"I may have to act like a jerk - a proper noble, according to my father - but... but at least, when Court is done for the day, I can have this..." The light grey-coated, amber-maned stallion lapsed into weary silence as he softly closed the doors of his chambers; then, as he saw me laying upon his bed, clad in sleepwear, waiting for him, he exhaled a sigh of relief that ended in a quiet sob. "I..." he sniffled than started again. "I see you got my message."
"I did," I replied softly, "and as per your instructions, nobody knows I'm here. The PPA have specially trained unicorns who are great with long-range, near-silent matter transmission. But enough about that." Motioning towards the formal suit he wore, I asked, "Do you want help with...?" Rather than reply, the light grey male - Prince Blueblood - violently shook his head, his expression wilting into one of profound hurt as he swiftly undressed himself, almost ripping the material of the suit in his haste to remove it. Then, once he was devoid of the suit - furclad, his mark of a compass rose bared for none but us to see - the Prince galloped over to his bed and leaped atop it, near-falling into my arms, an anguished pony noise escaping him as I gently guided him to lay down beside me.
"Easy, easy now... there's a good boy..." I murmured. A whimper escaped Blueblood, and for a moment he wriggled against me - so very glad to be with me again - but then, he lay still upon his side. Light arctic-blue eyes, softened with near foal-like expression gazed up at me for a moment--but then Blueblood groaned gently as I started to pet him, roaming my hands through his coat from chest to thigh. A moment later, however, he pulled away from me and rolled over to look at me, his lower lip quivering and eyes moist. "P-Papa...?" he lisped softly. "Yeah, kiddo?" I replied, falling easily into role.
"I..." His face scrunched up, his entire body shaking. He lowered his head to rest between his forelegs and wept, tears making tiny rivers on his cheeks. "Aw, there, there little one; what's the matter?" I asked. At first, Blueblood didn't answer my question; he just couldn't stop crying, the soft, heartfelt sobs wracking his body. Then, at last, he raised his head to look at me and lisped out, "I... I bin' a bad pony..." At this, furthering my role of father figure, I looked at him and frowned. "You've been a bad little foal, have you?" I asked. "What have you done, hmm?"
"I..." Blueblood trembled and whimpered 'neath my stern gaze for a moment and then, finally, he wailed, "I yewwed at Celly an' Woona! I... I wath wude..."
"Good Ponies," I stated softly, my voice deepening, "are not supposed to yell, little Blue. You know what we have to do now, don't you?"
Blueblood trembled and nodded as I raised my hand and then--
"...Wun."
CRACK.
--he counted softly as I brought it down upon his rump.
"...T-Too..."
CRACK.
"...F-F-Free."
CRACK.
"...F-F-Forr..."
CRACK.
"...F-Five..."
CRACK.
"...Suh-Six!!!"
CRACK.
At last, Blueblood couldn't take any more and burst into tears; it was done, his punishment was over. I will state for the record that we at the PPA frown on hurting ponies, but Blueblood was a special case; he insisted upon it. Despite my aching hand, I gathered him near me and soothed away his tears; then when he had quietened I tucked myself abed and settled him in beside me whereupon he cuddled close to me, nuzzling and nosing me gently, blowing his breath onto my face. "You're a good little colt Blue..." I said to him, softly. Reaching down to the little bag of accessories I'd brought with me, I retrieved from it a bottle of rich, creamy milk and presented it to him. "You want a treat for being such a good boy?"
His eyes lit up as he saw his bottle. "Yeth!" he answered.
"'Yes' what?" I responded, sternly.
Blueblood - Little Blue - stared at me reproachfully... and then he replied, softly, "Yeth, pleathe, Papa."
"Good boy," I returned and then - as my Little Blue slowly drank his milk, clutching his bottle between his forelegs I petted him all over; I roamed my hands all over his coat, combed and ruffled his mane, scratched him behind the ears until his eyes closed and he hummed softly in bliss... At last, he finished his bottle and I 'burped' him as one might do for a foal. Then, I stroke, stroke, stroked his lovely coat until he fell against me and I spooned him, bringing his back against my chest as he stre-e-e-eched out fully beneath the covers. He was warm and sleepy and content. "Thank you..." he whispered softly, "for... for caring for me as my Father" - he spat the word - "could not."
"You're welcome, Blue," I replied, making him groan as I softly rubbed his belly. "You're very welcome."
Suddenly the warmth, the comfort, the softness of the bed in which we lay... it all seemed to become too much for the poor Prince and he turned and wept into my pajama-clad shoulder. "Oh, I wish..." he whimpered softly through his tears. "I wish, I wish, I wish..." As I brushed the tears from his cheeks with my thumbs - a futile effort as they were only replaced by more - I 'beeped' his nose and replied, "Hey, now, don't waste your wishes; you'll have none left to come true if you do..." A watery chuckle escaped the Prince, then, and he wedged his muzzle into the crook of my shoulder. Shortly thereafter, he continued, "I... I wish you could have been my Father..."
"Oh, Blue..." I soothed gently, stroking him.
Prince Blueblood lapsed into silence then, but it was tense and uncomfortable--as if he had more to say. I stayed quiet, waiting, and eventually he continued, "I... I never wanted to be one of the so-called Nobility, but my Fa--he--forced me into it, shaped me, groomed me...and for what? All I am... all I've become..." he shivered and whimpered, "... is a mirror of him..." Fearing he might break down again, swiftly I asked, "When you were young, what dreams did you have? What did you really want to be?" The Prince raised his head for a moment to stare at his compass rose mark, and then, softly, bashfully, he replied, "W-Well... I always wanted to be the navigator of a seafaring vessel. Perhaps even a Privateer, or, or..." and here he softly whispered, "a Pirate."
"Oh, a pirate, aye?" I queried, slipping into a classical 'pirate accent.' "And what kind 'o pirate would ye be, then? A land-lubbin' scurvy-dog?" As I sneered the question at him, for a moment Blueblood was taken by surprise--but then he cottoned on to what I was doing; the happiest expression I'd ever seen crossing his face as he spoke with 'pirate speak,' "I'd have ye know, matey, that I'd be the most fearsome pirate you'd ever be wantin' ta see--and me crew would be the roughest, nastiest, saltiest set o' sea ponies ta ever terrorize Equestria's Seven Seas! They'd call me Blackblood instead o' Blue! Arrrr!" he cried.
"Would they now?" I replied. "Well, you'd still be no match fer the long, thin fingers... of DAVEY JONES!" And with that, I proceeded to tickle Blueblood such that he laughed, and laughed, and laughed 'till he was breathless! Once he was able to regain control of himself - once I stopped tickling him - the Prince nuzzled and nosed me gently as he stre-e-e-eched out fully, molding himself against me. Once more, his expression became soft, gently, adorably foal-like as he blink-blinked, yawned, and softly said, "W-Wuv you... Papa..." Then, a yawn escaping him, he nestled against me, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep as I petted him.