When the sun is away, predators play.
Cold Hard Bitch
The burn of whiskey was only one of many sensations assaulting your mind in the crowded Equestrian bar. The most prominent was the boisterous din of happy conversation.
The tavern was smallish. Not quite so to be called cozy, but it was a nice little place. It had the feel of one of those old Irish pubs back home. You decide this was an apt analogy and you share the insight with your long time friend on the stool next to you.
“Yeah…I can see it,” he agreed nodding as he looks about the establishment.
You signal the bar…pony for two beers and two shots. The night is still fairly young. And there are plenty of bad decisions just begging to be made.
Only five years after the portal opened off the coast of Cuba. The new worlds had become veritable hotspots for voyeuristic personalities on both sides. Granted the first two years were a bit…hectic. The mass panic, the contact riots, the embargo. It had been, shaky at first. You wouldn’t realize it looking at it now. The bar, while admittedly dominated by ponies, there were a handful of humans mingling about. They were easy enough to spot in a crowd. They tended to tower above their equine compatriots.
The drinks finally slide across the bar and settle perfectly in front of your seats. You clink the small glass and you toss back another wave of mind numbing amber fire. The man by your side is your childhood best friend. He sports a head of jet black hair and handsome boyish features. He’s actually older than you but no one ever believes it. You’re a fair bit bigger than him. The five-o-clock shadow gives you a much older appearance. Less pretty, but more rugged, which is how you preferred it.
The night wore on pretty regularly. A little number of a pegasus mare came and tried to hit on your friend. His flushed face and flustered reaction was enough to make you choke on your drink in amusement. He was still getting used to the whole species taboo. She was pretty cool about it though. Apparently the Equestrians were a bit more open when it came to relationships. Likely one of the benefits of evolving on a planet alongside other sentient species. The arrival of one more was much less of a shock for them than it was for the previously lonely human race.
The mare stayed and chatted for a few moments. Her name was Flitter. You think. It was getting difficult to hear. A voice across the room was getting a bit rowdy. You do your best to ignore it.
But as the night goes on the voices near the back are just getting more heated. The crowd finally parts enough for you to see it’s not a person, nor a pony for that matter. It was a griffon girl. She apparently was having a ‘small disagreement’ with another patron.
This was the first time you’d actually seen a real live griffon. You allowed yourself to stare a bit, eager to see if they lived up to the stories.
She was larger than the average pony, which admittedly wasn’t hard to do. Most ponies were three and a half feet tall at most. Even on hind legs not a single one broke six feet, horns included.
She had chestnut brown fur, lithe lean legs that led up to her curvier backside and abdomen. A set of powerful looking wings rested along her sides folded neatly barring the occasional twitch she used to accent various points in her speech. Your gaze follows the curve of her chest along her breast whereupon the fur gave way to an array of downy, snow white feathers. She had piercing golden eyes that scanned the room like…well…to say ‘a hawk’ might be a bit of a redundant cliché but that’s exactly how they were so bite me.
The feathers around her sharp eyes were a soft powdered purple, almost giving the illusion of a smoky eye shadow. Overall you were forced to admit she presented quite a striking figure. As far as mythological predators went, that is.
“Hey, Flitter?”
“Hmm?” she cocks an eyebrow from over the rim of her fishbowl sized blue cocktail.
“What the hells going on back there with the griffon chick?”
She looked over her shoulder. “Oh, her,”
“You know her?”
“Unfortunately. She pops in every now and then and picks fights like she’s got something to prove. Just try not to provoke her. She has a bit of a temper.”
“…because she’s a griffon?”
“…because she’s a bitch,” Flitter corrected.
You turned back to your drinks. Although tempting, if half of the stories are true, you decide not to introduce yourself. Griffons had a bit of a reputation. Whether or not it was accurate or not was a popular matter of debate but it was apparently enough of a concern to bother putting a general warning in the Griffon section of the Pocket Guide to Equestria.
Flitter finishes her drink. “Well boys, I should get back to my friends. If either of you have a change of heart my offer still stands.” She winked seductively before sauntering back to her group. Your friend blushes again, but you smile amicably and wave goodbye. She seemed nice.
‘Another time maybe,’ you console yourself, swallowing the last of your beer. Your head is buzzing pleasantly and you decide to simply enjoy your evening. You shoot the shit with other patrons, swapping stories and reliving childhood memories with your friend. All is good. It’s a little tame compared to what you would normally consider a fun night. A fact for which your friend was probably grateful. He had bailed your ass out of more than a few drunken adventures. So you were content to settle for a normal night on the town every now and then.
You signal the barpony for a few more rounds. Your drink slides across the bar toward you. You reach you hand out to stop it but the drink never comes.
A claw of sharp yellow talons intercepts the drink, wrapping around the glass before raising it to the beak of the very griffon girl from earlier.
She locked her golden irises on you as she swallows your whiskey, just daring you to say something.
You grin involuntarily. Things just got interesting.
“Got somethin’ to say?” she asks in what must have been her most intimidating voice.
Your grin widens. You can’t help yourself. “If you wanted me to buy you a drink all you had to do was ask,” you answer smartly as you signal for another shot.
The almost blush and fluster of feathers was more than a reward for the lost drink. “The Hell did you just say to me?!” The griffon roars.
“Please don’t start something,” your friend drones from behind you. He sounds bored.
You’re just getting excited. “Sorry, maybe you couldn’t hear me over the sound of you being a total cunt.” You catch the drink as it slides to you throwing back the liquor like a frat boy at a party.
“You are gonna get us deported,” your friend stated matter of factly, not even bothering to look up from his drink, as if it had already happened.
“You should listen to your friend,” the griffon seethed. The rage in her eyes could have killed a small mammal. “I suggest you watch you smartass mouth before I smack it off.”
“Ooooh! Kitten has claws,” you say as insultingly as possible.
She knocks the empty glass from you hand, sending it shattering against the floor. Her rage only doubles when she sees you smiling at her outburst. She grabs your jacket nearly pulling you off the bar stool. “You think I’m fucking joking?!”
You chuckle, “You should probably stop touching me before I get mad,”
Her grip on your jacket only tightens.
You turn off the bar stool and stand. Your bigger than her, but not by much, just enough to where she has to look up to make eye contact. “Last chance, kid.”
“What are you gonna do about it?” she shoves you back into the bar knocking several glasses to the floor. “I think you need a little education as to who's in charge around here,” she seethed flaring her wings and rolling her shoulders. “You’re gonna remember the name Gilda fucking Griff-”
You slug the girl across the cheek, hard, cutting her off mid-sentence and sending her stumbling backward before she trips over a chair falling into a heap of feathers on the floor. Several onlookers let out an ‘oooooh’.
“You hit a girl,” your friend notes from his spot at the bar.
“Equal Opportunity, man. You clearly learned nothing about equality from that workshop,” you retort, shaking out your hand and bouncing excitedly on your toes.
“That’s not how equal opportunity works,” he panned as he sipped his drink.
“My ass kickings knows no gend-”
You never get to finish as a freight train of talons feathers and fur slams into you, sending you and the griffon to the ground. The griffon grabs you by the shirt and slams a clenched fist into your jaw. She manages to land another before you kick the girl off and drive the heel of your boot into her rib cage.
She smashes a nearby chair over your back the second you manage to stand up and pain lances through your shoulder. She throws a wild haymaker at your head. You catch her arm easily enough and you close the distance delivering a nasty elbow to the face. She falls back before un-fazing herself as she roars and buffets her wings launching herself at your midsection, knocking the wind out of you and sending you both back to the floor.
But the floor never comes. Strangely you feel the strangest tingling sensation all over your body. It takes you a moment to realize you’re being levitated by some unseen unicorn. Your world goes dark as you’re tossed out of the bar and into the shock of icy cold air by what must have been the bouncer. You collide with a brick wall before landing unceremoniously on the concrete alley pavement. There is a thin layer of snow on the ground. It feels pretty good against your sore jaw.
You run your tongue over your teeth like a wolf, tasting blood. You lay on the cold ground taking a brief stock of your injuries.
All teeth accounted for
Jaw functional
No serious broken bones
Balls …One….Two.
Overall not bad. You wonder if the griffon did any better.
Suddenly the chime of unicorn magic and an uncharacteristic squawk make you open your eyes just in time for a tangle of feathers wings and fur to land squarely on your back knocking all the wind from your lungs and from the sharp pain, probably breaking a rib. It takes you a moment to register what happened. Of course they couldn’t have thrown her out a different door. Lucky you.
You roll the griffon girl off you back before attempting to get to your feet.
You both groggily start to examine your surroundings. A very dark alley behind an Equestrian bar, and it looks pretty much exactly like how that sounds.
Its still snowing, the accumulated ice crystals crunch under you knee as you lift yourself from the ground. You look over to see the griffon doing something similar.
Your eyes meet and both freeze as you remember what you were doing. It only takes a fraction of a spilt second for her to move. Her long tail wrapped around your ankle yanking you off your knees and sending you down on your shoulder. She pounces on her now downed quarry, but is met with a hard kick in the gut, sending the girl backward with a squawk and puff of feathers.
You scramble to your feet as she recovers. You crack your neck allowing her get back on her…paws? After all you’re a sporting fellow. You wouldn’t want this to be too easy.
She rights herself. Snarling at you in what must have the lion half of her coming to front. You motion your fingers in a come-hither taunt, grinning cheekily despite your aching face.
She doesn’t seem fond of you attitude. She sneers and gives her claws a flick causing a set of talons to spring forth, successfully wiping the smile off your face. It was her turn to grin.
The griffon crouched before leaping through the snowy air. You step aside but still manage to take a healthy swipe from her talons across your forearm. Hot streams of sticky blood run down your skin.
She takes advantage of the opening and drives her fist into your stomach as hard as she could, doubling you over. Her tail wraps around your ankles, and with one final yank you’re on your back, the hard icy pavement knocking any remaining air from your lungs.
She lazily sits on your chest, one claw pinning you’re arm to the pavement, the other pressing a razor sharp talon to your throat.
Fuck.
She’s breathing heavily as her tail flicks back and forth, like a cat.
Well. Here is where you die. You think to yourself. Slashed to death in an alley by a griffon with an attitude problem… Eh…Shame really. She’s kinda cute. Oh well there are probably worse ways to go.
She grabs a fistful of your hair and presses the talon against your skin and hooking it around the back of your neck. Here it comes. You think just waiting for the hammer to fall.
Her eyes are still boring into you filled with a predatory gleam. You can feel her heart hammering in her chest. Her tongue dart out and catches drop of blood leaking from her beak. Wow. She really getting into this.
She crushes her mouth into yours. Your eyes shoot wide as she kisses you. Her claws wrapping around the back of your head pulling you closer.
You recover from the initial shock much more quickly than you probably should have. After realizing you were not about to die. Just the opposite in fact. Any coherent thought is obliterated by raw instinct as you feel her force her tongue into your mouth.
You reach behind her head grabbing a fistful of feathers and returning the fiery kiss with wild abandon. Your tongue immediately went to war with the intruding muscle while you both press your mouths together so hard it hurts. And while your human lips didn’t exactly match up with her warm beak, no one would be able to say you weren’t making up for it with sheer enthusiasm.
Your free hand finds its way to the space between her wings and they immediately spring to their impressive full span. You run your hand against the fur along her spine causing her to moan into your mouth. Her waist grinds against your own as she presses herself closer to you, her chest rubbing along yours. You can feel her fur through the t-shirt under your open jacket.
You lean up pushing the griffon back with your mouth, so you can get off the ice covered ground. She doesn’t seem fond of forfeiting any territory, but she does so anyway, taking advantage of the positioning to remove your jacket, leaving it in the snow and wrapping her forelegs back around your neck.
You’re in just your boots jeans and a t-shirt now. It’s easily below freezing, but your mind barely notices. Your nerves are on fire. Swirls of steam roll off your exposed flesh where beads of sweat are forming despite the cold, dense clouds of water vapor leave your mouths whenever you briefly part for a breath.
You finally get back on your feet. Her claws are still wrapped around your neck as your tongues continue to slide against one another, each of you exploring the strange layout of your partner’s mouth. The griffons tongue is thin but probably longer than your own. The muscle lingers along your canines, savoring the partially serrated teeth.
You finally get back to your feet. One arm draped around her waist, the other reaching down to grip her toned rear. Her hind legs are wrapped around your hips like a vice, grinding her pelvis into yours as rough and messily as possible. Since your effectivey holding her up, you take the opportunity to pin her against the cold brick wall, holding her between yourself and the masonry.
She squawks in response to the rough treatment, whether in pleasure or pain you don’t know, but you don’t waste any precious brain cells finding out. You break the vicious kiss and bury you teeth into her soft downy neck. Her breath catches in her throat and her claws dig into your back. You supplement the attention on her exposed neck with the occasional bites. Her talons sink into your back, easily poking through the cotton T-shirt, and judging from the hot liquid feeling running down your lower back, probably your skin too. You’re too drunk and aroused to care at the moment.
You continue the assault on her neck and chest while one hand works the flight muscles of her golden brown wings. The other squeezes and savors her luscious hindquarters, kneading and squeezing the flesh under her soft warm fur.
Her tail wraps around your thigh, pulling and aching for a closeness that will never happen with your clothes on.
There was nothing romantic or sensual about it. You both knew it. It was rough, and sloppy, hard and fast, nothing more or less. Two predators out for blood, shamelessly demonstrating the primal connections of sex to violence.
With her toned rear legs locked firmly around you waist, pinning her between your body and the cold rough brick. While your assault on her neck continues her talons hook under the base of you tattered cotton T-shirt, pulling it from your body and forcing you to temporarily stop your attentions.
She takes advantage of the lapse to grab a clawful of your hair and force your mouth back up into hers. It greedy, domineering, and possessive. She bites your lip as you separate causing you to hiss in pain. It only seems to encourage her though. She grins wickedly as she closes again.
Despite your position you can’t help but feel that she is still the one dictating the tempo. You decide to change that. Your hand moves further up her hind legs.
You almost regret it. She sucks in air, her eyes shoot open, and talons dig painfully into your back as every neuron in her body begins to fire. Her claws are buried in your skin, but you only continue your assault on her reserve. She’ll break before you. You only up the ante, moving back to the hollow of her throat with your lips and teeth while you continue to send pangs of electricity up her spine with some slight of hand.
You’re able to continue overloading her senses for several moments before she regains control of herself. Her heaving breath catches and her rear paw plants itself on your chest roughly shoving you backward into the opposite brick wall.
She lands on all fours, still breathing heavily, but with an entirely new glint in her eye. Her sharp golden irises blazed like hot metal. You kept your smug self satisfied grin, but on the inside you had to admit you were a bit intimidated by the look. You think you may have preferred the fiery wrath-filled glare from when she was trying to kill you. This was much more frightening. Lust raged in her eyes like an inferno. The salacious griffon was done with the games.
She spread her wings crossing the distance in leap, snarling as she slammed you into the wall, reversing your earlier positions. Her mouth crashed into yours while her talons dug into your shoulders to make up for your slight height advantage. You reached behind her, finger working the muscles in her painfully stiff wings. She purred into your mouth at the ministrations, but it was like fighting a fire with diesel fuel.
She releases your shoulders, tongue still dancing inside your teeth, and begins blindly fumbling with your belt buckle. Her haste and lack of experience with the human accessory only causes her to get frustrated, she removes her tongue from your mouth and merely slices the thick leather band with a talon.
There goes a perfectly good belt, but you’ve lost more important shit for a lot less so you don’t worry about it.
She grins victoriously and grips the waistband of the blue jeans, pulling you closer.
She was right about to say something when a blinding white light causes you both to separate, wincing at the pain in your eyes. She raises a wing to block the light.
“Break it up, you two,” a deep authoritative voice commands from behind the light. He lowers the flashlight, allowing your eyes to adjust, revealing a pair of stallions in golden armor.
You roll your eyes at the interruption.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Gilda mumbled, voicing her own displeasure.
The guards came closer, getting a better look at the two of you. One of them whistled at the sight, “Sweet Luna, son, what the hay happened to you?”
You could only imagine what you looked like, standing shirtless in the snow, bruised and probably covered in small lacerations.
You look at the griffon by your side whose blush was evident even through her feathered cheeks.
You scratch the back of your head. “Uuuuhhh…”
~~~~~
“You what?” the nurse asked once more, raising an eyebrow incredulously.
“I fell down some stairs,” you repeated as she tied off the last stitch in your arm.
“….Stairs?” she affirmed, as if just having you repeat it enough times would expose the obvious lie.
“Stairs,” you assured adamantly.
The nurse cast furtive glances at the griffon girl anxiously sitting cross legged behind you, still quietly blushing and clearly wanting to get out of the emergency room as quickly as possible.
If the nurse had any grasp of rational thought at all, she knew you were lying through your teeth. But she didn’t press it, apparently knowing when to keep her mouth shut.
You step out of the warm well lit hospital into the ice cold dark air, fresh snow crunching under your boots. Your tattered T-shirt is long gone so you zip your jacket all the way up to help fight off the wind. Plus it helps hide most of the bandages under the thick fabric.
Gilda walks out shortly after you, plodding up to your side in a way you almost dared call sheepish.
You stand there, enjoying the briefs span of remaining darkness you have until the sun finally comes up.
“Thanks,” she finally mutters, after clearing her throat. She doesn’t say why she said it but you’re pretty sure you know.
You fish a cigarette out of a pocket of the jacket, happy to see they weren’t all broken in the fight. “Don’t mention it,” you say igniting the stick with a cheap plastic lighter.
You stand there awkwardly for a few moments. Gilda shifts her rear legs uneasily, her tail twitched erratically. It takes you a minute to remember she was left off in a bit of a state after the cops sent you to the hospital.
She catches you staring. You raise an eyebrow and lift the corner of your mouth.
“My place is a few blocks from here,” she says simply, leaving the statement out there for you to do with as you wish. She looks back at you, her former nervousness gone, and her own brow raises in what you swore was a challenge.
You blow the last bit of smoke from your lungs, and regard the griffon with a cocky smile. She shrugs and begins to walk down the sidewalk, and into the night. Her hips sauntering back and forth and tail flicking back and forth in a way that’s just begging you to follow.
“Why not,” you think to yourself, as you follow Gilda into the darkened streets. She chirps happily when she see’s you’ve taken the bait and she increases her pace to maintain a playful distance. “After all it would be rude leave a job unfinished.”
There exists a state of mind when in the process of waking where one is neither truly awake or asleep. The twilight of consciousness where one is ever so slowly regaining control of one’s faculties. The heart rate quickens, and the lungs begin to pull heavy drags of air into your chest. The brain begins to switch on various stimuli that were muted for the sake of rest.
An awful, throbbing, all encompassing pain is the first thing your waking brain registers. A slow involuntary groan escapes you. Your head is pounding and you feel like you got hit by a truck. You work your jaw back and forth. Your lip feels cut and you can only assume the crusty feeling on your chin is dried blood.
You run your tongue over your teeth as you verify that they’re all still there. Your tongue feels fuzzy. You’ve had hangovers before… probably too many. But this was different. It actually felt like you got your ass beat into the ground.
Your mind fruitlessly tries to rationalize your condition. What the hell happened? You open an eye and immediately regret it. Its bright. Bright and white. Too white and too bright. It hurts and you don’t like it. You crunch your eyes back shut only to realize that your head still feels like splitting in two. You squint an eye open and see the endless field of white.
Feathers.
Those are feathers.
You try and rationalize this for several moments as the rest of your body wakes up. You pull back and realize the feathers are attached to something. You try to pull back further to investigate but you're quickly racked with sharp pain as several talons dig into the bare skin on your back. Your torso is pulled back into the warm feathers of the creature in your bed. Through your one good eye you see a huge chestnut brown wing descend over you.
Its warm.
Very warm. It feels nice. You try and free up a hand. Its numb as shit and clumsy. You accidentally slap yourself in the face attempting to rub your eyes. With some reluctance you pull the wing down enough to get a eyeful of the room.
It’s not yours.
That much is obvious.
This isn’t even your house.
You blink several times. You’re beginning to have a sneaking suspicion you might not be in Kansas anymore…
In the metaphorical sense of the phrase. You've never been to Kansas because... why would you? There's nothing there. Not that you know of at least. You assume Judy Garland is there, probably some tumbleweeds, but that's it.
You look out the window and squint at the bright sun shining through. No buildings, but there's some light snow on the sill.
No clue.
What the fuck.
You mentally take stock of your situation. You are hungover as fuck, beat to shit, and in someone else’s home. You shift around before noticing something else.
Also you’re naked.
This is less than ideal.
You shift uncomfortably feeling the cover cling to you in a very unpleasant way.
Why the fuck am I sticky?
The warm feathery creature cuddling you lets loose a long purring/snorey sound.
Also that.
What the serious fuck.
You wiggle out of the embrace and sit up taking proper stock of your surroundings. You confirm for the third time that this is not your house.
Your ass-cheek hits something cold and hard. You lean over and pull an empty bottle of whiskey from the bed. That explains the headache but you usually don’t black out like this. You toss the bottle onto the floor where it lands on the carpet next to several other empty bottles of various kinds.
It’s all coming together now.
Fuck how much did you drink last night?
You swivel around to see your bed-mate.
You ponder the scene for longer than should have been necessary.
A griffon….
Like a wave it all comes crashing back.
Gilda
Bar fight
Alley fight
Cops
Hospital
Apartment
Angry sex
At last we reach the center of the shrubbery maze. You grin to yourself despite the pain. That girl was a fucking firecracker. That also explains where your clothes went. Your eyes travel across her sleeping form. You reach over and run a hand across her chest and through the soft luxurious brown fur until you reach the curve of her hips.
Her tail twitched involuntarily and your grin widens.
You pull your eyes away with some hesitation. Nature calls. Your feet hit the cool carpet. The air in the apartment is cold, probably because it’s winter. As evidenced by the small amount of snow on the windowsill.
You muscle through it and make to to the small connected bathroom. You take one last look at the prone form of the Griffon girl... Griffoness? Griffonette?
Gilda
She’s pretty curvy for a quadruped. You realize in passing you just had your interspecies cherry popped. Nice. #OneSmallStepForMan
You catch yourself staring. That’s probably a weird thing to do to a sleeping girl. Although considering some of the shit she did last night ‘staring’ doesn’t seem taboo. You know… comparatively speaking.
You close the bathroom door and waddle over to the mirror.
You look rough.
Your upper arm is bandaged and bloody. There’s a hospital bracelet still on your wrist. You should really check on your stitches and see if they tore out during the festivities.
You got a half respectable shiner on your left eye. A split lip. Whether that from the fight or a love nip from your dancing partner who knew. There appears to be a bite mark on your shoulder and…
You twist in front of the mirror
Sure enough. Your back is covered in small scratches.
You take a deep breath and roll your shoulders.
Could be worse.
You make your way over to the toilet and you sit down like a girl because you’re smart and you remember what happens when you try to pee the morning after sex.
Sufficiently relieved you make your way back to the sink and let the water run over your hands before splashing some on your face. You scrub off the dried blood from your lip and knuckles before drying off looking...somewhat better than you did when you came in.
You open the door to the bedroom and reconvene you creeping on the sleeping girl. Her wing hangs uselessly over the spot you once occupied. You feel a twinge of guilt in your heart for not being under it.
Wait, what? Guilt?!
“No I fucking do not.” You think to yourself.
You’re not getting attached to her.
You just met her. You’re going to get your pants and sneak the fuck out before she wakes up.
Because you’re a fucking rolling stone, baby. And your ass gathers no moss and offers no apologies. Lone wolf. A heartbreak-
“Oh shit. I’m back in the bed.” You realize internally as you look around and see you’ve gingerly slipped back under the covers while you were monologuing.
Gilda’s wing twitches as it descends over you.
“I will be leaving here very shortly.” You remind yourself as you reach a hand around her waist and pull her closer to you. You bury your head back into the downy feathers of her chest and neck.
With your head against her chest you can feel her purring. It’s a nice sound. Shame you’ll be walking out that door never to hear it again. She must be more awake than you think as you feel her snake her talon the back of your head where it settles holding you in place against her chest. Her talons were gently combing through your hair sending pleasant shivers down your spine.
“I certainly have no interest in this. Rolling stone and such…”
You reach your free hand up under the pillows where it quickly finds Gilda’s unoccupied claw.
“Definitely not crushing super hard…” You rationalize as you begin to drift back to sleep. You interlace your fingers with Gilda’s claws. She hums happily and returns the affection.
The last thing you feel is her wing tightening over you.
“This whole intimacy thing is for the birds…”
Author's Note
Forgot about this.
Yesterday was back bi's and core superset so I woke up feeling like I got jumped.
Reminded me of this.
