Unprofessional

A brisk wind cut through Soarin’s mane as he stood at the far end of the currently-empty Cloudsdale Coliseum. It didn’t bother him much, as he was covered from head to hoof in the Wonderbolt’s signature blue leather outfit. The late afternoon sun cast an orange glow over the cloud structures, creating sharp contrasts. The light pained his eyes, forcing him to look away; it was the kind of brightness that only came around right before the sun would begin to set, the one that if one looked into it they’d be blinded. Still, he wanted to watch it despite the sting. The beauty of it was worth the pain, not unlike a certain somepony he knew. Soarin chuckled a bit at his own thoughts and lay down.

His thoughts began to drift, as they tended to do when he was alone. The first week of his relationship with Spitfire was coming to an end, and so far it had been a bumpy ride. Having to maintain a professional appearance in public had been rather easy, even if Soarin got a bit antsy whenever another stallion would approach Spitfire. Not that it bothered him too much; he knew that sooner or later there’d be talk of adding another member to their little herd of two. Though, it still gave him a feel of unease. While he was a Wonderbolt, and quite famous throughout Equestria, he knew there were a lot of other stallions around that could easily match him; he’d seen Spitfire with a few of those before. Adding to his fear was the fact that outside of the performances, he was very different from how ponies might think; the cocky attitude he put on whenever he made public appearances was mostly an act, since in reality he was a lot more subdued, which made him worry that if Spitfire wanted to include another stallion, he’d probably end up being replaced altogether. Spitfire, as far as he knew, liked stallions with a little more attitude than he possessed, and no matter how much reassurance she gave him, the thought still nagged at him from time to time.

The real challenge they’d faced so far had, not unexpectedly, had been the team, rather than the crowd. Keeping their masks whenever the other Wonderbolts were around sometimes proved near impossible, especially for Spitfire. Every time she had to dish out discipline, or some harsh language at him, Soarin could tell that it wasn’t easy for her, half expecting her to suddenly jump him in front of everypony.

He sighed slightly and looked towards the horizon. The sun was setting fast, leaving the clouds in pink and blue.

Although, despite the pressure to maintain normality, Soarin was feeling a lot better this past week than he had in a long time, and even though he wasn’t exactly old yet, he still felt like a younger stallion because of it. Having to constantly sneak away from the others in order to be together, he and Spitfire had quickly started developing methods to be able to do as much as possible with what little time they were given. In the past, Spitfire would often berate Soarin for not pushing himself as hard as he could, something he’d been made very much aware of the year before during a training camp for the Equestria Games. He’d improved since, but Spitfire often asked to see him in private anyways. And while she was screaming her lungs out at him and tell him to get better, she would be drowning out the sound of their moaning as Soarin bent her over a table, and none of the Wonderbolts seemed wiser. This too came with a backside, as some of the members were clearly starting to display doubt about Soarin’s abilities whenever he was called into her office for the third time during one day, but it was always worth it in the end.

Yawning and flexing his jaw a little, Soarin stood up and stretched his wings, electing an audible popping from his muscles. Wanting to get home before nightfall, he took off and headed towards the stalls to get changed. He didn’t usually stay late, always wanting to be home before the others, but during the past few days he’d stayed to do some extra training on his own, which he needed. Being a stallion and thus heavier by nature was one thing, but another one entirely was his love of sweets, especially pie. All the crust and filling wasn’t doing his body any favors, and being part of the Wonderbolts had come as a godsend, as it forced him to maintain a certain standard.

But now, with Spitfire, he’d suddenly become determined to train even harder. Why that was, he couldn’t figure out. Part of him believed firmly that Spitfire might leave him for another, better stallion unless he did. He knew deep down that his fears were unjustified, but it couldn’t hurt to be on the safe side.

Stepping into the empty halls of the lower coliseum, Soarin trotted to the changing rooms, his hoofsteps echoing through the empty, low lit rooms. He wouldn’t admit it to others, but being alone like this in a large place gave him chills. He was just going to get out of the suit and take a shower at home later.

“Come on lard-ass, nothing’s gonna happen,” he told himself as he opened the door to the changing room and desperately searching for the light switch. The lamps above him flickered to life, casting a dim yellow light over the room. He ran for his locker, removing his goggles on the way, although the zipper on his suit was a whole different story.

“Dammit, why does this fucking thing never…” Soarin grumbled as he pulled the zipper. He didn’t hear the door open and close behind him.

“Need help with that, Soarin?” came a female voice from behind him. Soarin’s ears stood up instantly, his heart skipping a jump as he nearly leapt out of the suit. Regaining his normal breathing he turned around with an annoyed glare.

“Don’t do that, Fleetfoot. You nearly scared me to death,” he said, looking at the white haired, sky-blue mare standing behind him with a bright smile on her face, her tongue sticking out at him.

“I know, that’s why I keep doing it,” she said with a snicker. There wasn’t any malice to her voice, giving Soarin slight relief; the last thing he needed was a tease...

Stepping up beside him, Fleetfoot glanced down at the zipper with a smirk. “Want me to pull it for you?” she asked. Soarin just rolled his eyes, but gave a nod nonetheless. Fleetfoot grabbed the zipper with her teeth and slowly pulled down.

“How do you mares always manage to do that?” Soarin asked as he removed the tight leather, shrugging his fur in the process.

“The trick is not to yank at it. Also, it helps not using your hooves,” Fleetfoot said as she opened her locker. “By the way, what’re you doing here so late?”

“Late practice,” Soarin said, “What about you?”

“Oh, I forgot my bags earlier today,” Fleetfoot said, pulling out a pair of small, white saddlebags and threw them on. “Well, I would love to stay and chit-chat, but I’ve got places to be,” she said, heading for the door. Soarin followed suit, not wanting to linger in the empty hallways longer than necessary.

“So, what’s this place you’re headed?” Soarin asked as they headed outside, trying his best not to sound completely uninterested. He didn’t really think about Fleetfoot a lot, as they rarely spoke, and had absolutely nothing in common to the extent of his knowledge. What little he knew about her was that she was very active on the dating scene, and that she was extremely picky with the kind of company she kept, which was also the main reason he stayed clear of her.

“Well, I’m meeting a friend for dinner, if you have to know,” Fleetfoot said, spreading her wings. “What about you?”

“Ehh, just gonna take it easy,” Soarin said with a shrug. Spreading his wings as well and flapping them a little, he prepared to take off.

“Okay, well, see you around then…loverboy,” she said with a snicker, before darting off into the darkening skies above. Soarin stood dumbfounded as if somepony had just thrown a brick in his face. Had he heard that right? And if so, did Fleetfoot somehow know about him and Spitfire? A million thoughts rushed through his mind as he took off quickly as well. He didn’t get far though, as he failed to notice the pillar in front of him.

*** *** ***

Spitfire groaned in frustration as a knock on the door snapped her out of her evening meal. With a grunt she put aside the plate of salad and headed for the door, muttering along the way.

“I swear to Celestia, if it’s another fan I’m strangling him with his own mane…” she muttered as she reached the door. Looking through the keyhole she spotted a familiar blue coat, easing her frustration somewhat. Opening the door forced her to stifle a gasp though, as she looked into Soarin’s one functioning eye, the other one being a nice shade of bluish black.

“Dude, what happened to you?” she asked slightly shocked.

“May I come in?” Soarin asked.

“Yeah sure,” Spitfire said, ushering him inside, “Did anypony see you, by the way?”

“I don’t think so,” Soarin said with a groan.

“Good. But what the hell happened to you? You got into a fight or something?”

“With a pillar…” Soarin trailed off, a hint of shame lingering over his voice.

Spitfire rolled her eyes a little as she closed the door. “You really have to work on that. One of these days, it’s going to get you killed,” she said, walking Soarin into the kitchen. “Sometimes I feel like I’m dating a klutz,” she said with a sigh, making Soarin’s ears drop a little. “Oh come on, I didn’t mean it like that,” she added.

“I know, but still…” Soarin muttered. Even though he knew Spitfire didn’t say it in ill-will, constantly being reminded of his mockups during flight wasn’t doing him a world of good.

“Look, I’m sorry I brought it up. Now let’s put something on that eye,” Spitfire said, bringing out a bag of frozen peas. Leading him into the living room, Spitfire ushered Soarin into an armchair. He gasped in shock and pain as Spitfire put the cold bag over his eye. Holding it in place with a hoof he rested his head against the cloud and gave an audible sigh.

“Hard day?” Spitfire asked as she sat back down with her dinner.

“You could say that.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Kind of, don’t know where to start though,” Soarin responded. Spitfire just shook her head slightly.

“Why don’t you begin by telling me how you got that black eye?”

Soarin sighed again. “I stayed late at the coliseum, did some practice runs for the show, then on my way out I ran into Fleetfoot-“ his words were interrupted by a rustle of feathers. Turning to look at her with his good eye, he noticed Spitfire had suddenly developed a rather grim look.

“She did that to you?”

“What? No…no it wasn’t her, I told you, I flew into a pillar. Anyway, we were leaving when…” Soarin gritted teeth before continuing, “She…she called me ‘loverboy’…” Looking at Spitfire expecting an outburst, Soarin was surprised to find her seemingly deep in thought.

“Does she…does she know about us?” Soarin asked.

Spitfire sighed heavily. “Look, Soarin, you need to understand something about me and Fleetfoot.”

“She knows, doesn’t she? I thought you said this was going to be between us only, and now you’ve gone and opened up not one week la-“

“Shut up, it’s not like that!” Spitfire snapped. “I would never do something like that, now hush!”

Soarin instantly backed off, slowly leaning back into the chair.

“As I said, Fleetfoot and I go back a while. I’m not gonna go into detail, let’s just say, we know each other well,” Looking at Soarin calmly she kept going, “She knows I’ve had a thing for you long before you did, I mean, do you remember the first time we did it? How she quietly excused herself?”

Soarin thought back to that first time in the coliseum locker room, and surely enough did remember that Fleetfoot had been in the same room that day.

“Yeah, now that you mention it…so, are you saying that she knows all about us?”

“Not all of it, to her recollection we’re still just on the level of doing each other in the shower. I haven’t told her we’re an item yet.”

“Are you going to?”

“I think she may have already figured it out,” Spitfire said with a sigh and finished the last of her food. Sitting in silence for a while they both tried getting their thoughts straightened out. Eventually, Soarin moved from the chair to the sofa, allowing Spitfire to rest on his lap. Soarin started lightly stroking Spitfire’s mane, electing a humming out of her.

“Sorry if I ruined dinner for you,” Soarin mumbled.

“It’s okay,” Spitfire responded without looking, taking the time to enjoy Soarin’s strokes. Pulling her legs up she shifted position slightly until her snout lay pressed against Soarin’s belly. She lay for a while before speaking again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was sort of hoping you’d have it figured out yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m just stupid like that.”

“Stop saying that,” Spitfire mumbled, poking Soarin with a hoof. “If you call yourself stupid one more time, I’ll break up with you. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Sorry.”

“And that to, stop apologizing for every little thing,” Spitfire said, rolling over on her back to look Soarin in the eye.

“So what happens now?” he asked.

“Look, Fleetfoot may be a teaser, but she’s not going to rat us out. Trust me on that,” Spitfire said, reaching a hoof up to stroke his chin. Soarin gave a small sigh, but he wasn’t about to press the issue further, though the sinking feeling inside of him still lingered. Noticing, Spitfire lightly grabbed one of his hooves and placed it on her belly, making Soarin instinctively starting to rub her.

“Feel better?” She asked.

“A little,” he responded, grinding his hoof into the soft fur, electing a moan from Spitfire.

“Don’t do it too hard, I just ate,” Spitfire mumbled as Soarin pressed down on her stomach.

Soarin just hummed in response and spread a wing, stroking Spitfire with the tip of the feathers. Having forgotten about the pain in his eye he glanced down at her through the swollen eyelid, making her giggle.

“Dude, what’re you doing? Trying to look tough?” she said with a snicker, bumping him on the nose.

“What? I thought mares found stallions with scars real hot,” Soarin responded, stroking a feather over Spitfire’s lower belly.

“Only if they’re consistent, that blackeye’s gonna be gone in a few days and you’ll be back to looking like your regular, non-damaged self,” Spitfire said, rubbing the back of her head into Soarin’s lap, shivering from the sensation of the feathers running over her body.

“Is that a bad thing?” Soarin asked.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way,” Spitfire said, motioning for him to get closer.

Straining his neck, Soarin managed to lean down and deliver an awkwardly positioned kiss, continuing to stroke Spitfire with his wing. Spitfire responded in kind, closing her eyes as they locked lips.

The taste of greens still lingered on Spitfire’s tongue, giving Soarin a bit of hunger sensation as they kissed. Once they parted he looked around the room for a clock but couldn’t find one, though a quick look outside showed that the sun had all but settled completely, and night would soon be upon them.

“Damn, looks like it’s getting late,” Soarin mumbled.

“Well, you can spend the night if you want. I have an extra toothbrush if you need one,” Spitfire said with a playful smile, stroking Soarin’s wing with a hoof. Soarin gave an audible gulp at the suggestion.

“What’s wrong? Nervous about spending the night at a mare’s house?” Spitfire asked playfully, looking up at him. “Come on, it’ll be fun. My parents aren’t home so we can do anything we want…anything,” Spitfire said jokingly, and tried to pull Soarin in for another tongue wrestle, but Soarin sat firm in his spot, his mind having decided to go be someplace else.

Soarin sat in silence at Spitfire’s suggestion, trying to think his way out of the situation. Truth was, it would be the first time for as far as he could remember that he’d been offered to spend a night at somepony else’s place, but it wasn’t the cause for his hesitation. It was the fact that his entire routine would be thrown off the next day, and more importantly, something he needed to do every morning in order to function. He needed them, and spending the night meant he wasn’t going to be getting them in the morning, unless Spitfire somehow had a stash of her own which was an extremely unlikely scenario.

Still, looking down and into Spitfire’s eyes, he knew he was stuck. If he didn’t respond the way she wanted him to, she’d know something was up, and if he stayed she’d find out the truth. In that moment, all Soarin wanted was to bolt right through the ceiling, and if it hadn’t been for the weight of a mare pressing him down, he probably would have. Trying to formulate a plan in his head was useless, it’d take too long and give him away, and against better judgment he blurted out an answer.

“S-sure, I’d love to,” Soarin said, hoping that somepony would burst into the room and murder him with an icepick. Sadly, nopony seemed available.

“Sweet, just let me get ready,” Spitfire said getting up from her spot. At that moment, Soarin realized his hind legs had all but completely fallen asleep, and each move he made was suddenly accompanied by an uncomfortable tingle in his legs, like somepony had just stuffed him with cotton. Watching Spitfire walk into the other room, Soarin glanced at the bag of peas defrosting on the table.

“Wish I could melt away just like you,” he said in a downbeat tone. Nudging his swollen eye with a hoof he gritted teeth trying to think of a way to make this all work. He couldn’t leave now, that much was certain. Even as a Wonderbolt, finding his way home in the dark and make it back before Spitfire noticed his absence was out of the question. He could go during the night, but if Spitfire woke up and noticed he was gone he’d be toast. Groaning silently he rubbed his temples, trying to come up with something, but each idea came up flat.

“Hey, wanna hit the sack early? You looked like you could need it,” came Spitfire’s voice from another room. Soarin didn’t answer though, prompting Spitfire to appear in the doorway shortly, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. “Hey, something wrong?” she asked.

With a nervous swallow, Soarin looked at Spitfire, trying not to seem worried.

“N-no, it’s fine, I’ll be right there. You go on ahead,” he said.

Spitfire eyed him slightly, but nevertheless gave in, “’Kay, but don’t leave me hanging,” she said, returning to the bathroom. A silence lay over the house, sending chills down Soarin’s back, only broken by the sound of brushing and running water. Getting up slowly, Soarin made his way to the bathroom as well, all the while trying to come up with a lie to tell if Spitfire asked him something. Meeting her at the door, they brushed past each other, with Spitfire nudging close and nibbling his ear slightly. Soarin returned the gesture, but as he did his stomach felt like it was filling up with ice. It pained him that he was going to have to lie to her.

Alone in the bathroom, Soarin looked at himself in the mirror for a moment before scanning his eyes over the bench, looking for the extra brush Spitfire had mentioned. Finding a bright pink one that was still dry, he gave a heavy sigh and looked into the reflection, hoping it would hold some kind of answer to his prayer. Instead, he just found a black eyed stallion staring back at him probably wanting the same thing.

“Guess we’re doing this, huh?”

The mirror didn’t answer.

*** *** ***

“Man, you sure took your sweet time,” Spitfire said teasingly as Soarin tried getting comfortable beside her. Having not slept in any other bed than his own for most of his life, Soarin was having a hard time adjusting to Spitfire’s bed. Not only was it smaller than his own, but the mattress seemed to be made out a different cloud, and the blankets weighed heavy on him.

“Well, I tend to take my time in the evenings. Is that a problem?” Soarin asked, faking a cocky attitude. Spitfire snickered.

“Not at all,” she said, curling up next to Soarin and fondling him. Soarin did his best to enjoy it. “I just hope you weren’t wearing yourself out,” she continued teasing, rubbing his chest.

“Ehh, Spitfire, can we not do that tonight?”

“Huh?”

“Look, I’m just tired, and my eye still hurts. I don’t think I’ll be a lot of fun tonight, is all,” Soarin said, heart pounding as he did.

Spitfire groaned a little, but gave in. She wasn’t about to pressure him. “Okay, but tomorrow better be a different story,” she said, hugging him.

Soarin gulped at the mention of the next day.

“Sure…”

*** *** ***

Soarin awoke with a slight gasp. Sitting up, the first thing he realized was that he wasn’t in his own house. The second was that somepony was snoring beside him, and he wasn’t sure if he appreciated it. Shaking his head a little, he covered his eyes from the morning sun poking in through the curtains, adding to the murderous headache that he realized was plaguing him. Smacking his lips he found his mouth completely dry, and sucking his tongue wasn’t helping.

“Uggghh…where the hell am I?” he asked nopony in particular. Despite not being a drinker, Soarin figured he was having what he assumed a hangover felt like. Glancing over to his right, he was a messy orange mane spread over a pillow. “Oh right…oh…right…” he said and smacked his lips loudly. He glanced at the wall clock.

“Fifteen minutes to go…maybe I can still make it,” he said and slid out of bed, Spitfire still snored loudly. Pulling the curtains aside, he squinted his eyes as the morning sun pierced through the windows. Opening the window, he was hit by a cold wind blowing in and sneezed. One thing was for certain, Equestria was heading into colder times. Autumn was probably right around the corner.

“Mhhh, close the door dammit, it’s drafty…” Spitfire mumbled as she turned around, looking at Soarin through sleepy eyes. “What’re you doing?”

“Ehhhh…” Soarin couldn’t find the word he was looking for, “Just, opening up some windows,” he said with a sheepish smile. Spitfire didn’t look terribly amused.

“Get back in bed and close the damn window, it’s freezing,” she droned and turned around, pulling the blankets over her. Soarin sighed and did as he was told. Reluctantly he crawled back into bed and wrapped his hooves around Spitfire, which she seemed content with. He’d left the window open by a slight crack, allowing the cool morning air to continue streaming into the room. Yawning, Soarin pulled Spitfire into an even stronger embrace. The cold air made his eyes feel heavy, and the warmth under the covers intensified. He didn’t realize it, but he was drifting back into sleep. It was still early morning outside, meaning life had yet to return to the streets of Cloudsdale.

Feeling his eyelids growing heavier, Soarin fought to stay awake best he could. He had no idea what would happen if he drifted off into sleep, and what would await when he woke up. It had been too long since last time, and he didn’t remember how to handle it should it crop up. He yawned again and tried pulling away from Spitfire, but she held him firm with her hooves. She mumbled something in her sleep. He was stuck. Accepting his fate, he buried his muzzle in her mane, and drifted off into sleep once more.

*** *** ***

Muttering in his sleep, Soarin awoke some time later. Something tickled his nose, irritating him to no end, but each time he tried getting it out it just came back. Sitting up he rubbed his temples slightly, ignoring the cold air around him. Looking around for the source of his disturbance he noticed Spitfire next to him, her mane spread out over the pillow, a few small strands of hair waving carelessly in the air coming in from the window.

Blinking a few times, he finally came to his senses. It was with sheer force of will that he didn’t burst out of the bed in a panic. Eyes darting around, he finally spotted a heart-shaped wall clock—although he didn’t have the time to ponder its shape. Seven thirty, it read. He swallowed hard, as sweat began to build on his forehead. He had to get home, quickly, before something bad happened. He wasn’t sure exactly what it would be, but he wasn’t about to stay there and find out. Slowly, he inched his way out of bed, praying Spitfire wouldn’t wake up. She shifted a couple of times in her sleep, but it didn’t seem she was going to be up and about for a while.

Sliding out of bed, Soarin shivered. The room was cold. The window was cracked open slightly, but had let in enough of a chill that he could see puffs of his own breath in the air. Carefully looking through Spitfire’s drawers, he desperately tried to find some kind of schedule. He knew she kept a tight one, surely there would be something that could tell him how long she usually slept in the mornings. Rummaging through her belongings however, he didn’t find much aside from a bunch of papers, some receipts (apparently she had a lot of takeout), and a fiendishly filly-ish pink diary with a little lock on it which he prayed she kept around purely for nostalgia’s sake.

Looking to the nightstand next to Spitfire’s side of the bed, he noticed the drawer was open. Darting over, all the while keeping an eye on the clock, he began searching for something he could use, and beneath a copy of a shady romance novel and a bottle of lube, he found a rugged, black little book. Opening it, on the first page was a weekly schedule. His eyes went wide as dinner plates as he looked at the clock once again; she’d be up in less than twenty minutes. That meant he had to get back home, take his medication, and be back next to her in less than that, and even less now that he’d spent so much time thinking.

“Oh shit, I gotta go,” he said to himself.

“The bathroom’s down the hallway,” mumbled Spitfire in her sleep, nearly making Soarin jump out of his skin.

Don’t just sit there, moron, get that ass going! he thought, making a beeline for the door. Stepping outside, he had another realization; he didn’t have a house key, and he wasn’t too fond of the idea of leaving Spitfire sleeping alone in an unlocked house. He couldn’t waste time though, if he didn’t get his soon enough, there was no telling what could happen. Spreading his wings in the cold morning air, he quickly took off, darting down the streets of Cloudsdale like a high-powered rocket; if Spitfire could’ve seen him, she’d probably berate him for not performing this well at work. Going this fast, his surroundings quickly became a blur, and it was only by his pure dumb luck that he didn’t crash into anything or anypony. Realizing he would probably have a better chance if he got higher up, he made a 90 degree turn upwards until the neighbourhood lay before him like a lifesize roadmap. He finally spotted his house and took a dive, plummeting at speeds that would’ve made Rainbow Dash want to retire. He knew there would be damage, that his house would be needing repairs after this, but it didn’t matter. As long as he got them, everything would work out eventually; even if it ended up costing him a little. Getting closer to his home at great speed, he aimed for the upstairs window; or rather a little bit above it. He didn’t want to crash through the glass, the cloud would be bad enough as it was.

His aim wasn’t the best. Plummeting straight through the roof instead of the wall, he ended up going through the top floor of the house, landing in a messy pile on the bottom floor. Spitting out cloud and groaning, he finally managed to get himself oriented; he’d landed in his own hallway. Good.

Wasting no time he bolted for the bathroom. Opening up the wall cabinet, he quickly found what he was looking for. His hooves shook and quivered as he tried getting a single pill out of the bottle. Finally getting it, he popped one into his mouth and stuck his head under the water nozzle, filled up with water and then swallowed hard, his chest straining as he did. Coughing a little, he felt the effect kick in almost instantly.

“Phew...that was close,” he said to his own reflection, which just panted back at him, tongue hanging. Sliding down, he rested against the sink as the medication worked its magic. “Oh sweet Sunbutt, I gotta get this under control...I can’t live like this,” he said to himself, rubbing his temple as his stomach rumbled slightly.

“Shut up, you,” he grumbled. Glancing around the room, he spotted the wall clock; he had one in almost every room. His eyes went wide as plates; five minutes. He had five, no, four minutes and forty-five seconds to get back to Spitfire’s place before her alarm went of.
Scrambling to his hooves, he quickly raced out the bathroom and looked up. Rocketing up, he managed to miss the holes he’d made before, instead creating a set of new ones.

He made it to Spitfire’s place in just under a minute, and gently opened the door, stepping into the silent house. Less than two minutes now, he had to make it. Gliding up the stairs, he made it to the bedroom and snuck in. Spitfire was still in her spot. He gently slid back under the covers and draped them over himself, only to kick them off instantly; he was soaked. Completely drenched in sweat from all the hard flying this morning.

Having little time to think of an explanation, a loud ringing snapped Soarin out of his thoughts as Spitfire’s alarm went of. Spitfire groaned and reached out a hoof, searching the nightstand next to her for the clock. Once she found it, she gave it a hard smack, causing it to slowly die out.

She shifted a little and turned around, coming face to face with Soarin. She slowly opened her eyes and smacked her lips.

“Hey...how’s it going?” she mumbled. Soarin didn’t answer, he just stared at her. “What’s the matter with you,” she began, then sniffed the air, “And what the heck’s that smell? And why are you all wet? Did you run a marathon or something?” she added groggily.

“Um...well, I was…” Soarin tried to come up with something, while his eyes, involuntarily, moved downwards. Spitfire cocked her eyebrow, then put on a frown.

“Were you jacking off in my bed while I was sleeping?”

“Uhhh, yeah…” Soarin said, putting on the best smile he could muster.

“Ewwww, you’re nasty,” Spitfire said, not looking the least bit amused. Before Soarin had time to react, her hooves were against his stomach, and he then found himself on the floor as Spitfire kicked him off the bed.

“Now you won’t be getting anything today, buddy,” Spitfire said as she got out of bed. “I’m gonna take a shower, why don’t you go make me some breakfast or something, you nasty colt.”

Soarin quickly got up as Spitfire headed for the bathroom door. Before stepping inside, she spoke again, without turning to face him.

“And I better not find any surprises in here, or you’re gonna get it big time.”

She closed the door with a click, leaving Soarin standing by the bed with a slightly confused look on his face. The confusion quickly turned to relief though; he’d managed to dodge the bullet, at least for now. Remembering Spitfire’s command, he quickly headed down the stairs to the kitchen. Today was going to be good.