• Published 17th Jan 2012
  • 8,863 Views, 339 Comments

We are our Habits - Agarwaen



Nurse Redheart pulls a Pegasus back from death's grip. Only time will tell what your future holds.

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Those Three Words

Serenity. It’s the only word you can use to describe what you’re feeling right now. You are pressed into the same floor cushion that your impromptu make-out session began on. The mare of your affection lies on top of you with her forehooves wrapped around you; her slow rhythmic breathing ruffles the short hairs on your chest. You move a forehoof up from where they rest, just above her withers, and brush it through her soft, pink mane.

“I was thinking.” Softly, her voice breaks your shared reverie. “You don’t have anywhere to stay right now. At least, until things get sorted out.” She lifts her head away from your chest, and looks directly into your eyes. Her ice-blue sapphires, burning with primordial passion, bore deeply into your soul. “I want you to stay, here, with me.”

You’re left completely speechless, gazing into her eyes for what feels like an eternity. It’s not until she nervously bites her lower lip, that you can put together some semblance of a complete thought. “I love you, and I never want to leave your side. “ It’s not a direct answer, but you hope it’s good enough to get your point across. As the white mare’s muzzle presses down to yours, in a passionate kiss, something tells you that it did.

She breaks the kiss, and nuzzles the side of your face, whispering in your ear, “I love you, too.”

You gently nip at her ear, eliciting a small gasp from the white mare. Moving slowly, you plant three small kisses along her jawline before meeting her lips again. Her breath races over your face in short pulses. Sliding your active forehoof down to her lower back, you pull her tightly into your body, rolling to a position on top of her. As soon as your wings are free of the obstructing pillow, they spread widely; the tips of one wing brushing the edge of the cold, varnished table, sending a chill down your spine. The unexpected stimulus forces you to jerk your body away from the cold surface behind you, inadvertently pressing your lower body more forcefully into the mare beneath you. Her forehooves slide down your back, grazing the base of your wings, until they come to rest on your croup. While trying to move your hindhooves for stability, one finds purchase on her silky pink tail, pulling it roughly as it slides along the surface of the floor. The mare beneath you quickly pulls away from your mouth, with a loud gasp that evolves into a shuddering sigh. She slides her hooves up your back barely in contact with your coat; the tickling sensation causes you to squirm. Looking down at her, you see her gorgeous eyes half-lidded. A devious smirk flashes across her face, as her hooves reach the base of your wings once more. You let out a deep sigh as her hooves massage the strong muscles around the joint. When she begins to move her hooves up the leading edge of your wing, your brain is flooded with sensations as her hooves slide over the hyper-sensitive feathers.

*POP*

A bright flash floods the room with blue light for a moment before it fades, leaving the room around you bathed in complete darkness.

***

Spitfire let out a relieved sigh, grabbing the dull green canvass duffel bag that enclosed ‘the payload.’ It had been lying mostly out of sight, behind a tree at the edge of the field. A strange lump at the tree’s base had caught her eye; ‘tree cancer’ they called it in training. It was generally the result of a sniper unicorn placed in a bad position, using a tree for cover. Throwing the bag over her shoulder, she brought it back to the center of the field.

“I found it!” Soarin’ yells from right behind her. Throwing the heavy bag to the ground with a dull thud, she turned to see her co-captain hovering just above the ground, an apple pie held between his forehooves.

“You really are the most ridiculous pony ever,” the yellow mare deadpanned. “How they ever let you into the military, I’ll never know.”

“I was going to offer you some of this pie, but since you’re being that way, I’ll just have to eat all of it myself.” In a move that would put most competitive eaters to shame, Soarin’ buried his face completely into the warm apple-y goodness that is a Sweet-Apple Acres pie.

Spitfire rolled her eyes; this wasn’t the time for his antics. “Mors stupebit cum resurget creatura*” Ever since her training, she had always liked that phrase; Latin was a mysterious language, from the ancient Pegitalian Empire. It was something that was generally known by arcane scholars because certain spells had incantations to trigger specific effects after the spell was cast. This specific phrase caused the green duffel to move on its own, flying into the air to a position about 15 hooves away from the Pegasi. Once there, the green canvass peeled back, revealing a small wooden block. Slowly at first, the block began to spin. As it rotated, a growing yellow aura radiated from its core. Just as the block became nothing more than a blur, it halted abruptly; the bright yellow aura violently fell in on itself.

“I love this part,” the yellow mare says with a smirk, unfurling her wings. Soarin’ is able to pull his face out of the pie just in time to see the event unfold. His mouth falls open in a look of horror, dropping a half-chewed apple back into the sticky mess with a wet plop. A sense of tranquillity fills the air as the aura completely disappears. The blue captain quickly folds his wings, in an attempt to get a stable footing for what comes next, but he’s too late.

“Buck.”

A massive shockwave of magically charged air bursts forth from the block. Spitfire’s smirk grows as the wave slams into her with a force more powerful than DJ-Pon3’s best drop. The magically charged air rushing over her wings pushes her into an adrenaline fuelled over-drive, slowing the world to a crawl. Her body is left dripping wet from head to hoof from the rapid air compression. When magical explosions caused a shockwave this powerful the humidity in the air would create a dense wall of fog at the shockwave’s leading edge. In the calm inner-circle of the spell, the grass is flattened facing away from the epicenter of the blast. At the spell’s point of origin resides a large wooden stage filled with the Wonderbolts gear and merchandise. The sky above is lit with the same yellow aura, but clouded by the fog-wall; Spitfire can barely make out the Wonderbolts crest that appears in the sky as the spell subsides.

“Uuuuggghhhhh.” A low groan draws the wet-maned mare’s attention behind her. She can’t help but chuckle as she sees Soarin’ dripping wet and lying in a heap twenty hooves away with a pie paned fused to his face. Just as Spitfire reaches him, he gathers the wherewithal to pry the pan from his face.

“You could have let me finish eating that pie, or at least warned me.” The stallion points an accusatory hoof at his co-captain. ”You owe me a replacement pie!”

“Oh?” she returns, quirking an eyebrow. “I’ve got a pie you can eat, later.” Satisfied – or annoyed, she hasn’t decided yet – that he’s not dead, she turns to walk back to the stage, but not before running the tip of her tail over Soarin’s chest.

A trio of Pegasi land just in front of the stage, their leader is a white stallion with an orange and white mane. Spitfire rapidly canters over to the second group of Wonderbolts.

“Rapidfire. I need you guys to get this place set up. You’ve got two days to get two weeks’ worth of work done.”

“You got it boss. What happened to Night?” Soarin’, who has finally recovered from his earlier folly, trots up, most of the pie filling having been wiped from his face.

“We’ll tell you, if we find him.”

Like a ‘bolt, they were off, heading towards Ponyville. Within seconds, they pass over town hall, and are well on the way to Twilight’s library. Soarin’ could barely keep up with the pace set by his co-captain.

“Spitty, wait!” the blue stallion yelled between heavy breaths. She turns to face him with a veritable deluge of sweat running down her face, panting heavily. “You only fly like that when you’re punishing yourself. What’s up?”

“I’m just mad at myself for being such a mule to Fleetfoot earlier.”

“Yeah, your reaction really surprised me. I mean, we are technically military, but out of public eye we’re more like family.”

“I just thought that if she was mad at me, she wouldn’t worry herself to death over what may have happened to Nighthawk.”

“So then, what’s the problem? You tried to help her at your own expense,” Soarin’ questions, shrugging.

“I don’t know. This whole situation just feels bucked up. It feels like it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“It may, Spitty. But we’ve just gotta take things as they come. Now, let’s go make sure the Fleet is ok.”

“That really is a sad excuse for a nickname, you know,” she says through her facehoof.

***

You’re still trying to catch your breath as the last drops of chemically induced bliss work their way out of your system. The cushion beneath you reeks of sweat and lust, but right now you can’t be bothered to move from under the panting mare that has collapsed on top of you. She’s got her forehooves buried in your mane, and with every breath she takes, her face involuntarily nuzzles against yours. As you stare upwards into the pitch black above you, an obvious question comes to mind.

“What happened to the light?”

“Huh?” Nurse Redheart asks, rolling off of you and coming to rest on the cushion at your side. Her close hoof is still fidgeting with your mane. You can feel your flesh contract forcing your coat to stand on end as the cool air of the room rushes over your sweat slicked chest.

“The light was on before.”

“Oh, it must have blown.” That light wasn’t the only thing. Quite frankly, you’re surprised you recovered from that mind blowing experience. “After that, I think we need another shower.” You can hear her sniff something. “And I think I need a new floor cushion as well,” she says, with a laugh.

“Nah, I’m sure it will wash out.”

“It’s ok. I really like going shopping for furniture anyway. That Ikea pony is always so nice, even if she is a little obsessed with hex screws. Oh, and I really like her mane!”

“So about this shower, you first?” you ask, getting to your hooves.

“Now that I think about it, I really feel like soaking in the bath.” You can hear her climb to her hooves as well. “You’re welcome to join me, if you like,” she whispers in your ear. Her warm breath washing over your coat still fills your heart with warmth. She plants a quick kiss on your lips before heading to the bathroom; even in the darkness, you swear that you could make out a blush on her cheeks. Your decision is made before you can even think about it.

Leaving the dark dining room, the house is shrouded in the deep orange glow produced by a, no doubt, wonderful sunset. As you reach the bedroom, the sound of running water reaches your ears, and a cloud of steam can be seen wafting out of the bathroom, carrying the scent of lavender with it. You cringe at the sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror; your coat is heavily matted with dried sweat, and your mane flows in every direction except for down the back of your neck.

“I didn’t think you were going to take me up on the offer, at first.” If it’s possible, the mare that stands at the bath side is even more beautiful than she is normally. It’s something about the way her mane and tail are strewn about seemingly at random, or maybe it’s the loving smile on her face. The more you think about it, the more unsure you become, but one thing is certain; you care deeply about the mare in front of you. Because of the short period of time you’ve known her, it’s more deeply than you thought possible.

“Are you going to come in, or just stare?” she jokes, punctuating her sentence with a wink. You managed to daydream long enough for her to turn off the water and climb into the bath. She slides over to the other side as you approach. Slowly, you climb into the water. While it is hot, it seems like ice water compared to the seething cauldron of bubbling plasma that the Spa Sisters let you soak in the other day. Sitting down next to the relaxed white mare, your hoof accidentally bumps a button on the rail, causing a torrent of bubbles to shoot up out of every nook and cranny of the bath. You nearly break into laughter as the tiny air pockets move through your coat on their journey towards the surface, tickling every inch of your body on their way.

A relaxed sigh escapes the mouth of the mare next to you. Looking over at her, she looks as peaceful as the day she fell asleep in your room at the clinic. Now, you’re overjoyed she did. Moving a hoof up to her cheek, you gently turn her head to face you. Her eyes flutter open in time to lock with yours as you caress her soft cheek. In that moment, gazing into her eyes and feeling the racing of her heart through your hoof, you know that you’d happily die a thousand deaths just to see her smile. Your lips meet in a kiss, not one of the lust fuelled snogs from earlier, but a kiss meant to show her the ever deepening pool that is your love. A few moments in, you pull away from the comfort of her lips, once again locking your eyes with hers. Scooting herself over to you, she presses the side of her body against yours, and lays her head onto your shoulder. You wrap a hoof around her shoulders and rest your head against hers. You’re completely content to enjoy the simple pleasure of the passing moments of peace by listening to her steady breathing and feeling her heart beat through your foreleg.

It’s not until she starts to shiver, that you notice how cold the water has gotten. You can’t tell how long you’d sat there, motionless, but your body seems to think it’s been quite a while, evident by the growl of your empty stomach.

“Hey, Red?” you say, barely above a whisper.

“Hmm?” She had fallen asleep in your embrace again. That cute little half-yawned response was all the proof you needed. The idea that she feels safe and comfortable enough to fall asleep like that, is a sensation that causes your heart to explode with joy. In fact, the last two days make you feel like you’re walking on the clouds, –Although, you’re not sure if the earth pony expression holds true for a Pegasus – and nothing can ruin that feeling.


* - Death will marvel as creation rises [again].