Everypony's Gay For Braeburn

by Wing Dancer

Send Shivers Running Down My Sides

The next day, all eyes were on Braeburn. It all started when the door to his small home opened slowly, the hinges forgetting to creak in their apparent awe.

The yellow stallion looked simply dazzling. His fur shined like in a fancy shampoo commercial, the delicate wind creating delightful little waves in its silky softness. The stallion’s silhouette was sleek, a delicious promise of toned muscles dancing right beneath the smooth skin as he slowly strutted out. He lacked his signature stetson, his unbridled hair naturally forming into a style that would make movie stars huff with envy. It gently rolled down his neck, caressing his well defined jaw.

The stallion’s smile was simply enchanting, the glint in his eye either a severe medical condition or the most attractive super-natural phenomenon this side of the wild west. The way he looked at the gaping crowd made every mare’s heart skip a beat and tongue loll out.

As Braeburn finally crossed the threshold of his home his magnificent, bushy tail whipped into view. It looked like a majestic flame, slowly dancing from side to side, proudly arching away from the ground, the tip bouncing slightly above the dirt. His hips swayed in his stride, his haunches drawing even more stares and drool-dribbling tongues sticking out of mare mouths.

He exerted pure confidence and attractiveness, with a strong yet not overwhelming aroma of mint and sun-bathed apples around him. Each bouncy step he took was hungrily traced by dozens of eyes, the tremors shaking his body causing hyperventilation in many a married mare.

Braeburn himself felt like a god. He soaked up the attention, the sun on his fur and wind blowing past his marvelous mane making him feel alive like never before. He was like a caterpillar finally having matured into a majestic butterfly, the miracle Flim-Flam mixture providing him with a catalyst for the transformation.

* * *

Gentle Flower was one of the many mares that noticed Braeburn suddenly becoming hotter than the sun. To her, the stallion was pretty handsome before and - frankly - out of her league, but now she felt like even looking at him would cause her to burn up and scamper back home in embarrassment.

The best she could muster was to observe him from the corner of her eye, which wasn’t that difficult considering how he literally radiated while strutting down the road, towards the apple fields. She wished she had the courage to shuffle over and at least say hello to him. It took her the better part of the year to get comfortable with stalking him in the fields with a pair of binoculars. Right now, she wouldn’t even be using a telescope from the moon, that’s how intimidated she felt.

“Oh, hello there Flower, quite a fine day fer a nice, relaxin stroll, eh?”

Despite the pleasant warmth of the noon sun, Gentle Flower’s guts flash-froze and shattered inside her.

Braeburn was standing to her left, barely out of sight, and he was addressing her. For some reason, she was so caught up in thinking how hot he was she didn’t notice they were on a collision course. And, of course, now it was too late to meep and bolt back home.

“Ya alright? Ya seem kind of, uh, red all over. More than usual.”

It was true. She was usually red, thanks to her crimson coat, passed down from her mother’s side. This particular genetic adaptation was perfect for hiding blushes, letting the pony seem more confident. But even genetics stood no chance in the face of her whole blood volume rushing to her face in the frantic pulsing pace of her heart.

“B-B-B… M-M-Mmmmm,” she squeaked out, the sound so high in pitch it was barely audible. “H-Hhhh-hh...”

“Uh, okay,” replied Braeburn, confidently strutting past the frozen mare. “See ya around then?”

Not a sound was heard in response, and Braeburn could not help but beam at himself. He would be enjoying a hot tub full of mares adoring him by nightfall!

* * *

In the fields, Brae was slightly worried that his sweating would dim the effect of the mixture. He was proven severely wrong when every passer-by remarked at how nice he smelled, some more bold ladies even entertaining him with some small talk and hinting at the possibility of continuing it elsewhere.

It was a dream come true for him. He never thought that being noticed and desired could feel so good!

“I mean, not that I’m not important or anything,” murmured Braeburn, an expertly landed tree buck shaking his rump to the delight of some eavesdropping fillies. “It’s just that, well, Ah’d like to be appreciated for mah own charms, not the job Ah do.”

“So, uh, Brae!”

The voice that spoke to Braeburn startled him slightly. It was gruff and worn, something a stallion that managed to do the impossible and grow a beard would sound like. And surely enough, the owner of the voice had a scruffy looking dark patch on his chin and cheeks. He was one of the work-horses he recognised from the railroads, a brown, big earth pony, much more muscular and daunting than Braeburn.

“Um, hello! You were… Hard Track, yes?” heartily replied Brae, trying to figure out what the other could ever want. If his memory served, he had no business with the railponies that day.

“Um, yeah,” hummed the large stallion, looking around. “You uh, bucking apples, yes?”

“Yeah, it’s high time to pluck em and start processin,” cautiously replied Braeburn.

“Sooo, well… I was thinkin, you know… We don’t get to talk much.” The stallion shrugged and looked to the side briefly. “How about we go grab a cold cider in the saloon later, eh?”

The smaller stallion paused for a short while, his muzzle scrunching up in confusion. “Ummm, yeah, sure,” he finally stuttered out, offering a wide, if bit wary, grin.

Hard Track brightened up and smiled, nodding his head slightly. “Great. Coz, uh, you know. It’s bad practice to drink alone.”

“Sure, anytime!” Braeburn waved as the railpony slowly walked away. “Well, that was new. I wonder what he wants though.”

The stallion simply shrugged - he’d find out sooner or later what was going on. Maybe it had something to do with the tracks running dead-center of some important buffalo territory? They sure were mighty stingy about their land, and Braeburn had to constantly run back and forth, trying to figure out how to mediate between them and the Appleloosans without instilling another pie war. That sure cost them a lot of produce.

“You’re Braeburn, right?”

Braeburn got startled again, missing the bark of the tree and falling ass first to the ground. He looked up slightly irritated, noticing a lanky, tall stallion who usually worked at the saloon behind the counter.

“Haven’t seen you in the Watering Hole for some time now,” he smiled, his monocle rising slightly. “Feel like having a drink on the house after work?”

* * *

“Somethin mighty fishy is goin on here,” mused Braeburn, half-heartedly waving to an overly excited orchard worker who struck up a conversation with him just a few seconds ago.

During the day at least six other stallions came by, starting off with some meaningless small-talk and then inviting him over for a drink. Of course there were a few ponies who tried to be nice to him and would invite him every now and then, but never so many in a single day. They either wanted to gang up on him or it was some kind of joke, or maybe even dare.

“Uhh, I hope they didn’t get mad over the whole potion thing?” he murmured, stopping dead in his tracks

It was true that many mares were secretly giving him glances. Fact was that most of them were already married, more or less happily, to other stallions. And only Celestia herself knew what a mad husband could do to an attractive, young, desirable stud like him. Probably something involving a hospital.

“Then again, most of em were single,” he continued, looking at the direction of the bar. The lights shone brightly through the windows and gaps in the doors, the sounds of merriment and tinkling glass warm and inviting. “Well, Brae, there’s only one way to find out, eh?”

With only a brief moment of hesitation, Braeburn opened the creaky saloon doors. A wave of sound, light, and the aroma of fermented apples and salt assaulted his senses. The stallion was never one to indulge too much in drinking or salt-licking, but the atmosphere in the Watering Hole was something in and of itself. The folk were plenty friendly, with laughter and grumbling present in equal measure over games of cards here and there. A dainty little mare Braeburn knew as Quick Wit carried a tray of frosted glasses filled to the brim with foaming cider, her wide smile and flirtatious demeanour keeping the bits flowing for the owner.

All of that froze and the chatter died down as the double doors behind Braeburn swung back into position. The earth pony was acutely aware that everypony was eyeing him. While he appreciated the attention that day, the fact that most of his audience were stallions, some of which invited him over and currently sat at the bar, made the little voice in his head pipe up and suggest getting the buck outa there.

There was something wrong with the way everypony looked at him. Usually, he’d get a glance or few, like any pony who entered the establishment. It was reflex, right? To look at a new pony entering the saloon? Well, staring at him from the corner of your eye, or blatantly ogling him as he strutted nervously towards the bar top was something that usually happened in western-themed movies.Ones that involved a lot of fighting, broken glass and potentially sharp objects that had a tendency to wedge themselves in the protagonist’s body.

Horseapples, what gives? Is it about the mares? Are these fellas jealous about little ol’ me? worried Braeburn, gingerly sitting himself as far away from the other patrons as possible. He smiled at the barkeep who was positively beaming at him. Sweet Celestia, he’s gonna poison me, ah don’t wanna die- no! Keep it together Braeburn. Everythin’s fine, right? Folk like you, remember? They’re reasonable an’ friendly, an some of em’ insisted you come over for a drink oh sweet Luna why did I come here-

“First one’s on the house, Brae,” purred the monocled pony, hoofing him a frosty, tall mug of golden deliciousness. “Holler if ya need anything~”

Yep, they were definitely out for blood. Out of the corner of his eye, Brae saw their hard glares. The barkeep was nice with patrons, but the way he sing-sang the last word sent a chill down his spine. Some of the others were shuffling in place, itching to get up and… probably do something that’d make his momma never recognise him again.

The unfortunate cowpony gave a startled yelp as Hard Rail, the first one to invite him over, slammed his empty mug to his left. Braeburn instinctively turned his head around, recoiling only slightly from the smell of alcohol that wafted from the burly railpony.

“Sup’ Brae,” he slurred, hoisting himself onto the barstool besides Braeburn. “Glad ya could come. How’s life, eh?”

The terrified Apple only managed a weak chuckle before he heard another pony take a seat right next to him. Immediately, the thus far silent saloon was filled with the ear-grating noises of chairs scraping across the wooden floor and the clapping of hooves. Braeburn stood as rigidly still as he could, nervous jitters rocking his body as he got literally swamped by what seemed like half of Appaloosa’s male population.

They were all smiling. Everypony was trying to say something. There was some shoving and pushing as the stallions tried getting closer, almost smothering the poor yellow colt. Braeburn shrank in his seat, hyperventilating, his back pressed uncomfortably against the bar top.

“What’cha been up to lately?”

“Meet anypony interesting?”

“My, you sure do smell nice today. New shampoo?”

“You doin’ anything tommorow in tha afternoon?”

“Have an eye on anypony in particular?”

All the questions, all the crowding and leaning, the smell of booze - it was simply too much. Braeburn cried out and lept out of the crowd, with some difficulty. Well, to call it a jump was very generous - he managed to dive between the first few stallions, rolling down to the floor and scampering between a few more before breaching the alerted crowd.

As fast as he could, he legged it out of the saloon, not stopping to look back before he felt the reassuring slam and click of his home’s front doors. Still panting, the stallion couldn’t comprehend what just happened.

“What tha hay,” he panted out, shakily collapsing on his favorite rocking chair. “Ah can’t tell if they were tryin… trying ta kill me or tah… tah...” He paused. He stopped it right there. What just happened was odd, but in no way did it look like what he thought it was. “Ah mean… A bunch of stallions just… And the free drinks, ah mean… Naw! Salt Lick always had his eyes for the mare over at the bakery… Were they hittin on me?”

Comments

[SageBrony07]

Great job. I think this is a funny story. I wonder what is going to finally show Braeburn that both Mares and Stallions are crushing on him? Also if Flim and Flam are still in town?

[CrackedInkWell]

Please don't tell me that this story is dead... Right?

[verypeeved]

6107727 the good news is i can tell you it's not dead. the bad news is I'd probably be lying

[CrackedInkWell]

By the power invested in me, myself and I, (since this story hasn't been updated for over six months) I declare this story to be dead.

My it forever rest in peace.

[superfun]

Will this ever be continued?