Some fic with Rarity

The pleasant embrace of deep sleep leisurely faded away from Greywing as rays of bright morning sunlight shone down through the window, casting a warm glow upon his sleepy face and impelling him back into the waking world. His disapproval was voiced in the form of an irritated groan and a fruitless attempt to shield the luminosity from his adjusting eyes with a handful of silky bedsheets.

A harsh reminder of the previous night rushed back to the exhausted stallion with an agonizing headache that made him feel as though his head was stuck in an ever-tightening vice. The assault of bright light on his sensitive eyes only intensified the feeling, while an onslaught of unpleasant sensations from the obvious hangover threatened to make him upchuck whatever was consumed before.

"Ohhh, son of a..." Greywing groaned, lifting a shaky hand up to his temple and massaging it in an effort to relieve his aching head. It helped very little, the pain still overbearing in contrast with the small amount of short-lived relief.

"Never again," he thought. "I'll never touch alcohol again. Not if it means going through this every time. I mean it. I swear to The Princesses."

He was lying, of course. This wasn't the first time he'd experienced the aftermath of drinking, and it definitely wouldn't be the last. Alcohol was too good to give up, and besides, it's not like he consumed it excessively; that was reserved for special occasions.

Greywing laid there for several eternity-long minutes, praying that his agony would let up just a tad so that he could relax and focus on getting a grasp on what brought him into the current situation. The throbbing tension in his skull hadn't let up at all, in fact getting worse as the sun reached its peak in the sky, fully shining its blinding luminosity on his face. The blankets didn't help at all.

With a groan, the pained stallion rolled over onto his right side...

... only to come face-to-face with a sleeping mare on the other side of the bed.

The very first instinct that came to Greywing was to jump out of the bed, throw on some clothes in a hasty and messy manner, and bolt out the door. However, his proximity to the mare would definitely mean her waking up and leading into an awkward conversation if he were to make any such movement. Thus, Greywing fought off his natural flight response in favor of thinking up a hopefully-smoother means of escape. He studied the sleeping form next to him.

Thick blankets wrapped around her body curled-up body like a fluffy cocoon, the mare had an alabaster coat and indigo mane, both of which were messy and unkempt for whatever reason She was rather good-looking, possessing a certain unique beauty not commonly-seen among most mares.

Greywing thought back to the previous night, and vaguely remembered meeting somepony at the party he was brought to; talking, laughing, chatting, drinking, and having a great time with said pony was all that came to mind before his memory took a dive off a cliff. Who they were, the stallion couldn't remember. It's as though the memory itself was a filmstrip, which some malign pony decided to shear in half. He stared at the sleeping mare for a few seconds, narrowing his eyes in thought.

And then it came to him: he was in bed next to this beauty, an aggressive hangover and a loss of memory evident after a night of drinking.

Greywing's face grew hot; the implications were very obvious.

With cat-like delicateness and a visibly-surprised expression on his face, Greywing slid the bed-covers off his body. He was naked.. Cocking an eyebrow, he gingerly slid off the bed, careful not to make a sound.

The room appeared to be that of a hotel's, Greywing noticed, with pasty and bland white walls. From where he stood, the bed, metal-framed with a lumpy mattress, sat directly to his right, the window on the wall a few feet to his left, a door which looked like it's seen better days on the far right wall, and a dusty, decaying bookcase planted firmly against the front wall. A typical cheap hotel room.

Greywing shook his head at his lack of drunken taste in hotels and tip-toed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a faint click. He immediately swooped down to the sink, twisting the faucet and splashing the ice-cold water onto his face.

It was unpleasant, yes, but in a way, it helped combat the vice-like headache and felt very soothing.