Cold Drinks and Warm Hearts

When Spike opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the ceiling of Pinkie Pie’s room. It’s nothing new to him, but a feeling of confusion overcomes him when he realizes he isn’t in Pinkie’s bed anymore, for whatever reason. Instead, he’s curled up on a pillow on the floor. His naked body is covered by sheets, which are riddled with teeth and claw marks. He catches a whiff of frosting and sweat as he takes in his first breath of the morning.

He looks over the footboard of the bed to see Pinkie Pie there, lying flat on her stomach with only a single blanket for censorship. Strands of her hair in front of her mouth move like a swingset as she snores and mutters the exact recipe for chocolate chip mocha muffins. One of the aforementioned treats stands on a plate on the bedside table, tantalizingly staring at Spike and demanding his consumption.

Spike tries to crawl out of his sheets but something snags on his wrist, holding him back. He turns around to see his arm is still caught in Pinkie Pie’s set of fur-decorated handcuffs, which keeps him tethered to the leg of the bed. He simply laughs, then stretches out his arm to reach for the muffin. His claws come within mere centimeters of touching the delicious confectionary wonder…

Pinkie Pie’s hand smacks his claws away. “Mine,” she murmurs. She grabs the muffin and takes a hefty bite, all without opening her eyes. Spike wonders if she’s even awake yet.

“Remind me never to come between you and your sweets again.” Spike turns around and starts to yank on the chain of the handcuffs. “Uh, could I get a little help? I need the key.”

Pinkie swallows her bite before talking in a grumble. “Dunno where it is…”

Spike racks his brain to remember the safe word from the night before. He snaps his fingers when it comes to him. “Glockenspiel. Where’s the key?”

“Told ya, I dunno…”

Spike sighs and rubs his eyes. “Well, wish I could say this is the first time this has happened. Do you have a saw?”

Just when he thinks this situation can’t get any more hilarious, he hears a click at the door, followed by a knock. Spike recognizes the motherly charm of Mrs. Cake’s voice instantly. “Pinkie! It’s already eight in the morning. Come on down for breakfast. Pound and Pumpkin are getting antsy.”

Pinkie’s eyes snap open. As if she hadn’t even slept at all, she leaps out of bed, grabs the sheets away from Spike (Except for one, which she leaves for modesty) and starts making the bed. She then dives for her dresser, grabs a blue night dress and throws it on.

Spike makes use of his limited range to grab whatever naughty toy he can reach. Long ones, round ones, bendy ones, oddly shaped ones, disturbingly lifelike ones… he tosses them into Pinkie’s toy box. Pinkie picks up the slack and grabs whatever Spike can’t, slamming the toy chest shut and finding a seat next to Spike just as the door opens.

“Good morning!” both Pinkie and Spike say, smiling broadly at a rotund and very confused mare.

"Hi… Ah, I see you've had a friend over." Mrs. Cake shifts a bit uncomfortably as she glances around the room. "Well, that would probably explain where the frosting went, and why I found this in the freezer..." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small key.

"Ooh, ooh, can I have that?" Pinkie asks, bouncing where she sits. "I kiiinda need it."

Mrs. Cake carefully hands the key off to Pinkie. “Okay… Not that I mind seeing you, Spike. Just, seeing so much of you…”

“Sorry about that,” Spike says, shrugging his one free arm. “If I had known you’d be here this morning, I would have ducked out already.”

“Oh, you’ll do no such thing!” Mrs. Cake folds her arms. “Surely you’re not going to leave without having something to eat? We have cranberries.”

“Well…”

“How about some toast and orange juice? Come now, you look famished. And I have a sneaking suspicion you need to, ahem,” Mrs. Cake shows off a heavy blush, “rehydrate.”

It’s only now that Spike realizes how parched he is, making the offer of orange juice suddenly very appealing. “That sounds wonderful. We’ll be down in just a bit.”

Mrs. Cake starts to retreat. “Take all the time you need.” Just before she closes the door, she adds, “And make sure you wash up. At least three times. Wash up many times. Please.” The door goes shut, leaving Spike and Pinkie Pie to look at each other and smile, sharing a chuckle.

It’s a mild surprise to Spike when Pinkie embraces him, her arms locking tightly around his back. “Hm, you know… I don’t think I want to wash up just yet,” Spike says with a flirty snarl. He takes the key from Pinkie’s hand and tosses it aside. As he gets himself a feel of Pinkie’s back and shoulder, he laments that she wouldn’t be wearing her admittedly beautiful nightdress for very long.

“Ooh, Spiiike…” Pinkie coos right into Spike’s fin. She retracts her arms to allow the flirty dragon to grope her hips. He squeezes them tight and takes the dress in his grip. In just one quick motion, he would have it off, and Pinkie would be completely exposed to him… “Mmm, the train is arriving at the station…”

“Yeah it is…” Spike blinks twice. He stops undressing Pinkie to say, “I’m sorry, what?”

Pinkie points to her knee. “My knee bone’s a-twitchin’. That means there’s a train arriving at the train station.”

“What does that have to do with…” Spike’s eyes widen, and his blush intensifies. He slaps himself across the forehead. “Sweet Celestia! I gotta go!” He kicks his feet wildly, trying to pull himself away from the bed. He reaches for his clothes, only to find himself receiving a formal introduction to the floor with a mouthful of dust. “Wargh. Pinkie?” He points in the general direction of where she tossed the key.

“I’ve got it.” Pinkie adjusts her gown and skips over to where the key lies. In just a few seconds, the handcuffs come loose, and Spike is able to stand up.

As the young dragon pulls his underwear on, he mutters words of urging under his breath. “Come on, come on, if you don’t meet her there, you’re officially the biggest jerk in the world…” His pants zipper might as well have become the lock of an impenetrable safe.

Pinkie Pie steps forward and zips up Spike’s pants, then grabs his shirt and throws it down over his head. To Spike’s wide-eyed bewilderment, she got it on perfectly. He decides not to ask any further questions as he grabs his hoodie and jacket. “Thanks for letting me use your dryer, by the way.”

“No problemo, friend-o.”

Spike runs for the window and opens it up. “Tell Mrs. Cake to cash a rain check on the orange juice. Something even sweeter takes priority.”

“Spike, wait!”

Spike turns around to ask Pinkie what’s up, but he doesn’t get the chance. His mouth is forced shut by hers as she gives him one last long kiss.

“I really like having slumber parties with you,” she says, her wide eyes beaming and her rosy cheeks an even deeper shade of red than usual.

As Spike sits up on the windowsill, the frigid temperatures of the early morning envelope his back. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest, as per usual. Even if it did, he would have a lot of warmth in his heart to counteract nature’s wrath. “Me too. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Spike salutes Pinkie Pie as she pushes on his chest, causing him to fall out the window. The bubbly pink mare watches wistfully as her satisfied sole partygoer flies off into the snow covered town.

Diamond Tiara’s arms are on par with the most powerful bonds that Apple Bloom has had the luxury to wear during her more interesting encounters, partially because Apple Bloom finds the sleeping model just too darn adorable to leave in bed alone. If it weren’t Hearth’s Warming Day, and she didn’t have a previous engagement, the young farmer would elect to spend all day in bed with her, along with the other sensual model whose absence from the bed is sorely felt. Apple Bloom’s back feels deathly cold without Silver Spoon’s smooth fur and plump breasts warming her up.

A good alternative would be a bit of Hearth’s Warming coffee. Apple Bloom manages to shake off the desire to cuddle Diamond Tiara long enough to sit up and get out of bed. “Dernit…” she hears Di gargle in her morning grogginess. “Whereyagoin, Hayseed?”

Apple Bloom holds out two fingers. “Uh, coffee, an’ then, back to the farm. Applejack’s gonna tan my hide if I’m not home for breakfast, and, uh… Other stuff.” She neglects to mention a favor she promised to fulfill on this particular day. Di didn’t need to know the details.

“Wha…?” Di scrapes at her hair, which has lost most of its curl. “Aw, you tease. Fine. Get outta here. Never wanna see you ‘gain…” She collapses face first into her pillow.

“Ya want some coffee too, ya big baby?” Bloom asks, pawing at Di’s flicking ear.

“Shut up. Yes.”

“Okay. Be right back.” Bloom kisses Di on the cheek. After stretching out her arms and legs, she heads to the kitchen.

Silver Spoon, as Bloom had suspected, is already awake. She’s sitting atop the center counter, munching down a bowl of granola as she listens to the radio, all the while sporting some evil looking black lingerie. She’s softly bobbing her head as one of Sweetie Belle’s more corny, lovey-dovey songs plays.

Apple Bloom is relieved to see that Silvy has already started brewing the coffee, so all she has to do is wait a minute or so before she can fully revitalize her body. She props her arms on the counter next to Silvy. “Howdy.”

“Mmm, good morning to you,” Silvy coos. She sets down her spoon and touches Bloom’s shoulder, walking her fingers up to the farmgirl’s thick neck. “Did I keep you nice and cozy last night?” She catches Bloom by surprise with a surprisingly sexy one-handed massage.

Bloom leans her head back and lets Silvy have her fun. “That ya did, though ya could work on the snorin’.”

“A lady does not snore.”

“Riiight.” Bloom shot a snide look up at Silvy. “And ya also wake up with your hair all combed while wearin’ perfect makeup an’ high heels. Just because ya think yer livin’ in a late night cable show don’t make it a fact.”

Silvy rolls her eyes and gets off the counter. “Sarcasm looks so attractive on you, Hayseed. Then again, you don’t wear makeup, so anything looks good by comparison.”

“Bite me.”

“Later,” Silvy quips, taking her bowl to the sink. As she turns on the faucet and rinses out her breakfast, she resumes bobbing her head and sings along with the radio.

“Tell it to my heart, tell me I'm the only one.
Is this really love or just a game?
Tell it to my heart.
I can feel my body rock every time you call my name...
The passion's so complete. It's never ending…”

Bloom is utterly bewildered. Not only does Silvy have a mildly impressive singing voice, she is also a filthy liar. “Ah thought ya said ya hated this sort a’ music.”

Silvy sticks her tongue out. “There are a lot of things you really haven’t known about me, dearest. Just be glad you figured out a few of those things last night.”

“Ooh, thanks for remindin’ me…” Apple Bloom takes notice of how utterly delicious Silver Spoon looks in her lingerie. Black looks good on her, accompanying her grey body and white mane quite well, and its ornate fringe helps the young model appear elegant and poised despite being half a layer of fabric away from being completely naked. “See, I was just about to ask ya somethin’.”

Silvy leads Bloom into an embrace from behind, cupping the farmgirl’s meaty arms and letting them wrap around her lithe body. Those muscular appendages squeeze and grope at Silvy’s breasts, causing her to gasp as the grogginess of morning is taken away from her.

Bloom whispers into her ear, “Now that ya had your taste of the apple, are ya up for a second?”

“Mmmra, it’s such a tempting fruit.” Silvy cups Bloom’s cheek, moving in for a kiss. Her lips part as she tries to force her tongue past Apple Bloom’s strong lips…

Ding! goes the coffee pot.

Bloom releases Silvy and grabs herself a mug from the upper shelf. “Sucks for you, then. Ah gotta go.” She goes to pour herself some coffee, blissfully ignorant of Silvy, who has a little saliva on her chin and a massive, unrequited blush on her cheeks. She looks hurt. Wounded, even.

Silvy stomps her hoof and clenches her fists. “You slut!”

“Ah’m sorry. Really. Somethin’s just come up, that’s all.” Bloom tries to make herself sound as sincere as possible, because she does regret that she’ll have to leave such pleasurable company behind after such an amazing night. She takes a drink from her mug and continues talking. “Besides, Ah gotta prioritize. Hearth’s Warmin’ Day is meant to be spent with family.”

“Sa-luuuut,” Silvy moans, laying her back across the counter.

“Okay, I’m confused,” says Diamond Tiara as she strolls into the kitchen in a pink bathrobe. “How is it that she’s a slut for wanting to do the responsible thing? Besides, you have to admire her fortitude. To anypony else, deciding between us and a bunch of hillbillies would be a Hobson’s Choice.”

Bloom notices that Di has a piece of paper in one hand, with a quill and ink bottle clutched in the other.

“Also, I just realized that I kinda need her gone anyway,” Di continues. “I have an apology letter to write to Daddy, and I won’t be able to focus with this thing walking around.” She waves her hand in Bloom’s general direction.

“Thing?” Bloom asks dejectedly.

“Well, more specifically, this thing.” As Di walks past, she pats Apple Bloom on her firm rump. “So, yeah, you and that thing better scurry off before I make sweet love to it, capiche?”

“Capiche.” In revenge for getting her bum smacked, Bloom taps Di on the back of the head. She considers doing the same for Silvy, but she retracts her hand upon realizing that she’d probably get off on a light slap.

As Bloom strolls into the living room to grab her clothes, she tries to remember the other thing she has to do. Her head is still in a funk from last night. Alcohol distorts her memory like a stained glass window of hot ass and smooth breasts, sprinkled with droplets of sweat and hot tub water.

She grabs her panties and jeans, sucking in her gut to put them on. “Okay, Ah know it ties into that other thing…” She snaps her fingers a few times, then throws on her shirt. “Pick up… somethin’. Somepony?” She grabs her stetson and tosses it onto her forehead.

As she buttons up her jacket, she racks her brain for whatever other task she could have been assigned. She is in utter disbelief that she could even forget to begin with…

She catches the sound of the radio. “I can feel my body rock every time you call my name!”

“Oh, horse apples!” Bloom shouts, sprinting back into the kitchen. Di has a biscuit in her hand, and Silvy is now on her stomach, playfully buttering a slice of bread. “Hey, what time is it?!”

Di happens to be leaning against the wall, in front of the only clock in the room. She stares at Bloom, taking a slow and arduous bite of her biscuit and chewing it slower than a cow would chew a clump of grass. “Oh, you’re still here?” she says with a smirk. “I’m sorry, I think Kronos is sleeping in this morning.”

“Celestia’s Tits, hon!” Bloom exclaims in disbelief. “I might have somepony waitin’ for me at the train station!”

“And she’ll be waiting until you grant the lady of the household another taste of your finest apple cider. Just a sample will do.” Di beckons to Bloom and taps her own lips. “Posthaste?”

Apple Bloom groans, although part of her does see this as a win-win situation, and she has to commend Diamond Tiara on her craftiness. This wouldn’t be the first time this has happened.

Bloom approaches Di and takes her by the shoulders, planting a savory kiss on her lips. Di extends the kiss by pressing into Bloom, running her hand through her locks, feeling her warm, muscular neck and arms. Just touching the thick body of this sensual farmgirl was bringing her back to full heat…

“I-It’s 7:43,” Di says, using every ounce of willpower she has to pull away from Bloom. Her blush is furious, and her panting has broken her composure. “...Yeah.”

Bloom sighs with relief, knowing she has enough time to reach the train station and get herself a snack. “Sorry I gotta go, but I can convince Applejack to let me come over tomorrow,” she suggests. “I’ll bring a smorgasbord, cook us up a nice brunch…”

“You’d better bring cider,” Silvy says, getting off the counter and swaying over to Bloom and Di. She wraps her arms around both of them. Bloom has difficulty making sense of this conglomerate act of affection, but she manages to get both of her arms around the two models sandwiching her.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll bring cider. In bottles. Silvy must have drank half the juice last night.”

“It only made you prettier, thunderthighs,” Silvy snips.

Di pokes Silvy on the muzzle. “Shut up, you know she’s perfect.”

It all becomes a little too much for Bloom to take. She worms her way out of the embrace and waves her arms about in a frenzy. “Whatever, y’all. Try to stay off of each other until I get back.” Bloom fixes her stetson, waves to Di and Silvy, and sprints towards the exit before she’s forced to do anything that would spoil such a sacred holiday.

“Part of me wants to respect her wishes, but part of me wants to disobey her just to see how she’d react,” Di says. She looks between the departing farmgirl and the ever-so-sexual Silver Spoon, who is licking a bit of butter off her finger.

“What?” Silvy asks.

Di sighs and starts to walk away. “Meet me on the bed in five.”

Spitfire is tossing and turning in her bed. Not because of any sort of bad nightmare. If anything, she had a good dream, but she couldn’t remember what even happened in it for the life of her. All she remembers is a dolphin and some choir about disrespectful court jesters.

No, she was tossing and turning for different reasons. While the heat of the night before hadn’t allowed her a second to think about it, she only now realizes that there are consequences to sleeping on a bed that hasn’t been thoroughly washed in months. She finds herself scratching her naked body often, and not in a pleasurable way.

Even if her bed was clean, she’d still be uncomfortable. Those are her posters on the wall. That is her lightning bolt shaped lamp. That is her wall of Wonderbolt medals. That is her ceiling, wall, and shag carpet floor. But she isn’t home. Home is where Big Mac is.

And he isn’t here.

Spitfire’s eyes shoot wide open as she realizes that the large thing she’s been hugging for the past hour hasn’t been her big lug. It’s just her body pillow, which kept her company on lonely nights after she moved to Ponyville. She had her stallion take over that role long ago.

“Aw, where’d you go?” Spitfire moans as she rises from the bed and rubs her eyes. As she gets off the mattress, she throws the body pillow to the ground. “Away with you.”

This isn’t the first time that something like this has happened, sans the body pillow. She knows Mac has responsibilities, and the farm is going to need him, especially after the chaotic snowfall of the night before. Spitfire can’t see through half of her bedroom window.

She holds herself for warmth until she’s able to find her favorite black turtleneck, brown cargos, and a scarf with the colors of fire. “You made this for my birthday,” she says to the photograph of Mac on the nightstand. “Figures that I’d wear it today, of all days.” She sticks her tongue out at the photo for good measure. “Jerk.”

She’s not really angry. In fact, she’s smiling. It had been weeks since her beloved had made love to her like that, and the fact that it happened on Hearth’s Warming Eve made it that much more intimate and romantic. That was his gift to her, and hers to him.

“Still, wouldn’t have killed you to leave a…” Spitfire stops her vocal thought when she leaves the bedroom and notices a used notebook out on the kitchen counter. “Oh.” Big Mac had written something in his extremely elaborate handwriting. How he manages to write so well with such mighty, godlike hands is a mystery to Spitfire.

Hey, Fire. Left for the farm. Need to take care of something important. Come on down for breakfast. Love you. ❤

“Even in your letters, you’re as blunt as an old club.” Spitfire wraps her scarf tight and heads for the door, smiling and stomping all the while. “Big Macintosh, you wonderful idiot. First I’m gonna slap you, then I’m gonna kiss you.”

Spike’s attention is on a roulette. He keeps glancing between groups of ponies greeting their friends and family, the clock, the train tracks, and the occasional passing train. He realizes how childish he’s acting, being so anxious for a certain train to come by, but he forgives himself for feeling this way. It’s not like he can help it. It’s just another reassuring sign that he’s hopelessly enamoured, in a good way. If only the train would arrive a little quicker...

His tension breaks a little when he sees Apple Bloom sprinting onto the platform, holding her stetson against the cold breeze. She slows down to take a breath, then looks up and sees Spike. He waves her over and pats the bench. “Hey, you! Have a seat.”

“Shoulda figured that ya’d be here,” Apple Bloom says, folding her arms and smirking. She takes up Spike’s offer and takes a seat next to him. “Enjoy yer Hearth’s Warmin’ Eve? Dinner go well, as usual?”

“Eh, those plans crashed and burned,” Spike replies. “Twilight had to go off and be Princess Twilight in Canterlot for a little while. Something about a new subspecies of pony or something, I dunno. Don’t take my word for it.”

“Subspecies? Sounds interestin’. Get Twilight to spill the beans when she gets back.” Apple Bloom raises a finger. “After ya do a proper dinner with her, kay?”

“I was already planning on that,” Spike says. “Dealing with political BS can make anypony hungry. Twilight is gonna have a big meal to look forward to when she gets home.”

“Good for ya, then. Hey, after her train gets here, ya wanna come to breakfast with me?”

Spike shrugs and points to the train tracks. “Sorry, Bloom. I have a date already.”

Bloom sighs and leans her head against Spike’s shoulder. She takes her stetson off and hangs it on Spike’s spines. “Aw, don’t act like ya haven’t gone nowhere with two ponies wrapped around yer arms. Come on, it could be fun.”

“Well, I’ll have to check with a certain somepony.” Spike, playing along with the pretty picture Apple Bloom painted, brings his arm around her shoulder and pulls her in closer, until her fur mingles with his scales. “But you know how chill she is, so your odds look pretty good.”

“Dandy,” Bloom says, taking her hat back. Her grip on Spike relaxes, turning a bit more intimate. “Mm, mind if Ah keep holdin’ ya? Yer so warm.”

“The perks of being me, babe. Nestle in tight.”

Spike and Apple Bloom form their own little shield against the elements. Bloom’s fingers interlock on Spike’s shoulder, and his wings cross around her. Aside from a few wandering eyes, along with the occasional flurry of snowflakes, nothing pierces their shield.

They don’t know how much time passes before one of them speaks, but it’s Apple Bloom that breaks the moment by opening her mouth. “Huh… Not bad. Is this how she feels? Y’know, when she’s with you?” she asks.

“I think so,” Spike replies. “Here’s another question: how long are we going to keep playing the pronoun game?”

Apple Bloom’s eyes widen. She unclasps her fingers and points to the train tracks. “Probably when that train stops.”

Spike’s beak is stricken with a huge, dorky smile. He tucks his wings back in and leaps away from the bench. He’s probably cheering, but he can’t hear himself over the train. He runs to keep up with it as it passes by, and fears the nonexistent possibility of it not coming to a stop.

“Stop bein’ so antsy, ya clod! She ain’t gettin’ off that thing any faster!”

Spike turns to Apple Bloom and retaliates. “Yeah, well, if you were in my place, you’d be doing the same th—” He doesn’t see the patch of ice he walks over. He slips and falls onto his side. “Agh!” he groans, clutching his shoulder.

“Yeah, can’t say I blame ya,” Apple Bloom says with a shrug. “You have the right to make an ass out of yerself.”

“He may be an ass, but he’s mine,” says a squeaky, chiming voice that stands out above the mutterings all the other exiting passengers. Standing over Spike, dressed in a form-fitting turtleneck and a long coat, was Sweetie Belle. “Hi,” she says to the ill-positioned dragon.

“Hey, babe…” Spike says, his voice all woozy. “Welp, at least nopony can say I haven’t fallen for you.”

“Wah-wah.” Sweetie kneels down and lifts Spike up by his shoulders. “Get up, you silly.”

Spike makes use of his wings to get back onto his feet, then turns to Sweetie Belle and wraps her up in a tight hug. He lifts her up into the air, only to have her weight threaten to bring him back down again.

“Whee! Aha!” Sweetie Belle kicks her legs and breaks free from Spike, touching back down. “Wow, you’re enthusiastic! I mean, I expected a warm welcome, but...”

Spike stuffs his hands into his pockets and tilts his head. “I just missed you… A lot.”

“Aww. And I missed your face.” Sweetie pinches Spike’s dorsal fins, causing him to squirm and laugh at the same time. “Speaking of faces, I really need to stuff mine. I haven’t had a real breakfast yet.”

“Seriously?” Apple Bloom asks. “Would have figured that they’d have at least six meal carts lined up for ya on this thing.”

“You’d think so, but… no. Two raised ring donuts aren’t gonna cut it for this superstar. I need to nosh something fierce. Is there any place that’s open?”

“Ha!” Apple Bloom scoffs, throwing her arm around Sweetie Belle’s back. “Mah ass. Any place that has to be open on a day like today is clearly not worth goin’ to. You and Spike are comin’ with me to the Apple Family Heath’s Warming Day Breakfast. Patent pendin’. I ain’t takin’ no for an answer.”

“I was gonna say yes,” says Sweetie Belle.

“Good. We’ll set up a second table. Trust me, Sweetie. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a brekky like this.” Apple Bloom casts her hand out. “Apple pancakes. Apple pancakes everywhere.”

Sweetie Belle nods, lips pursed with interest. “Sounds like my cup of tea. Is there tea?”

“There is tea.”

“I’m in. Spikey-Wikey?”

Spike has his arm around Sweetie Belle on her other side. He and Apple Bloom both lead her along the platform, weaving through the crowd. As they descend the steps and leave the train station, Apple Bloom speaks up again. “Oh, Spike, ya know how to play a guitar, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Ah’ve got a thing for you to do. Oh, and uh, Ah know you two haven’t seen each other in a long time, but try to keep the hanky-panky to a minimum. Y’know how prudish Applejack can be…”

Rainbow Dash is forced to set her plate down. Her arm flexes, stretching out until her hand finds the edge of the counter. Her other arm finds its way around Applejack’s neck. The farmgirl’s hair is all in a tussle. Her face is thick with early morning grog. Her lips are stiff and chapped.

Why is she so damn hot?

Rainbow Dash keeps asking herself that as she’s pushed further against the counter by the beefy mare, eventually deciding to let it go. Applejack is smothering her in rough, musky kisses without any reservation, and she accepts it.

After a long minute of this, she figures, why not go a little further? Applejack is only in a red tanktop, after all, so it’s easy for her to slip her hands beneath it, brushing her thick coat, going past her gut and muscles and gasping in disbelief as she holds her all natural, country-grown breasts. For a second, she had feared she wouldn’t be allowed to, but there it is.

Applejack bites Rainbow on the neck. Much like the rest of Applejack, it’s well-meaning, but it’s anything but gentle. Rainbow loves it, a broken gasp escaping her. It being the morning, she can’t help but yawn, but she quickly falls back into moaning.

“Hey, Applejack…” Rainbow asks between the moans.

The farmgirl doesn’t reply. She has her hands gripping Rainbow’s waist, sliding into her jeans…

“AJ.”

“Shh…” Applejack whispers, silencing Rainbow with another kiss.

It would be easy enough to just let herself be ravished and let all of her doubts and caution just fall to the wayside, but Rainbow knows better than to let that happen. She may be reckless, but she knows to trust her instinct, both in the air and in social situations. She’s not sure if there’s anything wrong with this picture, and she wants to find out if AJ is on the same page as her.

Rainbow finally finds the willpower to gently push Applejack away. “AJ, uh…” If only the words would come to her. “AJ, are you my marefriend?”

Applejack looks back and forth, then shrugs. “Do you wanna be?”

Rainbow’s heart leaps into her throat so fast, she’s surprised she’s even able to speak. “Pretty much every fiber of my being says yes,” she says, her voice deafened out by the blood rushing to her head.

“Then what’s the problem?” Applejack asks with a smile. She goes in for another kiss, but Rainbow plants her hand on her muzzle.

“No problem, but…” Rainbow folds her arms. “We’ve been friends for way too damn long for this to be any sort of suppressed attraction coming out all at once. What’s your deal?”

“Ya’ve been readin’ psychology books, haven’tcha?”

“Shit, a little…”

“Well, then…” Applejack leans against the counter and takes Rainbow’s hand. “Take a wild guess at what Ah’m attracted to.”

The morning has a way of putting one’s mind in the gutter, and having over two-hundred pounds of thick, meaty, gorgeous mare groping her hand doesn’t help. “...An anthropomorphic apple?” Rainbow Dash stammers.

“Alright, Ah’ll cave. Ah love mahself an attentive, responsible, lovin’ family figure, and ya fit the bill. Even if ya didn’t have that, Ah just love hangin’ out with ya, not to mention, yer just drop dead sexy. But Ah knew Ah was fallin’ for ya when ya startin’ becomin’ one hell of an awesome surrogate parent.”

“Parent?” Rainbow Dash realizes what Applejack means. “Uh, Scoots is more like a sister, but...”

Applejack lets go of Rainbow Dash’s hand and moves to the dining table. She resumed setting out the plates. “Well, whatever ya wanna call it, ya got the gift. Last night just so happened to be the night Ah decided to make my move. Couldja get the silverware out?”

“Congratulations on taking advantage of a drunk chick,” Rainbow Dash snarks. She opens the drawers on the counter until she finds the utensils. “I guess I see your point, but the most I can handle right now is something fun and casual. I don’t want you expecting flowers every week or anything.”

“Ah’m okay with that.”

“This isn’t me being arrogant. I just love my life right now and getting in too deep would upset a lot of things. I also don’t wanna overburden you with more than you can handle. Working the farm and all…”

“Ah’m okay with that.”

“Then again, Scootaloo is getting a lot more independant… Should have realized that when she went and opened up her own stunt team. Anyway, I’ve gotten used to having company around, and it could be nice to—”

Rainbow turns around, suddenly getting a faceful of sexy orange horse. “Hey,” Applejack says. Once again, she kisses Rainbow, who is so captivated that she ends up dropping every piece of silverware in her hand.

When the kiss ends, Rainbow strokes Applejack’s tail and says, “A ton of things just started making sense.”

Just as she says that, both Soarin and Braeburn stroll into the kitchen, wearing a matching set of green robes. When they see Applejack and Rainbow Dash, they immediately let go of each other’s hands and blush. “So, uh,” Braeburn stutters. “I’ll… I’ll get the coffee started?”

Soarin raises his hand. “I’ll help with the pancakes.”

“You’d best,” says Applejack. “Flour’s in the left cupboard.”

As Braeburn gets a bag of beans out, and Soarin gathers up ingredients, the two keep sharing glances with each other, each one more intense and intimate than the last. Braeburn seems eager to get the coffee blender started so he can stand next to Soarin.

“You could cut the hormones in this room with a knife,” Rainbow mutters to Applejack.

“Says the girl who was just pantin’ like a corgi in heat.”

“Thanks for that image… Still, can’t deny I’m happy for these guys. Haven’t seen each other in ten years, they deserve to be head over heels like this.”

Applejack chuckles as Braeburn stumbles over a chair, trying to get to Soarin. He hands over two eggs, nearly dropping them as their hands touch.

Rainbow kisses Applejack on the cheek. “We’ll finish our little talk after breakfast.”

“You won’t have long to talk, sugar,” Applejack says with a wink.

Even though the weather is foul, making even the consideration of flying an ill-advised idea, Spitfire doesn’t care. Even as she flies at a brisk pace, the air still isn’t as frigid as it was the night before. At least, it seems that way to her. She doesn’t care how cold it is. Beneath her skin, she is as warm as she needs to be. She has been for a long time.

Sweet Apple Acres isn’t that far away. As the town buildings dwindle and the agriculture of Ponyville comes into view, Spitfire considers how she’s going to make her entrance. She remembers an old classic that she used back when she and Big Macintosh’s relationship first went into full swing, and they kept using every minute of free time to be alone. She would sneak into his room and wait on his bed with a six-pack of cider and some rather revealing lingerie. Given the weather, she will have to forgo the lingerie, but just being there will be good enough.

Spitfire gets sidetracked by the sound of a motor beneath her. She looks down and sees another pegasus, who seems to have foregone a flight path and instead chose to ride a motorcycle. This would be bizarre to Spitfire, but she knows that Scootaloo likes to keep her wings well-rested after one of her team’s stunt shows.

Just outside Sweet Apple Acres, Spitfire touches down beside Scootaloo, who parks her bike by a tree and kicks the stand down. She gets off and removes her helmet, revealing a messed up set of spiky purple hair and heavily lined eyes. She greets Spitfire with a salute and a casual “Sup, Cap?”

Spitfire snorts. “Seriously, why do you always call me that? You don’t work for me.”

“Yeah, but Rainbow Dash does. If you’re her captain, you’re my captain.” Scootaloo slaps a pair of sunglasses over her eyes. “Deal with it. So, I’m guessing you’re here for the free food?”

“You could say that. And what brings you here?”

Scootaloo starts strutting towards the farmhouse, walking with her usual amount of attitude. “Actually, speaking of Rainbow Dash... See, I would have been able to find a train home last night if the conductor hadn’t decided to pussy out!” Her sudden shouting echos across the entire expanse of the farm. “So, yeah, there goes my Hearth’s Warming Eve. But I’m gonna make it up to Rainbow Dash tenfold. I got her a new hoodie and a bitchin’ poster of my stunt team.”

“And how was Velocentaur’s holiday show?” Spitfire asks.

“It was off, on, up and down and all around the chaaaain. A couple investors had stopped on by and they’re gonna plug the shit out of our show next month. We could be seeing viewership in the freakin’ thousands!” Scootaloo stops and points to the sky. “What up?!”

Spitfire bumps Scootaloo on the shoulder. “See what happens when you take control of your life and make no apologies for doing what you love? That’s happiness, kiddo.”

“Oh, I’ve been feelin’ it for some time! But I really owe you for all of this.”

“Come again?”

“Aw, don’t tell me you don’t remember! See, I recall a certain birthday during my angsty years, shortly after Rainbow Dash let me move in with her.”

Spitfire holds up her hand. “Wait, why were you angsty if you had just moved in your idol?’

Scootaloo shrugs. “Because I was a teenager with no problems.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, Rainbow Dash pulled through and put together a pretty epic party. She didn’t even hire Pinkie, ‘cause she wanted to got the extra mile. Guess what my birthday present was?”

Spitfire can hazard a guess. “One of my motivational tapes?”

“One of your motivational tapes!” Scootaloo says with a snap of her fingers. “And let me tell ya, if you can keep a hold on that level of charisma, you’re gonna make one hell of a mom.”

Spitfire blushes furiously, though she isn’t offended in the slightest. She decides to not follow up on that lead, instead thinking back to her motivational tapes. “Wait, don’t I get down to my bikini in one of those?”

Now it’s Scootaloo’s turn to blush. “Yeah… Thanks for helping me figure a few things out. Let me tell ya, Cap, you initially struck me as the usual hot military broad, but I’ve realized that you’re pretty radical. Big Mac has been good for ya.”

“Tell me about it…” Spitfire holds her cheeks and sighs.

“Oh, I hate to cut this convo short, but...” Scootaloo skips off of the dirt trail and goes to one of the many apple trees on the path. She taps the tree. “Come on out!”

Spitfire pauses, looking at that particular apple tree. Something about it seems oddly familiar, but she’s not entirely sure why. She considers just letting the thought pass and continuing onward to the farmhouse, but then she sees Apple Bloom emerge from behind the tree.

“Sup, sister!” says the young farmgirl. “Ah know yer eager to get inside and greet my big bro in many different ways, but first, mah friends and Ah wanna show ya somethin’. Just stay right there, and go along with this.”

Eager as Spitfire is, she’s more than willing to wait a little longer. Apple Bloom always has something interesting to say or do, and it’d be rude not to enjoy this… whatever it is.

Sweetie Belle also comes out from behind the tree, standing next to Apple Bloom. Scootaloo joins them as well. Then, on the other side of the tree, from seemingly out of nowhere, comes the sound of strumming. Spike and Caramel are there, both holding acoustic guitars and lightly strumming a slow yet exciting song. Spitfire is pretty sure she recognizes this too, but like the apple tree, she’s not sure from where.

Sweetie Belle clears her throat and opens her mouth, as do Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. Then, bizarrely, they start singing.

“Iiiiit’s nooot… easy having yourself a good tiiiime!
Greasing up those bets and betters, watching out they don’t four-letter.
Fuck and kiss you both at the same tiiiiiime!
Smells like something I’d forgotten, curled up, died, and now it’s rotten…”

Spitfire remembers the song. The last time she had heard it, it was during her and Big Mac’s second date. They had gone to a sports bar to watch a hockey game with a few friends. By the time the game reached its halfway point, Spitfire had already drank herself into oblivion, and was dancing around like a moron singing a bastardized version of whatever song was playing on the speakers. This was that song.

It may not be most people’s definition of romantic, given how filthy and ambiguous the lyrics are, but given its association, it’s more than romantic enough for Spitfire.

“I’m not a gangster tonight, don’t wanna be a bad guy.
I’m just a loner, baby, and now you’ve gotten in my way…”

Spitfire finds herself tapping her foot as the music hits its stride. Even if Apple Bloom and Scootaloo aren’t the most refined singers in comparison to Sweetie Belle, they’re more than good enough.

“I can’t decide whether you should live or die.
Oh, you’ll probably go to heaven, please don’t hang your head and cry.
Don’t wonder why my heart feels dead inside, it’s dark and cold and petrified.
Lock the doors and close the blinds, we’re going for a riiide!”

A beefy finger taps Spitfire on the shoulder. She turns around and sees her Big Mac, who has switched out his casual attire for a fancy suit and overcoat. He’s quiet as ever, but there is definitely something more vocal about his appearance than usual. He seems to be breathing heavily, and his face is more red than usual. He’s nervous or excited about something. Perhaps both.

Spitfire looks down and sees why. In his hand, he’s holding a small black box. He opens it to reveal a gold ring, which boasts a lightning bolt crossed with an apple.