Cheesy Pre-Suicide Mission Banter (Includes rewrite of second half of the original chapter)
In the Golden Oaks Library, two figures reclined on Twilight Sparkle's guest bed, chewing the fat as best anyone could when death loomed just over the horizon. Summer Glade, a guardspony forced into early retirement to due an unforeseen illness and the complications associated with it, and Reman, a disgraced nobleman from Cyrodiil, were a rather odd pair. One was a human, the other was a flying, talking pony, and both of them happened to transform into monsters once every lunar month. Lycanthropy, as it were, made for strange bedfellows.
“Well, Glade, I guess things are closing an end,” Reman sighed, lying back on the too-soft mattress. Part of him was excited; he'd get some closure, and no one could ever say he didn't die as a true Imperial. On the other hand, there was a small chance of victory, Hope, as he had come to learn over the past few days in Equestria, could be every bit as terrifying as certain doom. “I wonder what I'll do if we make it through this, you know?”
“Yeah; kinda hard to plan ahead right now,” Glade replied, sinking into the bedspread. She was tired after standing vigil over Reman's would-be deathbed for the past three days, a near-tragedy she blamed herself for. Still, she couldn't let herself sleep just yet; her mind, as tired as it was, refused to settle. “I'll probably stay with my folks for a while, get back in the guard.”
“You haven't mentioned your parents before,” he said, rolling to face her. She quirked a brow and giggled at him, aware of his own silence on the subject. She knew he was a noble, probably rich and spoiled as child, but that he was also in self-exile, self-quarantine.
“Well, I expect something from you first, Mister Man o' Mystery,” she laughed. Glade batted a hoof against his shoulder, forcing him to his back with his own laugh.
“And what would that be, Ma'am?” he asked, smiling. Reman rolled onto his stomach and propped his head on his arms, feeling lighthearted and even slightly happy with his current situation. Anything that kept Glade's mind off tomorrow was fine in his book, even if he had to act like a child in the process.
“You don't seem affected by anything; you nearly died at our welcoming party and now you're fine, not ten hours after waking up.” Glade shivered as she remembered the party in question; the celebration was fine, even spectacular, but someone crashed in just after it ended. Glade still had no idea where they were going to get the bits to cover the damages. “There are a lot of things I want to know, but I think I'll only get one answer for an answer, right?”
“Yeah; seems about fair to me, doesn't it?” He clucked his tongue after he spoke, grinning at his pack-mate. Thinking of the little white pegasus as such was still rather odd; he knew it was instinct to think of her as such, a way of keeping his line intact as it spread, what little he'd allowed it to. Forebear and progeny, master and apprentice, alpha and pup, but the connection ran deeper than that. Shaking his head to clear the cluttering thoughts, he smiled as genuinely as he could manage. “Lay it on me, then.”
The mare tapped a hoof to her chin, mocking deep thought as she mulled over her options. There were many, many things she did not know about the Imperial, and it was possible he knew more than he let on, which could potentially leave her at a disadvantage. Lying was out of the question; they were relaxing as friends, cell mates before they were to be executed at dawn. The morbid thought sent a chill down her spine, and suddenyl her question crystallized in her mind. “Does your faith have any sort of afterlife?”
“None that we'll be visiting if we die, sadly.” Reman's laugh was bitter enough to sour grave soil, though he knew it would do him no good to be cynical in such a trying time. Hope, as terrifying as it was, was another weapon of Mankind, and just as it had ushered Joan and Martin Septim to the Temple of the One during the Third Era, it would guide them to a glorious victory or an equally glorious death.
“And you still don't seem too worried,” Glade pointed out, motioning with a hoof to accentuate her meaning. There were several colors that made the portrait Reman called his like, but he seemed intent on muting them as much as he could.“Nihilism a common philosophy where you're from?”
“What will be, will be,” he replied, twirling his hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “Our survivors are the real issue, or at least in my case. Not family, mind you; I'm sure they think I'm dead.”
“My mine would be devastated,” Glade said, her mind drifting to places she knew it shouldn't. Her parents and siblings would grieve, her extended family would send their condolences, and life would slowly go back to the way it was. She would never get to see her niece grow up, or her brother settle down with his fiancee, never start a family of her own. She would miss all of that, a lifetime of experiences and joys and sorrows, all because of an impossible coincidence. “I... I don't want to die, Reman.”
Glade half-expected the Imperial to give her an encouraging word, maybe say it was just nerves, but he didn't do either. Instead, Glade felt herself being pulled into a hug, not too dissimilar from the one she'd given him after he'd recovered from his near-death experience. He smiled at her, and Glade found herself enjoying their now-similar heights. It only happened when she was hovering above the ground or leaning while they both sat down, so while it was a rather common occurrence, it was nice to rest while doing so.
“Glade, if you don't want to fight, you don't have to,” he said, looking her in the eyes. Much about werewolves changed when they transformed, but the eyes remained different, a portal to the soul. They did not change so suddenly, but it was all the more lasting for the delay. Reman's eyes had been green before he was infected, and they'd slowly morphed to their current shade yellowish-brown. Glade's were the standard blue so common in the Solar Guard, but even then, so soon after her infection, he could see flecks of green floating here and there. Those eyes looked up at him a slight bit of anger.
“If you think,” she began, her voice cracking, “that I'm only worried about me, you're an idiot.” Her eyes looked wet, glistening with tears waiting to fall. Reman knew the look, those pre-battle jitters; his father and grandfather had hammered the feeling out of him since he could walk, but self-preservation was secondary to the wants and needs of others; such was the Imperial way. He was just as scared as she was, but he was, in many ways, numb to the anxiety, the uncertainty. “What about you? Zenammu almost killed you, and you're just sitting here like everything's right as rain.”
“I've been living as a lycan for the past four years, Glade.” Reman looked at her and sighed halfheartedly, knowing it would take time for her to understand his reasoning, time which she would hopefully never be forced to experience, if everything went as planned. “It's a little hard to stay negative when your life could end at any moment. It was either move on, or go mad with fear.” He waved a hand in the air in an all-encompassing gesture, smiling in a sarcastic way.
Glade laughed without humor, rolling on her back as she did so. The situation was not as she planned, nor was she ever able to plan for something so impossible in the first place. She was, at the very heart of things, afraid for their lives; Reman, however, had accepted his fate long before ever coming to Equestria. “What about friends? You have some of those, right?” she asked, turning her gaze back to him. “Everypony needs friends.”
“Yeah, I do. Really weird bunch, when you think about it,” he replied, chuckling. “There's a healer, kind of a dark guy, but his heart's in the right place. Then there's another werewolf who keeps calling me pup.” He thought for a moment before nodding his head. “You remind me of his wife, actually.”
“A sexy, sexy guard?”
“A real pain in my ass.”
“Yeah, I'm awesome like that.” Glade moved back tot he Imperial, crawling on her stomach like a jungle cat. There was something in the air, something she could smell, that made the room rather comfortable, even pleasant, to her augmented sense of smell. She sniffed the air, following the trial like an experienced tracker. “Are you wearing cologne?” she asked, bumping her nose against Reman's collarbone. “Because you smell... nice.”
Reman's mind came to a halt for moment; he knew precisely why Glade was acting so strangely, and why he couldn't find a reason to care. Werewolf packs, like their animal cousins, were made of the alpha male and alpha female, who then produced the rest of the pack. Most wolves also bred during the late winter, and he knew spring was right around the corner. Hircine was sending a signal, perhaps to everyone afflicted with his curse, to reproduce, and bring about a new generation of pure-blooded werewolves.
Sniffing the air, he found Glade's scent to be incredibly pleasant, leagues above any perfume he'd ever been choked by. Female lycans had a certain, earthy scent about them, and it was consistent throughout their demographic, changing only with age and fertility. Reman had always been a bit too busy to pay attention while visiting any dens; he always had a schedule to keep, and then there was his engagement. Disgust at his perceived betrayal was enough to curb any desires that would have arisen, but Glade had no such mental block.
“Pheromones, Glade,” he replied, trying not to inhale too deeply. He wasn't going to lie to himself about being tempted by her, but they were professionals, and their relationship was strictly business, even if they were slowly becoming friends.
“What?” she asked, giving him a confused look. She recalled her high school biology class, or at least what little she had stayed awake for, and drew a blank. She knew a little, but not much. “Like perfume, right?”
“My body is asking your body if it feels like tossing these sheets back and...,” he trailed off waving a hand in the air. Glade looked at him and tried not laugh. He gave her a flat look and huffed. “Well pardon me for having some discretion.”
Glade took a deep breath, as though to disprove his point, and sighed pleasantly. “I think you may be right,” she said, shrugging. She moved her mane out of her face and giggled, obviously a little lightheaded from the scents floating in the air. She paused for a moment, mulling over something in silence, before grunting in a noncommittal way. “Your body wants it, you can probably tell my body wants it; it's not like we have much to worry about anymore.”
“What in Oblivion are you talking about?” he asked, knowing the answer already. Part of him was elated at the thought of something as simple as sexual release, but an equal part was appalled as he studied Glade's body in earnest. Her anatomy was foreign in the extreme, more so than any Argonian or Khajiit Reman had ever met, there were obviously similarities to be found.
“I'm talking about us, she began, pointing a hoof between them, “taking a roll in the hay.” Reman kept his face still, not wishing to give any positive or negative signals until he had thoroughly made his decision. “Oh, don't give me that look; I'm only talking about us have a bit of fun, blowing off some steam before our nerves fry.”
“You aren't thinking clearly,” he said, still on the fence about taking her advice. “I'm interfering with your thinking.”
“Then I'm interfering with yours, too.” Glade gave him a winning smile, having thrown all caution to the wind. “My feral moans might be affecting your mind.”
“Pheromones,” he corrected.
“I know what I said,” she replied, giggling. Seeing he wasn't too enthused about her joke, she pouted. “You said we might not survive the fight with Hircine, right? So, us being the rational adults we are, we should be able to reach an agreement.”
“I'm engaged,” Reman said, bringing up one of the few facts that made Glade cringe. Infidelity wasn't something she wanted to be any part of, especially if she played the part of home-wrecker. “Which would have ended after I fled from home,” he relented, admitting it to himself that his chances at a future with Lynette were over, and had been for quite some time. Glade put her forelegs around his neck and drew him in, hoping to ease his discomfort. “I'm sick of thinking about dying, about everything I've lost.”
“Then let's be alive tonight. No future, no past, just you and me.” Glade said as she looked into Reman's eyes. Her lips were curled into an impish smile, and her half-lidded eyes promised much more than simple fun. She tightened her forelegs around her forebear's neck, pulling him towards her. Their lips met with more heat than either expected; the Imperial growled his approval, while Glade hummed and squeezed him closer. One hand snaked to her flank as another left a feathering touch up her back, trailing like a ghost until it found its resting place between her wings. Her wings reflexively popped open as she gasped, breaking the kiss and looking at Reman in slight embarrassment.
“I didn't do anything wrong, did I?” he asked, unsure of his mistake, or if he'd even made one. His last intimate encounter was nearly half a decade ago, and with his fiancee, Lynette Jemane. She hadn't been difficult to please; her anatomy was roughly equal to his own, though her ears had a touch of elven sensitivity. Glade's wings, and the number of nerves that surely ran through them, complicated the issue more than he liked to admit.
“Not by half,” she replied, red in the face. Quickly, she retracted her wings, and buried her face in Reman's shoulder. He sniffed the air a few times, as he habitually did every few minutes, and found something rather interesting floating in the air. The scent was vaguely familiar, though he hadn't had a chance to sample it after his sense of smell was improved, but there was no denying the effect it had on him. With a growl, he lifted Glade from his lap and nipped at her neck. “Yeah, just keep doing that,” she said, her voice wavering as he went to work.
He laid her down and went about doing just that. He bit her neck just above her chest, sucking on the trapped flesh for a brief moment before continuing downwards. More than a small part of him delighted in every little noise Glade made, every approving murmur and whimper she made as he kept her hind legs pinned. His eyes darted up and caught her gaze as he neared the center of her stomach, mourning only for a moment her lack of breasts. She looked back at him with flushed cheeks, no doubt smelling her own pheromones as they blanketed the air, playing with their senses like a flame dancing in the distance.
He grinned as he trailed a hand up her leg, stopping only just out of reach. He repeated the process with the other, massaging the tensing muscles as he went. Glade tried to force her legs together, though it was unknown to either of them if this was meant to funnel Reman in or keep him out. She sincerely hoped it was the former. He kissed just above her puffy labia, almost jumping as he felt the flesh beneath his lips wiggle. The motioned was repeated a number of times, eliciting a wet noise every with every contraction. He snaked his tongue down for a taste, but was again shocked to find her clitoris disappeared within her warm, wet folds.
“Naughty, naughty mare,” he said, recalling his lessons in horsemanship. He felt Glade shudder beneath his grasp, and, much to his enjoyment, she winked again. Accepting the invitation, he wrapped his lips around her engorged clitoris and gave a gentle suck, letting his hands drop to the mattress as he felt Glade's thighs stop squeezing. He flicked his tongue once, sending a brief shudder through her, and slid a finger through her slit.
“Why did I figure those things would come be useful for something like this?” she asked as she saw Reman bring up a second finger. She bit her lip as he slipped them in, but was curios as to why he wasn't thrusting with his dextrous digits. Her silent question was answer when he curled them upwards, careful that his nails didn't irritate or cut anything delicate. Glade gasped at the sensation, not quite expecting it, but she certainly wasn't complaining. He rotated his fingers clockwise, while his tongue circled her clit in the opposite direction, hoping the differing signals would provide a more satisfying experience.
Glade moaned and draped a leg over his back, lightly pulling until it rested just past his neck. Every little motion, every little bit of suction or pressure he applied sent lightning up her spine, and she voiced her approval. There were no bawdy screams like in some colt's fantasy, or complete, deafening silence, but a firm middle ground of arrhythmic breath and half-choked groans. She felt herself coming closer and closer to the razor's edge, and then... nothing. Reman stopped moving, not even pulling his fingers out or moving his face away; he did nothing.
“Please?” she asked, hoping this was some ploy to get her to beg and not him giving up. She looked down to see him smiling, staring back at her. He only continued his ministrations to keep her as close as he could, and succeeded perfectly in doing so. A rub of particular spot inside, a slow motion of the tongue, all to keep his fellow alpha just barely away from bliss. This game continued, with Glade unable to use her legs to squeeze him in without him withdrawing his fingers, and lacking any desire to pull away herself. “You can't be se-”
Seeing Glade with her cheeks flushed, eyes half-focused, and mane wet with sweat was a rather powerful experience for Reman, and he was more than happy to give his chosen mate what she desired. Before she could breath the final word of her protest, he went back to work, and none too gently. He sucked on her button jest as he flexed his fingers, keeping both actions as firm as he could. Glade's hoof pressed against the back of his head, drawing him in just as she crossed the threshold.
“Fuh-uck,” she cried, contracting around Reman's fingers and releasing a small stream of her own fluids over his hand and chin. He kept suckling on her clit, letting her ride through her orgasm as he withdrew his soaked hand. Her hoof trembled on his head, slowly pulling away as she went limp, unable or unwilling to hold a sitting position any longer. He smiled and crawled up until he was at face level with her, then lied down next to her to observe the fruits of his labor. He didn't expect her to pull him in, and certainly not force him on his back.
“Someone's a little excited,” Reman joked, looking at Glade. She was smiling, a mixture of relaxation and desire radiating from somewhere behind her pearly teeth. She just growled and rubbed herself against his stomach, stopping only once she'd left a noticeable trail.
“Now it's my turn to take charge, Mister Alpha Male,” she said huskily, raising her hips and shimmying back until she was in position. She paused for a moment, then held up a hoof. “I'll be back in one second,” she said before jumping off the bed, leaving Reman naked and slightly confused. Glade dug through her saddlebags, looking for the box of condoms she knew she packed. It wasn't that she was expecting to get laid while in Ponyville; she was just told to take everything of hers from the barracks that she could. She looked at the box, then back to Reman, before making her decision.
“Forget it,” she said, jumping back onto the bed. She positioned herself directly over Reman's shaft, and sank until she was sitting in his lap. He groaned and leaned back, while Glade suppressed the urge to get right to business. “Let's see how you like waiting.”
She rolled her hips forward, getting a feel for the organ she hadn't bothered looking at. Given that he was taller than she was on her hind legs, and easily three time her weight, it felt like she expected. She experienced a bit of discomfort as she returned to her original position, not used to being as full as she currently was. She rose off his shaft until only the strange, spade-like head was still inside, then slammed back down. She bit her lip, not expecting to sink as deeply as she did.
“You okay?” Reman asked, genuinely concerned. He knew Glade wasn't a virgin, but he also knew injuries could occur during intercourse, and much more often than most people knew.
“Yeah, just give me a minute,” she replied, wincing. She winced as she tried to move, actually kind of impressed she managed to punch herself in the cervix. Her mate recognized what was hurting her, having seen it before, and knew how to remedy the issue. He rolled his eyes and moved his arms under Glade's legs, pulling her off him and trading places, allowing her to rest against the mattress. “This is bullshit,” she said, crossing her forelegs in frustration.
Rather than replying, Reman slid himself back into place, eliciting an unnecessary clench from Glade as she braced for another impact. She bit into his shoulder to muffle a groan, not hard enough to break the skin, but her fangs would definitely leave marks. Lying on her back was something new to Glade; when she wasn't on top, she wasn't facing the stallion. She wrapped her forelegs around Reman's shoulders as he started thrusting.
She found herself biting down in rhythm, relaxing every time Reman withdrew, and clenching at every ingress. It wasn't that he was rough, but the angle of penetration was new and she was loving every second of it. Taking care not to cause her undue pain, Reman increased speed, not even wincing as he felt Glade's teeth start to reach nerves. He slid a hand under her to help support her weight, bracing just between her wings. Remembering her earlier reaction, he brushed his thumb against the base of her wing,and grit his teeth as she squealed and clenched around him.
The added constriction sent him near his own peak, and he was determined to make the most of his dwindling time. He knew Glade was still recovering from her first orgasm, so he used her added sensitivity to hammer her into another before he finished. He gripped her waist and added forced to his thrusts, forcing Glade to let go on his shoulder and scream. Reman knew he was out of practice, so his stamina was laughable compared to his teenage self, so he estimated he had another minute. He moved his hand until it rested just above her slit, snaking his thumb until he found her clit once again.
“Oh, th-” Glade's voice trailed off before she could finish that statement, becoming little more than a throaty groan as the onslaught began again. Reman's thrusts grew more erratic with every cycle, and Glade knew precisely what that signaled. With one final push, the Imperial growled as he lost control, spraying inside her depths. The mare's head jerked forward, biting into his shoulder with as much force as her jaw muscles could muster. Static showed in her eyes as she came, wrapping every limb she would around the Imperial and refusing to let go.
Breathlessly, they turned onto their sides, still facing each other. Reman's shoulder bled onto the bed, but hardly rated any sort of concern. Glade smiled, showing her bloody teeth, but the gesture remained one of quiet satisfaction. “I haven't gotten any in months, and that was a hell of a way to get back into the game,” she said.
“It's been around four and a half years for me,” Reman confessed, looking, for once, a little embarrassed. Glade, however, took that as a challenge. From what little she knew about Reman's exile, he had been a little too busy for anything other than surviving, so she realized he may have been a little pent up. She also had a solution in mind that was rather enjoyable for all parties involved.
“Nearly half a decade, huh? I guess we'll have to make up for lost time once this is all over, then.”
Author's Note
Well, that's out there now.
Once Bitten Twice Shy (Valentine's Day Special)
Renoir Belmont was rather fond of the small hamlet of Ponyville, and it was one of the few times he allowed himself to rest. Today, at dawn, it was the sixteenth of Sun's Dawn, and a particularly painful holiday for him. While many in Tamriel celebrated it as Heart's Day, in memory of the lovers Polydor and Eliosa, Renoir was reminded of his family's demise, and that once he died, the Belmont line would be snuffed out, slain by the very monsters they sought to cleanse from Nirn. Reman and Glade, as they were under obligation by House Tullius, were undergoing their trial in the Crusader's Glade, and thus in Cyrodiil. Princess Celestia had been kind enough to teleport him to the portal in Skyrim, along with herself, so Renoir may mourn in relative peace and isolation.
The Elements, of course, had taken the chance to return home as well, and made a point of celebrating their own holiday, Hearts and Hooves Day, as it were. Twilight spent the time to talk to her family in Canterlot, leaving Renoir in charge of her library until she returned with Spike. That was how it went for him, in the dark as the library was closed for maintenance as Twilight had put it, and then, today, to observe a national holiday. In the gloom, Renoir smiled, his fangs jutting nearly as far as they were capable, and he was immediately reminded of his thirst. Radio Waves lived in town, with her current lover, though she worked nights and obviously slept during the day, meaning he couldn't bother her for a few pints for the next several hours.
But fasting, both in his preferred liquid and mortal food, was part of his purgative mourning, pain he suffered to bring himself closer to the memory of his family. Long ago, when he was a Belmont scribe and healer, he'd considered vampirism a disease of the flesh, that drove men mad with pain; only now did he realize that Molag Bal had been ingenious in its design. It was a trial, and the weak were consumed by themselves in pursuit of sanguine sustenance; the strong of heart and mind transcended their base desires and rose to what many considered a vampire prince, something not at all affiliated with the vampire lords of Harkon's perverse court.
“Renoir,” a demure voice called, faint enough to strain his hearing. His eyes adjusted to the light, but he did not need to see to know who it was, and the very thought brought a smile to his face. There, in the doorway, stood Fluttershy, ever the kind soul; innocent, if there was such a thing in this life. Though neither man nor mer, she stood for everything the Belmonts strove to protect, something his forefathers would have been amazed to find existed. “I came to make sure you were okay.”
“I'm fine,” he replied, his throat dry, serving only to draw Fluttershy in closer, closer to the abomination in human form she called a friend. Kindness, he recalled, was her Element, the aspect of friendship she exemplified for all of ponykind to emulate. Her eyes, a soft, warm blue, looked at him with worry, never the slightest amount of condescension or pity entering them as she beheld his form. “Though I appreciate the sentiment.”
“You really need some water,” Fluttershy observed aloud, though a small part of her meant Renoir was thirsty for something thicker, more satisfying, than mere water. She had offered her own blood before, and been denied, before causing a fuss and mistaking a hangover for the pains of being a neophyte. That was, of course, water under the bridge then, weeks past. “I'll be right back.”
Renoir nodded to her, glad to rid his throat of a bit of dryness, even though consuming anything other than blood would sate his thirst about as well as sand. Still, even though it would do nothing for his ashen skin and near-emaciation, water would make it easier to speak. As his companion went to Twilight’s kitchen to fetch a glass, Renoir took it upon himself to change into something a bit more formal than his ceremonial loincloth, one of the few articles of clothing that had survived the destruction of the Belmont compound.
Fluttershy always had trouble finding Twilight's glasses, a side-effect of their respective kitchens being nearly opposite in layout, but she found them nonetheless, and did as she promised. It was no trouble at all for her to help her friend, even if she knew of a better way, and Renoir refused on grounds of her comfort. It didn't take long for her to find and fill a glass, and upon returning to the foyer, she saw her friend clad in the linens he wore under his armor. It was a rare thing to see him dressed without all the leather strapped on, but it gave him a tired, scholarly look. Fluttershy, being both a mare and a friend, took the time to admire the opportunity.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the offered glass. As he raised it to his mouth to drink, Fluttershy observed the curious phenomenon of vampire's drinking. Swallowing wasn't on the agenda when consuming more than a mouthful of any liquid that didn't require sucking on the source; instead, Renoir relaxed the muscles of his throat, and the water slid into his gullet. He pulled the glass back and snorted, quite pleased with himself. Sybille once used a similar display to seduce him during their first meeting; it, naturally, worked like a charm. “Much better.”
“Happy to help,” Fluttershy answered, smiling. Truthfully, she only came out to visit because she was worried about him being alone on Hearts and Hooves Day, but realized he may not be familiar with the holiday. It was a wonderful day, all told, but Renoir still kept himself in this stuffy library, though he could stand the sunlight. “So, have any plans for Hearts and Hooves Day?” she asked, unable to find a way to dance around the question. Much to her surprise, he chuckled.
“Non I haven't already completed.” He realized she was asking him out to get him away from his own thoughts. Fluttershy had no way of knowing this was the anniversary of his family's slaughter; he'd never told anyone the date, not even Reman, so there was no leap of information. “What did you have in mind, if you don't mind me asking?”
For a second, her entire face turned red, and she was certain Renoir had misinterpreted her meaning, though it was not entirely unwelcome. He was, of course, never anything than nice to her and the other Elements, if a little strange, but so was Princess Luna when she first returned; his behavior was merely caused by the time he was from, and his age. That was another thing about him: he was, in effect, immortal, much like the princesses. “O-oh, w-well, I didn't have anything in mind, honestly.”
To his credit, Renoir only smiled, understanding that she must have thought he had some interests attached to the day's meaning. To be honest, while he was searching for a partner, he hadn't considered a non-vampire, much less anything that didn't walk on two legs. To him, the prospect Fluttershy had unintentionally introduced to him was a little funny, not something to be taken seriously, but still on the table, so to speak. If she'd allow it, he'd humor her, and keep an open mind, as a scholar should. After a few moments of silence, during which her face turned deeper and deeper shades of red, enough so for Renoir to smell her blood, Fluttershy came up with a plan of action. “Maybe we can stop by someplace for breakfast, then maybe take a walk?”
Instead of giving a verbal answer, the vampire nodded.
@#@#@#@#@#@#
The restaurant Fluttershy had come up with was just a few blocks away, and filled with couples enjoying their morning. Numerous couples' special were written on a chalkboard in front of the door, advertising cheesy-named breakfast items, lunches, and dinners. It seemed rather cliché, but they were here as friends, despite some of the looks and hushed words whispered through those they passed on the street. Renoir paid them no mind, having long grown used to both spiteful and envious glares from High Rock's peasantry when he and his fellow scholars were in town; Fluttershy, however, had no tolerance for such unpleasantness, and pressed against her companion in an attempt to make herself smaller.
It was a small blessing that he was of Volkihar decent, that sunlight did not burn him as it did his Cyrodiilic and Ashland cousins, and his secret remained such. Only eight ponies had ever seen a human corpse, and all of them were privy to knowledge that would have induced panic were it let loose; as such, he appeared to be just as odd as Reman, maybe a little different because of his black eyes and ashen skin, but still human. Even in the third stage of vampirism, nearly none of the locals noticed anything wrong with him, and he followed Fluttershy into the diner with a smile. They took a seat at a booth, and awaited one of the waitresses to attend upon them.
“I haven't eaten at a place like this in ages,” Renoir said, letting his overly-sensitive eyes adjust to the light. Fluttershy was, for once, captivated by what she saw. In firelight, and natural sunlight, Renoir's eyes appeared to be a swirling mass of black and red, but under the electric lights overhead, she could plainly make out his iris and pupil. He looked much more approachable in that light, much more alive, and she could see him staring out the window and observing Ponyville's daily life.
“Then, sir, I certainly hope we can impress,” the waitress said, walking to their booth. Renoir looked over to her, and smiled like they were old friends. He saw at once that she was young, perhaps seventeen at the oldest, and perhaps above-average in looks. He gave a short nod to his companion, signally her to order.
“Oh, uh, I'll have a small stack of pancakes and a glass of orange juice, please,” Fluttershy said, smiling like her name would suggest. The waitress jotted the order down and turned to the vampire.
“The same, though I'd like water, if it isn't too much trouble.” He hoped it would be cold, or at least chilled slightly; anything over a certain temperature was uncomfortable, though unless it was fire or glowing hot, it did not harm him anymore than it would a normal man. Mortals, especially those who burned hot, felt akin to holding a hot coal in a rag, only kept from the worst of the heat by a thin layer of something fragile. He yawned then, displaying all four of his fangs for all the diners to see, though many of them regarded the large teeth as another oddity of humanity. “Listen, Fluttershy, I really appreciate what you're doing for me.”
Fluttershy didn’t have much context for what he was saying, but took it as a compliment. This was nice, to hang out with a friend on a day meant for lovers; she was tired of the constant attention some ponies gave her after her brief and regrettable modeling career. A few ponies looked at Renoir with no small amount of jealousy, and part of her felt some shame at the enjoyment she took from it. Most of Ponyville's residents knew Reman, knew what he could do, and simply being human would deter the majority of ill-tempered possible suitors. “I'm glad.”
Their food arrived quickly, and Renoir placed a few septims on the table, only for Fluttershy to push them back to him, explaining that they would pay after they were done eating. He thought it was strange they were essentially eating on credit, on the owner's assumption they would pay when the time came. It was a maddening system and far too naïve for him to trust, but he bit his tongue and followed his friend's lead. Honestly, he found most foods unappetizing, but he admitted that they served a small hand in keeping him fed, albeit unneeded and usually unwanted. He ate as others did to seem sociable, human.
They ate, for the most part, in silence, idly making comments on the weather, and every once in a while, Renoir made a joke that Fluttershy didn't understand, but she smiled anyway because he made the effort to keep her entertained. That was something she found rather charming about him, though he viciously denied both having qualities deserving of praise and being what one may consider charming; he, by his very nature was gifted and cursed to be more, less, and altogether different to ordinary men and mer of Tamriel, and yet he made efforts, sometimes enormous ones, to be as normal, alive, as any other Breton.
Fluttershy was, despite what some ponies may have believed, quite aware of how much attention she received from the rougher sex, and didn't much care for it. Oh, of course she was looking for that one stallion she could settle down with, but her responsibilities with her animals meant she spent little time socializing, and she happened to be under the impression any stallion looking for her attention after seeing her in a magazine wasn't the sort she wanted. Everywhere she went, even the Crystal Empire, ponies recognized her; her face was everywhere for a time, and popped up here and there whenever a seedier rag ran a Where are They Now? column. Yet, in Tamriel, she was nopony, and even those who knew she was an Element of Harmony didn't care; so great and plentiful were their heroes that they outgrew the need for any more this century, and perhaps there were more on the way regardless.
Renoir Belmont, she knew, cast a long, century-old shadow, and House Belmont cast one many times greater, for those who knew of it, and Fluttershy loved that her accomplishments were made so insignificant that the limelight fell away from her. Even more wonderful, as dark as it was, Renoir and, in fact, almost every human she met was so unknown that there was nearly no fear of being stalked or approached by undesirables, save the odd bandit. It wasn't long before they worked through their food, with Fluttershy eating the entirety of her breakfast while Renoir only downed two thirds of it, enough to make sure the pegasus was aware he'd gotten his money's worth.
“Perhaps a walk is in order; today is enough, wouldn't you agree?” he asked, clearing his throat. He'd set his coins on the table, more than enough to pay for both their meals, especially with septims being as large as bits and made of gold. Four copper bits would have covered the light meals, it being a holiday special, but he'd put down a enough to buy the entire town a meal and have change enough for a round of drinks with Radio Waves at Arcadia were he so inclined. This economic issue was explained as the golden septim being their only form of currency, coveted enough that a man could eat for a week on five of the glittering things; in Equestria, there were three sorts of bits: copper, silver, gold, and the rare platinum. Each one was worth one hundred of the coin lower on the list, meaning Renoir was, with his bag of two hundred septims, one of the better-off of Ponyville. “If, of course, that is permissible.”
“Oh, it certainly is,” she replied, standing up from her seat. They left the restaurant in stride as the waitress collected the money, unsure if her boss would take the foreign coin but amazed to see they were real gold. Fluttershy was a little disappointed when they stepped into the sunlight and Renoir's eyes returned to their murky darkness, but she was pleasantly surprised to see him more lively than she could ever recall. “As long as you're comfortable outside, that is,” she added quickly, not wanting to press him into harming himself for her sake.
“I'm perfectly fine,” he replied, rather untruthfully. Sunlight annoyed him, sapped him of his strength, both physical and mental, but less so than many others. He could tolerate the sun, gentle compared to Tamriel's, for it burned only as it would were he well-fed. For him, it would be a casual stroll through the park while being pestered by mosquitoes, were there not some irony in him saying that. The slight chill of late winter was complemented by the a numbing breeze that whipped up every now and then. Most ponies were bundled, save the pegasi, and Renoir was inclined to agree. This weather had nothing on Skyrim, on High Rock, and hardly bothered either of the pair. “Spring isn't too far off,” Renoir commented.
“Winter Wrap Up is scheduled for next week, actually,” she agreed, giving her companion a reason to pause. He knew the ponies controlled their weather, but the seasons themselves was rather startling. They used it for peaceful purposes, obviously, but the thought of them being able to manipulate the very bones of the earth seemed to lend a little credit to them, and why they hadn't been rolled over by a more powerful kingdom. “It's a shame we won't be here for it, you know?”
“I imagine it must be something to see,” he replied, meaning every word. He knew the theory behind changing the weather, the sort the ancient Ayleids practiced, lost when their culture was crushed underfoot. Different universe had different rules, though, so he doubted the little ponies would be able to do the same on Nirn, but it must have warranted interest if it was a named event. For a moment, he puzzled over possible religious meanings, before he deigned such matters better suited to fully-devoted scholars than one such as himself.
“Here's the park,” Fluttershy said, gesturing forward. It was a large area, the size of a few residential blocks in Solitude, at least. Near the gate was a group of musicians playing for either small tips or the joy of performance, foals ran about, and couples courted as they were wont to do. All in all, Renoir was the only one out of place, though not entirely for his rather unique anatomy. Everywhere, there were families, or their beginnings, and Renoir was perilously alone, the last of a dead breed. He tossed a septim in an opened case, where in shined amongst atop a small pile of copper.
“That's a lot of money,” Fluttershy commented, a little worried Renoir was just giving away his entire savings. In response to her very genuine concern, he chuckled, but remained kind about it.
“Before Reman's little, I suppose folly is appropriate, he was a rather skilled Alteration mage,” he replied, flipping another coin between his fingers. “We used to a mine a lot, and whenever we brought up big deposits of iron, he'd turn it into gold.”
“That explains all the bars we found,” she said, giggling. It didn't surprise her in the least that Reman and Renoir were up to no good half the time they were together; she imagined they would have been lifelong friends had they not met only a little over a year ago. Her friend chuckled along, grinning in his toothy way.
“We used most of it making items to help our studies,” he confessed, not a bit disappointed in their thriftiness; niggardly or not, introducing the large amounts of synthesized gold would have had a negative effect on the markets around their tower home. “Still left plenty over for us to spend as we saw fit,” he continued, drifting off. Money was nice, yes, for it controlled the world better than any king or emperor, but spending too much, too quickly would draw the wrong sort of attention. “Honestly, I could give a coin to everyone in town, and still have a sizable reserve.”
Fluttershy was about to say something to the effect of him needing caution to avoid drawing the unwelcome eyes of pickpockets or worse, but she quickly realized that he may have possessed the most powerful offensive magics for miles around; while it wouldn't deter anypony, if only for their lack of knowledge about him, it would make any unpleasantness rather brief. Instead, she swatted his hip with her wing, and sped up so she could dictate which route they took. Renoir, already out of Twilight's house and in the sun, saw fit to follow, though he was a little tense about it.
His vision darkened as his hunter's sight took over, casting a hazy blue over the world. Every living flesh and blood creature, animal or pony, was revealed to him, betrayed by their own circulating blood, which shined like stars on a clear night. While he was swift to follow his friend, he kept scanning the surrounding area, sure they were being watched, but he picked up nothing out of the ordinary. As his gaze drift forward, still under his power's effects, he was greeted with a sight he rather wished he hadn't seen. He was, like all vampires and many mages, able to see the circulatory system of living things through other object, hair and fur included, so despite her tail being in the way, he was given a rather detailed picture of her femininity.
Quickly averting his eyes, his sight returned to what mortals considered normal, and he was thankful he had more control over himself than a simple neophyte. Obviously, they would have acted upon the urges created seeing something so marvelous, so easy to take, especially with the sunlight beating upon them. He took the time to observe they were deep within the park now, and its borders were entirely invisible to them. “Are you feeling okay?” Fluttershy asked, turning to face him. She had stopped a few feet ahead of him and waited, and saw he was a bit paler than usual.
“Yes, just a little hot is all,” he said, lying through his teeth. He was a worldly man, and such thing didn't faze him, but it was a rather perverse way of sneaking a peek. As much as he didn't like to think about it, he could see the most vascular, most sensitive, areas she had with his hunter's sight, and honestly felt like he needed to apologize to her, though he wasn't sure how to convince her not to run in disgust. He still had to work with her, after all.
“He's selling refreshments,” she said, gesturing to a stall vendor, peddling all sorts of treats, both hot and cold. There was a small box that steamed when he opened it, but that was from the chill, not exorbitant heat. “I'll buy since you bought breakfast,” she offered.
“I'll pay you back, then,” he replied, knowing that he'd make the vendor's day paying him with gold. They walked over, and thankfully avoided a line, allowing them to quickly purchase their chosen treats. Fluttershy, a little chilly, grabbed a warm, crumbly thing Renoir couldn't identify. She, seeing his confusion at the white board displaying products and prices, bought him an ice cream cone, and she said it tasted like strawberries.
Unsure of how he was supposed to eat this, he stuck out his tongue and tried that. His companion, realizing he'd never seen anything quite like this before, stopped munching on her treat and watched as he stuck out his tongue for a taste. It went, and went, and went, until Renoir's tongue wrapped around the entire ice cream scoop. Like a snake, he squeezed with it, and drew the mouthful of ice cream into his mouth. Certainly, the way he chewed and swallowed, it would have been easier to just bite, but instead he'd chosen to display a rather odd quirk of his anatomy. Catching her gaze, he looked as flustered as he could when he couldn't blush, seemingly embarrassed by his ability.
Instead of trying to save face, they each turned away, hoping to keep some semblance of their respective dignities. Renoir was stricken with a combination of Fluttershy's face as she saw his tongue, and the outline he'd seen while scanning for unwelcome observers. His yellow companion, however, was suffering much as he had, her mind filled with unbidden images of how he could put that long, dextrous tongue to use. She had no shame in such thoughts, but the fact the subject was a personal friend was rather distressing; she admitted to having certain urges, but she preferred to keep things from involving those close to her, for obvious reasons.
A wet sucking noise piqued her morbid curiosity, and risked a glance. Renoir had evidently eaten the majority of his desert, and was now using his tongue to dig the rest from the cone's deepest bits. A mare out for a job trotted by, and turned her head as she went, her tail twitching ever so slightly as she passed; it was stupid, but Fluttershy couldn't suppress a stab of anger that ran through her, and she instead focused entirely on her friend. There must have been a little pool stuck in a small recess that he couldn't reach, because even as his tongue shifted and twisted to approach from every possible angle, he couldn't reach, and a hilarious look of utter concentration crossed his face as he just barely missed it.
Renoir looked up from his little task, and smirked as best he could with his mouth open, snaking as much of his substantial tongue as he could into the small cone before he thickened the muscle, exploding the little treat from within. The fragments stuck fast as he drew them in, chewing only briefly before swallowing what he must have considered unpalatable junk. Still, he grinned as it flicked back out to pick a small piece on his cheek. The shy, yellow mare flushed and looked away, knowing he was teasing her on purpose; perhaps he meant it to unnerve her, or maybe jokingly entice the baser parts of her mind. No doubt, he would have stopped immediately were he able to understand that it was the latter, and far more effective than his little jest was meant to be.
Oh, Fluttershy had more than a few ideas about what that tongue was meant to do, and even more thoughts about what it could do, were its master so inclined. She didn't have the courage to ask him, and had no way of knowing if he would accept any offers she made, so she did the best she could with idle fantasy as they enjoying the afternoon shade. She blinked, looking up at the sky; it really was mid-afternoon, despite their walk only feeling like a few minutes. She hadn't felt time pass, and indeed, she was no hungrier than she had been after finishing her tart, so why the lapse in time? Looking around, she realized her sitting position may have been a little too comfortable, and she'd dozed off.
Renoir, she noticed, was now sitting much closer to her than he had been, and was busy looking around, like he was scanning for enemies she couldn't see. She giggled for a moment, thinking he'd turned into a bodyguard after seeing her so helpless. Then she noticed the pair of rough looking stallions who were loitering at the terrace’s far end, returning the venomous look they were receiving form the vampire. “Perhaps it's best we get you home,” he whispered to her, not wanting to do what he really wanted, not if he wished to stay in Celestia’s, rather strained, good graces. Fluttershy, seeing her friend was in no position to use his powers, hastily agreed, certain the thugs would make a move now that she was awake.
With their escape came a lot of posturing, as the Breton adopted the look one may wear when carrying a headsman's ax, daring perhaps everyone who looked at him to try something. Fluttershy played her part be staying faithfully at his side, letting anyone observing know that she was under his protection, with all the wait a biped had in Ponyville. He wouldn't let her out of his sight until she was safely home, despite it being on the other side of town, but such a simple task would not fatigue him in the least. He flipped another septim to the musicians as he walked out, nodding to a grey mare he'd seen playing earlier, the one who'd caught the shiny gold piece. She gave him a small, knowing smile as he passed, one he wasn't too sure he liked.
“Now, you gents wouldn't happen to be bothering my good friends, would you?” a posh voice asked the thugs just as the pair was past of the park's low walls. They didn't wait for the reply as Renoir thanked his lucky stars the group of musicians had decided to give a different sort of performance that day. While many would have considered employing musicians to deal with common miscreants to be cowardly, pragmatism was one of the few things that separated a dead mercenary from a living one, and Renoir was still counting his days. Besides, swallowing his pride had been necessary numerous times during his dealings with the Equestrians, not least of which had been his little show earlier.
They hustled as best they could through the semi-crowded streets, now filled with ponies buying whatever miscellaneous wares a merchant was peddling at his or her stall. Were Ponyville any city in Tamriel, Renoir would have had no issue melding into the sea of people and evading any pursuers, but as it was, he stood nearly twice the height of the average pony, and may as have painted a large target on his own back, the way his entire torso was visible above the multicolored multitudes. Fluttershy found it much easier, her mane and coat being common enough colors for her to get lost, and they had to keep at least a dozen paces from each other to maximize their chances of evasion. It took them half an hour to cross Ponyville, and the thugs were long lost.
@#@#@#@#@#@#
Night fell earlier than anticipated, and though they had only been in Fluttershy's home for a brief while, darkness was beginning to take hold of the land. With the majority of her animals out hibernating or still migrated away, the cottage was oddly empty, and the Element of Kindness was glad for the company Renoir provided, though it could have been under more pleasant circumstances. The vampire in question reclined on her couch, sipping a glass of cold water; she knew vampires were sensitive to heat, so she had insisted on him keeping cool. It was a kind gesture, to be sure, but completely unnecessary in her home; he was rather over his reaction to his unintended peek at her femininity, though he'd be lying to himself he said he hadn't slightly enjoyed the sight, one he was sure few others were privy to.
Even then, his hunter's sight was activated, and he scanned the area outside Fluttershy's home from the comfort of her couch, a small smirk crossing his face every time one of his circuits brought the little pegasus into his sight. He could see her heart pumping faster than usual, but seeing as they were in the same room, nothing was threatening her; he made sure to use only his peripherals to watch her, specifically to avoid any questions she may ask and force him to think about. This was most unusual, but he supposed he understood little of the Equestrians and their moods, so maybe the nervousness was to be expected.
Fluttershy was unsure of what to do as she sipped her tea, pondering over her thoughts. Looking at thing objectively, from the view of a third party observer, it appeared she and Renoir had just spent the day together as a couple on a date for Hearts and Hooves Day. Most dates on this holiday ended with... intimate contact between special someponies, and many ponies in town had seen the two eating breakfast or walking in the park. For one, it was rather embarrassing for ponies to make those sorts of assumptions about her.
However, the thought of her and Renoir spending some time together after dark wasn't all that unappealing; in truth, she realized she could certainly do worse. Still, she didn't have any way of communicating her thoughts without being so direct she might scare him off, and she didn't want to give the wrong impression. Steeling herself, she rose from her chair and trotted over to the couch, plopping down next to him. Just that made her heart feel it was ready to burst, but even as she heard her pulse echoing in her ears, she felt the sweetness of a small victory. Maybe they would both come to a storybook realization about themselves, maybe they would part awkwardly as friends and never speak of this night again, but the truth most likely lay somewhere between the extremes.
Feeling it was safe enough to leave Fluttershy by herself, Renoir pondered how he would say goodbye. The traditional kiss to the cheek, as High Rock tradition dictated, or a simple, verbal farewell? Lynette, he recalled, hadn't given Reman that courtesy as she stormed off to Cyrodiil, but this was a promise to meet again under good terms, and as such, his gentle birth required him to follow the rules and traditions of House Belmont. A quick peck to the cheek, and he would say goodbye for the night, and see her again in the morning. Perhaps he'd a pay a visit to Radio Waves and her marefriend while he was out and about. For now, he couldn't say.
He leaned over to kiss her cheek and wish her a good night, but she felt then was the perfect moment to turn and tell him something. Their lips crashed together and innocent blue eyes met the swirling black and red of the damned. They kissed, albeit accidentally, but it quickly became something more. To most people, the kiss was tame, but hidden fires burned between them. Fluttershy wrapped her hooves around his neck as she slowly pulled him closer, dragging herself into his lap. In a flash, his hands were on her flanks, digging in to hold her steady. When they parted, there was no heavy panting, but a light, muffled groan from the back of her throat and being denied her joy.
Morals weren't at the top of his list that day, and for once, he had a willing victim. Part of him was overjoyed at the prospect, stirring a few things deep within him that he felt best deserved to remain dormant. That night, under the light of a single moon, he felt a desire to feed, but also something strangely more powerful. His vision flashed and every blood vessel under Fluttershy's fur glowed like constellations; in Renoir's humble opinion, it was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.
“Go ahead,” she whispered in his ear, tilting her head slightly, and exposing that luminous river in her neck. He could practically taste that sanguine liquid flowing through her veins, liquid gold meant for only the most refined of tastes. He would savor this, and ran his tongue over her skin, leaving a wet trail in her fur. His breath, barely warmer than Fluttershy's living room, felt like a chilly wind as he blew over the wet spot. Slowly, he sank his fangs into her tender flesh, and suckled at the wellspring of life.
Fluttershy winced and forced down her voice; it felt precisely how she worried it would. There was a pain, a burning pain that slithered its way through her veins, but she gave her word, and this discomfort was surely temporary. Then, the area dulled, and she could only feel Renoir's lukewarm mouth spread over her throat. Then, oh, that wonderful spark lanced down her spine as he dragged his tongue over the four pinpricks in her neck. The very pain she once bemoaned was quickly becoming its precise opposite, and oh how she loved it so. He wouldn't take much, only three or four mouthfuls at most, and she would be right as rain after, but she was content for this to take as long as she liked, and Renoir was in no rush.
Renoir liked to think of himself as refined, noble even in his shame, and even his extensive travels, he had never tasted blood so whole, so sweet, bitter, and pure as Fluttershy's. After the initial pain, she seemed to be enjoying his feeding just as much as he was, though her pleasure was much more noticeable than his. Every subtle movement of his lips and tongue, imperceptible to the eye, made her gasp, and Renoir loved every second of it. In truth, he'd taken two mouthfuls, enough to take the edge off a tad, and only that, to avoid causing her any harm. All Fluttershy felt now was him keeping up the act, already healing shut the near-invisible pinpricks in her graceful neck. One of Renoir's self-imposed rules was to avoid getting involved with the untainted, and his desire to enforce it faded as quickly as Fluttershy pulled him closer.
All good things in this life must come to an end, and sadly, so too did this. The wizard pulled away, leaving naught but a wet spot on his victim's pretty neck, without so much as a fleck of blood in sight. He was hovering over her, held up only on an elbow and his knees, as she panted and looked at him, a blush dusting her face in crimson. He dipped his head and caught her lips, this time it was calm, relaxing, the sort of kiss lovers shared in their afterglow. There was no deeper meaning, no promise of things to come, just two people enjoying each other in private. “W-we can't, not down here,” Fluttershy said, hoping the vampire would understand her. She wasn't one to offer any stallion the time of night after a date, but Renoir was something of a special case, and worth the exception.
“So, you want to... take things further?” he asked, pausing for a moment. Under normal circumstances, he would have politely excused himself and returned to his lodgings, but something kept him from simply walking away. Sybille, and many of the others he'd bedded in his unlife, were cheap, easy, the sort of women one bent over a table without a thought, but Fluttershy was something altogether different, a pearl amongst glass gemstones. She looked up at him and smiled, nodding her head as she panted.
“Oh, y-yes,” she said, barely above a whisper. Renoir leaned back and lifted her off the cushions, intent on carrying her to bed. She lifted a hoof to the stairs, towards her room. This was going so much better than she thought it would if she'd asked him to stay, but sometimes happy accidents happened, and even as her body burned in excitement, she was overjoyed in his cool embrace. She'd hardly noticed when they'd fallen to her bed, atop her comforter, because she was rather caught up in the sensation of Renoir nipping at her neck again. She whimpered and pulled his head closer, eager for more, only for him to pull away.
He quickly whipped off his shirt, the plain cloth he used to keep his leather armor from rubbing his skin raw. One might expect the undead to be gaunt, sickly thin and skeletal, but Renoir Belmont seemed to just be a pale man with dark eyes in that light; even his ashen hair, now free of the length of ribbon keeping it tied back, seemed blonde as it fell to his shoulders. Fluttershy couldn't help but melt as she looked at him, for the single, electric nightlight she kept plugged in in case the Cutie Mark Crusaders stayed over, and the electric light revealed his eyes to her, kind and soft as they'd ever been, but now filled with a lustful glint.
She felt herself wink, and knew Renoir had seen it; when he looked down to see her clit pop back behind her lips, she wished she could just crawl in a hole, but he simply smiled and kissed her again. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Fluttershy; you'd be amazed at the things my body does when it gets to excited,” he said in a calm, kind voice, as he kissed down her jaw, and farther down as he passed the very place he'd bitten her. He stopped to nip at it again, delighting in the sudden whimper she gave. “But, let's see what I can do ease your fears.”
Fluttershy felt his hand gently rake a path up her thigh, and she bit back a groan, unsure how vocal she should be. Another hand came under her tail, resting against the meat of her flank, as the vampire kissed a trail down her front, ending just at her belly. Their eyes met, and she nodded once, giving him her blessings, though she was honestly unsure what to expect; she'd never asked Glade or really thought about it before. But, then a finger slowly slid into her depth, followed quickly by another, and she decided human foreplay was amazing. His two middlemost fingers pumped in and out of her depths, and this time, she couldn't suppress the groans that escaped her throat, as much as she wanted to.
Worried, she clamped her hooves over her mouth and looked down to her new lover, who had his eyes closed, before he gently took one of her nipples into his mouth. With one teat gently pinched between his teeth, assaulted by his tongue, and her nethers assaulted by his plunging fingers, Fluttershy squealed in orgasm, clenching on those wonderful digits and singing a song Renoir found oh so wonderful. Wiggling his fingers to ride her through, he rubbed her clit with his thumb when it decided to expose itself, delighting in every coo and hushed whimper she gave. When she finally collapsed in trembling bliss, he withdrew his fingers, wrapping his long tongue around them to clear away the evidence.
Fluttershy leaned forward and pulled him down, wrapping her wings around him and fumbling over his belt with her hooves. After a few moments, she conquered the leather strip, unbuckling the front and popping off the buttons. Purring, she motioned for Renoir to roll over, more than happy to repay the favor. She crawled over him, sopping femininity dripping perilously close to his mouth, right where she wanted it. Gingerly, she hefted his testicles, massaging them in her hoof for a moment before getting a good look at his manhood. She honestly didn’t know what to expect, but as she pulled down the vampire’s pants, she understood there were worse designs. She blew over the tip, amazed at how it twitched at the sudden warmth.
Taking just the tip in her mouth, she realized it was just as cool as the rest of him, barely above the room’s ambient temperature. She’d have to warm it up before the main event, certainly, and she carefully, slowly, started bobbing her head, taking just a bit more with every cycle. She jumped as she felt something round and wet prod at her nether lips, wondering what it could possibly be, with only Renoir’s hands and head anywhere near there. As it slithered in, twisting and corkscrewing, she gripped the organ she knew to be his tongue. She hummed pushed her head further down, wiggling her haunches to coax the mage into grabbing them, and groaning around him as he pulled her closer to his face.
His lip touched her femininity right as she bottomed out on him, smiling around his base as she suckled before coming back up to breathe. In time with Fluttershy's bobbing head, Renoir thrust and twisted his tongue, creating a reciprocating system that encouraged each to please the other, and running with it. She whined and ground her marehood against his face to get as close to the edge as she could for her second orgasm of the night, only for Renoir to come to a complete stop. She looked back at him and whimpered, trying to look as cute as she could be; it was tempting, but he only moved his tongue to keep her on the very precipice, not allowing her any respite until his needs were met as well.
Getting the hint, she took him back into her mouth, and swallowed as much as she could, until her nose touched his testicles. Trying not to gag, she kept herself as far down as she could, holding her breath to use her throat to coax him to orgasm, so he would let her get off. It had the desired effect, and soon he had no control over his wriggling muscle. Fluttershy pulled back to inhale, and gasped in a shallow breath, before diving back down, feeling ready to burst. She realized she wasn't the only one as she felt the vampire throb in her mouth; she only had time to pull up enough to not take the shot straight down her throat. Spray after spray landed in her mouth, enough to fill any recess it had when at rest, and bulge her cheeks out just a bit.
Swishing it around in her mouth, she savored the taste; Renoir, all the while eating her out, looked up at her while his mouth did all the work. She smiled as they made eye contact, and swallowed, trailing a noticeable bulge down her throat as it went. She wanted to say something witty, but was too concerned with the vampires tongue to bother, so she went with the next best thing, and kissed his tip, before trailing a lick down his shaft. She nuzzled against his sack, before planting a kiss on each orb. She pulled forward, shivering as he slid from her depths, and waggled her haunches at him. “Come and get it,” she said, lifting her tail to the side.
“I've a better idea, if you'd oblige me,” Renoir replied, flipping her onto her back. Up until then, he'd been as placid as kitten, but now Fluttershy was aware the vampire was capable of throwing her through the wall if he so wished. “I trust you'll find the standard human method to be rather enjoyable,” he said, creeping over her. The position was not unheard of to ponykind, but was usually limited to those with bipedal partners; Fluttershy, having never been with anypony who wasn't a stallion, only had hearsay to go on, but had heard it was certainly something. “When you're ready,” he said in a tone that was neither commanding nor hurrying, merely kind.
This close to a treasure some stallions would kill for, and he was ever concerned with how she felt. While he treated her as he would anyone else, she was all that mattered to him for the night, and depending on how things went, perhaps a while longer yet. She rubbed herself against him as his tip prodded at her entrance in time with his heartbeat. This hesitation, even for her benefit, was torturous in the extreme; she had willingly pulled away before she came, hoping Renoir would dive and in and rut her, but now he was being too civil to act like such a beast, and oh how she wished he would go for it. “I-I’m ready,” she said after what felt like an eternity to her.
Smiling, he nodded, and slowly sank into her, savoring the sensation of her hot tunnel squeezing around him. Hotter than a vampire, than a mortal woman, with the sort of muscle strenght he was surprised to see in so demure a woman. Warm enough to cause him discomfort, but he found it oddly soothing, as one might a sauna, and combined with her amazingly dexterous walls, he knew he wouldn’t last as long as he’d like. Still, the while he was able to maintain himself, he planned to enjoy this as much as humanly possible.
“Oh, sweet Celestia,” Fluttershy whimpered as he finally bottomed out, before wrapping her forelegs around his neck and bracing herself. She bit her lips as he pulled back out, painfully close to leaving her empty, before sliding back in. Wonderfully slow, they built a rhythm, and at each cycle’s zenith, she’d grind against him to maximize her pleasure. Each thrust, harder than the last, would draw an increasingly loud grunt from the butter yellow pegasus. She was amazed at how wonderful a change of angle could be, and his odd, spade-like head scraped against nerves that usually went unstimulated. Somewhere in the carnal act, Renoir’s mouth found her neck.
Biting down, he increased his pace, careful not to pierce her skin, nibbling on her tender neck. She yelped and pulled him closer, hoping to find some purchase on his chilled hide, but even as her hooves could grab his skin, his muscles shifted and she lost her grip. His mouth moved up to a new spot, and he bit harder, enough for her to really feel his fangs dig in. “Harder!” she shouted, only able to force the word out at the top of her lungs. He obliged, bracing his hands under her haunches for leverage.
She was in heaven, and rode the waves until she nearly squeezed his head off, worried if she didn’t keep him where he was, he’d float away and leave her alone. Bliss, as she found, was fleeting, but each thrust, each deep-reaching slam, spiked her back, but the slope was hard to maintain. Desperately clinging to him, she buried her face in his hair and screamed, singing her joys to the world. Renoir pulled from her neck and growled as he neared his own peak, unable to hold himself any longer in her tight, hot depths. “Are you close?” she breathed, barely holding onto her wits. Her heart soared when he nodded, hissing between his clenched teeth. “Cum inside, please.”
He wasn’t about to argue, slamming himself to the hilt, before he let himself go. It was glorious, spraying his essence in her hot confines, and even as Renoir sighed, Fluttershy shrieked at the sudden rush of cool, thick liquid. Just as her body felt ready to burst into flames, they smoldered away to embers, and she wound down in a spiral of decadence. Though slightly chilly, it hit the spot, and quelched the burning deep inside her. She panted and nuzzled against the vampire, whose skin was reddened as his body tried to vent the excess heat it had accumulated; he was oddly warm, cuddled up to her like that.
“You were wonderful,” Fluttershy said, nuzzling Renoir’s hair. He was still overheated, and clinging to her like a she was his lifeline, but he had sense enough to chuckle in his own tired way. He would have said something in return, but his frame of reference was a fair bit larger than hers, so he would not bother comparing her to any others he had been with for fear of either offending her or making himself look like a manwhore. He pulled her closer, happy as he could be.
“Oh, you do too much honor to these old bones,” he replied, burying his face in her neck, staring at that large, incandescent vein running from her skull to her heart. Even something like that, like liquid stars that gave him his unlife, was secondary to their host. Her warmth, where most mortals were unpleasantly feverish, Fluttershy, despite being warmer than a human, drew none of the revulsion a mortal should have during such intimate contact. He was, in his opinion, quite comfortable.
It was a good night.
@#@#@#@#@#@#
Outside the cottage, two figures admired their handiwork. During the day, one moved about, pushing their marks closer as best she could; the other operated after the sun set, ensuring Renoir would feel the night too dangerous to allow Fluttershy to walk home alone, but not overly so as to provoke a response. It was as masterful a plan as any, and done only for the strict benefit of those targeted. “Are you sure this really for the best?” the stoic one asked, shifting the large case on her back to a more comfortable position.
“You worry too much,” the vampiress once known as Radio Waves answered, smiling. She liked Renoir, she really did, and it was rather heartwarming to see him enjoying the company of another. With a nod to her second, she turned and started back towards Ponyville. She looked to her companion, amused as she tossed a gold coin in the air and caught it repeatedly; it was a simple task, one many vampires enjoyed performing to waste their infinite time, though the mare in question was just as mortal as the day she was born. Using her own hunter’s sight, she observed Fluttershy’s heart rate and circulatory system as it moved and shifted, and judged her as having just had the best sex of her young life.
She smiled and turned to her equery. “Come on, Octy; our work here is done.”
