Evaluation

by Big Daddy

Rating: mature
Tags: Adventure, Sex, Human, Spitfire, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Soarin, Alternate Universe, Original Character
Length: 7028

Flight and service readiness appraisals for the Wonderbolts. 6 weeks of bureaucracy and wasted time. Mostly.

Behemoth, a recently promoted Sergeant in the Royal Celestial Guard, is sent to administrate and over see the annual evaluations of the Wonderbolt Corps. His interaction with one of the newest additions to the Corps is a welcome respite from the endless bureaucratic drudgery.

Published 2013-05-19 10:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-19 10:50:01 UTC

Evaluation

She wasn't late, but at this rate it would be a close thing. She was walking quickly, not quite running, but just one notch below that. Running would be unprofessional, would show she was nervous. She wouldn't do that. Had to keep up appearances. Even if it had been several minutes since she'd last seen any signs of life. A shiver ran up her slight form as a cold draft ruffled the orange and yellow of her short cut hair. She pulled the massive, baggy training flightsuit tighter around her small frame, trying to hold in what little heat wasn't stolen away by the drafty, ancient halls this deep in the training annex.

Paperwork. The very thought of the word annoyed him. It tasted dirty whenever he spoke it. Those three simple syllables leaving a film of vile filth on his tongue. Paperwork. For closing in on three weeks, that had been all this assignment was. The Wonderbolts, as most knew them, were nothing more then acrobats. Entertainers. Precision aerial gymnasts used to wow the crowds at royal events, and stage the occasional race or demonstration for their legions of adoring fans.

They were, however, technically, part of the Royal Equestrian Air Force. The entire corps, three separate platoons, were, on paper at any rate, Guardsmen. As such, once a year, they had to under go evaluation and readiness reviews by one unlucky Sergeant, chosen at "random" for the "honor" of spending six weeks in Cloudsdale, appraising each and every one of them individually, as squads, and as a Corps.

For the duration of this assignment, to avoid any conflicts with the squadron leads that were technically higher ranking, he'd been given the brevet rank of Captain.

He glanced at the clock hanging above the door across from him, looking up from the cheap wooden desk and the circle of dingy yellow light glaring across its surface. No, since the last time he'd looked up from the stacks of manilla folders it had officially become tomorrow, officially just crossed over the halfway point of this ridiculous assignment.

"Okay...who do we have next..."

He had taken to talking to himself, more to break up the monotonous silence then anything else. He pulled the next file off the top of the stack to his right, placing it under the pool of yellow sodium light cast by the lamp that had probably sat on this desk in this tiny, dusty office since before he was a fetus.

"Hmm. One of the rookies..."

He sat up a little straighter, opening his eyes widely and blinking several times, chasing away the mental fatigue and the gumminess that had started to cloud his vision. Finally, here was someone who just might EARN their title. The quiet knock at the door exactly as the clock ticked over to her scheduled time confirmed that she was, at least, punctual.

"Come."

The door, worn and aged like everything else in this room, scraped open on faintly squealing hinges. His first impression of the figure was that she seemed too small to be a real flyer. As she she stood just inside the door and snapped to nervous attention, he took a moment to give her the once over. Even at rigid attention, she barely broke 5 foot, and likely wouldn't even hit triple digits on a scale. Her hair was multitoned, the colors of flame and was cut severely short, bristling along her head in an unkempt mass, sticking out in random angles. Helmet hair, it was a common sight around here. Shed been flying just before coming in here.

He held her in his stare, unmoving and silent, just long enough to unnerve her a little. He looked back down to the folder in front of him, and slowly a single hand rose from the desk, fingers out like a vertical blade. He made a slow, deliberate jab at the patched and moth eaten chair on the other side of the desk.

"Sit."

She stepped forward, the door finally swinging shut behind her. She stood behind the chair, at attention, almost as if counting on it as a barrier between them.

"I'm fine standing...uh, sir."

She swore she could hear the tendons and muscles in his tree trunk of a neck creak as he slowly looked back up to her. His face was still a blank mask, but the glint in his two golden eyes was either amusement...or annoyance. After a moments silence, he spoke. His hand hadn't wavered, still as a statue, pointing at the chair.

"I don't make suggestions, 'Spitfire', and I don't repeat myself."

Her eyes snapped wider as the implications of that statement dawned on her. She came around and sat quickly, murmuring a hurried apology. Her petite form seemed to be swallowed up by the bulky training flight suit, much different then the sleek, form fitting uniform that was worn during performances. His extended hand stayed there for a few more seconds once she sat, pointed now directly at her flightsuit covered sternum. She could almost feel the pressure of it against her chest, even though it was several feet away.

After another moment, that hand fell back to the desk, turning a page in the narrow manila folder that was essentially her life over the last eighteen months. He began speaking without further ado.

"Enlisted just over a year an a half ago, straight out of school at the age of eighteen..."

He looked across the heavy wooden desk at her, the yellow, back cast light bouncing off its polished surface lighting his face from below in a sinister fashion.

"You should've forged the paperwork and said you were seventeen when you enlisted, I might've believed that. How old are you?"

"I-what are you...I mean, I'm nineteen, just like it-"

The glint in his eyes, the one that could've been amusement or annoyance was back. It was the closest to an emotional response she'd seen from him so far.

"Hmmm, interesting. More so since according to this," he shut her folder, "you turned twenty, three weeks ago."

She swore inwardly, her wide eyes betraying her alarm. She'd been found out! She'd thought after this long she was home free, but this...this bastard...there was no point in keeping her charade going any longer. As heat rushed into her face, the skin on the back of her neck and head prickled. The cold, drafty room was suddenly unpleasantly warm. To her credit, she still managed to meet his eyes across the desk.

"I...I'm...eighteen...just turned a few weeks ago...sir."

He nodded, that answer was what he had expected. He set her file aside, then returned his steady gaze to her.

"So, you lied on your enlistment. Started service as a minor. You attempted, and succeeded in defrauding the Celestial Guard, and the Wonderbolt Corps. Why?"

The brilliant orange of her eyes finally broke with his, and she seemed to deflate a little in the chair.

"Why? Aren't you going to have me...arrested, thrown out, charged?"

His response was delayed, waiting to speak until her curiosity won out and she looked back up.

"No. At least not until I find out why in the blue hell you'd risk so much, your entire future and freedom in order to join this flying sideshow."

"Because I'm better then them!! The lieutenants, the flight leads, hell, even the Captain! I can fly circles around them! They've been at it for so long, all they have left is the politics, the prestige! Strutting about in uniforms that fit tighter and tighter every month, lazy bastards that don't care about the Corps!! I do!! I can make it like it used to be, like it was when I was a kid, better even!! That's why I lied on my entry paperwork, 'cause I can do better then they can..."

Without noticing, she had exploded out of the chair and come halfway across the desk at him during her exposition. As she calmed a little and realized that she was basically crawling over the desk at him, she quickly recoiled, almost missing the chair entirely as she hurriedly sat back down, shocked at what she'd done. His response added to the surreality. He was grinning. It was a toothy, predatory smile, and his eyes glinted along with it in the dim light.

"Excellent. I suspected you wouldn't disappoint. You and that other new kid...Soarin, I think it was. You two've still got drive, still got fire in your bellies. That's good. Most of the Corps doesn't."

He stood for the first time in many hours, his legs protesting at the sudden movement after being sedentary for so long. His black tipped, dark blue wings unfurled, brushing the low ceiling as they too stretched, recently released from their long time prison.

"Fire like that is going to be needed if we're ever going to recover the Corps from the laughing stock it's become. Go get into your flight suit, and meet me in flight bay three in fifteen minutes."

With no more instruction then that, he walked past her and out the door. By the time she recovered her wits enough from this sudden turn of events and followed him out, the dusty, drafty corridor was already empty. She flat out sprinted to her locker, not concerned anymore with keeping up appearances.

Eight minutes later, she burst through the south end cargo doors into the flight bay. Although the Wonderbolts themselves were all capable, either through natural gift or artificial enhancements, of self propelled flight, the support and maintenance crews for this massive facility were by and large not. Launch bay three was a long term storage for the myriad aerial vehicles used by non winged support staff in their work of keeping this floating city aloft.

The room was cavernous, filled with the monstrous forms of wire and steel gargants used for everything from structural upkeep and station keeping, to emergency recovery and supply runs. She wormed her way between their stationary bulks, feeling, as she always did, the slightest flutter of nervousness, as if the forms she blitzed between were watching her pass as they loomed threateningly over her. The massive, tomb silent chamber reeked of jet fuel, motor oil, and the more subtle yet unmistakable scent of oft heated metal.

She was clad in her performance suit, shining blue with lighting bolts down the sides. When she had first worn it, almost a year ago, it had been baggy, not really fitting her at all. In the time since, she'd grown into it, it fit her now perfectly, tight as a second skin, almost as if it had been painted on.

"Re-reporting as ordered, sir!"

She spoke, charging at full speed around a particularly massive double rotored cargo hauler and out into the launch path, where the imposing form of the brevet Captain was waiting. The figure before her brought her to a sudden stop. She'd seen him dozens of times since his arrival, since the readiness evaluations had started, but in all of those situations he was in full dress blues, probably the least flattering attire ever created by sentient beings. In her eyes at any rate.

This was the first time she'd seen him in a flightsuit, and even though his was bulkier, padded heavier and lightly armored, the sheer physical power of the form it contained was plain to see. She also realized now, with his physique on display, that he was much younger then she'd originally thought.

His back was to her, dark blue, black tipped wings spread wide and arched towards the ceiling. He was stretching, limbering up. Most of his contortions she had seen and done a thousand times, but some were complex, intense maneuvers that made no sense until she recalled that they were usually done while wearing well over a hundred pounds of full ceremonial plate armor. His body was a chiseled testament to the rigors of Guard life. He spoke without turning.

"You're early, seven minutes. Good. Get yourself squared. We launch in 5. I'm lead out the gate, you're wing, I'll give you instructions once we're clear, you'll follow them to the best of your ability."

He turned, finally meeting her eyes. Although his face was still set in rigid professionalism, his golden eyes were shining with what could only be anticipation. She had no way of knowing, but this was the first time he had a chance to get out into the air since he'd arrived.

"Clear?"

She snapped to attention, sloppily. Her form was off, foot and hand placement off by several whole inches. That would never fly in the Guard. He let it go. After exactly 5 minutes he turned back as with a click, a red strobe mounted in the far off ceiling began turning, casting its circular crimson mark around the room, dancing over the gantries and parked vehicles. It was joined short seconds later by the harsh mechanical bleat of a warning klaxon, its cry echoing and reverberating through the chamber.

At the north end of the bay, massive, armored blast doors were grinding back into their recessions, hundreds of tons of steel sliding apart with smooth, well maintained ease. A pressure wall of air blew in, hitting them both just as they'd lowered their goggles and com beads into place. They were both ready, at full flare as the pressure wave reversed.

The typhoon strength wind surged back out, the smaller craft in flight bay three strained against their chains, the metal on metal rattling completely drowned out as the deafening wall of air reversed course, pulling two comparably small forms out into the night sky on its buffeting bow wave.

This wasn't her first 'Assisted Launch', and she executed it perfectly. Once the wave had her, she drew her wings in close, leaving just the trailing edges in the stream to control pitch and yaw. Just ahead and to her left, she watched his much larger form execute the same maneuver with equal skill.

As the turbulence faded, they flared to full simultaneously, and with a few powerful beats, he sent them into a circling climb, taking them above the deck level of the floating city. Its millions of twinkling lights spread out below them, brighter and clearer then the lights far below that denoted more traditional earth bound residences. A full moon lit the steam and exhaust pumped out by the aerial marvel, its reflected radiance almost making it seem as if the city itself were floating on the clouds.

As they leveled out roughly a thousand feet above the 'ground' level of the floating city, the illumination of a full moon picked out the details in the metropolis that had come to be known as Cloudsdale. It had started life as a massive forward operating base over a thousand years ago during the griffon wars, if the stories were true, and had expanded and grown exponentially since then.

From this vantage, the beauty of the city, beyond that of its setting, was in it's martial construction. Every building, from the series of massive launch hangars which looked like nothing so much as over turned casks half sunk into the clouds, to the residential and commercial venues, and even the munitions and weapons manufactories. Every building was composed of smooth curves and sweeping, liquid stretches. The ovoid structures swelled up, appearing to be nothing more then droplets of condensation on the massive plane of the cloud layer, smooth and organic, lit from within by millions of twinkling lights.

This design consistency was a matter of aerodynamic logic, less wind resistance, less force needed to move the city, lower operating costs. It's logical construction was the source of its beauty, functionality over aesthetics. Nowhere could you find decorative colonnades, overblown archaic columns, useless and grandiose flourishes. It's beauty was in its clarity of purpose and simplicity of construction.

Her attention was torn away from it by the crackle of static and the hushed beep that let her know her squad band ear bead had just activated.

"Alright kid, lets see what you're really made of. "

Almost three hours later, the most intense three hours she'd ever spent in the air, they landed. As the massive doors swung shut with an echoing clang of finality, she stood on legs almost reduced to jelly by their exertions. She was covered in sweat, flame bright hair plastered to her head, the interior of her skin tight flight suit soaking wet.

"Not bad Spitfire. Not too bad at all."

She looked over to him and her pounding heart did a flip flop of surprise. He was breathing just as hard as she was, his face glistening as it was split by a huge toothy grin. It was the first time she'd seen him really smile, and it drastically changed his appearance.

He strode past her, heading towards the control booth to take care of the bureaucratically demanded paperwork that accompanied any unscheduled launch. Her blood still up after the thrill of their flight, she found her eyes wandering down his powerful back as he moved past her, admiring the physique of the man that had cost her so much trepidation and so many sleepless nights. With a barely suppressed laugh, she found humor in the fact that such a overblown hardass like him had such a nice ass.

"Go get cleaned up, debrief in 30."

As the door to the control room clacked shut, she moved off towards the bay three locker room.

The room was large, split half and half between a multitude of lockers and a large, communal shower. The copper of the shower heads and exposed piping was coated with a patina of verdigris, the room smelled faintly of mildew, and strongly of industrial strength cleaners.

Her small, sleek form stood under the warm water, the heat relaxing after the cold of high altitude flight. Her face was turned up into the stream, eyes closed. The liquid heat cascaded down her face and neck, trailing in rivulets over the slight curvature of her breasts before flaring across her washboard of a stomach and down her long, slender legs.

She couldn't remember the last time she felt like this after a flight, the last time she felt the delectable burn of exhaustion, and the electrical thrill that came from doing a damn fine job and knowing you did. A few short hours, and her confidence was back in a big way.

She scrambled, almost slipping and falling on her well toned rear, her eyes snapping open as she heard the unmistakable squeal-grunt of the shower head behind her coughing to life. She spun around, her heart pounding in her chest, more then a little startled to find herself looking at two large, dark blue black tipped wings and a heavily muscled back side. In usual fashion, Behemoth spoke without turning.

"You alright back there, sounded like you almost busted your ass."

~Holy fucking Celestia on a cracker, how the hell is he so quiet and so damn...big!!~

It took her a few seconds to gather her wits enough to respond. Watching the water flow down his massive form was a bit...distracting. As her eyes ran over him, drinking in every detail, heat rushed to her face as she realized she was staring...about the same time she caught sight of the steady trail of water trickling from the head of his sedate manhood, several inches of the underside of it plainly visible between his powerful thighs.

"I...uhh...I...didn't hear you come in..."

He turned to face her, hands up, rubbing soap into the short bristle of his jet black hair. As his golden eyes focused on hers, he noticed with a wry smile that her attention was aimed a fair sight lower on his anatomy.

"Eyes up here, kid."

She blushed fit to burst, crimson filling her face and flashing across her chest, she tore her eyes from him, half turning away, giving him a perfect profile view of her taut form. The Wonderbolts locker rooms were all strictly coed, as a nod to improved unit cohesion or some such. The squad that showers together flies together. So it wasn't the sight of a naked male form that had got her attention. Hell, it was a daily thing for her, it'd fallen into the norm after the second or third day.

The difference was a matter of construction. Her male squad mates were, by necessity, lithe, thin, wire muscled and fine tuned for speed and agility. Short and compact. The man across from her was worlds apart. He was, for lack of more subtle terminology, fucking huge. A clear six inches taller then the tallest of her fellow performers, his frame was built for power and strength.

She'd never paid much attention to the Royal Guards, but logic implied most would be built like Behemoth. Adapted over months and years to endure the stress of over a hundred pounds of kit, for days at a time if needed, and to never show pain, fatigue...or any other emotional response for that matter. His was not the chiseled form of a body builder, his strength served a purpose other then aesthetics...the fact that he looked good in the process was a coincidental side effect.

"Oh crap, I, uh...sorry sir, I just...I..."

He chuckled a bit, drawing her attention back, she noticed he was smiling.

"Not a problem, rookie. A good flight gets my blood up a bit too, these things happen. It's the adrenaline, it's got to find an out one way or another..."

As a none too subtle confirmation, his until know sedentary cock gave a jerk and a bob, slowly awakening from its slumber of its own accord. This time, the thought of looking away and any lingering concern over etiquette and protocol vanished into the clouds of steam between them. He leaned back against the tiled half wall, his elbows propped on its condensation slick surface, feet spaced perfectly at ease. This was by far the most relaxed she, or anyone in the city had seen him since he arrived. Well, most of him was relaxed at any rate. That smile hadn't left his face.

"You did good up there, showed you could follow orders and execute them perfectly. But there's more to this life then that."

She turned back to face him head on, making only a passing gesture to cover herself from his gaze. As he spoke, he drank in the details of her compact form, his eyes wandered unabashed over her. The wayward curls of flame colored hair plastered across her forehead and against a cheek. Her body was a flawless tan, the likes of which that could only be obtained through regular sunning. The not quite obscured pale pink of her nipples, relaxed into puffiness by the heat of the water still pouring over her. The bright little patch of hair adorning her pubic mound, the same flame tones as that which hung about her face, trimmed neatly into a small ball of fire crowning a pale pink slit between full lips the same tan as the reset of her.

"You have to be able to adapt, to see the way the momentum is shifting and react accordingly. To take control of the situation. Improvisation is key, to take an unexpected event and turn it to your advantage..."

Still smiling, he beckoned her closer with the motion of two fingers of his right hand, still relaxing across the tile top of the half wall separating the showers from the rest of the locker room.

"For example, this interesting little situation we find ourselves in, rookie. Take control. Adapt."

~Adapt...take control...right, I can do this...~

She surged forward, the post flight blood rush making sure any thoughts of hesitation didn't last long. She crossed the distance between them in one smooth motion. Her eyes were focused on his as she reached down, wrapping a hand around his erection, finger not quite touching thumb around its girth. She stepped forward until she felt the heat of it run up the flat plane of her stomach, and the way its shower slick length pulsed in her grip with each heart beat as it lay against her, the fat mushroom cap of its shiny head nearly reaching the shallow valley between the small, perky globes of her breasts.

He didn't so much as twitch. Watching her with feigned disinterest. She brought her second hand in, both working his cock in tandem, squeezing at the base then pulling up in a series of quick, hard jerks. Eyes still locked on his, she leaned down a bit, spitting on the back of the shaft, giving her a little more lubrication to work with.

"Is this the kind of...control you had in mind...sir?"

Her head tilted slightly to the side as her fingers teased the swollen head, suppressing a smile with limited success. She could feel the weight of his smooth shaven balls at her navel, likely a nod to improved aerodynamics. A hand slipped down to cup them, rolling them in her palm one at a time and giving them a squeeze, the other continuing it's frenetic pumping, blurring along the length it didn't quite encompass. Behemoth's calm, almost professional demeanor was being put to the test. The breadth of his wings, dripping with condensation slowly spread of their own accord.

"Its...definitely a step in the right...direction...but I expect more from you, don't...disappoint."

~Disappoint? Heh, not likely guard man, you have no idea what you've got yourself in too...~

Determination and a healthy ego driving her efforts, she slid to the floor in one smooth motion, dropping to her knees and pulling the resistant length of him with her to point down at her face. She looked up at him, putting on her best wide eyed innocent face, one hand holding the base of his shaft in a deceptively strong grip, the other slipping down between her thighs, ring and middle fingers working along her cleft.

"Is this, more what you had in mind...sir?"

Their eyes met over the solid expanse of his muscled torso, as she leaned forward, twisting and twirling her little pink tongue along the underside of his cock head.

"Is this good, am I doing it right?"

The mischievous glint in her flame colored eyes was a sharp contrast with the faux innocence in her words as she stretched her lips around the thick head, her tongue as limber and swift as the rest of her, danced around the crest of his glans, flicking along the crease running up its underside. Behemoth leaned back and stifled a groan, the look in her eyes and the unexpected skill of her cock sucking causing his stomach to flip flop as a bolt of pleasure shot through him.

"Ohh fuuu-...I mean, uh...yeah, you seem to have the basic idea..."

She smiled at his attempt to retain composure...or would've at any rate had her mouth not been full of his throbbing dick. She saw she was getting to him, and relished in that knowledge.

~Hmm, seems your mortal after all. Let's see how long you can last...~

As she worked a few more inches of him into her throat, she realized it would likely be the last few. As his cock head brushed against her tonsils, she decided that was deep enough, and set to work, focusing lips and tongue on the head. Her free hand, the one not furiously buried in the tightness her sopping pink sex, played up and down his exposed length, twisting and rolling around its length, sticking with her rhythm of loosening her grip on each down stroke, and squeezing hard each time she brought her hand up to her lips.

"Gah! Damn girl, you've got some real poten-"

Behemoth was cut off as a new voice, young, and more then a little nervous rang out through the supposedly empty locker room.

"Uh, Mr. Behemoth, sir? Uhh, Captain, is that you...sir?"

As the voice grew louder and the steady slap of booted feet grew closer, Behemoth reacted. He spun one hundred and eighty degrees, a hand cupping the back of Spitfires neck flung her around with him. Her eyes flashed open in surprise and a strangled gurgle of alarm leaked out around the cock still enshrined in her mouth as she suddenly found her back pressed against the half wall he'd been leaning against a scant second ago. Behemoth cleared his throat, forcing his wings to fold a bit through sheer force of will, and summoned up his best, 'gruff, hard ass and slightly annoyed officer' voice.

"Yes, ahem, who's there, come on out."

Stepping out from between two rows of lockers, grinning in a impressively goofy fashion came the other rookie, clad in his training gear. His eyes were puffy and hair mussed, reinforcing the theory that he'd been asleep just moments before. Under the effects of a rather significant distraction, Behemoth psychologically scrambled to remember the kids name.

"Hmm. Soarin, wasn't it?"

The kid nodded, shocked that the brevet Captain knew him by name. Equally shocked at hearing his voice, Spitfire tried to speak, resulting in a faintly audible slurping, gurgling noise. As she rudely tried to talk with her mouth full, the change in sensation almost made Behemoth cum, no response showing on his calm facade other then an obvious and somewhat dramatic series of twitches from his right eye and cheek.

"Did...you just hear something sir? It sounded kind of...like someone choking...and...what's going on with your eye? Are you having a stroke sir, should I call the medical team?"

With a smooth motion completely invisible to the new arrival behind the half wall, he rolled his hips forward, shoving his length deeper into her throat and making certain that she wouldn't be making any more verbal outbursts. He leaned forward, propping one arm casually on the half wall, his other still tightly closed around the back of Spitfire's neck, encompassing more then half of it and holding her lithe form in place without effort as she gagged on his girth.

"I'm...fine, just a muscle twitch. Now, what in the hell is so important that you'd interrupt my shower?"

"I'm uhh...sorry to bother you sir, but...umm...I heard that Spitfire was being evaluated tonight...well, guess it's this morning, an I was looking for her...to see how she did..."

As she recognized the voice, Spitfire's efforts to pull back from the sudden deep throat stopped and her flaming eyes took on an evil glint.

"You should know better. Evaluation details are confidential information, even she won't know how well she...*hrrrgggggnnnngggnnnnkkk....*"

Soarin looked at the Captain, more then slightly confused at the remarkably odd noise that had just came out of him. The oddness was enhanced by the complete and utter lack of any physical response. His face was immobile, frozen in mid sentence. After a few seconds, he blinked, and continued where he had left off, as if nothing strange had just happened.

"...won't know what her results are until the end of the current test session. Just as you won't after your evaluation tomorrow night."

Soarins eyes shot open, and he physically recoiled from this latest news.

"Wh-what? Tomorrow night?"

"Yes. I recommend you go get some rest, it will be a strenuous test. Now, get the Celestial fuck out of here and let me finish my shower in peace, rookie."

Maintaining his composure as Soarin threw a hasty salute and departed in a near panic, Behemoth watched him go, the look of minor annoyance frozen on his face until he heard the locker room door clack shut. At that point, a violent shudder ran through him, leaving the short bristle of hair on his head standing on end in defiance of the water still pouring over him.

"You know, it's not very polite to distract someone like that while they're having a conversation..."

He stepped back away from the tiled half wall, the hand that had held the back of her neck now came around to cup her chin and pull her slowly, almost regretfully back, until his spit soaked member bobbed free. He gently, yet firmly pulled her back to her feet. As she rose back into his vision, he wasn't surprised in the slightest at the cocky smirk plastered across her face, or the self satisfied glint in her fiery eyes.

"Oh, so sorry sir..."

From a stand she made an impressive vertical leap, the powerful muscles of her thighs wrapping around his waist tightly, ankles locking together at the small of his back. She braced her entire weight against him, her arms on his shoulders. She was leaned back away from him. The rigid length of his cock jutted out from under her, from that angle it looked as if she was literally riding it, its girth supporting her easily. The puffy, drooling lips of her sex spread over the top of his shaft, along with the the tanned cheeks of her tight ass. She could feel the heat from his length radiating up into both her vag and asshole, both pressed against it. The sensation enhanced by the showers provided slickness. She grinned up at him as he widened his stance a little.

"Did I distract you by being able to work with the unexpected deep throat...or was it the prostate massage that threw you off? Sir."

He smirked, stepping back away from the half wall and moving across the tiled floor to its full sized opposite. One hand came up, not to help support her, but to grab a taut and tanned ass cheek, it's firmness resisting his strength as he dimpled its flawless surface. He shoved her back against the wall, hard enough to drive a gasp from her with the impact. His significantly larger frame sandwiching her between the heat of his chest and the cool, moisture slick tile.

"Don't get too cocky rookie, we're just getting started."

He lifted her by that one cheek, and as she felt the length of him swing up as her weight left it, the molten heat of his pulsing cockhead pressing up between her soaked nether lips, guided by his other hand. Her smug smirk wavered a bit.

"N-now hold on just a second, I'm not sure-"

He apparently didn't feel like discussing the matter further. Once he was certain he was in position, her lips flared around his glans, both hands slipped up to her narrow waist, combined they almost stretched around it, and with a single, sudden downward yank, buried the entire formidable girth of his cock into her until their hips met with a loud smack. Her eyes shot open, her jaw dropped, and her only verbal response was a sudden gasp as she was stretched farther and more suddenly then at any previous point in her young life.

"Ohhh...fucking...Celestia damned..."

After his scientific analysis, Behemoth got straight to work. His hands clamped around her waist and the spasming folds of her pussy clamped vice-like around his member, he slowly pulled out against the strength of her clenching muscles. When only the head was left inside her, he thrust up again, his hands holding her perfectly still as the warm water continued to pour across them. The force behind that thrust rocking her harder against the wall, driving another sharp gasp from her.

"Ohh damn...these fly boys...uhn...really must not...hnng...measure up...so...fucking...TIGHT."

Each restrained grunt was accompanied by yet another thrust, they came faster, the time between each growing shorter as he fell into a savage rhythm, the last three words each punctuated by it's own thrust. Her fire hued wings splayed wide across the wall, his own dark pair up, casting them both in shadow from the ceiling mounted fluorescents. Her shock didn't last long.

"Ohhh harder, harder Celestia dammit!! Fuck me Captain!"

Her hands rose to his shoulders, her fingers digging into his back, raising welts from him as she clawed at him ruthlessly. No longer satisfied with him setting the pace, her deceptively powerful arms pulled her up at speed, her ripped, hyper fit torso folding to slam her back down onto his cock each time he thrust.

~Aww fuck, she's all lit up now!~

One hand still fixed to the flare of her waist, guiding their shared motions, his other braced against the wall next to her head, fingers splayed wide over the slick tile. Her hands dropped from his shoulders, tearing red weals down his broad back and wrapping around the base of his wide spread wings. He felt the rock hard nubs of her nipples and the gentle swell of her breasts pressed to his chest, the muscles of her lower body still powering along his length effortlessly.

A drawn out, undulating noise that might have been words at some point escaped her mouth, slurred by his chest as her cheek was pressed to it. As her thrusts stopped, shuddering and erratic like an over heating engine, she clenched her tiny fists around his wing roots, the pleasure-pain driving him over the edge.

"Ohhh fuck, Spitfire, I'm cummnnngghhh!"

She came just before he did, her internal spasms milking his beast of a cock like a hot, wet vice. An unrestrained roar-scream of animalistic pleasure poured forth from their throats, as a month worth of pent up cum poured forth from lower on his anatomy. Their cry of release mingled in the humid air, as their juices mingled and ran down the drain.

It was twenty minutes later. They had shared a somewhat less eventful shower, cleaning themselves up before they'd departed locker room three in opposite directions, her to a well deserved sleep, and him, back to more damned paper work. He'd just stepped back into his office, clad in sharp pressed dress blues when the vid com chimed. The folded flat rectangle was the most advanced piece of equipment in this room by a good two decades, and was the only personal item he'd brought with him from Canterlot. He moved around the desk, turning to face it.

It's screen pivoted open on it's own, having detected his presence. A beam of light ran vertically across his face, followed a fraction of a second later by a horizontal. As his identity was confirmed, a second chime sounded, and with a faint electrical buzz, the link opened.

"Ahh, Sergeant Dusk Shield, to what do I owe the pleasure of this..." Behemoth made a show of looking theatrically at his watch, "absurdly early morning call?"

The haggard, smirking face of his once commander, current fellow non com looked up at him, the shock of his stark white close cropped hair rounding out the heavily lined, weathered leather of Dusk Shield's face.

"Aww, whats the matter kid, did I interrupt yer beauty sleep? Well, get the hell over it, I wanted to be the one to call you up and pass on the good news."

Behemoth smiled a bit at the good natured ribbing, and stood as he replied, turning away and starting to remove his uniform jacket.

"Oh yeah? And what'd that be, you're tired old broken ass finally decided to retire?"

A hearty, gruff, and endearing chuckle emerged from the device's small speakers.

"No, not quite. I called to say congratulations, 'Lieutenant' Behemoth."

Behemoth froze half way through unbuttoning his jacket. After a long stretch of seconds he spoke, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Now that just isn't funny Dusk, you an I both know there's no way in hell they'd give me a commission. Sergeant is as far as I'll go, and I'll happily return to it once this brevet Captain nonsense is over..."

"Well, it seems you're wrong. Someone pushed your name hard for this, someone even the Colonel wasn't willing to argue with."

Behemoth turned, a frown etched deeply into his face and across his brow.

"Who? Why?"

On the screen, the miniature Sergeant shook his head, the smirk slowly fading from his face.

"No idea on either count...I always knew you'd eclipse me kid, I knew you'd move up...heh, just didn't think it'd come this fast."

"This is damned strange, Dusk. If anyone should get this promotion, it's you. You've been doing this for, what, twenty years?"

"Twenty four, and who says they didn't make me this offer? Five times so far, and I've turned em down every time. I'm a grunt Behemoth, a damn fine grunt, probably the best there is, but still a grunt. Nah, I'm satisfied where I am, as YOUR Sergeant. I'd make a Celestia awful officer, I prefer to work for a living, I'm just not soft enough to take the rank."

"Heh, yeah, fuck you too Dusk."

" At any rate, heh, 'Lieutenant', when you wrap things up up there, we've already got our first assignment. I'll have us a team ready."

Finally removing his coat and hanging it over the back of his chair, he returned to his seat. The frown across Behemoths face hadn't faded, if anything it'd grown deeper as the conversation progressed.

"A team huh? What's the mission?"

A faint clack was heard through the speakers as Dusk brought up a wire grid map, over writing the lower right of the screen.

"South. Far south, into the Deadlands. Three Squads, fifteen guardsmen, you, and me on a four month minimum, Long Range Patrol."

Behemoth shook his head, none of this made any damn sense.

"An LRP? To the Deadlands? With a four month minimum deployment? What the hell is going on here, Dusk? There's nothing down there, they're called the Deadlands for a reason. What the hell are we being sent to find?"

"Now that, chief, that, is a very good question..."

Author's Note

Alright. This is the full version, the one I had previously posted was bastardized and stripped down for...some reason. Suffice to say, sanity won out in the end, I deleted that travesty and replaced it with this. Enjoy.