I remember I had a dream, once. See, there was this pony prince...ugh, they’d hate to hear me saying that. There was this pony, see. I saw them, anyway. Super fancy, super mysterious. Kind of super fucking hot, you know? / It didn’t work out. Not for any special reason, really—I mean, I tried / Just one of those ‘missed connections’, I guess. Which sounds like bullshit, sure, but I think they wanted more. Would have wanted more. I don’t know. Maybe I went back too late, maybe the portal fucked shit up, maybe pony magic doesn’t work in Hell, maybe the timing just genuinely wasn’t right / Which sounds like bullshit, sure, but / Anyway.
I waved him through not really taking note of much. Lord Tirac. Tirek. Whatever. We get more Lords through our doors than there are demons in Hell, as Moxxie likes to say. Funny that everycreature looking for revenge up top happens to be so Important. See also, greedy, entitled, narcissistic... / Money means money, I guess. / So Lord Who-the-fuck-asked from Who-the-fuck-cares comes crashing through the doors and suddenly Blitz is waving about excitedly telling me we need some new spellbook to access some fuck-off-limits realm or something, and he needs me to go over and say hi to Octy, distract her for a bit, while he sneaks in and grabs it. / He and Stolas were more off than on at that point. This was during their whole...yeah, whatever it was. / I told him I’d get it myself, and you can see where his imagination goes, just see where it fucking goes, except you didn’t even need to because he told me anyway with a pat on the back and a wink and a “Good job Loony! Make sure you make sure you’ve got the book in claw before you FUCK her, that’s my girl,” as he walked off, whistling. Asshole. Like, yeah, I had a bit of a crush on her back then, but so what. It wasn’t like that. Besides, I’m pretty sure Octy wasn’t even into me back then / Four bags of crisps, one Hellfire chilli dip, and five Dr. Peppers later (the only kind of drink they serve in Hell), and I was off with book in paw and only a mild aftertaste of regret. Octy stood and waved me off as Blitz pulled up. Always so refined, so fucking cool. She should’ve made me feel a mess by comparison, but somehow she always made me feel at home, instead. / I didn’t bother correcting him / She got me like most people don’t.
Fucking ponies. Ponyland. Ponyville. No, that wasn’t it. Equestria, and Canterlot. Night time, since we always moved at night, but still—bright colours, friendly faces. Ponies fucking everywhere.
“No wonder Blitz was so excited,” said Millie, saying the same thing I was thinking, just with a whole lot less acid.
“This explains...a lot,” Moxxie agreed.
“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up. We’re here on business, you two, so try to keep it in your pants. Plenty time for pleasure later.” Blitz was, of course, a consummate professional.
“Pleasure—”
“Millie, we’re on the clock here. There’ll be plenty time for pleasure later. Now,” he said, sweeping back to Mox, “who the fuck is it we need to kill, again?”
“I, uh... Scor-pan? Scorpion?”
“Scorpion?”
“The guy’s brother, sir.”
“Classic. Alright, then, I’m sure we know what to look for. Your basic horns, wings, tail. Handsome devil, little bit dumb. Know him when we see him.” / New Sinsta post from Octy: books spread out like stars spangled on her bed. Captioned ‘The store across the street was closing...’ Titles like Dos and Don’ts of Practical Sorcery, Crowley’s Conjurations, The Secret History: The Secret to Running Seven Hells Completely Secretly / “Loona!”
“Uh huh.”
“You, uh...guard the book.”
“Uh huh.” / What could I respond with? I knew nothing about books. Literally, actually nothing. ‘Looks cool’ / ‘Looks...cool’ / ‘Looks...interesting...’ / Lame! Lame. I was so fucking lame. And Octy was a fucking nerd. Ugh. And why was it so much easier to talk to her in person than come up with one single stupid reply? What would I say if this was still earlier? If I’d come over and she’d been sitting there reading. Probably I’d have said...probably I’d have said...probably I’d have said... / “Nerd.”
“Excuse me?”
The pony standing in front of me looked probably important. Probably some noble or something, with that fancy cloak. Probably a Lord. Almost certainly, actually, by the mask they were wearing. Like a painted wooden owl, eyes gleaming from within dark holes. It muffled them. / Their voice was loud like they were trying to be quiet but hadn’t got the hang of it just yet. Not quite. It gave them an uncertainty that was almost, almost cute / I made the executive decision to give them exactly one fuck, and stepped aside.
They didn’t move.
“Uh, hello?”
The mask rattled slightly as they shook their head. / Were owls status symbols in every realm? Bullshit. / “I would like to procure your services,” they boomed, unquietly. Their pockets jingled with what was probably quite a lot of money.
“Uh huh. And who the fuck are you supposed to be?”
A whiff of genuine surprise. I breathed in, drinking their scent: silver and gold and woodsmoke and incense, beneath that a sort of complicatedheadysmell that was almost certainly perfume, emotions a mixwrangling of nervousrebelliousandhungerandpride, unsuccessfully hiding their tangytart, their sweatysweet—yeah, that’s it—arousal... (and distantunfamilairnoteof...starlight? moonlight?) / But that my nose is better than my ears, I’m sure all that was in their voice as well as they said, “I am the Prince of Night. You may refer to me as Prince.”
I couldn’t resist. “How about I call you Night?”
The Prince struggled very valiantly to regain themself. “That...is acceptable, I suppose. Call me what you will. It doesn’t really matter,” he said, in the tone of one to whom it mattered quite a lot. “What matters is I have need of your...services. I can pay.”
“Uh huh.”
They seemed encouraged by this. “What’s your rate? I’ll make it double.”
“We’re not really in the business of taking customers from up top,” I said, grinning a long, wolfish grin, “but make it triple and we can, like, make an exception, I guess.” Fucking idiot! Blitz would make it quadruple, for sure. Sextuple, even. Octuple / I drank in the smell of Night again: money, yeah, lotsandlotsofmoney...and that other, that tangytart growing stronger...
“We have a deal.” Night sounded less flustered now, beneath the mask. “If you’ll follow me, my carriage is just a few streets away...”
“Oh, my Da- / Boss will be back in a few minutes. You can talk to him.”
“Your boss? I don’t want your boss. I want you.” The surprise again, and worse, suspicion.
“But you’ll have to talk things out with him.”
“Is that not what we just did? Talk things out?” It entered their voice, then, seeping in among the words. They had a nice voice. Suspicion poisoned it. “I may be rich, but I’m no fool. Either come with me, now, or I’ll find somepony else. No offence.”
Fucking clients, fucking clients. This is why I never spoke to fucking clients. “Fine! Fucking fine. All right? Jut tell me who you want to kill—”
“Who I want to what?”
Uh. “What?”
They cleared their throat. Nervously. “What, uh, what exactly am I buying, here?”
I stared. Realisation beginning to dawn. “What are you buying?”
“Ah. A...night, I thought.” Purple flush, embarrassment above arousal. “A mare of. Lady of. The night.” They coughed. “An...escort.”
“What?” I stuttered. My own awkwardness purpling the night. “I’m not a prostitute!”
“What term would you prefer?” The voice was panicked, now. “Seamstress?”
“I’m not a prostitute! I’m a—a—”
“My apologies, madam, if I’ve made a mistake—based on your attire, I merely thought—”
“a receptionist!” There was a pause. I closed my eyes, briefly. “At I.M.P. We, uh, assassinate people.”
“So that explains the, the...”
“The killing, yeah.”
“I see.”
Night’s breath misted in the, uh, night. Hot air. I was suddenly aware of the cold of the pulling gently at my fur. Fuck! Blushing, blushing. Stupid fucking white fur making it obvious to everyone. Well, whatever. Night was blushing, too. It stunk the air. I swallowed. their blush and their / Whisper from behind: ponies were staring. We hadn’t exactly been arguing silently, yet another thing to add to the fire of stupid this whole mission had become. Ugh. I needed to get the fuck out of here. Night seemed to have come to the same conclusion.
“Well, I should be...leaving.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get the fuck out of here. No offence.”
“My apologies again. Nightmare of a night.” They sighed. A dark slip of paper floated up, carried in some kind of magic field. Local magic. “My card. If I can do anything at all to make it up to you...tap the symbol, it’ll put you through.” I took it curiously. Bunch of indecipherable text. Black on blue, with a familiar crescent moon. Huh. I tilted it to catch the light. It sparkled. The Prince of the Night turned to go.
“Hey,” I said, “hold on.” They listened, held. “Based on my choice of attire, huh?”
“Oh! Yes. Pony clothing is quite...particular. Wearing it at all is something of a statement. So when someone wears clothing that covers up...enough to conceal, but even then, only barely... It has a certain appeal.” In the dark of the mask, bright eyes glinted. “You have a certain appeal.”
“Uh huh,” I said, but I couldn’t keep the slow smile off my cheeks. I tucked the card into my shorts. “Like I said, Night. Get the fuck outta here.”
“Enjoy your night,” they said, retreating. Dark cloak dancing. The tip of a tail just peeking out from the bottom... If I tried, I could just about imagine... / Could just about imagine their form, from the moonlight shining. / The dip of their shoulders, the shape of a leg. / The curve of their ass as they walked. / Swaying...
Yeah, and the fact that these thoughts stayed with me even after Blitz, and Moxxie, and Millie came back, and the portal was opened, and the body was dumped, that these thought returned after dinner, in the warmth of my bed, in images, imaginings, in memories...yeah, it’s not like it meant anything. It didn’t mean anything neither when I touched myself that night, frustrated, alone, and the sound of that voice floated back, and didn’t feel that strange, in the end, lying there in the glow... / What the fuck would it mean? The corner of a glittering something in my shorts across the room. / It wasn’t like I’d be going back, not anytime soon. Best fucking forget it. Not anytime soon. It wasn’t like I’d /
“So is it, uh, still triple pay?”
“Sorry, could you repeat that, ma’am?”
Bored receptionist. More polite that I was about it, sure, but still. Ha. I knew bored receptionist like the back of my paw. Still do, when I care to.
“TITS!”
“Aah!”
A muffled thump, like somecreature falling off their swivel-chair. “Listen, lady, I know you hate your fucking job and probably your fucking life and like probably yourself as well, and I know you want this conversation over with as-soon-as-fucking-possible, so how about you put me through to Night and we can both go back to hating everything. Yeah?”
Impressive, really, that the magic in this card could simulate the crackle of a shitty phone line so well. The pony came again after a pause. “Put you through to who, sorry?”
“To Night—fuck. To the Prince. Of the Night. Tonight, yeah?”
“Mhm. Mhm. Oh yeah, the Prince. Sadly he’s busy right now...” Crackle. “...what’s that? Just some mare, your Highness. Sounds a little, you know. Common. No, no, I’m taking care of it, don’t worry yoursel—”
“Prince!” Fucking receptionists. “NIGHT!”
“Ow.” And there was that voice again, low and amused. “Sorry about Ink, there. She can be zealous in protecting my time. What can I help you with? I admit, I didn’t expect you to call in my favour so early...”
Last chance. To back out, to say fuck it and go home, give the book back to Octy / To do what? To say what? It wasn’t like I’d / “Me, uh. Me neither. I was just wondering about the pay...”
The Prince’s chamber was—well, fuck, that’s what it was. It would be obscene to call it a bedroom—not just because the bed in it was about the size of a normal room itself, but there were other rooms branching off from it. Walk-in closets. Drawing rooms. Bathrooms. Plural. There was even a fucking bar in the corner. Rich violets, blues, tiny spots of light gave the whole place the illusion of an impossibly peaceful night. Midnight. Ha. The Hour of the Wolf.
“For you.” A delicate glass floated over full of a wine that was doubtlessly even more delicate. It certainly smelled that way.
I coughed. “Do you, uh, have beer?”
Night blinked. “I...don’t actually know. I’ll check.”
“Thanks.”
The whole place smelled that way. A thousand subtle aromas vying for attention: under the sharp sting of magic, there were gardens of flowers, perfumes, smoke from a fire that must light the study, bramblewine medicine and teardropliqueurs, tiny things that onessenses registeredfaintly, gold and ink and goldeninkletters, satinysilksheets, nightcityexcitement. That distant scent like stars, from before. / Butsomethingelsetoo, somethingdarker, fierceanger...tired. Sleepless. Exhausted. I sniffed it out: singular. The Night smelled alone.
“Aha!” They reappeared from one of the cupboards, brown bottle triumphantly aloft. “Catch.” It missed, landed with a thump against the sheets. I sat down next to it. The ceiling overhead had been conjured to an image of the dark outside, wispy clouds, a thousand, thousand stars.
“What shall we toast?” Night held their glass out before them. “To fine company? The future?”
I tapped the glass with by own bottle. Tuk. “To the night.”
Did I detect a moment’s hesitation? “To the night,” they agreed.
“May it last forever!”
“Indeed.” Then, more quietly, “Yes. Indeed.” They tilted their mask up just enough to take a sip. I caught an instant of dark blue lip.
“Is that what I should keep calling you?”
“Hmm?”
“Night, I mean. Or Prince. Whatever. Just feels kinda weird not to know your name.”
Night considered this. “Well, what’s your name?”
I shrugged. Suddenly, with this, of all things, a pang of nervousness. I steeled myself, took a drink. “Loona.”
“A...what?”
“Loona. That’s my name.”
Night said nothing. Had they heard me? They looked for a moment like all the air had been taken right out of them. They seemed to slowly fold, shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly. I sniffed: ...confusion? disbelief? Did they not... / “Hahahahahaha!”
“Ahahaha!”
“Hahahahahahaha!”
“No, no, there’s no—no fucking way that—that—just—fuck! Ahahaha!”
“We cannot—we simply cannot—”
“No, no. Ahahaha! No, of course we can’t. Fucking hell! I guess I’ll just keep—keep calling you Night—”
“Or Prince. Either works.”
“—And you can call me...?”
We thought about this deeply.
“...Wwwolfy.”
“Fuck off.”
“...Wwwolfgang Amadeus Mozart!”
“Fuck off!”
“...Wwwsuper hot sexy wolf babe.”
“It’s better than whatever the fuck that last one was!”
“I like Wolfy.” Night stared at me.
“Mmm...no.”
“But...” they shuffled closer. “I liiiike Wolfy.”
I squinted. “Are you pouting?”
“Mmmaybe.”
“I can’t help but feel like that would work a lot better with the mask off.”
They shook their head dramatically. Rattle-rattle-rattle. Blue starry mane whipping back and forth alarmingly. “No! ...I’d rather not.”
I blinked. “Is that thing seriously going to stay on when we...?”
They shuffled closer. Close enough to taste their breath. Close enough to listen, if I pricked my ears, to the thudthudthudthud of their heart. Close enough to overwhelm. / “When we...what, Wolfy?”
“Don’t call me that...” Murmuring.
“Mmmbut I think I want to...”
“There are other things I’d / rather you do...”
“Mmmlike what, Wolfy?”
“Like take that fucking mask off so I can kiss you.”
Laughter, sweetbreath, brief scent drowned in a whirl of other sweetnesses. Night sat back. “But I really want to keep this—”
I lunged. / I caught / dragging down to the sheets soft fur / bright eyes surprised and reaching up toward the mask but I / kiss the line of their jaw behind the wood / nip daintily at their neck / bite their ears the tips the sides and lick / drawing gasps and pants and other small delights / pulling back to watch the rapid rising, falling of their chest. Hooves splayed back against the bed. Twinkling starlight illuminating dark blue curves, fine fur. Luna. Prince of Night indeed.
“The mask’s nothing, really, just a silly...”
“It’s staying on, I get it.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah. We’re pretty close to the edge here, should we...”
“Good idea.”
Climbing off, deeper into the palatial bed, following Night’s ass to the middle of the sheets, watching them lie back again. Breathe in: perfume fading, satinysilksheets, tangytart heat in air, myownmuskmixingwiththerest.
“Sorry,” I said, “just give me a sec here. Some of us have clothes to take off.”
“Can I help?”
“Uh. If you want. I’m not too familiar with hooves, there’s a couple little buckles...” A sort of stingy tingling on my back as they sat up, hooves reaching out—eyeblink permission—stroking the fur of my shoulders, tracing down along pentagram lines to touch my chest, and I’d expected flat, or clumsy pawing, but their hooves were strangely supple as they cupped my breasts, or maybe it was the tingling spreading down my back, around my sides, a pleasant static through my fur as Night squeezed—mmm—pressing harder—as the straps over my shoulders loosened up, the magic running up down, lifting off the top—mmh—and suddenly nipples against the rough warmth of hooves and sparks of magic nipping here and there, allover, everywhere.
“You’ve done this before,” I said, accusingly.
“Once or twice,” admitted Night. “I’m certainly acquainted with the basics.”
I reached out, running their much shorter fur through the pads of my paws, following soft curves down neck, back, belly, chest / “Does it feel good for you, too, here?”
“Mmm, not much different from other places,” said Night. “The pony equivalent is further down our bellies—mm, yes, that’s it there. But I don’t think I like being touched there nearly as much as you do. Or even other ponies do.”
“Mmf, sorry. Sorry.”
“That’s all right. You can put your paws to good use other places.” I could hear the smile in their voice. “Any kind of opposable joints there are much better than hooves.”
Running my paws down over the twin mounds of their teats, the rougher tangle of fur giving way to soft flesh / cupping the inside of their thighs, raking my claws gingerly over the velvety fur there.
“We, should, uh. Finish getting undressed, then,” I suggested, catching the slight tremble in their leg as my paw circled closer.
“Mmh...quickly, then.”
“Quickly.” I gave the tip of their hoof a kiss as they moved back. Reaching down to pull my panties off along with my underwear, the coil of magic around my thighs rolling down my socks. I threw my gloves as far away as I could, and still fell short of the edge of the bed.
“Better?”
“Come here.”
Hooves wrapped close around me, hot press of thigh between my legs. Fur on fur and mussing together, arms wrapped around the smaller pony’s head, their neck. Wooden mask pressed hard against my breasts but not too hard, just right hard, holding each other for several moments before our grips loosened, limbs could move again. / Night’s hoof was up upon my breast, their horn aglow below my chin and tingling even further down, free hoof travelling down my belly / “Tickles!”—“My condolences.”—“You wouldn’t—-ahahaha, fuck, stop, ahaha! ahahaha!” / pushing in towards the / towards my / towards my / “Can you hurry up and fuck me, already?” / towards my / “Say please.”—“Please!”—“Now that was almost too easy.” / towards my pussy, brushing gently, terribly over my clit / “Mmmmmhhh...” / magic tingling between my lips, I spread my legs for better access, as if they needed better access, and still the teasing tingling “Ffffuuck...” / My own paws tangling in their mane, brushing the muscles of their shoulders / teasing, pleasure, in and in and in and around...warmth and heat till the fur on my thighs was wet with sweat as other fluids, shoulders arching, Night slowly easing back...
“That was so fucking good.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“ ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ ” I mimicked. Kissed their collarbone. “Shut the fuck up, you know you’re great at this.”
“I know no such thing.” They said dryly. “Though it was nice to make you moan, Wolfy.”
“Mm,” I said, with half a growl, rumbling at their throat. “Didn’t I say not to call me that?”
“Mmm. Did you? I don’t recall.”
“Uh huh.”
“Sounds like you may have to remind me, Wolfy.”
I opened my jaws, closing them around their throat just tight enough to prick. To smell their blood so close to practically taste it. Heating the fur on their neck. “Mhmm?”
“Whhhat’s so very wrong about it?”
My paw slid down their side to cup their ass, tease at the base of their tail. Sliding over the hip, inward. Their breath hitched.
“Wwwolfy...”
Claws carefully retracted, one pawpad teasing at their entrance. Delicate as the scent in a fancy fucking room, or a cup of wine...
I pulled back my head, jaws snapping shut an inch in front of their throat. They barely flinched. / “You’re okay, right?”
“I’m quite all right.” / That voice, just barely muffled by the mask, turning to a strange music in a moan... / Teasing their clit with one digit, running around, around, slowly up and over, all the way down, feeling the slickness between their folds. / Slipping in, just barely, then maybe more than barely, maybe more than maybe more than barely. / Gasping, tensing, pumping, thumb on clit and pressing, circling. / Slipping out, soaked paw held up to taste, sweatysweet, tangytart. / “You have a question?” Asked as I began to move down, kissing all the bits I’d missed along the way.
“Uh huh.” Sides and chest and soft, soft belly. “So you’re pretty rich, right?”
“Pretty.”
“Are you actually a Prince?”
“Mmore or less.”
“Which one?”
“More more,” Night said, “than less.”
“Uh huh. Then why didn’t you just ask one of your loyal subjects up here? I mean, power-hungry shit aside, you’re fucking famous, and you’re fucking hot. Why not?”
They sighed. I kissed one thigh, then the other. Grazing teeth on delicate skin. Waiting. / Breathing.
“It’s about the power,” they said, eventually. “It would be wrong.” / I asked them to elaborate. They refused. / “It would be wrong.”
Tendon trembling, cupping back of thigh with sweatwet paw, I brushed my nose along their folds, tongue flicking out to catch again, to taste. Moaning softly moaning. Tongue out, teeth latched so gently round their clit, tongue flicking round, and in, and round again, following the movement of their hips like bucking horse. Circling, and circling, and spiralling, inhaling heady musk and scent and messy fur...
Kissing up again, pausing at their neck... A nod, ever so slight. I swallowed. Magic aura, and suddenly the mask became undone, lifting away to see a face / an ordinary face / extraordinary face / bright blue eyes / I went to kiss their cheek but then they turned their head and our lips met in a clumsy kiss. Then again, in a less clumsy one. / Then again. / Then again. / Then again.
“Loona,” they whispered, nosebrush close.
“Luna,” I whispered back, sharing the secret.
We laughed. /
