What Comes After
“So, um… did your folks say anything about it? Did, uh- Did they say anything about me?”
Gentle Strokes blinked his eyes. He was still resting his face against Stormy’s chest, still in the hospital and still the most recent pony he knew to humbly take a step out of the metaphorical closet and introduce himself to the world as a proud, gay, pony. Each shaky, half breath that Stormy drew in made the stallion’s tiny chest rise and fall, bringing Gentle Strokes’s face upwards, than downwards.
Gentle Strokes, still with his cheek pressed to Stormy’s stomach, clicked his tongue.
“I mean,” Stormy scratched his neck with his good leg, “I guess that’s kind of a dumb question, huh?”
The breath that came out of Gentle Strokes’s nose blew strands of Stormy’s fur apart. He smelt funny; like dried sweat mixed with his regular charmingly musky scent. Gentle Strokes took in a long whiff. The stink of sweat hurt his nostrils, but then there was Stormy’s lovely, musky aroma right there to chase away the sting.
“Naw,” Gentle Strokes said, “They… didn’t really say much about it.” he took in a long whiff of Eau De Stormy, “My dad- Well, he kinda just stormed off. I guess it’s a lot for a parent to take in, y’know? Still... I dunno.”
A shiver crawled up Gentle Strokes’s spine when he felt Stormy’s hoof touch the back of his neck. Stormy’s hoof travelled upwards, brushing past his mane — spreading with it cold pangs that were quickly followed by that old, warm, comfortable feeling. Stormy’s fetlock touched against skin as it traveled upwards, dragging a line up his back until it touched the tip of the back of his neck. Gentle Strokes shut his eyes and tried his hardest to enjoy the sensation of being pet by his boyfriend.
“Are you gonna be okay?”
Gentle Strokes stared stupidly at Stormy. “Huh?”
“Are you going to be okay, Strokes?”
That wasn’t a very practical thing to ask. He wasn’t the one laying in a hospital bed, with his legs done up in casts and war wounds spread across his body. Stormy was.
“I reckon,” he said, then sighed, “I don’t really know what I was expecting. I mean, I knew it wouldn’t be balloons, banners, cake and a parade or nothing. But, I didn’t think my pop would turn into a-” slight pause for Gentle Strokes to curl his lips into a pouty little scowl, “Well, a freakin’ drama queen about it either.”
“Yeah,” said Stormy, quietly, “That part isn’t really comforting, is it?”
Gentle Strokes shook his head.
Stormy’s hoof found the itchy trigger spot right behind Gentle Strokes’s left ear then Stormy’s cold fetlock dug into the skin past the fur and scratched the omnipresent itch. Gentle Strokes gave a very content purr while his lower leg twitched and tapped against the floor.
“Damn, Strokes. You’re too cute.” Stormy said, smiling, “You should see yourself; you look like a dog right now.”
Gentle Strokes gave out a half-serious, half-joking growl between pants and then threw a glare up at Stormy, “Shut. Up.”
Stormy smiled, which quickly grew into a grin. He put more pressure into scratching, which made Gentle Strokes’s leg spasm and the lowest, most non-sexually gratified moan either pony in the room had ever heard escape from his mouth. Crimson colour took over his cheeks and Gentle Strokes tried to hide his embarrassment by burying his face into the fur on Stormy’s chest. He brushed his cheek against the fur until he felt something coarse and cold touch against his cheek. Drawing his face back, he found himself staring at a missing patch of Stormy’s fur where torn pink flesh was being held together by a patchwork of stitches.
Gentle Strokes sucked his lower lip overtop his upper one, sighed through his nostrils then turned his head to stare at Stormy.
“Stormy...”
Stormy studied the missing patch of fur, then another a few inches higher, and to the left, of the first one. He licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
IT went like this for a few minutes. Neither pony could seem to muster up the courage, or gather about the wits, to say anything to the other, until Stormy rolled his tongue through his pursed lips and blew a raspberry.
Gentle Strokes cocked his head back.
“You sure you still wanna go out with me, Strokes?” Stormy asked, raising his left hoof behind his head and using it as a pillow to prop his neck up so he could stare at the dumbfounded looking colt who stood before him, “I’m not really eye candy anymore, you know? Ponies might start judging you, and-”
“Don’t do that, Stormy.” Gentle Strokes asserted, curtly. He stared with a mean, hard look at Stormy, who reflected soft, gentle eyes back onto him. The look must have been something sour, as it turned the other colt’s grin into a flat, emotionless frown.
“Stormy, please don’t make this something you just brush off.” Gentle Strokes said, “I know this is like… how you handle heavy stuff, Stormy. Your coping mechanism or whatever, but, please, I don’t want you to just pretend that you’re okay. It’s not healthy...”
For a long time Stormy stared at Gentle Strokes, Gentle Strokes back at Stormy, until a quick and low huff of air came from Stormy and he frowned.
“It hurts.” Stormy said, lifting his hoof from behind his head and rubbing his stomach with his, “Everything hurts, Strokes. My legs, my chest, my back, my face… I can’t even turn my head all the way anymore without something stinging and sounding like it’s going to break.”
“I know,” said Gentle Strokes, sighing through his nostrils, “I know.”
“And t-they…” Stormy’s big, puffy eyes fell, his eyelids sank and he was staring down at his waist, “They put a tube in my cock,” He said this last bit in a shamed whisper, “I… I can’t even feel anything down there anymore...”
Gentle Strokes hadn’t heard that last bit. Not from Doctor Toboggan at least. It took a lot to make him cringe, or stutter, but somehow hearing Stormy flatly admit that there was a colostomy bag attached to his pecker did the trick. He bit his lower lip so hard with his upper teeth that he cracked dry skin and bled a little into his mouth.
“It’s,” Stormy said, “I’m a mess, Strokes. I mean, just look at me…”
Gent did, but, he didn’t see the same thing Stormy saw. He still saw Stormy, past all the injuries, this was still the same pony who he’d spent the best part of the last few months of his life fooling around with in hallways, courtyards, classrooms and benches at Camden.
Gentle Strokes brought his hoof to Stormy’s left cheek. He stroked Stormy and allowed the younger pony to rest his face against his leg.
“This is so messed up,” Stormy grunted, “I… I just wanna go home, Strokes,” he aimed his eyes up at Gentle Strokes. “I don’t want to be here.”
Gentle Strokes blinked his eyes.
“That doctor… what’s his face?” Stormy continued on with his speech, cocking his head sideways to steal a cock-eyed look from Gentle Strokes, “Doctor Sled, or, Tobacco? Whatever… he... uh… he said I can’t… I won’t be able to, uh…” Stormy brushed his over his crotch, “I won’t be able to… you know anymore. Not with you. Not with anyone. I’m less than useless, Strokes. I’m practically a freakin’ eunuch now!”
Gentle Strokes cleared his throat. He hadn't’ heard that part. The injuries, the physical ones at least, he was aware of, but Doctor Toboggan had never really explained the long lasting implications of Stormy’s condition.
“Shit,” Stormy grunted, “He said my vision’s gonna be messed up too, dude. He… Shit… He told me a lot of stuff isn’t gonna ‘work’ like it used too… I mean, how… how am I supposed to deal with that!?” he blinked his eyes, “I’m gonna walk out — if I can even still do that? — I’m gonna leave here looking like some freakin’ circus freakshow attraction, Strokes! And why wouldn’t I? I mean, shit, just look at me! I look like something from a horror movie! I’m gonna be this stumbling, mumbling, retard for the rest of my life!”
Stormy sucked his lips, snorted through his nostrils then growled.
“Stormy,” Gent sighed, “I… We’ll get through this. I promise. I’m not gonna leave you, Stormy. I’ll be there. I’ll be with you the entire time, and, well, whatever happens, you’ll have me, and I’ll have you, right?”
“What about you, Strokes?” Stormy asked, “Your folks… I mean… are you going to be okay? Are they going to be okay? This is all kind of a lot for them to take in… y’know?”
Gentle Strokes rolled his tongue over his molars, behind his front teeth, then snapped his tongue so that a loud ‘Pop’ could be heard in the room. That was something he hadn’t even considered. His father was upset, sure, but he was mostly rational. At least, he had been throughout his life. Still, this was the first time Gentle Strokes had ever admitted to something of this nature.
What were the lasting implications of coming out to his family? Clearly his mother was mostly non-confrontational about it. The twins wouldn’t understand, or, if they did they might just brush it off. Clem? What would she say? She’d be okay with it, he imagined. Afterall, she was the most liberal minded member of the entire family.
His father, though. He hadn’t taken the news well and stormed off like a primadonna about it. How would he handle a lifetime worth of Gentle Strokes flaunting his sexuality? That remained to be seen.
With a sigh, Gentle Strokes snapped his tongue again and said nothing.
Uncertainty. There was enough of it in both of their voices and the things they said that any fly on the wall to their conversation could punch holes in both of their statements. There wasn’t any promise to be had in the room. Neither pony was as convinced as the other that things were going to be ‘okay’ from here on out, and, why should either of them have been? Stormy was a cripple by his own admission, Gentle Strokes wasn’t even sure he had a home to go too at the end of the day.
Murky. Things looked rather murky for the two of them.
“You keep saying we’ll get through this,” Stormy said, “And, I believe that you believe that. I do. But, dude, look at us… Even if your folks are okay with you being gay, even if I get out of here and I’m not a total freakshow, what happens then? This place-” he sighed, “This place doesn’t seem like it’s the most nourishing environment for you to be out in.”
“I don’t know, Stormy.” Gentle Strokes said, “I really don’t. But, there’s no saying that this won’t- That this can’t get back to being normal, Stormy. Nothing’s written in stone here. It’s not like things can’t work out. It’s bad now. There’s no doubt, but, it’s not like this is gonna last forever.”
Stormy’s eyes rolled, “Yeah, sure…”
“I’m serious, Stormy. There’s no one saying that things won’t get better, we just gotta… we just gotta wait and see. That’s all. I mean, hey, look at how far we’ve made it so far,” He gave Stormy a soft smile. The sort that, hopefully — maybe — could half convince Stormy that there was weight behind his words, “I won’t turn my back on any of that.” Gentle Strokes furrowed his brows, “Will you?”
“I dunno,” Stormy grumbled, breaking his gaze away from Strokes’s and looking off at a no smoking sign on the wall.
“C’mon, Stormy.” Gentle Strokes said, petting the colt on the cheek, “We’re gonna be alright. You’ll see. Everything is- It’s all gonna work out, Stormy. And, when you get out, you’ll be good as new. Better, even. Doctor Toboggan’s really good at what he does. The best, Stormy. He’ll fix this-”
Stormy sighed, “If you say so, Strokes...”
He knew. Deep down, buried beneath the softness, Gentle Strokes knew that there was no real reason he should have been so deeply off put by Stormy brushing him, and his assertions of recovery, aside so sardonically, but, then again, Stormy had earned the right to be a little skeptical at this point. The better part of the last twenty four hours of his life had seen him be beat like a dog, urinated on and, then, much later, finding out he was all but crippled.
It still bugged Gentle Strokes a great deal to see Stormy so mopey.
Stormy was in desperate need of cheering up, and Gentle Strokes knew just the thing to do it.
Smiling to spite Stormy’s ugly glare at him, he reached both his hooves around the sides of Stormy’s face, lifted himself upright, and then cradled Stormy’s head against him the same way he’d hold a foal, filly or any furry pet weighing more than twenty pounds.
Stormy purred.For every bit of him that wanted to throw something mean and dumb back in Gentle Strokes’s overly optimistic face, Stormy stopped himself from doing it. Gentle Strokes was right. In place of a snappy insult, or poorly intentioned jab at the colt, Stormy just smiled, lifted his left leg and grappled Strokes’s waist.
“You’re too good to me, Strokes.” he said, beaming.
Releasing his tenuous hold on him, Gentle Strokes sank back down to his spot near Stormy’s chest, turned his head towards him and grinned. “I know.”
“I won’t let you down, Stormy.” He let his smile grow along the side of his face, until he was sure Stormy could tell he was in fact grinning, then he spoke again, “I’m something like a folk hero... if you will.”
“Oh, most definitely,” Stormy chided back, “How do you find the strength to be so handsome, charming and sexy day in and day out?”
“It’s tough,” Gent admitted, “I gotta do a lotta prep work, y’know? Throwin’ out my best face to the world sure beats the Tartarus outta me, but, well, you don’t exactly make it unbearable of a thing to do.”
“Aww shucks,” Stormy faux-sighed, turning his face away from Strokes, “You do all that for lil’ old me?”
“You make it so worthwhile, Stormy.” said Gentle Strokes.
“You are such a freaking dork.” said Stormy.
Gentle Strokes turned to him, rolled his tongue over his lips and put on his least sincere ware face. “Yeah, well you’re goofy.”
Stormy grinned, then cocked up an eyebrow. “Goofy and sexy, I hope?”
“Mhmm,” Said Gentle Strokes, lowering his face towards Stormy until his hot breath brushed fur on Stormy’s muzzle, “Sexy like it’s going outta style.”
Instead of answering with words, Stormy leaned his face forwards to catch Gentle Strokes’s lips with his own. It was a soft kiss. Gentle, even. When both colts pulled away they couldn’t do much to fight the goofy smiles they wore on their faces.
Back to basics. Silly, dumb, goofy and dorky flirting with Stormy was really where Gentle Strokes shined brightest. It’s where he’d steered himself right so many times in the past, and where he’d do right now in the present. The stunned, satisfied and dorky looking half-smile on Stormy’s face gave Gentle Strokes the impression he’d done something right.
“Ahem,”
Yup. Right on time. The moment was too sweet, tender and sincere for something, or, rather, in this case, somepony, not to spoil it with a well timed intrusion. It would have been far too ridiculous a task to imagine preserving as much niceness as there was for a while longer for either of the two boys.
Both turned to see Doctor Toboggan, smiling faintly, standing in the doorway of the room looking not unlike he’d just solved the equation to a morbid puzzle he’d been working on. With his magic he held up both a sponge, wet and dripping on the floor, and an industrial sized red plastic bucket.
It was sponge bath time for Stormy, it seemed.
“Geez, doc,” Stormy sighed, “You sure have impeccable timing.”
“It would seem so,” said the doctor with what sounded like non-offended good nature to his tone. “I must admit, I did have some ideas about the nature of your relationship.”
Gentle Strokes turned to the doctor, “I suppose you aren’t offended?”
“Hardly,” replied Doctor Toboggan, “I hail from the liberal minded city of Canterlot. The same city, might I add, with an exclusive, so called ‘Gay Town’ of it’s own. Two colts in the throes of young love is hardly a thing worth getting upset over.”
“Someone should have told that to his cousin,” Stormy grumbled, staring past the colts in the room to catch his ugly reflection in the mirror, “Could have saved us all a great deal of trouble.”
Gentle Strokes sighed.
“I had come here to wash you,” said Doctor Toboggan, gently lowering the bucket, then the sponge, to the floor, “But, I could give you more time if you need it?”
Gentle Strokes turned to Stormy. Stormy shrugged his shoulders. “Naw. I’m getting pretty tired of this rank smell I’ve got going on.”
The doctor nodded his head, “Right,”
“I… uh… guess I’ll catch ya later, Stormy?” Gentle Strokes begged.
“It’s not like I’m going anywhere in a hurry,” said Stormy, nodding a head towards the legs wrapped in casts. He motioned with his left hoof for Gentle Strokes to come forwards, and, when the older colt did, Stormy brought his mouth to his ear to whisper, “Try and bring me something to read when you come back? Maybe some whiskey too? I don’t think it could hurt me much worse to have a few drinks,” he turned away from Gentle Strokes to the still standing and smiling doctor, “Plus security around here seems pretty slack.”
Gentle Strokes nodded, “Can do.”
With a long look back at his bedridden, medically assisted, lover, Gentle Strokes took his leave, with purpose and a mission; Stormy’s sanctity of peace relied on Gentle Strokes playing the role of a cheap two-bit detective for the rest of the day. There were ponies to see, leads to track down, stories to get straight, authorities to consult, and so on and so forth. Hucklebuck and his hate-filled assistants were still at large (After all, Sheriff Steel hadn’t reported back to him after the previous night’s efforts of rounding up said homophobic posse), and, there were too few ponies in Dodge Junction who could help sort this mess out.
Drought’s father’s place would be his first stop, possibly Tucker, Saddlesore and Spiral’s after that. The foursome (Often sans Drought, so more of a threesome, really) were the ponies who usually made up Huck’s group of cronies. There weer a few others in Dodge Junction who’d likely aide and abet Huck, but, this was a solid start to Gentle Strokes’ ersatz detective career.
Now all he had to do was track down Sheriff Steel, or his deputy, and get them to join his crusade for justice.
***
Gentle Strokes was gone and Doctor Toboggan’s promised sponge bath was over and done with. The offer to be scrubbed clean by an older stallion wasn’t something new to Stormy, what was, however, was knowing that Doctor Toboggan had diplomas on his wall instead of whips and chains.
Stormy’s mind wandered sometimes.
Somewhere between the by then hourly supply of morphine swimming throughout his veins, the quietness of being alone in a hospital bed, and the dull eggshell white of the walls, boredom had taken a toll on him. It made him queasy, and then sleepy and so he rested for a bit.
That was then.
This was now.
When he awoke he had another visitor. Again, it was a member of The Strokes household, and, like last time a member of their clan had come, he was greeted with a warm, but worried, sort of smile.
It wasn’t Gentle Strokes, though.
It was Clementine.
She’d looked a fair bit bookish and, to be blunt but fair, somewhat nerdy last time he’d seen her; hiding herself behind folded hooves, smiling content and drinking in his words about Camden, Manehattan, higher education and what to expect post-high school graduation greedily. Again, that was then, this was now. Now, she looked like something that’d just come out of the screening of a snuff film; her face was pale and almost lifeless, eyes soft and wet looking and she nervously scratched her mane and bit her lip while she looked over his body.
That wasn’t totally unfair on her part. He was, afterall, as close to the trotting dead as a pony could look. She must have been totally mortified to see him. He knew that he certainly had been when he’d caught his own reflection hours and hours earlier.
When she spied him spying on her, a blush took over her cheeks and she hid her face behind her hooves for a second, before standing up and taking on a determined gait.
“Hello, Stormy,” she said, hardly raising her voice more than a whisper, “I… I didn’t mean to bother you, or to wake you up, but, I thought you might like something to, um, well, to keep you busy, and, Gent said you liked poetry earlier, so…”
She didn’t finish her thought, but, instead, trotted up to him holding a wicker basket filled with books, snacks (chocolates, toffees and what looked like truffles in a clear plastic container) and a few apples and oranges. She set the basket down by the bed, then stood, staring at him for a moment.
“Thanks,” he said.
She smiled, faintly and continued to loom over him. More than the basket of treats and books he probably would glance at (or flip through for something steamy and smutty to test just how crippled he was between his legs) she brought with her a sense of longing and imploring and Stormy, who was tired, didn’t want to waste much time dancing around.
“Is there anything else, Clementine?”
It was a fair bit rude, maybe, but, he was still really tired, and she did have a very curious stare on her face.
“Um,” she said and bit her lower lip, “I wanted to ask you something... Personal…” she bit her lip again, “I wanted to ask you a personal question, Stormy.”
Oh, great. This was going to be good. He could tell.
He must not have been showing on his face just how little he cared to be interrogated, or asked personal questions, because Clementine smiled with relief when he nodded his head. Out of courtesy’s sake, he invited her to take a seat, which she did, gladly. She pulled a chair towards the bed, it scraped against the floor, making an awful noise, then, when she’d finished, she fell into it, folded a leg across her lap and took on a commanding, disciplined look to her.
She could make a very convincing therapist later in life, Stormy thought.
“Are you gay?”
He would have gawked at her, and thrown her an ugly look, but it hurt too much to do more than scowl. Clementine, still, didn’t seem to sense his apprehension, or, if she did, she ignored it entirely.
“If I say ‘yes’ are you going to break another one of my legs?” he asked, curling his lips into another scowl, “Are you here to finish the job, then?”
She threw her head back, her eyes widened and then she looked embarrassed, shamed and filled with sorrow. Slowly, she returned her face to normal, but, not without leaving hints of both shame and acceptance.
“Stormy, please…” she begged, “I need to know, because- Gosh, this is so embarrassing, but, well, you read about this kind of stuff happening. And, I mean, I never believed it really happened to ponies. I- I thought that we, as a nation- I thought that Equestria, and Dodge Junction — especially Dodge Junction — I thought we were all better than this. I really, really, did.”
Stormy rolled his good eye, “Join the club,”
She looked at him. There was sorrow in her look, and pain.
“Stormy,” she said, and, before he could even protest, she was laying her hoof flat against his leg and rubbing him. “Please, just listen to me, okay?” she stopped, clicked her tongue, and then kept rubbing his leg. “My family. They’re not bad ponies, Stormy. I swear that on my life. And, what Huck did to you- Well, you have believe me when I say that I can’t believe he could do that to another pony,” she sighed “But, it’s not a reflection on me, or Gent, or the rest of my family.”
Her hoof on his leg, rubbing his sore and aching muscles, reminded him of comforts he hadn’t known from a mare in, well, ever. This wasn’t romantic, like it was with Gentle Strokes, or, any other of his lovers in the past, this was a platonic, but still touching, sort of rub.
It almost bothered him that he liked it.
Almost.
“Stormy, please don’t hate us for what they did to you,” she begged, nearing tears, “Please. Please just promise me you won’t hold this against us- Against Gent.”
That was a thought he’d never even considered. He’d totally overlooked the notion that, maybe, Gentle Strokes, or his mother, father, or, apparently, Clementine, might get it in their heads that he’d blame them for the actions of a few bad seeds. And then what? Start some kind of anti-Dodge Junction crusade?
What was she getting at here?
“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” she said, staring him in the eye, “Stormy, you have to believe me. But, Gent, he tried to set it all right. You should have seen him last night; running throughout town, trying to put things back together. I’ve never seen him like that in my life, Stormy. Really. It was- Well, I don’t know if ‘admirable’ is the right word here, but-”
Stormy didn’t have to question Gentle Strokes’s dedication. It certainly sounded like something he’d do, running himself ragged throughout the town, looking under every single rock, and in every dark corner he could find for Huck, or any of the others.
It was actually a very flattering thing to hear. In a weird sort of way.
Those soft, lifeless, needy eyes of Clementine’s turned on him again. She wiped away a bit of wet leakage with the back of her hoof, then smiled up at him.
“I just want you to be okay,” she said, “And, Gent... He needs you to be okay, too. All my brother’s done is talk, and talk, and talk about you, and, when I met you, yesterday, I could see why. I could just tell, Stormy.”
There existed a cynical, bitter and jaded side to Stormy. It came out every now and again — usually when his father or brother were present physically, or in spirit — and when it did it turned the docile, happy-go-lucky, well intentioned homosexual pony into a bitingly, sharp witted jackass. Stormy tempted dipping into the reserve of residual anger he felt at being a borderline cripple and directing it all at Clementine for no other reason than that she was here, now, to hear him bitch and moan, but, that softness in her eyes reminded him too much of how she was inherently a good pony and didn’t deserve that from him.
Instead of being a douchebag, as he might have well been if it’d been anypony else in the world, Stormy stayed quiet and let Clementine’s self admittance of no-true wrongdoing, and venting, ranting and raging keep on.
“You and Gent,” she said, smiling faintly but with enough optimisitic pride to make Stormy want to smile back, “You’re, um- You’re together, right?”
Stunned, Stormy made a terribly dumb looking face, “Er...”
“It’s okay, Stormy.” Clementine said, smoothly enough to reassure him, “I’m a big girl, and I’m definitely not enough like Huck to be at all judgemental... Not that there’s even anything about being gay to judge- And, well, to be frank and honest; it was sort of... obvious after last night,” Clementine giggled into her hoof, “Besides, you’re definitely a catch for a guy like my brother... if I say so myself.”
She giggled more into her hoof and the sweetness in her voice came back. Her words, the way she said them, and her movements put a goofy, dorky, smile on Stormy’s face.
Still, this wasn’t something he was ready to do; throw Gent under the cart like this.
“Maybe you should talk to your brother about this, Clementine?” Stormy said, “I mean, uh- I really do appreciate you coming here. And, I especially appreciate dropping off that get well gift basket and all, but, er... um...”
Where was that impressive list of well thought out excuses to evade awkward situations now?
“This is really something you and him should talk about, Clementine,” he finished, lamely. “It’s really his place, not mine, to tell you that about himself after all.”
“Oh, uh-” Clementine stuttered, looking down at the floor, “Okay…”
Stormy licked his lips as he watched her deflate in her seat; she shrunk, her eyes paled and softened and when she did look at him it was bashful and shy. Biting his cheek, Stormy smiled,
“Hey, Clem,”
The bookish pony’s ears perked and her head lifted. She smiled at him, “Yeah?”
“This is uh- Doc Toboggan said I really should be catching up on rest... Helps with the healing he said. But, I was thinking since you’re already here, and you did bring that gift basket, maybe you could stay a while and read me something?”
Her pupils grew enormous. Her smile lifted then spread across her face, and she nodded her head erratically, “Absolutely,” she cheered, “I’d love too. This volume has some of my favorites.”
She reached for the gift basket, unwrapped it and just as quickly pulled a dusted hardcover book the same size and weight as an average Camden textbook. Smiling with an innocent, inherent, ladylike charm to her while she worked, she quickly flipped the book open on her lap and took to rifling through pages. There was more determination on her face while she rifled through the pages than Stormy could honestly say he’d ever shown towards educating himself at Camden.
Clem was destined for greatness. He could tell.
“Ah, here we go,” she said, slapping her hoof flat on an open page, “This one’s by Blake. You must know Blake? Right?”
“Only a few,”
“This is one of his bests,” she said with a proud grin, “If I do say so myself.”
Stormy grinned back, then craned his head towards the basket on the floor, “Wanna pass me a few of those truffles? I haven’t eaten since- Shit, I guess it’s been since I was at your place- And that was what? At least a day and a half ago now?”
She smiled, bent her head down and reemerged a few seconds later holding a small plastic pouch with chocolates done up in a bow. She untied the bow holding it closed, it sprung open and then she plopped a half dozen chocolate truffles onto his naked chest.
Clementine began to read from the book while Stormy took a hoof full of truffles off his chest and popped them into his mouth one at a time. He chewed them, winced when his chin clicked and something in his jaw snapped, but feigned a smile back at Clementine.
“These are good,” he said after he swallowed a mouth full of truffle, “Really good.”
“Oh,” Clementine said, blushing, “They’re um- My mom made them, actually.”
Stormy raised a brow while he popped another truffle in his mouth and chewed it, “Really?”
“Yeah,” Clementine said, “She- Well, she didn’t have enough time to bake anything. She said she wanted too, since, um- It’s really the least we could do for you,” her smile faltered, “I’m sure it doesn’t make up for, uh- the… y’know- For everything else, but-”
“Naw,” Stormy said, grinning and waving his good hoof at her, “A few more of these. Maybe something strong to drink and maybe a nice waldorf salad and I should be back on my hooves.”
Clementine grinned and then Stormy did.
“I can see why he likes you,” she said so softly that he almost didn’t hear her say it.
Stormy rolled his head to her, “Huh?”
“Gent. I can see why he likes you,” she said, “You’re… really funny. And smart. You’re a smart and funny guy,” A wry, bashful, smile came up her bright face, “Not to mention handsome.”
Stormy grinned at her, “Sounds like he’s not the only one who likes me.”
A flush of crimson spread wildly across her cheeks and she cupped them with her hooves, “What? N-no. No way,” she huffed, furrowed her brows and puffed out her lips, “Don’t be such an ass, Stormy.”
Stormy rolled his shoulders until something snapped, winced, then smiled it away, “I have to do something to pass the time,” he said, “I wouldn’t want my sharp wit to go dull in here.”
Clementine lay her hoof flat against a flabbier part of his stomach and tensely pinched the fur and skin she found there. Stormy gave a pained yelp then Clementine was grinning, rolling her tongue out through her lips and blowing raspberries at him.
“Serves you right,” she said with a mix of sternness and humour to her voice, “Act like a jackass and you’ll get treated like one.”
Stormy deflated and sank back into the bed, “I guess I had that coming.”
Proud of herself, beaming and showing it, Clementine leaned back in her seat and kicked her legs up to rest on the edge of Stormy’s bed. There was no meanness to the look he gave her, no edge or bite; it was soft and gentle and, in as many ways as it could be without bordering on creepy or awkward, caring too. Likewise, when Clementine spotted him looking at her she returned the look to him.
“Want me to keep going?” she asked, tapping a page of the book with her fetlock, “There’s a few more pages.”
Stormy smiled at her, “For sure.”