put it? Finally, she found the words that she was looking for. “It all started last night, at the celebration… thing. It was when… It was when Soarin told me that he was in love with me…”