Sensation (SFW Version)

by Vivid Syntax

Chapter 17 - Mayor Braeburn

The sun ducked behind a faraway rock spire as I entered town. I wasn't in the mood to explore anything on my own. Kinda defeats the purpose of a tour without a tour guide, right? I wanted Braeburn to show me around. I wanted him to walk with me through the streets and show me all the cool places and not worry about what everypony would say. I wanted him to be okay, and damn it, for once I was willing to wait.

That left me without anything to do, though. A few ponies still wandered in and out of creaky doors, but most of them sauntered towards the edges of town where all the houses were. The heat of the day had died down, and everything was settling. There's always one thing to do in a small place like Appleloosa, though.

I've been to a lot of bars, and each one's got its own character. Wanna dance in a club and score with a hottie? Cloudsdale's your place. Wanna get blitzed and bar-hop all night? Can't beat Las Pegasus. If you want a place with a lot more charm than flash, though, you need to find the best bar in a small town, the one all the locals go to.

The Salt Block had rural charm in spades: dim light, the musty smell of smoke, and a pony in the corner playing music on a piano that needed tuning. The walls were wood-paneled near the floor, with rich orange paint above and hoof-carved trim in simple patterns. It was homey, but I did a double-take when I noticed how up-to-date a few things looked – fancy metal bar stools, state-of-the-art tap, and a few pieces of weird art on the walls. The place was packed, too, like every stallion in town was there. Some of the mares, too, and I had to strain to hear anything over all the conversations. Money always flows to the bars.

The waitress at the front was a white mare with a blue mane. She had a soft, sweet voice, the kind you wouldn't expect to find in a place like that. "Good evening, sir! Come in for a drink, or can we get you some grub?"

I peeked past her when a grey earth pony waved me over. Squinting through the dim light, I saw three stallions sitting at one of the tables near the middle of the floor: a grey one, a blue one, and a green one. 'Oh, hey!' I thought. 'Slate, Pridesong, aaaaaand.... green one.' I turned back to the waitress and pointed a hoof. "Nah. I'm with them."

As I trotted over, I saw Pridesong lean in and say something to the other two. Slate scowled for a second and then said something back. Pridesong didn't respond. He pushed his half-empty glass of beer away, stood up, and left in a huff. He gave me a wide berth and went the long way around the tables, bumping past a few other patrons and shooting me a snarl.

I made it to the table and nodded at the remaining ponies. "Uh, hi! So..." I jerked my head back towards Pridesong. "What's his problem?"

Slate leaned back in his chair. His low voice spilled over the edge of his beer glass. "Trouble breathing, I think."

I cocked my head to the side. "Like, allergies?"

"Naw. Head's just too far up is own ass."

I chuckled to myself as Slate downed the rest of his beer and set the glass on the table. He gestured to the now vacant chair. "Seat's open, though."

I took the invitation. "Thanks."

Slate nodded back to me. "Pleasure to have you, but I don't think I caught your name yesterday." He scratched his chin. "Heard it's Soarin', though, yep?"

Fame happens. "Yeah. Slate, right?"

He started to respond, but the green pony with the white mane and high-pitched voice cut him off. "Nice to meet you. I'm Grassy Ridge. Say, Soarin', I don't mean to pry, but what do you do for a living?" Ridge leaned in on one foreleg. They always do that when they recognize you.

"Heh. I'm a Wonderbolt."

"Hoo!" Ridge smiled and nudged Slate. "Told ya'! Next round's on you, big guy."

Slate grimaced and bounced his head a couple times, staring at me. "Yeah, yeah. Okay. I got it." His whistle was super loud, loud enough to pierce through the crowd and reach the bartender, a lanky stallion with a thick black moustache. Slate made a little circle in the air with his hoof. "So, how you findin' Appleloosa, Soarin'?" I liked the way he talked. It had that country twang, but it was low and calm and reminded me of my dad.

"Good. It's nice." Nothing else came to me. I realized I didn't have an opinion – I'd been chasing Braeburn the whole time I'd been there. "Honestly, I haven't seen much of it yet. Braeburn made me work in the orchard today."

Slate smiled. "Yeah. Hard worker, that one. I admire his spirit."

A warm feeling spread through my chest. "There's a lot to admire. He's kind, he's a great cook, and I loved staring at that sweet–"

"Careful."

"What?" He didn't seem like the type to interrupt, but I understood when the waitress appeared from behind me. She set three beers on the table before she took the other glasses away.

Slate took a cigar out of his saddle bag and tapped it on the table. "You're a city pony, right? Never lived in a small town?" He dug out a lighter, lit up, and took a long drag. As I nodded, and he tilted his head back to blow a ring of smoke up into the air. I caught a whiff of it. It was sweet. "Well, be careful. Don't say anything you wouldn't want repeated by everypony in town." He sucked on the cigar again. "Because it will be." Smoke billowed out of each of his nostrils. "Ponies 'round these parts ain't got much to talk about 'cept each other.”

I blew some air out of my lips. "Psh. Whatever. I'm used to it."

"Maybe you don't mind." He took another short puff and knocked the ash off onto a wet napkin. "But I figure somepony you care about does."

Ridge stayed quiet and nursed his drink, but I could feel his eyes on me whenever I looked back at Slate.

"Oh." I looked down. It seemed like Slate didn't appreciate the gossip. "I... guess I shouldn't ask you about him, then."

"Now, I didn't say I was tight-lipped. I'm a sinner, just the same as everypony else." At least he was honest. He gave a quick look around to some of the other tables – probably looking for eavesdroppers – and leaned in. "What do you wanna know?"

'Does he know what an abusive asshole Bronze was?' I wondered. "So, when I saw Braeburn last wee–"

"You mindin' your mouth?"

I hadn't been. I paused and thought about how to phase it. I needed something that would keep me in the clear. "What was Bronze like? Why'd he and Braeburn split?"

That got Ridge to speak up. "Ah, scopin' the competition, eh?"

Slate paused for a second. "Well, he seemed polite enough. Little rough around the edges. Bit of a hothead, maybe. As for why they split up, well..." Slate gulped down a few drinks of his beer. "Word is they had a fight. Don't know about what."

"Did they–" I stopped to double-check that I wasn't saying anything stupid. "Did they fight very much?"

"Don't rightly know. Seldom saw them out together. Kinda strange for a couple, but I suppose Braeburn's always been a private pony."

"Why?"

Slate sighed. "Idiots like Pridesong, I reckon." He took one last drag, then stamped out his cigar and put the unused part away. "Might be a better question for Braeburn, though. Now, sorry to dash, but the wife'll be on my ass if I'm late for dinner again. Nice seeing you, Soarin'. Let me know if you need anything." He stacked a small pile of bits on the table, and with a tip of his hat, he left with Ridge close behind.

I sat at the table for another half-hour or so, sipping my beer and going over everything I could keep track of. 'Poor Brae. He said Bronze stood up for him, so what was he afraid of? Is he really that private?' My breathing picked up, and my jaw tightened. I felt a scowl on my face. 'Or did Bronze keep him inside to hide the bruises?' I heard a rattling and looked down. My hoof was shaking and knocking against the glass. My neck felt hot, and my wings itched to start flapping, take off into the sky, find that dirt bag and give him a hard hoof to the face.

But then I thought about Braeburn, and my heart sank. As angry as I was at Bronze, thinking about the two of them fighting left me feeling helpless, paralyzed at how much Braeburn must have gone through alone.

Alone.

The piano played a slow, melancholy tune, and I swirled the beer around my glass. It left foam clinging to the side, sinking back down into the umber liquid. I looked down into the glass, and as my beer settled, a rippling reflection came into view. A dejected face stared back, his blue coat tinted a shiny brown by the beer. "Heh. At least he's got you."

The corners of my reflection's mouth turned up. 'Yeah. Yeah! He's got me! He doesn't have to be alone anymore.' My back straightened out, and I nodded to myself. 'Neither of us do.' I tipped back the glass and gulped down the rest of my beer. After I'd finished, I leaned back in my chair, stuck my forehooves behind my head, and stared at the ceiling as Holli's advice came back to me. 'Yeah. Some ponies are worth chasing after.'

I daydreamed about everything that a second chance could mean. Braeburn had already given me so much – somepony to talk to that I felt comfortable around, something to look forward to, and a way to stop thinking about all the issuess with the Wonderbolts. Those problems seemed so far away. Braeburn was real, though. He was nearby, and we were building something.

Of course, conversations weren't the only things to look forward to. I kept imagining Braeburn’s body up against mine, and it wasn't just the beer that was making my face red. I wanted him. I wanted him bad. I spent a few minutes mentally going over every inch of him, from his hooves to those soft ears, filling in the gaps where I needed to. I wanted it all.

More ponies started filing in, and I caught a glimpse of the frazzled waitress counting tables. Slate hadn't said whether he'd paid for my beer, too, but I wasn't going to take any chances. I threw a few more bits onto the table and left.

After that, I meandered back to the hotel. It was still early, so I tried to find something to distract myself in the empty lobby. A big page-a-day calendar told me it was Thursday. Crazy how you can forget something like that, right? I sighed a little thinking about the team back home, about how they'd gotten an easy training day for the show tomorrow and about how Fire Streak was going to have his big debut.

"Streak." I looked over at the empty table in the corner. "New Number One." I smiled and shook my head, and suddenly there was this urge to write a letter. Came outta nowhere. I got some paper and a quill from the front desk, sat down to write, and stared at the page for, like, forty minutes. Writing's tough. I don't know how you do it. There seemed like a lot to say, but nothing I could come up with sounded sincere or insightful or anything. The letter wasn't even going to reach him before the show, anyway. In the end, I settled on the one thought I came back to over and over again:

Streak,

I don't even need to wait for the papers. I know you killed it. Great flying, Number One.

~Soarin'

It felt right.

I bought an envelope and a stamp and sealed up the letter before I drew the... I drew a picture on it. No, you don't get to know what it was. Sorry, dude, but Streak would toast my ass if I let it slip.

After dropping the envelope in the mail slot, I went up to my room. I tried to read more of the book Braeburn had lent me, but I just ended up starting at the page, thinking about him trying to keep everything close to the chest. Eventually, I gave up and flopped onto my back to watch the ceiling and try thinking happy thoughts. It worked. A little. My body was tired enough from the day's labor to pass out early, and I fell asleep wondering if Braeburn liked being on the right or the left side of the bed.

* * * * *

Soarin' takes a big bite of his sandwich. He's barely had enough time to eat with the story going on, but he looks down at my plate. He swallows and gives me a wink. "Told you this place was great."

My stomach is warm and full, and there are barely any crumbs left on my plate. I look up at him. "You certainly have good taste." The sandwich was pleasant and the caffeine from my Dirty Chai poisons my blood in the best way possible, and my mind feels sharp despite the grogginess that usually follows a meal like this. Idle chatter from the other three tables in the tiny café fills the room, and even though we're all cramped together, a refreshing blanket of anonymity shields us from anypony bothering us. I've seen a few ears swivel towards our table, but nopony appears to be eavedropping.

That's for the best, of course. Without my notepad, the tingle at the back of my skull that tells me to notice every intricate detail burns more than ever, though I wonder how good my notes would really be at this point. I'd felt physically ill when Soarin' described Braeburn's history with Bronze. Maybe I should be grateful I didn't have to transcribe it.

Soarin' takes a swig of his coffee. "Of course I have good taste. I literally fell for Braeburn, didn't I?"

* * * * *

I woke up early the next day, and the scene was pretty much the same. I got up, made sure I still had my key, and left my room. I took a quick shower – too quick to get all the dust from the previous day out of my feathers – and was out the front door of the hotel even faster than the day before. I didn't bother with wake-up laps – my nerves burned, and I could feel Braeburn waiting for me. As I glided to his door, I saw a bright yellow face peering out of the first-story window.

I didn't even have to knock. The door swung open right as I stepped up. "Mornin'! Didn't think you could wake up this early."

It took all of four seconds for me to want close to me. "Well, I can go back to sleep if you want." I stepped inside, brushed past him, and took half a second to check out his flank. 'You know. In your bed. With you. Right now.'

"Aw, no need for that. I've got a pot of coffee on if you like. Afraid I'm a little red-eyed myself." He stepped next to me and nudged me with his shoulder. Just that brief moment of contact almost made my knees buckle like a schoolyard filly. "See, some loony convinced me to sleep away the afternoon yesterday. Left me tossing all night, and I couldn't get my thoughts to settle."

We walked side-by-side into his house. I put on my best 'concerned big brother' voice. "That guy sounds like a nut job. You should stay away from him. Heh. Can you imagine if he ever got into your house?" I nudged him back as we stopped in the kitchen. "So, what was on your mind all night?"

Braeburn paused and slowly turned to look at me. His eyes locked onto mine, and his head was as solid as a rock while a smile spread across his face. For a second, the only sound in the world was our breathing. "I'll get you some coffee."

He got fresh mugs for both of us, and we settled onto a small couch in his living room.

And I melted. I don't mean, like, I went all gaga or anything, but... Huh. I don't know. It's like I was part of the scenery, like I flowed with all the positive energy in that place. There wasn't any separation between me and everything in Braeburn's house, including Braeburn. It was natural. I belonged there. Any leftover bad feelings had vanished, and in their place, there was this warmth, this thing that felt like home. A real home. Not even close to my cold, lonely condo. Braeburn had drawn me into his house, made me a part of it, and he'd done it all without me even realizing it. Yeah. Melted.

We talked about "Whitewing's Big Score" and swapped stories about work or the Wonderbolts' tours, and the conversation had this fluidness to it. He'd shift his weight, and I'd adjust myself, too, scooting just a little bit closer, just enough that his scent would catch my nose for a moment and make me shiver. He'd sip his coffee from the oversized mug when I told him about the best clubs in Cloudsdale, and I'd get lost in his eyes while he rambled on about camping out in the desert.

We talked until our stomachs rumbled and our coffee went cold. Braeburn had something easier for me to cook that day, "for real this time." Even I can cut up an apple into same-ish size cubes.

Braeburn made grits with fruit and spices, and I probably don't have to tell you it was freaking amazing! It was creamy and tasted like heaven. It slid down my throat, warm and sticky and salty and filling. I couldn't get enough, and it was even better knowing it came from him. I wanted him to keep feeding me more. I would have sucked it up all day.

What's so funny?

Anyway, we cleaned up, and I finally got impatient enough. If I was anxious, though, you couldn't hear it in my voice. I sounded bouncy, actually. Weird. "So, what are we doing today? More chores?" I wouldn't even have minded.

"Nah, I'd hate to put you out too much. Besides, I gotta get some paperwork done." He looked up at me suddenly, biting his lower lip. "Oh! I hope that's not too boring for you."

"Can we talk while you work?"

He hesitated. "S-sure!"

"Then I'll be fine."

One cowpony hat later and we were out the door. Braeburn led the way into the daylight, and I used my wings to shield my face from the sun. My wings had dried from my shower, and as we walked, more dust got in between my feathers. They itched like hell, like there were a million little bugs crawling around, but I did a decent job of ignoring the feeling.

We didn't turn down Mane Street. Instead, we walked behind the train station and crossed the tracks on the far side. Appleloosa's main road goes through the center of town, but we went down the side road behind all the major buildings. The third one on the left was a small green building, and Braeburn picked up the pace as we approached it.

Braeburn took a key out of his breast pocket and unlocked the door. We walked into a small, cramped room decorated with fake plants and pictures all over the walls. Family portraits, mostly. Almost all of them featured the same mare and two little fillies, and some had a mustachioed pony that I almost recognized. A desk sat in the middle of the room with barely enough space to walk around on either side. Two wooden stools leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Braeburn spoke up as I squeezed around from behind the desk. "This is Sheriff Silverstar's office. Must be out patrolling or something. C'mon. I'll show you my desk."

I didn't hear him at first. I was busy noticing how none of the photos on the desk were turned down or away. Must have been nice. I shook my head and came back to my senses. "Wait. You're a cop?" I imagined him in the blue uniform, swinging some cuffs around and talking to me about having to use his nightstick. My chest rumbled and my brain swam with approval.

"Ha! Naw, we just have the sheriff, and even he complains about not having anything to do. The desk's actually public, but, well, I'm the only pony that ever seems to use it."

We stepped through another door at the opposite side of the room into a much more open space. This room seemed huge. The ceiling was higher, and it was mostly barren. Benches lined one wall, big double doors with a bell on top were across from us, and the right side of the room was made up of three empty cells with shiny metal bars. They look like they'd never been used.

Braeburn stepped over to a small, simple desk with a few drawers and a hoof-made chair behind it. "So, uh, this is it!" He gave me a grimace that quickly vanished. "Sorry. There's really not much to see. We don't need to be here long, hopefully." He sat down, took out another, smaller key, and unlocked one of the drawers. He pulled out a sealed letter, glanced at the sender's address, and set it on the desk. Decided it wasn't urgent, I guess? After that, he fished some paper and ink out of another drawer and started writing.

The scratching of his quill filled the room, but I felt kinda awkward just standing there. Plus, my wings still itched, but I didn't want to just sit there preening myself if he wanted to talk or something. After a minute, though, he hadn't looked up from his paper. I don't know if he'd even blinked.

I was already bored. I hopped into the air and hovered behind him, sneaking a peek at the letter he was writing. My wings itched more with every flap, but I had an excuse to be really, really close to him, and I was gonna take it.

The first thing that struck me was how beautiful his hoofwriting was. It was made of fancy, loopy letters that all connected, and none of them looked out of place or messy. It wasn't anything like the letter he'd written Big Mac. If I wasn't such a dolt, I probably could have figured out why the one to Big Mac was so sloppy.

I am, though, so I just kept staring. "Hey!" I shouted, probably too close to his ear. I stuck my head over his shoulder to get a better look at the first line. "To His Excellency Minister Long Reign? What!?" Braeburn winced a little, so I strafed sideways a few beats. "Sorry. But seriously, what are you doing writing a letter to one of Celestia's higher-ups?"

Braeburn gave me a blank stare. I swear, that pony had the weirdest ideas about what was normal. "Oh, he probably won't read it," he said casually. "One of his aides usually responds. I've just got to give him my monthly report, at least until we're completely self-sufficient and I've figured out how to classify our economy. Probably agricultural with some trading potential. Hoping to open up a few routes with the southern nations down the line."

My head was cranked to the side, and it felt like he'd just rattled off a giant math problem that I had no hope of solving. "What? Why? ...What?"

He snickered. "Well, Appleloosa gets funding from the capital, things like farm grants and such. Heh heh. Can't start up a new settlement without bits, right? It's not like the hospitals or houses were already built when we got here. We needed some startup, so I wrote a letter to the Ministry of Agriculture."

"Wait." Wide-eyed, I slowly hovered around to the front of his desk, landed, and stared. "You wrote a letter to Celestia's guys asking for a boatload of money."

Braeburn nodded. "Uh-huh"

I pointed a hoof and raised an eyebrow. "You did. You. Braeburn."

"Uh-huh."

"And they said yes? They just hoofed over as much as you wanted?"

Braeburn shrugged. "Pretty much."

I sucked in a deep breath. "And now you're responsible for the livelihoods of an entire town full of earth ponies that depend on you – you – to keep the money rolling in so they can build up a new settlement in a faraway corner of the country that's been uninhabited by ponykind for generations?"

He blushed, smiled, and turned his head to look away. "Well, I–"

"Dude!" I jumped up and hovered close to his face, grinning from ear to ear. "You're the mayor!"

He shrunk back in his chair like somepony was tickling him. "Oh, you stop that. I'm not."

"Yes you are!" I reached out and lifted up his hat a little, just enough for him to notice and turn my way. "You run the town, you're charismatic, and you care about everypony that lives here. Dude, you're totally the mayor! We need to get you a sash or something."

He laughed and batted my hoof away. "Soarin', mayors get elected."

I rolled my eyes and blew a raspberry. "Okay, tyrant then. Whatever. Point is, you've got power! That's awesome!" Sexy, too. I thought to myself, 'Yeah, gotta get him a sash to wear to bed sometime.' I dropped back onto the ground and gestured around with a hoof. "You can do, like, whatever you want with a whole town!"

Braeburn's chest puffed up, and his head tilted back a little. His voice even got a little deeper. Really mayor-like if you ask me. "Well, it's not quite that simple."

I couldn't stop smiling. "Liar."

"It's true!" He paused, and the smile on his face faded a bit. Just a little, though. "For one, it's a lot of pressure." He leaned back in his seat and looked up at the ceiling. "A lot of ponies count on that money, Soarin', and not all of them approve of the way it's being allocated. Most of them certainly didn't like the builder's quarters gettin’ converted to a hotel, and there were more than a few ponies grumblin’ about the town hall renovations, but we needed to make progress, and enough townsponies finally saw what was sensible." He took off his hat and fanned himself. "We have to keep the economy going, and that ain't easy with the scarce resources we have out there, so I figured, hey, why not commoditize the greatest thing about this place: the town itself?"

He was talking as fast as I'd ever heard him. "Tourism's a big industry elsewhere, after all, and a lot of ponies just want to get away every once in a while. Brings a lot of cash in that wouldn't otherwise flow this direction. We need that stimulation, though, since a lot of the ponies that settle here are elderly, looking for a quiet place to spend their remainin’ years, and I can't much ask them to labor, can I?"

He put his hat back on and crossed his forehooves, tilitng the chair back on its back legs and still looking upward. I got the feeling he wasn't really talking to me anymore. "So we gotta find other sources of income, but a lot of the locals don't appreciate the city slickers comin’ in every weekend. Sure, means more ponies for the dances that we have every Saturday night and a big boon to all our shops, but I think they feel like I'm violatin’ the spirit of the settlement if I'm opening it up to any city yahoo that wants to live on the range for a few days. Can't say I blame 'em, but then I'm stuck in this spot where I'm meddlin' with their way of life, but then again they wouldn't be able to live their life this way at all if I didn't try to monetize a few things. They get angry at me over my policies, and it certainly doesn't help to have a colt-cuddler callin' a lot of the shots, but then again, nopony else ever steps up to take responsibility, so that's their tacit consent that I'm doing a decent enough job, I guess?"

Braeburn let his chair fall back forward with a loud thud. He looked over to me. His eyes widened, and a hoof shot to his mouth. "Aw, heck. I did it again, didn't I? I'm... I'm sorry for talking you half to death. My mouth tends to run off with the rest of me, and–"

I held up a hoof to stop him. He didn't look away from me.

And I couldn't look away from him. "Dude." It felt like a colt all over again, where the grown-ups had to explain everything to me and half of it shot over my head, but I knew it was all important. "Remind me to never complain about anything ever again."

"S-sorry."

"Sorry? Braeburn, why are you sorry?" The conversation pivoted. It was like I was back at the academy, giving one of my fliers a pep talk after a failed stunt. I liked it. "You've got tons of responsibility, and you're doing a hell of a job with it."

Braeburn liked it, too. His chest inflated again, and the worried look on his face stretched into a wide grin of pride. "Well, I do what I can," he said simply.

"Yeah." I was curious about how such a small town afforded a tyrant-mayor as amazing as him. Some ponies think it's rude to ask how much another pony earns. Screw 'em. "So, what do you make doing mayor stuff?"

"Oh. I, uh..." He fidgeted with a quill and looked up and to the side, and his face scrunched up. He started talking fast again. "T-the town ain't got much money for somepony that ain't even really an official. Besides, I'm happy to do it! Really! Always gotta have more projects, heh heh." His laugh was shaky.

My mane practically stood on end. "You put up with all their crap for free!?" I felt even smaller. You know who can't even imagine doing all that work for no pay? You're looking at him. "Braeburn, you're either crazy or the most kind-hearted pony I've ever met. And I'm pretty sure it's the latter."

Braeburn tilted his head down to hide under his hat, but I could see him smile. "I should really get goin’ on this letter."

Everypony always talks about cute things being small and delicate, and in a way, maybe that was the case with Braeburn. Not on the outside, though. He was built like an earth pony should be, solid and durable, but he pulled off cute none the less.

I took half a step forward. I think I wanted to make out with him, right then and there, but I caught myself. 'The faster he finishes, the more time we'll have.' I could give him time. Do you know how weird that is for me? Letting somepony take their time and me just sitting there waiting for them? "Take your time." I looked over to my right. The bench was big enough for me to lie down on, so I did just that.

Braeburn focused again. His eyes squinted and he sucked in his lower lip just a little. He hunched over, dipping the quill in the ink every time it went dry. His hoof movements were quick and precise, and he even seemed like he was breathing in time with the words.

After a few minutes of watching him, my wing flapped involuntarily. I didn't think anything of it, but then it happened again. And again. And then I noticed and tried to keep it still, but it felt fidgety, and I finally realized that it was getting sooooo itchy again. Itchy I could deal with. Horny I could deal with. Both? No way. I had to take care of one of them, and I figured one would land me on the opposite side of those jail bars. "Uh, Braeburn?"

He finished his sentence and looked up with a blank expression. "Hm? Oh, I'm almost done with this one, then just a few more."

"No, no. It's not that." I almost didn't want to ask. "Would you mind if I preened myself while you write? Like, that wouldn't be too distracting, right?"

I was ready to explain to him what preening was, about how pegasi need to keep their wings clean and straight to fly at maximum efficiency. I expected him to be a little put off when I talked about how I'd need to spit a bunch of dust on the floor and clean it up later.

Braeburn never ran out of surprises. "Oh. No worries." He went back to his work.

The room grew quiet again except for the scratching of the quill. I shrugged and lay down on the floor.

You're supposed to preen every day, and they always gave us time at the academy, but, you know, it gets really excessive. It totally makes a differences, though, when your feathers get messed up. Flying gets bogged down, like somepony's tied weights to each of your wings, and the itchiness gets super distracting, too.

I started by wrapping my left wing around my head and craning my neck back as far as it would go. There are always those fluffier feathers at the base that nopony can ever seem to reach, but you learn to live with it. Instead, I started about a quarter of the way up my wing. I took a feather into my teeth at the base and gently raked it, wrapping my lips around the whole thing and getting some of the dirt out. Usually, you need a few passes on each feather. After that, I did it again on the next feather. Then the next. And the next. And the next. You can see why it gets tedious, right? I only ever stopped when the grit in my teeth and lips made an audible grinding noise and I tasted salt.

If you've never seen a pegasus spit dirt and feathers, I'm told it's hilarious how our lips and tongues flap all around and our faces contort while we make that "Pleh!" sound, but for us it's just grating.

After about twenty minutes, I'd gotten my left wing done, or at least the easy-to-reach parts. The fluffy feathers still itched, though, so I wanted to give it another shot. Naturally, that's where most of the dust collects, right near the joint. Stretching my neck, I felt a sharp pain and a spasm, and I whipped my head back forward. "Buck!" I rubbed my neck with a hoof as my eyes watered, and when I realized I'd yelled, I looked up to see Braeburn. "Sorry! Not being distracting!"

He didn't move. Actually, it looked like he hadn't moved in a long time. He had a goofy grin on his face, and his quill was on the table. After taking a sharp breath, he looked down at the floor. "You, uh..." There was a pause, but he looked up again, and I could see brightness in his eyes. "You want some help?"

My ears buzzed. My face felt hot, and every hair on my body stood up. Culture-shock, I guess. 'Doesn't he know how intimate that is?' See, preening's usually a personal thing. Heck, most ponies I know hardly even preen their spouses, let alone a friend. It takes tons of trust, since one bad screw-up can keep you grounded for weeks. I hadn't had somepony help me since puberty. Dad had offered a few times as I grew up, but kids always want... They don't want their parents to...

...

Braeburn was waiting for an answer. My thoughts raced with possibilities, and my pulse spiked. I wanted to feel his body against mine. "Sure!" Braeburn once told me I'd sounded like a yappy dog.

With a smile, a lot of quick movements, and a small stumble, Braeburn pushed his chair back and walked over. My heart pounded, and the room suddenly felt very small. I extended my right wing as he came up behind me, where I couldn't see him. It almost felt like being prey – he was coming up behind me and his mouth was about to be on my back, but not in a creepy way. It was in a really, really good way.

He lay down, threw a leg over my back (which sent little tingles all over my skin) and scooted closer. I thought, 'If I wasn't on my stomach, we'd be spooning. He's basically spooning me. Braeburn is basically spooning me!' I might have squeaked a little, but then my pride spoke up. 'Hey! I wanted to be the big spoon!'

Shaking my head, I figured I should give him some instructions, at least so he didn't pull my feathers out and gimp me. "Okay, fair warning? It's a little gross. You have to–"

His hot breath on my back. That's what started it. Everything in my body shut down: my head lowered, my muscles all relaxed, and my eyes rolled back into my head. My eyes closed and my jaw hung slack. I was completely catatonic as his breath seemed to billow out in every direction and roll across my body.

He moved even closer. His leg nudged mine, and I felt a little squeeze around my back as he got into position. I think I moaned a little. Then, with the gentleness of grass on your hooves, he wrapped his lips and teeth around the small feathers and pulled just slightly. I'd forgotten how many nerves were right there, right at the base of the wing, but my body was quick to remind me as endorphins flooded my system. It was tingly, like my whole body was waking up. He tugged at the feather, and like a puppet's string that ran through all my limbs, my whole body contracted slightly, only to relax again when his mouth let go. My spine tingled again, and a soft moan rumbled out of my chest before dropping from my mouth to the floor. His lips found the next feather, and he pulled again.

It's the best massage you've ever had. It's all the tension releasing from a spring. It's feeling completely vulnerable and completely safe all at once. That's what it's like getting your wings groomed by somepony that cares about you.

He kept pulling and cleaning, even trying to hide it when he had to spit out some dirt. I was trapped and sedated, like I was on the best drug you can imagine, and a fog settled on my mind. I didn't want it to leave – it was so nice inside – but it nagged at me how he was so perfect at something that most earth ponies barely know the first thing about. It didn't take me too long to piece it all together, and when I spoke, my voice was raspy and sleepy-sounding. "Bronze was a pegasus, wasn't he?"

The leg on my back flinched. I kept staring at the floor in front of me. Braeburn stopped preening for a moment, and there was a long pause. "Yeah. He is," was all he said before he went back to my feathers.

My head had cleared enough for me to work on my own wings again. I started on the right one, and we both worked for a few minutes. I didn't want to interrupt, but I wanted to know more. "What was he like?" Braeburn kept grooming me, so I asked again with a little more force in my voice. "Braeburn, what was Bronze like?"

Braeburn stopped again. He took his time, and I could feel his pulse from where part of his chest was on my back. It was smooth and regular and relaxed. "He's..." He must have let his head sink down, because I felt more breaths on my back. "He's a strong pegasus, and he made me feel like I had somepony to watch over me. Heh. At least at first. And he's a looker, too. Lean. Muscular. Broad hooves and big, healthy wings that spread wide enough to block the sun." Braeburn spoke slowly with warmth in his voice. "His voice is low and smooth. He's got deeply set, brilliant golden eyes that sparkle even in the dark, and a coat that shimmers like wildfire."

My chest tensed up, and my thoughts played on a loop. 'He's not over him. He's not over him.' My heart sank through the floor, but I didn't want to make him worry. "Heh."

"Hm?" Braeburn's voice returned to almost-normal. "What's funny?"

"Eh, you know." I stretched out my back. "Athletic pegasus, big wings..." I looked over my shoulder at him, careful not to stretch my neck again. "You totally have a type."

Braeburn turned his head and looked at me with half-lidded bedroom eyes that burned through to my soul. His voice was low and sensual. "And how do you know you're my type, mister?"

Braeburn's leg was still around my back. I had him.

In a flash, I folded my wings in and tossed my body to the side, rolling onto my back. Braeburn gasped and moved with me, ending up lying sideways across my belly. The skin down there is sensitive, and I could feel his heartbeat again. It had picked up.

I lifted my head and looked at him with a smirk. He looked back at me with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, not daring to blink or breathe.

I let us stay that way for a long moment before I tipped my cards. "Because you haven't gotten up yet."

Braeburn's expression brightened, but he blushed a deep red. He quickly stood up and brushed himself off. "It's, uh, heh heh." He was stifling a lot of giggling. "Quite a, uh, compromising position we had there. Lucky nopony walked in."

I stayed on my back, forelegs limp.

"You, uh... You finish your business. I need to get those letters in the mail by noon."

He went back to his desk, and I rolled back over to finish preening. It was different, though. His touch had put something into my body, something that began smoldering and hasn't ever stopped.

I was on my last few feathers just as the bell above the front doors jingled. It was a sharp, tinny noise that felt like somepony was shoving pencils in your ears. Braeburn snapped to attention. "Oh! Uh, Soarin'? Could you, uh, go check on Silverstar? He should be here by now." His voice was... different. It was the same as it had been in the orchard: rushed, but not in an excited way.

I'd heard that tone before, and it only ever came up when I was dating somepony new. He was trying to get rid of me. Can you believe it? My face flushed red, my lower lip stiffened and my eyebrows furrowed. "I'm sure he's fine." I went back to preening.

The door slammed shut as a stallion wandered towards us. Braeburn looked rapidly back and forth between me and the new guest. His head lowered and he silently mouthed to me, "Please?"

I mouthed back, "No."

Braeburn gave me the puppy eyes. When I just glared back at him, he sucked in some air, sat up straight, and put on a big smile as he turned to the new guy. "Mornin', Fertile Seed! How's the family?"

The stallion had a dark brown coat and a green mane, and his cutie mark looked like a patch of grass. He scowled from under his hat. "Big. Same as always, but that ain't why I'm here." His voice was gruff, like he was trying to be intimidating. It was kinda working. He sped up to Braeburn's desk and threw his two front hooves on top. "My hens got all worked up again, and the gate was busted. One of them–" he cast a glance my way. "–city ponies musta been messin' with 'em. You gotta stop bringin' all them into town, Braeburn! You're ruinin' Appleloosa!"

Braeburn didn't budge. His voice dropped, and he set his shoulders, but he didn't back down. "Now, Seed, you know we don't hardly get visitors until the weekend. Maybe one of your colts–"

Fertile Seed slammed a hoof on the desk. "Don't you talk to me about raisin’ colts!" Braeburn's stiff demeanor cracked just a little, and I stood up, wondering where the hell this guy got off talking to Braeburn that way. "It had to be one of those out-of-towners you're always bringin' in! They get it in their head that Appleloosa's their playground, and they cause all sorts of trouble."

Braeburn took a deep breath. "Well, it's certainly trouble for everypony when we can't speak like reasonable–"

"Aw, shut it! I don't need some faggoty-ass pretty colt givin' me lip about manners with his..." Seed flicked a hoof at me. "...stallion of the week gawkin’ at me."

Braeburn's composure faltered. He slumped back and glanced to the side, and his voice cracked. "H-he's just a guest." His words were like a knife in the stomach, but that wasn't what hurt the most. What hurt the most was seeing it happen, seeing Braeburn get yelled at and intimidated, right in front of my face. My muscles clenched and my wings flared out, and my chest heaved with simmering rage. "M-Mr. Soarin's gonna be–"

"Ha! Learned this one's name, didja? That's quite a feat for you."

Braeburn's head tilted down. He'd lost all his steam.

Not me, though. Mine had built up and was boiling over. I leapt up into the air and dashed over in two wingbeats. Before Fertile Seed could blink, I was on the desk and had my forehead pressed against his. "What the fuck is your problem? You seriously have nothing better to do than invent reasons to chew out the pony that keeps your fucking town alive?"

Seed pushed his head against mine. "Son, this ain't any of your–"

I pushed back. Much harder. "Like hell it's not!" I stomped on the desk, leaving a small imprint. "Braeburn works his sexy, sexy ass off to keep your Celestia-damned town from collapsing, and you actually want to make his life harder?" I jabbed his chest. "Fuck you!"

He paused and his lip flinched. "Son, my family doesn't need some quee–"

"Dude! What the hell do you think happens to your family if Braeburn lets your town go under?" He didn't respond right away. "Tell me! What happens!?"

Seed opened his mouth to roar at me again, but nothing came out. He stood there slack-jawed, and I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. If you ever want to mess with a guy's head, just tell him that what he's doing is bad for his kids.

Fertile Seed closed his mouth, and slowly shook his head. He turned and walked to the door, muttering, "It ain't right."

I shook. Seeing him walk out calmed my nerves a little, but I was way, way too close to flying after him and drop-kicking him in the back of the head. I checked myself, though, for Braeburn's sake. I fluttered backwards off the desk, landed next to him, and folded my wings in, keeping an eye on the door for a few seconds.

Glancing at the mark I'd made on Braeburn's desk, I sighed angrily and griped, "Sorry about your–"

Two yellow legs came out of nowhere and wrapped around me. I felt a face bury itself in my shoulder. My blood froze and felt hot at the same time, and I heard a muffled, "Thank you."

The rest of the world faded away, and all my senses shut out everything that wasn't hugging me. Delicately, I wrapped a leg around his back. My voice was soft and reassuring, and it got caught in my throat the first time I tried to speak, but I managed to squeak out, "Any time."

I hugged him closer. We stood there, motionless, for too short a time. I wanted to never move again.

Braeburn pulled away. The corners of his eyes were a little wet, but he was smiling. "It's, uh..." He chuckled nervously. "It wasn't that exciting, was it?"

"What do you mean?" The hug? The fight? Braeburn pointed to something behind me. I looked over my shoulder, aaaaaaand yep. Full-on wing-boner. My face felt hot, and it scrunched up instinctively. I looked back at Braeburn, and I could see he was breathing more heavily. His eyes were fixated on my wings.

'Heh. He really loves the feathers, doesn't he?' I gave him the sexy badass look. You know the one: where you've got your head cocked back and that small, wicked smile on your face. "Impressed?"

Braeburn let out a slow breath, and the corners of his mouth flickered up and down. "They're... nice."

The air was thick and heavy, and nopony else was around. I felt that tingle again, the one that runs down your spine when you stop thinking with your brain and start thinking with your body. My chest puffed up, my voice lowered, and I took a step towards Braeburn. This was it. I was going for it.

"Yeah," I cooed in the sultriest voice I could manage. I spoke slowly, letting every word sink in. "They're real nice. Especially when they brush against your ears." I took a step closer. "Or your shoulders." Another step. Braeburn was like a statue. "Or your stomach. Or..." I was right up to him, and I leaned in to whisper into his ear. You can probably guess what I said.

He exhaled a shaky breath that fluttered down my neck like a hundred butterflies.

I kept going. My voice was soft and seductive. "I wanna touch you, Braeburn." I nuzzled the side of his face just slightly. Just a little. My whole body was on fire, and I hungered. I'd waited long enough. "I wanna make you scream."

Braeburn shuddered. "I... no."

"Heh. That obvious, am I? Of course you know. You're the sexiest pony alive." My mouth opened slowly, and my tongue rolled out. I leaned in further, just inches from kissing his neck.

I could barely hear him. "I meant..."

The bell ring at the front door was like twin lightning strikes straight through my head and my chest. I jumped back, caught myself in mid-air, and whipped my head everywhere as my lungs seized up and my legs flailed around.

My eyes finally settled on Sheriff Silverstar closing the door behind him. He turned to us with a friendly, "Mornin', you two! Thanks for holdin' the fort." I could feel my blood pulsing all the way in my hooves. "Nugget got sick, and I had to watch her while Shady Grove got the doc. Did I miss anything?"

Braeburn was quick to respond and even quicker to sit back in his chair and grab the quill. "Nope! Nothing! Nothing to see. Soarin' was just dropping by."

That stung. It stung worse than the orchard or with Seed. I started to get angry again, but I think my brain was too confused by everything that had happened, and I just got dizzy instead.

"Well, alright." Dude was clueless. He trotted back to his office. "Holler if you need me."

The door shut, and silence filled the room. Braeburn let out a long sigh, slumped back into his chair, breathing heavily, and turned to me with an almost drunk-looking smile.

His smile faded as soon as he heard the roughness in my voice. "Just stopping by?"

He sat up. "Pardon?"

I kept my voice to an angry whisper. I swore to myself that I'd be better than Bronze. I wouldn't yell. Not again. "What the heck, Braeburn? You're embarrassed of me. You don't even want them to know I'm here with you."

"I..." He trailed off.

"Don't lie." I couldn't hide the disgust in my voice.

His face drooped, and he wouldn't look back up at me. "I just don't want them to pry, Soarin'." He gestured at the door. "You see how they get."

I should have been more understanding, but I was ticked. "Whatever. I'm going to practice." I cantered towards the door, my hoofsteps much louder than they needed to be.

"Soarin', hold up."

I paused.

"T-tomorrow, okay?" I looked back to see Braeburn shrinking behind his desk, and the guilt started coming back like an old rash. He stepped around the desk and trotted to me, putting his body between me and the doorway. "Tomorrow morning. Breakfast at the diner, then you get a real tour of the town. Out in public." His jaw tensed. "I-I promise."

Braeburn was going to show me around. He was going to walk with me through the streets and show me all the cool places, even though he'd worry about what everypony would say. Sometimes you get what you want, and it makes you feel like a manipulative bastard. The guilt wasn't like a rash. No, it was like a broken bone that refused to heal at that point. I hadn't meant to hurt him, just...

I had to test it. "You sure you want a third date?" He didn't even flinch at my word choice. Instead, he just nodded. That warmed me, but my chest was still too messed up from going through such a crazy mix of emotions so early in the morning. Still, I had my answer, and I still wanted him in every way you can want another pony. I smiled. "Good. I do, too."

Braeburn smiled weakly.

I sidestepped him and walked out the door, but not without extending my wing just enough to brush against his shoulder and the side of his stomach. I got a cute squeak and a wince for my trouble.

After that, I grabbed some water and found an isolated place outside of town where I wouldn't be bothered. I spent the rest of the day doing barrel rolls and dives and a bunch of other stuff that you really shouldn't do without a spotter. It wasn't sex, but the next best way to burn the lust out of your veins is relentless training. It was worth putting up with the quiet to settle down. I didn't eat lunch – can't fly an on full belly – and ended up going hard for the rest of the day.

It took a lot of exercise to feel better, but it worked, and as I flew back to town, the evening chill piercing my sweaty skin, I thought, 'Third date. Everypony knows what happens on the third date.'