Nights Of Love

Chapters

Through A Glass Darkly — PageScales
Greater Love Hath No One — CitrusBurn
And She Clave Unto Her — AppleSeed

Through A Glass Darkly — PageScales

Through A Glass Darkly

"Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning, a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable."
—Bruce Lee

With night looming on the horizon, the celebration continued throughout Ponyville. Page Turner watched as his daughter’s friends, family, and acquaintances—many of whom he had just met today—took the first reception with them, dancing, laughing, and sharing champagne as they headed towards the second. The parties had yet to end, even if the two brides had already turned in for their wedding night.

Turner found himself smiling, a proud grin on his muzzle. He had never imagined he would even meet the foal he suspected he had fathered all those years ago, much less attend her wedding. Everything that had transpired in these past few months aside, he considered himself to be a lucky stallion.

A very lucky stallion, as the presence of that mare’s mother reminded him.

“Something wrong, Page?”

Turner looked over to see Libra Scales standing beside him. Together, the two stood on the platform of the Ponyville Train Station. The last train to Appleloosa raced away from them, Citrus and Braeburn having left them behind.

While Turner knew he would be seeing them soon, he ached to see them leave early. However, he also knew exactly why they chose to depart early tonight, and could only grin further.

Still, Turner wouldn’t be returning back to the desert plains for a few more days. He, his daughter, and his daughter-in-law would be spending some quality time together… along with the mare standing beside him.

“Oh, nothin’, Libra,” Turner said. “Jus’... thinkin’.”

Libra, still in her dress, ran a forehoof through her mane. The sleek, billowing silk of the dress clung delicately to her figure, though it flattered her, its dark shades of blue complementing her light-orange irises perfectly. Whatever remaining thoughts that pierced through Turner’s thick skull were completely forgotten as he looked over at her.

“About what?”

“Er…” Turner broke his stare and glanced down at his hooves, the slightest tinge of pink spreading across his muzzle. “Jus’... Youze know, Citrus an’ Brae takin’ off so early.”

Libra snorted. “Oh, don’t you think on that too much, Page. I know exactly what they’re doing.”

Turner averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “Heh, well… Youze know how young couples are.” Fishing for the flask in the interior pocket of his tuxedo, he took a quick drink and stared at the sunset, letting liquid courage relax him.

Libra dismissed him with a forehoof. “Oh, I know. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s just going to take a little while for me to get used to it. Though, after everything that’s happened…”

Although her tone shifted a bit somber, Libra shook her head and added more cheerfully, “I can’t exactly say I didn’t expect it or don’t support it. Just that will take some time before I nudge them towards the altar.”

Wide-eyed, Turner spat out his whiskey.

While the stallion coughed, Libra raised an eyebrow. Laying a forehoof on his back, she asked, “Are you alright?”

“Bah… heh…” After wiping his muzzle clean, Turner caught his breath and tucked the flask away. “I’m fine. Braeburn, though? I think he might need a warnin’.”

Libra prodded his chest, rattling the flask in its pocket. “Don’t you dare, Page Turner.”

“Yes ma’am!” Turner chuckled while mock-saluting her.

Bringing a forehoof to her lips, Libra giggled, then shook her muzzle. She staggered slightly as she continued to laugh, becoming weak in her hooves.

With a wry grin, Turner draped a forehoof over her shoulders. “‘Ey, what’s so funny?”

“N-nothing,” Libra muttered, leaning into him as she poked at his chest. Sighing, she rested her muzzle underneath his chin. “Nothing at all…”

Perhaps due to the half-full flask of whiskey in his pocket, or maybe the slowly setting sun, Turner experienced a new rush of warmth on his muzzle. “Youze sure?”

Libra looked up at him and smirked. “So I was right.”

Turner blinked. “Right ‘bout what?”

“You’ve been drinking,” Libra said, a small smile on her lips.

“Oh…” Rubbing at his neck, Turner straightened his posture. “Well… Jus’ a lil’ bit. Heh. Youze know. Champagne at the reception, an’ then—”

Libra prodded at the bulge in his suit pocket. “And then some of your whiskey. Earlier, and just now. You’ve been drinking, Page. I can smell it on your breath.”

Ashamed, Turner continued to rub his neck while he pushed her forehoof away from his pocket. “Well, er, I’m… I’m tryin’ ta cut back. Afta Manehatten an’ everythin’... I know I should quit, but it’s a lot less than I used ta—er!”

A tug of his tie yanked him forward. Turner almost fell forward as Libra Scales pulled him down, meeting her muzzle with his own.

Bringing a forehoof to the side of his cheek, Libra lowered her eyelashes and said quietly, “I didn’t say that was a bad thing.”

Turner’s eyes widened. “Wh-what?”

As she released him, Libra looked around. The train station was completely deserted and closed, even its guards having departed for the brimming evening. Beyond the horizon, the sun began to gradually dip behind the northern mountains. A gentle but cool breeze spoke of a cold night to come. With nightfall approaching, she turned to the stallion again.

“It’s getting dark, Page.”

Confused, Turner simply nodded.

“And you’ve been drinking,” Libra said.

Turner bit his lip, nodding again.

“And you said you wanted to stay in town.”

“Yes…”

Libra narrowed her eyes. “With whom?”

“Er…” Taking a step back, Turner scrambled to think of an acceptable response.

While he had been staying with Libra for the past few months, things between them had been… mixed. Appearing to have forgiven him fully, she was reluctant to see him leave the cabin, even for a short while.

Though they exchanged kisses regularly, he sensed that she was holding back, restraining herself. While he detected a hint of intimacy in her touch, they had yet to share a bed together—not that he minded. Manehatten and all its hell had robbed him of energy for just about everything during his recovery, including libido.

His original intent was to spend the night at Sweet Apple Acres, hoping that there was a guest house or, at the very least, a cozy barn. When Applejack revealed that the guest house was pending construction by the more skilled of the newlyweds—who had not only been busy with the wedding, but taking care of his daughter, too—and that the Apples would be staying in town, he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

With no desire to trespass (along with wanting to respect the brides’ privacy), the barn and farmhouse were out of the question. Now that he had a decent amount of liquor in his blood, sleeping outside would not only be dangerous, but illegal. And he hadn’t exactly brought the bits for a hotel room, either.

So, when Page Turner finally looked back at Libra Scales, he could only shrug. “I… I’m not sure, Libra.”

Two raised eyebrows clashed with her narrowed eyes.

Turner sighed. “I was gonna stay wit’ Applejack an’ ‘em, but dey are stayin’ wit’ friends, an’ I wanna give Babs an’ Bloom some privacy.”

Libra’s expression softened, though her brow remained furrowed.

“I could sleep in the barn, but since Applejack didn’t give me dat option, I think dat wouldn’t be very kind o’ me.”

A small smile replaced her furrowed brow.

“So…” Turner sighed again, shaking his head. “I dunno. Didn’t bring the bits fo’ a hotel, an’ Celestia knows it ain’t a good idea ta sleep outside when I’ve been… havin’ a few drinks, even iffa it’s nice outside.”

“I see.” Libra met his gaze, then stepped towards him. “So… What you’re saying is that you’re not sure where you’re going to stay tonight?”

Turner shook his head, that same warmth washing over him as she approached. “Do youze?”

Libra rested a forehoof against his chest, looking up at him. “No, I was actually planning on staying with you, Page.”

Stayin’ wit’ me…?

Mortified, the slight pink on Turner’s muzzle reddened. “Oh… Sorry, Libra, I, uh…” He pulled out the exterior pockets of his tux, devoid of all but cloth. “I only took enough bits wit’ me fo’ a train ticket an’ maybe a meal. I thought I could jus’ stay at Sweet Apple Acres an’—”

“Then why didn’t you object when Applejack said she and the others were staying in town tonight with the Cakes?”

Turner shuffled his hooves. “I didn’t want ta impose.” Not on the day o’ ma daughta’s weddin’, most certainly not.

To this, Libra Scales said nothing, only studied him. Turner, far too old to be a nervous colt, felt his heart skip a beat in his chest as she regarded him, still touching him, still looking absolutely beautiful beyond words in the fading light…

“Alright.” Libra removed her forehoof from his chest. “Follow me.”

This time, Turner was the one to raise an eyebrow. “What are you—”

“Do you want somewhere to sleep tonight, Page?” she asked sternly.

Swallowing hard, he nodded.

“Then follow me.”

With that, took a few steps towards town center. When he didn’t immediately follow, she glanced over her shoulder and scowled. “Well?”

“Er…” Tearing his eyes away from her swishing tail, Turner muttered, “S-sorry, Libra. I’m comin’.”

Slowly but surely, he put one hoof in front of the other, following after her through the streets of Ponyville. The mare remained silent during their journey, though she occasionally waved and greeted some of the passer-by.

Turner greeted those he recognized, many of them shooting approving nods or grins in his direction. Looking down at his tuxedo—the finest piece of clothing he would ever own—he shrugged it off, assuming that the others were admiring his outfit. Dat mare Rarity did an amazin’ job… Makin’ dis tramp look like a high-class stallion. Heh, heh.

Turner zipped his lips as Libra Scales led him through the streets, though he remained thoroughly confused. Maybe she’s got a friend o’ two she didn’t tell me ‘bout who lives heeya? Somepony wit’ a guest room o’ two? O’ maybe—

“We’re here, Page.”

Stopping in his tracks, Turner shook out of his thoughts and followed her gaze. Before them was a three-story inn. The Horseshoe was painted in thick lettering across its facade. The inn appeared to be moderately upscale, painted with vibrant colors.

Through the front double-glass doors, Turner could see various fine sculptures and indoor plants decorating the lobby. This was most definitely no two-bit flea hotel—nothing like those he had resorted to in his darkest times, when he could hear screaming through the thin walls and count the mold spores on the ceiling.

Suddenly, his tongue became rather thick in his mouth. “Umm…”

“What’s wrong?” Libra asked, far too closely to him.

Turner glanced down to find her standing right beside him, her muzzle barely reaching his chest. “Uhh…” Looking back up to The Horseshoe, he paused, struggling to answer. What’s wrong?! What’s wrong is… I’m not sure youze know what I—

“Page? Are you okay?” Libra looped a forehoof around his neck. “Something wrong with this hotel?”

“N-no, nothin’s wrong wit’ it,” he managed at last, catching his nerves in his teeth. Forcing a smile, he looked back down at her. “Everythin’s fine. I… I jus’ am a lil’ surprised, dat’s all.”

“Surprised? Why?”

“Well… I told youze I don’t have the bits fo’ dis,” he admitted sheepishly, regretting his short-sighted nature. Should’ve had a backup plan, Turner… Now she’s shellin’ out hard-earned bits on youze ungrateful—

Libra chuckled. “Oh, I know. It’s on me, Page.”

Turner blinked. “C-come ‘gain?”

Stepping in front of him, Libra nudged towards the hotel. “Come on, let’s go and get ourselves a room. You can pay me back later.”

Get ourselves a room?!

Chuckling nervously, Turner mumbled, “L-l-later… Gotcha…”

With a grin spreading across her muzzle, Libra Scales turned around and started up the steps. Turner followed, making his steps slow, careful, deliberate. Her tail was flicking merrily behind her again. The stallion couldn’t help but stare at it, its swishing strands as hypnotic as a psychologist’s pocket watch before his eyes.

Before he could even process what was happening, Turner slipped inside The Horseshoe after Libra. They checked in at the reception desk, where the receptionist took their names and Libra’s fifty bits, before offering them the room key.

Room key.

“Finally. Let’s head up, Page,” Libra said with a grin, holding the key tightly in her forehoof. After thanking the receptionist, she started towards the stairs to the third level.

The warmth returned to his muzzle with a vengeance. Turner gave her a head start, waiting until she was several steps ahead of him before he followed. As he did so, the receptionist giggled to herself. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder.

The receptionist winked at him. “Anniversary night?”

Turner fidgeted with the buttons of his tuxedo. “Er, no… Ma—our daughta got married today.”

The receptionist clasped her forehooves together. “Oh, congratulations!”

“Th-thank youze.”

She winked again. “Better hurry up, or your daughter will be the only one getting lucky tonight, stud.”

“Heh—um—well—er” Turner stammered in reply, feeling his muzzle catch fire. Lucky? Stud?! Horseapples, I ain’t no mare-chasa no mo’! What the hay is dis lil’—

“Page, are you coming?”

Looking up, he called her, “Y-yes, Libra! Be right there!”

While he began following Libra up the stairs, Turner caught one last glance of the receptionist. She was smirking.

Holding the door open, Libra looked around their hotel room. “Not exactly as classy as I hoped, but not too bad, either,” she observed, scrunching her snout at the questionable wallpaper choices and the still-life paintings hanging against them.

Turner entered beside her and whistled low. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

Libra closed the door behind them and locked it, strike and door-chain both. She left the key on the small table beside the door, then walked over to the window. Three stories above Ponyville, she saw the streets below them beginning to empty.

In the night sky, Luna raised her parish lantern high, the harvest moon gleaming as it traversed its course across the atmosphere. Scores of stars peeked past their dark blanket, further illuminating the night. The Princess had kept her promise of a beautiful night in full.

Libra opened the window, leaving it slightly ajar. She stood there for a few moments in silence, letting the night breeze caress her face and mane.

Turner unbuttoned the jacket of his tuxedo and reached into its interior pocket, then set the half-full flask of whiskey beside the key on the table. After checking his other pockets and finding them empty, the stallion took in the room again.

Next to the small table was a lone chair. A writing desk sat against the adjacent wall, along with another chair. Against the wall to his right was the bed, full-sized and neatly made with two fluffy pillows. Next to where Libra stood was a nightstand, a single lamp and a small bouquet of flowers on top of it.

Not only had she booked a single room, she had booked one with a single bed.

It momentarily became rather difficult to breathe.

Libra Scales turned away from the window, moonlight casting a silver shadow over her features. Her freckles, her eyes, her mane all glowed in the darkening room as she looked over and smiled at him, her molars perfect and pristine. The dress accentuated her features even more perfectly in this light and this side of her.

She’s beautiful… Jus’ as beautiful as she always was…

“Page?”

“Uh!” Horseapples!

Avoiding her eyes, Turner rambled, “Um, I was thinkin’, um, uh, iffa youze give me one o’ dem pillows, I can use sleep on the floor, use ma jacket as a blanket, nice an’ comfy dat way, youze know, heh…” All too aware of how stupid he sounded, he was still unable able to stop himself. “‘Cuz, heh, youze know what dey say, mares first, er, I mean, youze can have the bed, an’—”

“Page Turner,” Libra said calmly, “please come over here.”

Nodding, Turner shut his muzzle and walked over. When he reached her side, she turned around and pointed to the zipper on the back of her dress.

Turner bit his lip. “Er… Are… Um…”

“Can you give me a hoof, please?”

“S-sure.”

“Thank you,” Libra said, smiling softly.

Nodding again, Turner looked over to the zipper. Such a simple task should not have phased him in the slightest. During one of his gigs aboard a cruise ship, he often assisted some of the showmares with their elaborate outfits. The stallion was actually quite accustomed to formalwear, able to wrangle even the tiniest zipper on the first few tries.

Nonetheless, he struggled a bit out of nervousness with Libra’s, taking his time as he pulled the zipper down. She watched him over her shoulder as he worked, saying nothing, only smiling that same smile at him. Once he finished, she held out her forehooves, motioning for him to help her pull out of the dress’s sleeves.

Turner complied again, mentally berating himself all the while. Jus’ hurry up an’ get it done! Geez! Youze is makin’ dis far mo’ awkward then it needs ta be.

… Then ‘gain, I ain’t the one who brought her ta dis hotel an’ booked a single-bed room…

“Thank you, Page,” Libra said once her forehooves were free. She finished undressing, then folded the dress back up and sat it on the writing desk.

“Youze welcome,” Turner said, trying to hide his blush. She was far more beautiful without the dress than with it.

“I suppose you would like some help getting out of your tux, then?” Libra asked, lowering her tail as she turned back around.

Taken aback, Turner stuttered, “B-b-beg p-pardon?”

“It’s getting late, Page.”

“I-I know.”

“And you have been drinking.”

“Y-yes...”

Libra approached him slowly, cautiously, as if the space between them was littered with needles or nails, or perhaps something sharper. “We should probably be going to bed soon, don’t you think?”

We? “I suppose so,” he said quietly, then took a step to meet her.

When Libra reached him, the first thing she did was loosen his long, red tie, pulling out the Windsor knot. Next, she moved to the silver buttons of his tuxedo jacket. Her forehooves worked steadily, though with a tangible urgency. Silent and focused, she moved from one button the next, little beads of sweat forming on her forehead while she worked.

Turner chose not to break the heavy silence between them, choosing instead to remain still. He did not object when she worked his forehooves out of his jacket sleeves, nor when they tapped at the buttons on the cuffs. Complying with each and every silent request of hers, the stallion accelerated the process of his own undressing.

Soon, everything but his white, long-sleeved undershirt had joined the mare’s dress on the desk. Thirteen buttons to go.

Libra Scales returned from the dress to him and fumbled at his undershirt’s buttons, her forehooves shaking. Concerned, Turner looked down his snout and met her gaze. She mumbled something inaudible in response.

“Libra? Youze alright?”

Libra struggled with one of the buttons. “J-just give me a minute, Page,” she muttered. Her voice was shaking, too.

Anxiety rising in his chest, Turner nodded and exhaled slowly. Jus’ get dis ova wit’, an’ quick… Lie down an’ wait until tomorrowa… It’s too damn hot an’ cramped in heeya…

By some miracle, Libra managed to break free from the button that frustrated her so. She slowly moved to the next one, then the next. Less than a minute later, his undershirt was open, his fur chilled by the night breeze blowing across his coat.

“Th-there… That’s all of them,” Libra said, almost in a whisper. She avoided his eyes, a slight tinge of pink dotting her cheeks.

“Oh. Th-thank youze,” Turner said. “Couldn’t have got ‘em maself. Heh.”

Silence.

Turner looked down to see his forehooves still in his undershirt sleeves. “Um, Libra, do youze think youze could, uh…”

Libra was staring at her hooves.

Turner bit his lip. “Um… Iffa… Iffa dat’s okay…”

Libra looked back up and took a step forward.

Still biting his lip, he added, “Iffa not, I can get ‘em out maself. Jus’ takes me a bit. Heh, heh, you—”

Libra Scales laid her forehooves against his chest, pressed right above his heart, leaned up, and kissed him.

“—Mmf!”

Wide-eyed, his slight blush blooming scarlet, Page Turner staggered, taking a step back. Libra Scales responded by pressing harder, leaning into his chest and closing her eyes as her tongue knocked at the entrance of his mouth.

“Nnng…” Thoughtless, breathless, Page reached for Libra’s tongue with his own, accepting it and pulling her with him. His forehooves, their sleeves forgotten, curled around her waist, pulling her closer as she stood up on her hindhooves to reach him muzzle-to-muzzle.

With strong, measured, steps, she guided him to the wall, pushing him firmly against it. Grabbing at his mane with one forehoof, the mare pushed herself against the stallion and deepened their kiss, suckling on his tongue, running her own across his teeth.

As Page held her, he felt Libra tremble, felt her own heart thunder and jump in time with his. She clutched tightly at his mane, tugging at his roots, while lying flush against him. When her hips bucked against his twitching, awakening stallionhood, he finally opened his eyes.

Panting as she pulled away, she lowered her eyelids and looked up pleadingly into his copper irises, her own shining topaz crashing into his. “Pa—Page…”

Struggling for his own breath, he managed, “L-Libra…”

Her forehooves found his heart again, tugging at the thick tufts of fur protecting it. “I—I’m sorry. I… I just—”

“Sorry? Why are youze sorry?”

“I…” Sighing, she looked away from him, ashamed. “I… I know that things aren’t—that things will never be the same between us, but—”

He lifted her chin with a forehoof, forcing her to face him. “What—what are youze talkin’ ‘bout?”

Although she pushed his forehoof away, she didn’t flinch from his gaze this time. “Us, Page.”

“What ‘bout us?”

Libra sighed, her forehooves starting to shake again. “I… I know it’s been twenty years, and… and it seems so much has happened since then, especially in the past few months, but…”

Libra Scales, the mare whose cutiemark represented reason and rationality, trailed off, chewing furiously on her lip as she stared at the floor. Page Turner simply held her and waited, catching his breath, catching his rapidly beating heart as it threatened to end this conversation far too early.

It was irrational what she was about to say, and she knew it. But yet, she had to say it. Had to.

“Page…”

She stroked his mane as she leaned up against him, doing her best to meet his eye level. A soft but genuine smile spread across her blushing cheeks.

“Page, I… I know we didn’t know each other very well back then, and we don’t really now, either, but… I’ve enjoyed your company these past few months, and… It really has been wonderful having you in my life again…”

Page gently rubbed her back and smiled. “It… it’s been wonderful bein’ back in youze life, too. An’... havin’ youze in mine.”

Libra sniffled. It was only then that Page noticed the tears shining in her eyes.

At his frown, she continued, “N-no, I mean it. I am really glad that I found you… Or, rather, that Babs found you…

“And I guess… I just… After everything today, seeing my daughter get married to somepony she loves, and me being alone for all these years…”

The forehooves against his chest trembled. Page tightened his grip on her waist, holding her close and nuzzling her cheek. “Libra, it’s okay.”

“No… it’s not okay, Page.” Suppressing further tears, Libra took a deep breath before meeting his gaze once more. “I’ve been so alone for so long. I had to keep everything together… Keep everything together for Babs, and Citrus, and Brae, and the whole family, and…

“It’s been hard. It’s been bucking hard, Page.”

Unable to do anything but agree, he simply nodded. The thought of what his now-deceased excuse for a brother had done to Libra, his daughter, and his daughter’s sister—along with all of their family—made his blood boil. The faintest flicker of a snarl flashed across his muzzle, though it was immediately replaced by the small smile he offered up to her.

Libra took another breath, her whole body shaking against his. “It’s been so damn hard, and how I’ve managed to keep it together, I don’t even know.” She sighed again. “But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore, since everything is over and done with.”

“Yes, dat’s true…”

“But…” Her small smile returning, Libra stroked his mane tenderly, letting her forehoof trail down to his cheek. “Deep down, I am still lonely… Very, very, lonely… And having you around, even just the way that you have been, has been a blessing.”

Page couldn’t help let a blush follow his grin.

“But, still…” Shaking her head, Libra chuckled. “Still, in spite of everything, in spite of twenty years… When I look at you, Page…

“I know that, in spite of everything, there’s the stallion I fell in love with all those years ago. There’s the father of my Babs Seed.”

Libra was leaning closer to him, ever closer, every inch of her pressing against him. His breath caught in his throat and his heart skipped another beat.

Between them, he began to twitch and stir again between his hindhooves when she pressed that part of herself, slick and inviting, against him.

Page Turner blinked, then shut his eyes. When he opened them, Libra Scales was still lying against him, holding him, stroking his cheek, leaning ever closer.

Her words were melodious in his ears, her scent more intoxicating than any liquor. He tightened his grip around her waist, knowing what was coming, knowing it and wanting it and needing it so very, very much—

“And I find myself falling in love with that stallion again.”

Her breath was sweet on his muzzle, sweet and warm and welcome. He longed to feel the sensation of her lips against his, the touch of tongue against his. He yearned to unite with her, to be with her again, to join her and tell her of his most secret heart—

“Page Turner, I loved you then…”

He prayed silently to the Most High that he would be given a sign, a sign that this was truly real, that she was really saying this, and really going to say this—

“And I still love you now.”

When he finished his prayer, he opened his eyes, and found his mare in white illuminated in the moonlight as she laid against him. Above her mane, her halo shone even brighter, and he knew that the time had come.

“I love you, Page Turner,” Libra Scales whispered, trembling along with her words.

He moved one of his forehooves to cover both of hers.

“I love youze too, Libra Scales,” Page Turner whispered back, a tear of his own dotting his vision.

There was only a millisecond of hesitation, in which her eyes met his and found no falsehood, before they met again.

Libra leaned up and mashed her lips against his, pushing herself firmly against his chest. Page squeezed her waist and pulled her up, kissing back, just as hard. Her forehooves found the sleeves of his undershirt and moved quickly, pulling them free.

Once his undershirt fell to the floor, Libra turned, lifted her tail, and brushed it under his nose, smirking. Page gasped and blushed, almost falling forward, so powerful and tempting was her scent.

Libra winked at Page from over her shoulder, swishing her tail.

Needing no further prompting, instruction, direction, or suggestion, Page reached forward and wrapped his forehooves around her waist, lifting her up. Holding her tightly, he made his way towards their bed.

Libra straddled him, clinging to his waist and chest while she furthered their kiss, wrestling her tongue against his own. Her heat and his length intensified all the while, little encouragement necessary.

Once Page reached the bed, he laid Libra on her back, then climbed into bed beside her. His bones groaned and his joints protested, but he ignored them, heeding instead the demands of his heart.

Far from a young stallion, Page Turner long tired of mares who played games, mares who spoke from both sides of their muzzles, mares who teased and taunted but desired nothing. Libra Scales, far from a young mare herself, never engaged in that sort of nonsense with him—not then, not ever.

As he crawled on top of her, lying belly-to-belly, chest-to-chest with her as much as their differences would allow, she only further communicated her desire, sucking hard and fast on the tip of his tongue. While his forehooves found her sides and caressed them gently, her own flowed down his chest to his belly.

Between his hindhooves, Page’s black-and-pink stallionhood, all eight inches of it, broke free of its sheath, sliding between them and coming to rest against his stomach. Libra let out a little gasp when his warm member brushed against her fur, but otherwise continued the kiss, keeping her tongue and lips locked with his.

Closing his eyes, Page traced the contours of his mare, feeling her curves, her shoulders, waist, hips, and flanks. Time had only served to make her ever more beautiful. She was as lovely as she had been twenty years ago, albeit more sturdy. Years in the Appleloosian orchards had toned and thickened her muscles, not that he minded one bit.

While Page memorized the curvature of the mare beneath his touch, blindly stroking her fur, Libra, her own eyes closed, trailed her forehooves past his firm stomach towards his stallionhood. The stallion bucked his hips instinctively when her fetlocks softly brushed against the head. Grinning in their kiss, she moved her forehooves to the sides of his member, stroking teasingly slow and tender.

“Haah… Nnng…” Page opened her eyes and smiled down at her, breaking their kiss. “G-goin’ dat route already, eh?”

“Yes,” Libra answered, her tone slow and seductive as she continued to stroke his hardening flesh with her forehooves, “and it seems that you like it just as much as you did before.”

Page grunted in pleasure, closing his eyes. “Youze always did know how ta touch a stallion…”

Licking the side of his neck with a flattened tongue, Libra continued to stroke him, focusing primarily on the flat but throbbing head. “And you always knew how to touch a mare. How much longer before you take me?” she murmured, smirking.

“Mmm… Haah-aah… Not nice ta tease, Libra…”

“Says the stallion who stared at my flanks the whole way here,” Libra whispered back, nipping gingerly at his sensitive throat. Page groaned and squeezed her tight, almost enough to knock a breath out of her. She responded by replacing her gentle teeth with rough ones, leaving a deep impression on his flesh.

Page growled and threw his head back, grinding his stallionhood against her forehooves. Warm, thick pleasure throbbed through him, beginning at his member and spreading through his veins. If he wanted to last, he wouldn’t be able to handle her touch for much longer. Like his mare, he had been far too lonely for far too many years. Her forehooves alone were enough to make him writhe and thrash in ecstasy.

Raising his hips, Page stood up on his hooves, then stepped backwards. Resting only his forehooves on the mattress, he gently pulled her down so that her hindhooves hung lazily off the bed.

Libra raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Youze’ll see,” Page said with a wide smirk, wiggling his eyebrows.

Remembering back to when she had been in this same position with him, Libra’s blush deepened to crimson. Nodding, she laid her head on a pillow and spread her hindhooves, allowing him easier access.

Kissing from her neck down to her stomach, Page took his time, the mouth-watering scent of her marehood pressing him on. His stallionhood twitched at the mere smell of her. It had been far too long since he had been so close to this smell, thick and sweet and tantalizing.

Thankfully, the stallion was experienced enough to distinguish a mare’s scent when in heat from a normal arousal. As such, there was no need for questions, hesitation, or contraceptives; Libra was just aroused, and just for him, warm and wet and ready.

When he reached her clitoris, swollen and wanting, Page couldn’t help but smile. He had thought back to that night twenty years ago for his own private purposes many a time. Tonight, he had the chance to not only make another memory, but to make Libra his. He would not let himself slip through her hooves this time.

With only a grin and a wink, Page lowered his muzzle, then gave a slow, long lick between her lower lips.

“Mmmph, Page...”

Wrapping her hindhooves around his neck, Libra yanked him closer, eliciting a gasp from the stallion. She shuddered in delight as he flattened his tongue and used as much as he could to tease her, stroking and tickling her labia. The pressure of his forehooves squeezing around her flanks for support, coupled with a series of delicate kisses close to her clitoris made her buck, grinding her marehood against his mouth.

Bringing a forehoof to her muzzle and biting down, Libra silenced her continued moans, floating away into pleasure with each teasing lick. Feeling her own nectar dripping down her inner flanks, Libra knew it was only a matter of time before he would push her to climax. She continued to buck in time with his kisses and strokes, lost to her rapture.

When he pulled her hood back with his tongue and flicked her pearl, Libra Scales arched her back and cried out against her forehoof, muffling her ecstasy. Page grinned and flicked again, then pulled her clitoris into his mouth, suckling at it tenderly.

“MMPH!” Baring down on her forehoof, Libra bucked and shivered, grinding madly against his muzzle. The furnace between her flanks roared, tingling pleasure spreading through her. Staying calm, Page continued to suck and nibble at her clit, holding her hips down with his strong forehooves.

Everything between them shattered into pieces in this moment. With her stallion pleasuring her in one of the most intimate ways possible, taking the most sacred part of her into his mouth and caressing it so lovingly, there was no more fear, or anger, or grudges. There was still regret, but only for their lost time.

Just as she began humping and thrashing against his torturous muzzle, nearing the edge of the edge, sweat pouring down her mane and forehead and neck, Page Turner pulled away from Libra Scales and wiped his mouth clean.

“Haaah! Aaah! Nnnng! What!” Glaring at him, she demanded, “What do you think you’re—”

“Tastes jus’ as wonderful, ma dear,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss her.

Libra groaned and accepted his embrace, eagerly mixing the flavor of his tongue with her ownas they entwined. Her hips continued to buck furiously, so close to that damn edge, yet with nothing to send her tumbling.

Pulling away from the kiss, Libra snorted hotly and furrowed her brow. “You! You left—”

“I know,” Page replied with a cheeky grin. “I know I did.”

“You… You…!”

“What was dat youze always said? ‘Good wit’ dat thick tongue o’ youze,’ wasn’t it?”

Libra grabbed the other pillow and chucked it at his head.

Page laughed as it bounced off his cheek, then shook his head. “Now now, don’t youze worry, beautiful,” he assured as he laid down beside her, “I won’t leave youze hangin’.

“But… I want ta come togetha.”

Blushing, Libra leaned back against his chest as he began to position himself behind, wrapping his forehooves around her waist. Her forehooves curled back around his neck, holding him close. “Aren’t you the charmer…”

“Heh, I try…” Page moved his hips down, lining them up with hers. His stallionhood rubbed between her flanks, prompting her to lift her tail. Angling himself so that he was aimed directly at her entrance, he pulled back, waiting for the right moment. “I try, but…

“Truth is, it’s mo’ ‘cuz I love youze.”

Libra stroked his cheek and tilted her head to look at him, a gentle smile accompanying her gorgeous eyes and coy blush. “I love you too.”

Lying in the same position in which they had made love over twenty years beforehoof, Page Turner and Libra Scales paused before beginning, sharing one last, deep kiss.

Then, when he took her nape in his jaws, and she nodded and gasped, he finally entered her.

Whatever remained between them in his mind—whatever separated then and now, and prevented him from letting himself love her fully—was erased in their entwining, body and soul, their twin gasps and groans accompanying their union.

Page tugged at her neck and bit, sending primal pleasure coursing through her nerves, blood-rushing pain mixing with the intense pleasure of being penetrated by her stallion. Libra winced when his head pushed through her walls—and not due to his teeth.

Releasing her nape, Page asked, “Are youze alright?”

Breathing deep, Libra said with a slight groan, “Been… Been a while. Start slow, okay?”

The stallion nodded, rubbing his mare’s stomach apologetically. He slowed his first thrust, entering carefully, one inch at a time. Using the rhythms of her breathing to guide him, Page took as much time as Libra needed, focusing completely on her comfort at the moment.

Even so, her marehood welcomed him inside her, embracing him with tight squeezes and an overwhelming heat. His stallionhood began to twitch inside her against his will. Focusing his thoughts elsewhere, he continued to enter her gradually, wanting to make this last for the both of them. Burying his muzzle in her mane, Page groaned, waiting for her to relax before he continued.

Soon, Page bottomed out inside of her, his testicles slapping against her clitoris on the last motion. Libra squeezed his neck and arched her back against him, letting out a partial, joyful scream before she muffled herself again.

Panting, Page held himself still and rubbed her stomach once more. “R-ready?”

Libra nodded and pushed against him, quickly removing her forehoof from his mouth. “G-go and don’t s-stop!”

Page Turner needed only her approval, and when he received it, he finally let go, thrusting deep and rapid with long, masterful strokes.

“Nggg! Haah! Haah! Aah, oh, BUCK, Page!”

Squirming, thrashing, bucking, and grinding against him, Libra Scales closed her eyes and dissolved into ecstasy, into the sweet friction of his rock-hard stallionhood thrusting back and forth into her quivering marehood, into the depths of sensation and intimacy and union.

Rough and brash, Page Turner took her as he had before so long ago, as she had begged for it then—thrusting deep, hard, and fast, without so much as a reminder.

Withholding the temptation to scream, Libra clung to his neck, leaning back against him as completely as she could. Each motion sent white-hot pleasure galloping through her, from the filling firmness of him inside her, from the delightful pressure of his orbs slapping against her pearl.

It was something that his bastard of a brother had denied her often, something that she had abstained from for eight years until this night. It was something she craved—no, needed.

And Page Turner, the father of her Babs Seed, the savior of her daughter, the one she had dreamed of for so long, was the one giving it to her.

Libra Scales could have had a heart attack right then and there, and she would have left Heaven behind.

Her inner walls clung desperately to him, pulling him further, deeper. Libra moaned further at Page’s own cries of rapture. His teeth found her nape over and over again, pulling rough, pulling taut—something that only he, out of all the stallions she had been with, would do to her, and, oh, how she loved it.

As her marehood continued to clamp down on him, a vice of heat and pressure, Page shuddered and let out a moan. He felt his stallionhood twitch violently inside her, close to flaring. Releasing her nape, he managed between pants, “Nnng… Haah… Libra, I’m—”

Reaching back, Libra silenced him, slamming her lips against his as she pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss.

With a loud, deep groan, muffled by her tongue twisting around his own, Page Turner finally released. His stallionhood flared and spasmed wildly as he reached his zenith. Thick, hot spurts of his seed emptied inside her, the excess trickling down both their hindhooves.

Less than few seconds later, Libra Scales slammed down on him, her inner walls securing him in place. She thrashed and bucked and grinded, riding out her orgasm. Her hooves shook and trembled for purchase while she suppressed her screams, throwing both forehooves over her muzzle.

Within the walls of The Horseshoe, Libra Scales and Page Turner soared again, pegasi in the eternal night performing the ancient sky-dance, entwining hooves and lips and ethereal wings.

Here, in an Equestria of their own, Libra Scales and Page Turner became one, finding their ascent with and within each other, bound together by the love they shared in mind, heart, and body.

Her heart racing, her breathing shallow and ragged, Libra released her grip on her stallion, slumping on her side into the bed. A moment later, Page joined his mare, panting, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

As soon as he softened, he withdrew from her, then collapsed against her back, resting his muzzle under her neck.

“Hah… Hah… Aah… Libra…” Covered in sweat, scent, and fluid, Page laid his forehooves on her stomach and closed his eyes, coming down slowly.

“Hahhh… Page…” Libra weakly squeezed his forehooves with her own, holding them close. She, too, was drenched and exhausted, her inner flanks and marehood matted with a combination of both of their juices, her mane a tangled mess, her coat glistening with sweat.

“Dat… dat was…”

“... All I ever wanted,” she finished, using the last of her remaining strength to flip over and face him.

Page grinned. “Ye… Y-yeah?”

Libra nodded and melted into him, resting against his chest. “Everything, and more.”

Elated, Page Turner melted into his mare back, holding her as close as possible. He nuzzled and kissed her cheek, sighing in bliss. “I can’t believe it finally happened. Afta all these years…”

Libra Scales kissed his neck, whispering, “You can thank our daughter for that.”

He laughed. “Yes, I think we can.”

In the silence that followed, completely still and soundless but for their breath and heartbeats, Page Turner thought back to that night in Manehatten, to the foal in the alleyway behind his bar.

When he looked in the mirror and stood beside her now, he couldn’t believe his foalishness. How could he have thought she was anypony but his own? Anypony but Libra’s own? Their own? How could he have not recognized then? How could he have convinced himself of anything else?

And, he wondered, looking down at the mare lying in his hooves, how much grief and pain and heartbreak had he caused them—he, his mare, and his daughter—all because of his foalish mistake?

The wind blew through the ajar window, ruffling his mane. She shivered. He held her closer.

On the other hoof, if he had recognized Babs Seed back then, who was to say it would have made things any better? Perhaps only doing so would have made the situation worse for her or her mother, or even himself.

Perhaps Babs Seed would have not been ready for the truth then. Perhaps Libra Scales would not have loved him then as she did now. Perhaps neither of them would have been ready.

Perhaps he would not have been ready.

Libra Scales closed her eyes and sighed like a bellows against his chest. In spite of the warmth, he shivered, then smiled.

Then again…

Page Turner’s mind drew him back to an old memory, one of the first he had made when he left the cabin in the woods and struck it out alone.

While he had been making his way out of the forest, galloping as fast as his little hooves could take him, he came across an old stallion blocking his path. Grizzled and weathered, his long, wavy white mane accompanied by a matching beard, the stallion had asked little Page Turner where he was going.

When Page Turner told him that he was running away, the old stallion shook his head and frowned, then asked why. When he had been unable to reply, the old stallion said something else… Something that stuck with him throughout his life and was brought to the surface on this moonlit night:

”When I was a foal, I thought and reasoned as a foal… When I became a stallion, I put the ways of colthood behind me. For now, you shall see only as a reflection as in a mirror; in time, you shall see things face-to-face. Now you know in part the truth. In time, you shall know fully, when you are fully known.”

Twenty-eight years later, in the thirty-third room of The Horseshoe, as he lay beside his daughter’s mother—his mare—Page Turner understood the old stallion at last.

Everything was as it needed to be then, and everything was as it was supposed to be now.

His life, once lonely, dark, and despondent, was now full of light and laughter and love.

The future was bright, and he wouldn’t change a single thing.

“Page?”

Page looked down. Libra had one eye open as she smiled up at him.

“What are you thinking about?”

Page smiled back and kissed her forehead.

“Jus’ an old friend, Libra.

“Jus’ an old friend.”

After a few more kisses, hushed whispers of goodnight and I-love-you, and the click of a lamp, Page Turner closed his eyes. So did Libra Scales.

For the first time in an eternity, neither slept alone that night.

And it was everything they ever wanted.

And it was worth every second of their wait.

Greater Love Hath No One — CitrusBurn

Greater Love Hath No One

"If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I."
—Michel de Montaigne

While the sun began to set against their backs, Citrus Blossom and Braeburn settled into their train cab. Cozy and small, it was comprised of two booths with a table in between, along with a small bunk bed. Rays of fading sunlight shined through the window beside the bunks, warming the tiny room in spite of the growing night.

Though the two were far from alone on the train, the frosted-glass door muffled the continuing clamorous celebration surely taking place all around them. Many of their friends from Appleloosa and beyond had attended the wedding as well. Bottles of cider and whiskey were surely being passed around and stories shared as the wheels churned them back towards the heart of the west.

Nevertheless, as Citrus Blossom sat in the cab next to her stallion and rested her head on his shoulder, the couple might as well have had the entire train to themselves.

Braeburn chuckled as Citrus leaned into him, curling a forehoof around her waist and pulling her close. “Tired already?”

“Mmm… Not really.” Tapping her forehoof playfully against the silver star pinned to his vest, Citrus added with a smirk, “But did you really need to change back before we came home?”

“Says the mare who packed up her own dress as soon as we said we were gonna leave,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

Citrus scoffed. “You know how I am with my clothes. I’m lucky enough that I didn’t get anything on it during the reception. Not gonna push my luck with dinner on a moving train!”

Braeburn laid a forehoof on top of hers and snickered. “Ah figured as much. But as fer my vest… Ah hafta, Citrus. The longer Ah stay outta Appleloosa, the more chance there is that one o’ ‘em Deputies causes trouble ‘gain.”

“Oh, you mean the Deputies you trained?”

He snorted. “Can lead a pony ta water, Citrus—“

“But you can’t make him as good a law-pony as you,” she finished, beaming.

Braeburn adjusted the brim of his Stetson and chuckled again. “Heh, well, Ah guess ya could put it that way. Point is, Ah need ta be back in uniform as soon as we git off this train. Ah wanna be rarin’ ta go when we—“

Citrus giggled, bringing a forehoof to her lips.

Raising an eyebrow, Braeburn asked, “What’s so funny?”

“’Rarin’ to go?” Citrus repeated, failing to stifle her laughter. Avoiding his eyes, she continued to chuckle, sending a light tinge of pink across his cheeks.

“What? What’s so funny?”

Catching her breath, Citrus didn’t respond at first, burying her muzzle his chest while she calmed down. Finally, once she could look at him without dissolving further into laughter, she grinned. “Just think about it… ’Rarin’ to go,’ Brae,” she said with a wink, resting a forehoof on his chest.

Braeburn rubbed his nape and looked away. “Oh. Heh… Well…”

“Well what?” she teased.

“Well,” he said, meeting her gaze, “Ah never would’ve taken you fer that kind o’ mare, Citrus. Ya know, one o’ ‘em dirty-minded ones.”

Citrus smacked him on the shoulder, feigning offense. “Hey!”

Braeburn smirked. “Ya know, Ah would expect that from Babs, o’ maybe even Bloom on a rare day, but you? Citrus Blossom, the refined mare of Manehatten?”

Citrus rolled her eyes. “Oh, c’mon, Brae. You and I both know that Citrus Blossom is long gone.”

“Maybe…” Braeburn brought his forehoof to meet hers on his chest and squeezed it tenderly. “But Ah like this one better. Much better.”

Behind Citrus Blossom’s perfect eyes, something shifted. Braeburn watched as his mare scooted closer against him, then leaned up, resting her muzzle against his neck while she whispered hotly into his ear:

“Oh, do you?”

The forehoof on his chest applied direct pressure to his heart, which leapt in response. Missing a breath, Braeburn was unable to reply. In his wordlessness, the confined cab, with its locked door, shrank to the size of the entire Universe itself.

And though the train beneath their hooves sped onwards towards Appleloosa, through meadow and over river towards plain and desert, time itself might have suspended for all that he knew.

Once he caught his breath, Braeburn looked down at Citrus Blossom lying against him and said as confidently as he could, “Y-yeah, Ah do. Ah really do.”

“I see…”

The calm, reserved demeanor of his mare disappeared, replaced by the coy teasing of her smile and her slow exhalations against his ear. Braeburn had never known Citrus to be a tease or a flirt. Right now, with her tail swishing against his hind fetlocks, if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought otherwise.

“So…” Moving to face him directly, Citrus lowered her eyelids. “How long is it to Appleloosa, Braeburn?”

The stallion found that his forehooves had a mind of their own, wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer to him. “Eight hours, Citrus,” he said, his tone deep and smooth.

“And how long has it been?”

“... Thirty minutes,” Braeburn guessed, time the last thing on his mind in this moment.

Citrus bit her lip. She stroked his chest in circles, looking away from her stallion as if in deep thought.

The hoots and hollers beyond their cab door, faint as already were, seemed to fade completely. The roaring and roaring motion of the locomotive’s steam, of its wheels eating up the track that separated them from home, offered no interruption. Though he possessed all five known senses without handicap, Braeburn wondered in those seconds if he had gone deaf, or perhaps blind, to anything but her.

Everything else but Citrus Blossom’s contemplative smile and the thundering of his heartbeat came to pass, and Braeburn wouldn’t have traded back for any of it.

Finally, Citrus turned back around and shifted her position, sitting on his stomach. “Well, then,” she began, looking down at him with those perfect eyes and that perfect smile, “that’s more than enough time, don’t you think?”

Braeburn simply nodded.

His wandering forehooves found her hips, holding her tight as he looked up to the mare straddling him. He swallowed hard, his tongue become thick and obstructive in his mouth. Blood rushed to his ears and muzzle, his heartbeat drowning out everything but her warm, steady breath.

Citrus Blossom in all her beauty was so close, so close to the twitching stallionhood between his hindhooves, he feared he might not be able to hold back this time, unlike the countless others…

Leaning down, Citrus threw her forehooves around his neck and drew her muzzle close to his. She whispered to him in that same sweet voice, her voice as smooth as the desert sand, as smooth steam rising from the oasis, as smooth as her skin…

"That’s right. It's just you and me in here, Braeburn. Nopony can get in. The door’s locked.
It’s just us…

“Just you..."

She ran a forehoof through his shaggy mane, letting it slowly trail down to his cheek and neck before resting it above his heart. His arrhythmic heart skipped a beat at her touch, at her slow breath against his neck, at her eyes piercing into his.

"... And me."

Braeburn felt himself continue to stir between his hindhooves, beginning to rise. His ears and cheeks burning, he knew nothing but the sensation of Citrus's lips finally meeting his, lost for words or coherent thought.

The stallion melted in her forehooves, his body falling slack against her as they dove downwards, together, into the caress. Citrus Blossom kissed him deeper, sliding her tongue past the entrance of his mouth.

Braeburn pulled her close, wrapping his forehooves around her torso as his tongue engulfed and entwined with hers. He moaned through their kiss, closing his eyes and hoping—no, praying that this was not a dream.

Eight years of repressed desire reawakened, spreading through his veins, rushing blood to all the inconvenient places. The reins holding him back from taking her, from making her his mare, and he her stallion, were finally cut.

With the setting sun casting their shadows tall and long into the cab, there was no more holding back.

Braeburn had spent too many lonely nights to count cursing his biology and doing everything short of smacking himself down there, willing himself not to think of her, not like that, to resist this now.

Besides, there was no way in Equestria that a gorgeous, elegant mare like Citrus Blossom would ever love a simple stallion with unshorn fetlocks and dust in his mane. At least, that's what he had previously thought.

Now, eight years of trials and tribulations and life and death later, all he had ever known was brushed away, cast aside, ground to dust. There were no more fears, no more questions.

There was just Citrus and Braeburn, alone in their little train cab, uniting in hoof and tongue and heart.

Lost in the kiss, he jolted when she removed her lips from his. As he opened his eyes, Braeburn saw Citrus slowly crawling off him, swishing her tail and blushing deeply. Before he could open his muzzle, she grabbed his forehooves with her own and tugged, then spoke softly.

“Let’s go to bed.”

Far from nightfall, he slowly rose to his hooves. As he looked around their little cab, his eyes suddenly widened.

“R-right here? Right now?”

She trotted up to him and began nuzzling his chest, neck, and shoulders. “Yes, Braeburn,” she answered quietly, leaving a quick trail of kisses down his jaw, “right now.”

Braeburn swallowed .“But… What if… Haah...” The teasing nibble of her teeth on his shoulders took his breath away.

“What if what?” Citrus bit down a little harder on his neck.

Fighting the chill in his spine that threatened to bring him to his hooves, Braeburn asked with all his might, “Wh-what if somepony hears us, Citrus? O’... mmf... sees us?”

Removing her muzzle from his neck, Citrus took a step back and stared straight into him. She paused that same contemplative pause, tapping at her chin for a moment before letting her forehoof fall to the floor.

There was a new fire in her eyes, one that transfixed him, making her all but irresistible. If he had any last shred of doubt in his mind, she erased it in two words:

“Let them.”

Then, her lips were on his again, and he finally surrendered.

Braeburn took hold of her, wrapping his forehooves around her and kissing back deeply, passionately. She moaned softly as he grasped her, returning the kiss by wrapping her tongue around his.

Certain that his thundering heart must have given out and rewarded him with this dream of dreams, Braeburn led Citrus Blossom to the bottom bunk bed. Trotting backwards, he laid down on his back on the mattress, then picked her up and pulled her on top of him.

Citrus Blossom, eyes still closed, deepened their kiss. When she no longer felt him returning it, she opened her eyes to find him staring up at her from below. "What's wrong, Braeburn?"

Braeburn sighed and shook his head, a dreamy grin on his muzzle. "Yer so beautiful, Citrus. It’s jus’... Ah still don't understand. Ah still can't believe how you could go fer a stallion like me."

Instead of replying, Citrus kissed his neck, glancing up to see him nicker in pleasure. Grinning, she moved her lips to the other side of his neck, letting them linger there, nibbling gently at his fur. Her forehooves moved next to his vest. It drifted down to the floor along with its silver star. His Stetson was gently removed and placed next to them on the bed.

Moving his hooves from her waist up to her shoulders, he warned, "Don't ya think Ah'm gonna l-let ya dodge that question…"

"Oh?" Citrus stretched out on top of him. "And what if I do? What’s the big, bad Sheriff of Appleloosa going to do to a little mare like me?”

Blushing scarlet, Braeburn muttered, "Ya have no idea, Citrus…"

"Oh, but I think I do..." Flickering her tail, Citrus brushed it slowly between his hindhooves, sending chills down his spine. To his dread, Braeburn's stallionhood began to awaken further, hardening slightly at her touch.

"N-no fair." Braeburn flipped their positions so that he was on top this time. Holding her close with his forehooves around her waist, the stallion pressed his lips to hers. Falling deeply into their kiss, he explored her mouth, massaging her tongue with his own.

Citrus wrestled her tongue against his as she pinned her forehooves against his chest, seeking, finding, pinning, winning, and losing. All in one embrace, one caress, one motion. She closed her eyes and let herself fall with him, let her soft moans fill his ears.

And it was all she'd ever wanted—to be held by him like this, to be kissed by him like this.

Reluctantly breaking their kiss, Braeburn looked into her eyes, lowering his voice. "Now... Tell me this time... How does a pretty mare like you end up wit' a stallion like me?" He nuzzled her neck and kissed near the base of her ear, his heart racing in anticipation.

Through a whimper of pleasure, Citrus held him closer and said, "Because... A mare like me... fell in love with a stallion like you..."

Braeburn froze, pulling back to stare straight at her. Had his ears betrayed him, just as the stirring length between his hindhooves did?

By some stroke of the Most High's mercy or Fate's fortunate smile, he was lying on top of Citrus Blossom, running his forehooves through her mane and staring into her eyes. By sheer, incomprehensible alignment of the stars, he was here, lying on this bed while the Heavens and the Earth passed them by, with her.

Luck had saved him more than once. Perhaps luck had brought him here now.

Braeburn had long ago accepted the fact that he was deeply, hopelessly, madly in love with Citrus. Throughout the eight years since she and Libra had staggered into Appleloosa, he had done his best to hide it. He allowed his love to show through sly words and endless devotion, working his hooves into the sand to keep her and his aunt healthy, happy, and safe.

He had never, ever let himself believe that his feelings could be anything but unrequited, or that he would ever hear the words she was about to utter.

To his supreme disbelief, Citrus lifted Braeburn's chin to meet her eyes and said, "Yes, Braeburn…

“I love you."

If he had been a few years older, he would have keeled over right then and there, so fast and erratic was his heart—almost painfully fast, almost as if it was ready to jump out of his chest and embrace the mare who had stolen it.

"... Do you love me?"

Her words were quieter now, as if she feared that they would all be for naught.

Braeburn answered her the only way he knew how.

Caressing her chin with a forehoof, Braeburn said, "Ah always have, Citrus, an' Ah always will.

“Ah love you, too."

Citrus let a tear fall from her shining eyes.

It was real.

Pulling him closer, Citrus kissed him again, deep and needy and wanting, wanting to fall into him and mold with him and become one with him. Wanting to lose herself in finding him, become two waves of the same sea—two sides of the same horizon, twisting and turning and entwining and becoming the beginning and end of the other.

As Braeburn returned the deep kiss, entwining his tongue around hers, Citrus let her mind wander.

She wasn't quite sure when she had first fallen in love with him. To pinpoint one skipped heartbeat out of hundreds was a seeming exercise in futility. To fully list Braeburn's qualities, all the little things she loved about him—his smile, his laugh, his courage, his determination, his eyes—would require more parchment and ink than what could be found in the Canterlot Archives.

Nonetheless, Citrus knew that, some time ago, Braeburn had become more than a Deputy to her—or a Sheriff, for that matter. He had become more than family, more than a friend. He had become more than a stallion who could buck apples, or build cabins, or take care of his family—of her.

Some time ago, Braeburn had crossed the boundary in Citrus's mind from one she had to love to one she wanted to love. To love more than she was allowed or expected to do so. To love more than she had ever thought possible.

To love in a way that both terrified and excited her—the kind of love for which there is no end, no going back.

And, as Braeburn's heart began to thunder in time with hers, she realized that she knew then how Apple Bloom and Babs Seed must have felt at that moment, almost four years ago, when they confessed that their love had been greater than what they believed their hearts capable of holding for one another.

This, Citrus Blossom thought, must be what it feels like to truly be in love.

She broke the kiss, paused for breath, and snuggled closer to him. The heat between her flanks showed no signs of stopping, her sweet scent beginning to tantalize her stallion’s nostrils.

Spurred by her rising need, Citrus closed her eyes and nuzzled his neck. She waited only a moment before turning her muzzle to meld her lips with his.

Braeburn rested one of his forehooves on her stomach, allowing a little bellow of a moan to escape his lips as he pulled her closer. His stallionhood began to extend once he detected the musk of her need, the scent accelerating his own.

Soon, the confined cab was hazy with their combined pheromones, the aromas of their need pulling them deeper into the depths of desire.

When Citrus grasped his tongue with her own and pressed herself completely flush against him, Braeburn slid his forehooves down her soft chest and stomach, resting them just above her marehood.

Blushing madly, Braeburn realized he could sense her down below, burning and glistening and ready, a fire and a furnace blazing just for him, only for him.

He was close enough to touch her, to feel her, close enough that he could see the remnants of her joyful tears clinging to her eyelashes...

Breaking the kiss, Citrus flung her hindhooves around his waist, straddling him. Scarlet sparked across both of their cheeks as she exhaled hotly over his muzzle, unable to wait much longer.

Urgency knocked in her body, soul, and mind. Every touch, every kiss only added to her overwhelming necessity, making her blood hot and her mind wild.

She needed him more than ever.

"I want you, Braeburn..."

Citrus breathed heavily, fire in her veins and her loins and her eyes and her mane. She tightened the grip of her hindhooves around his waist and used her tail to tease him. Her soft, delicate strands stroked him up and down, eliciting a shudder of pleasure from her stallion.

The overpowering sensation of his musk and the shivering of his spine only furthered her drive. She leaned in close to whisper into his ear, "I want you right now."

Citrus Blossom kissed and nibbled at his neck, the light tug of her teeth making him gasp. "Please."

Braeburn bit his lip in pleasure. "Ah… Ah..."

The stallion groaned as his length finally slid in between them, extending fully and slapping against his belly. He opened his eyes to see her staring back at him, her blush matching his.

The demands of his body dominated his thoughts, making his mind a haze of fire and ice. Opposing desires tangoed with each other, switching positions, needing and wanting to lose their element in the other—as he wanted to lose himself in her, in the swaths of her mane and her fur and the embrace of her hooves and the caress of her lips.

Braeburn didn’t immediately answer, letting his forehooves wander again instead. Stroking her chest and stomach gently, he was amazed at how soft she was. Soft and warm and his.

He wanted nothing more than to take her right then and there, to entwine and connect and unite with her—body and soul, heart and mind, two becoming one.

One concern, however, made him hesitate, if only for a second.

"Yer not... Um... in season, are you?"

Citrus Blossom shook her muzzle and smiled, stroking his mane. "No, sweetie, I'm not." She nipped at his opposite ear this time, letting her hot breath chill and spur him in the same motion.

Then, Citrus lowered her voice to something smooth, sultry, smoky. Something that Braeburn had never heard from his mare. Something that set his veins afire and pulled him deeper into the sea of desire threatening to consume him.

"Now..." Glancing down at his belly, Citrus said with half-lidded eyes, "Let's do something about that little friend of yours. Or, should I say, big friend."

Braeburn chuckled awkwardly, blushing deeper still. "Heh, well, uh—"

Citrus whispered, “Just relax,” and moved her forehooves to his shoulders.

Switching their positions, Citrus pushed the stallion down into the bed, using her other forehoof to steady herself. Leaving a trail of kisses down his neck, chest, and stomach, she quickly made her way down between Braeburn's flanks. She let her teeth tease him as well, though she made no motion to slow her pace.

Having lost her virginity long ago to a colt who had never come close to deserving it, Citrus Blossom was ready, experienced, and in no mood to wait. She had waited long enough already.

Descending down his body, she let a final kiss grace his hips, exhaling hotly over his flesh when she met her destination.

There, all ten inches of black-and-yellow stallionhood waited, hard as a diamond in a snowstorm and displayed for all to see.

Braeburn shifted his hindhooves as her breath wrapped around him, aroused even further by his own embarrassment. Though he had (shamefully) fantasized about lying in this exact position with her, he had brushed aside all thoughtsof it becoming reality.

Reality came in a burst of ecstasy when Citrus began running her warm, thick tongue up and down his length.

"Oh, Celestia, C-Citrus..."

She stared up into his eyes as she teased him—into his pristine, emerald-green eyes, into the eyes of the stallion who saved her, who rebuilt her when all was destroyed, who kept her warm and loved on those dark, dark nights.

She stared up into his eyes and didn't want to let go.

Flattening her tongue, Citrus swirled around the head, then ran her tongue back down to the base, then back up again. The taste proved addictive rather than unpleasant—sweet and musky, salt and sugar. Better than she had expected, and far better than she had tasted before.

Moaning , Citrus rested her forehooves on his hips, looking up at him while she gave him long, slow, teasing strokes.

"Haah..." Closing and opening his muzzle in wordless rapture, Braeburn leaned back and shut his eyes. He tugged at his mane, yanking and grunting, desperately searching for a hoof-hold.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be real. It was too much of all he had ever wanted, all he had ever dreamt, to be real.

Opening his eyes, Braeburn glanced down in disbelief as Citrus Blossom’s warm, wet tongue traveled up and down his stallionhood, little whinnies of her own pleasure only serving to spur him further.

He reached down and brushed her mane back away from her face, tucking it behind her ears and neck. A low moan echoed from his throat as she suckled lightly around his head, teasing his sensitive skin with her teeth.

"Haaah... Citrus... Ah... Ah love ya so much..."

She smiled and pulled away, murmuring in delight as she licked her lips.

"I love you too, Braeburn.”

Citrus took a moment to reposition herself. Spreading her hindhooves, she flicked her tail up against her marehood near her swollen clit, shivering at her own developing arousal. Although she ached to reach back and relieve herself of her own hypnotizing need, she resisted with every inch of her willpower. This wasn't about her right now.

This was about loving the one who had put all the broken pieces of her back together, back when everything had been stolen from her. This was about showing love to the one who had been by her side all these years—the one who had given his all and asked for nothing in return.

This was about Braeburn, the stallion she loved.

Locking eyes with him, Citrus approached him, ready to take him in. She opened her mouth and supported his stallionhood gently with a forehoof against its side.

In one swift motion, Citrus enveloped Braeburn, taking the first few inches of him, head and shaft both, between her lips.

Letting out a baritone moan of absolute, torturous pleasure, Braeburn clutched at his mane, his hips grinding involuntarily against her. "Mmph! Citrus!"

Holding back the urge to cough when he suddenly bucked into her throat, Citrus closed her eyes and took a breath through her nostrils. Carefully, she held him in place while she took him further. That slow, soft tongue of hers sucked and licked at his shaft as she descended down his length.

His stallionhood twitched and throbbed in her mouth, making both of them moan. Citrus took another breath again and forced herself farther down, until she could feel herself reaching her limit. Once she had taken as much of him as she safely could, she opened her eyes and pulled back up, sucking and licking on the ascent.

Braeburn spread his hindhooves further and threw his head back on the pillow, unable to silence his cries. Waves of pleasure rocketed through him, sending warmth from his loins outward. Making him buck. Making him groan.

The physical sensation was far more intense that anything he could have imagined. He could only lie helpless while the mare of his dreams took his most sensitive organ in her mouth, sending his mind reeling, flying, beyond the stars.

Braeburn rested his forehooves in her mane, stroking it gently as he watched her bob up and down on his thick, pulsating stallionhood. Catching her gaze, his pleasure was only amplified by the sight of Citrus staring straight into him through her journey up and down his member.

His mare’s expert tongue swirled and suckled at the head, then traversed down his shaft, pushing as much of him into her mouth and throat as she could handle. With every stroke, Braeburn felt Citrus drawing him closer and closer to his edge. It took every last bit of his willpower to keep steady and let her decide the speed, rather than forcing himself down her throat, as his shivering hips only begged for him to do.

Sweet, salty pre leaking from his tip, Citrus Blossom retracted briefly, holding him between her forehooves. Savoring the taste of him in her mouth, she swallowed all she had, then looked back up at him in anticipation of more.

"Braeburn… Ahh-haah..." Citrus moaned, her marehood growing hot and wet from the mere act of servicing him. "Don't hold back, alright?"

Nodding furtively when she took him back in, Braeburn muttered, "Ah… Ah won't st—hnnng!"

Clutching at the bed’s comforter, Braeburn closed his eyes as his hips began bucking independent of his will. He arched his back as that taunting edge sent his heart racing faster, bucking like a wild-stallion in his chest.

Citrus held him down with one forehoof pushing against his waist, the other carefully supporting his stallionhood. She doubled her efforts and enveloped him again, letting him fill her mouth, fill it with a delicious taste and pressure. Feeling herself dripping with need, she moaned in a haze of her own pleasure as her stallion began to cry out in a language beyond Equestrian.

The thick, throbbing head of his member began to flare inside her mouth, making Citrus withdraw a bit. Still, she continued, swirling her tongue around his head, sucking on his shaft, tugging gently at his skin with her teeth.

All the while, she looked up at him, fiery-rubies crashing into emeralds, her cheeks crimson when his eyes met hers.

"Citrus, Ah'm—Ah'm gonna—"

Braeburn clenched his teeth as she overtook him at last, sending him tumbling over the edge of the edge.

Pulling his hips back, he made his best effort to escape the warm, inviting furnace of her mouth, only to be foiled by Citrus's firm grasp of hoof and tongue. Closing his eyes, Braeburn cried out in a low bellow of a whinny, shuddering and bucking his hips as he pumped hot, warm trails of his nectar into her mouth.

Citrus Blossom swallowed him, every last drop, drinking in the sweet, salty taste of her stallion. She held him close and firm, closing her eyes and relishing the wonder of having pleasured the one she loved for the very first time.

Drawing back as rode out his climax and emptied warm, sticky seed into her mouth, Citrus licked him clean, finishing up the last drops glistening on his head before she finally pulled away from his now-flaccid member. Licking her lips, she looked up at him with a grin.

Braeburn scrambled to sit up and looked away from her, all previous blood that had rushed down below now proliferating across his muzzle in shame. "Citrus, Ah, Ah'm so sorry, Ah—mmmf!"

Wrapping her forehooves around his chest, Citrus leaned up and kissed him urgently, swirling her tongue, thick with his taste, around his. Braeburn groaned in ecstasy as he returned the kiss, pleasantly surprised that he wasn't as nauseating as he thought he would be.

Pressing close to him, Citrus moved her forehooves up to his neck, then brushed her most sensitive area against his stomach. She cooed in pleasure of her clitoris grinding against his fur, leaving a slick wetness behind.

Braeburn's eyes shot open when her scent reached his nostrils. Sweet and inviting, it cast aside any post-orgasmic exhaustion that was beginning to bear down on him. He wanted more. He needed more.

A heavily blushing Citrus laid flush against him, clinging to him with all four hooves and swishing her tail near her marehood. "I... I'm really glad you liked that," she said, grinding herself lightly against his stomach. She gasped, stroking her throbbing clit with a thick tuft of his fur. "Ah! You were—haah!—wonderful, Braeburn."

Braeburn grinned. "'’Wonderful’?'"

"Taste wonderful..." Citrus's ears flattened as she giggled into his neck. "S-sorry. That's a pretty naughty thing to say, isn't it?"

"Naughty, eh?" Raising an eyebrow, Braeburn asked with a sly smirk, "Yer a naughty mare, is that it?"

Citrus bit her lip, her ears flattening against her head and her forehooves clutching at the back of his mane. She bucked her hips against his stomach again, sliding up and down while she nodded.

Braeburn leaned in closer and wrapped his forehooves tightly around her. Encouraged by her scent and his release, his primal instincts took hold of him. The need for his mare, his love, and to unite and be with her surpassed his lingering nerves.

"Naughty mare… Ah see… Am Ah gonna have ta teach ya a lesson?"

Grinding again against his belly, matting his fur in thick streams of her nectar, Citrus whinnied as she cried out, "Please! Please, Braeburn." Her mind was a haze of throbbing need and unrequited desire. The cab spun, not on account of the train.

It was becoming almost unbearable. She needed him—his touch, his kiss, him inside her.

His blush matching hers, Braeburn caressed her deeply, adrenaline awakening within him as her wonderful, eager molars brushed against his tongue. More little gasps and moans escaped her, making his hooves wander again, down to her chest, her hips.

Citrus nibbled and suckled on his tongue, asking and requesting and begging with the tango of her mouth against his. His answer was wordless and swift.

Quickly, Braeburn exchanged their positions, flipping down on top of her. He laid her down on the bed, then rose to all four hooves. The stallion brushed a forehoof down her chest and exhaled hotly as they tore away from their kiss, a thin trail of saliva connecting their tongues.

Without prompting, Citrus spread her hindhooves, then looked up at Braeburn. Breathing heavily, she let a forehoof wander down her coat, down her chest, down her stomach, letting it come to rest above her marehood.

Still staring at him, Citrus teased her slit with the tip of her forehoof, then spread her lips, revealing a swollen, throbbing pearl and rivers of anticipating nectar.

Braeburn swallowed, feeling his stallionhood peek from its sheath and extend again at the sight of the beautiful mare—the mare of his dreams—lying seductively on the bed, spreading herself for him.

"Like what you see?" Citrus whispered, blushing and aching for him to touch her.

Braeburn nodded slowly, transfixed by the sight before him. "Yer... yer so beautiful, Citrus..."

Citrus winked and sighed in anticipatory pleasure. "I'm not just for looking, Brae..."

Crimson covering his muzzle, he leaned down to her ear and whispered back, “Ah know…”

His forehoof slid down her neck, her chest, her stomach, then found her forehoof as it rested against her button. Braeburn squeezed her forehoof with his own and pressed gently.

Citrus bucked her hips in response and closed her eyes. “Hahh… Who’s the tease now?”

“Takes one ta know one,” Braeburn murmured, pushing her forehoof away. He tapped her clitoris gently, once, twice, invoking chills down her spine and moans from her throat.

Citrus closed her eyes and arched her back, brushing against his forehoof. Warm, thick pleasure drowned her thoughts, replaced with only the burning furnace between her flanks.

Opening her eyes, she looked up at him with a smirk. “Mm… I’ll give you that… and much, much more…”

Moving so that he was muzzle-to-muzzle with her, Braeburn kissed her gently, then said as he began to stroke her, “As will Ah…

“Ah’ve wanted this fer too long…”

Citrus cooed, sweat dripping down her forehead and neck. “Ah… hah... Me… too…”

His strokes became more forceful, the tip of his forehoof and the light hairs of his fetlock focused on the epicenter of her pleasure. Citrus’s hips began bucking of their own accord in time with his taunting rubbing.

Braeburn continued, increasing the speed and pressure while he looked down at his mare with a warm smile and loving eyes. Rewarded by her soft moans and cries, the stallion furthered his ministrations, using his other forehoof to tease up and down her slit. Citrus groaned and rocked heavily in response, grinding against his keratin.

His thick stallionhood, ready for a second round, extended further as her musk became overpowering. Full and erect against his stomach, his member twitched impatiently. Nevertheless, Braeburn fought the temptation to enter her right then and there, too focused on readying his mare.

Jaw agape, unable to speak more than a few shaky words between her groans, Citrus Blossom stared up at the stallion of her dreams, watching as his forehooves worked a beautiful magic between her flanks. “Haah… Oh, Brae... Nggg…”

Citrus cried out again when his thick, warm tongue found her neck, licking slowly from nape to throat and back again. Nibbles escalated to bites while he continued to stroke her. When the tip of his forehoof teased her entrance, she bucked forcefully against him, burying her moan in his mane.

“Aaah! Haah… Brae…”

“Yea?” he asked innocently, kissing her neck. “What's wr—nnng!”

A pair of warm forehooves grasped his member from both sides, stroking up and down. While he froze in rapture, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, Citrus leaned over, pressing up against his forehooves down below.

“I need you, Braeburn…”

She stroked faster, harder. Keratin and fur brushing against his twitching, throbbing stallionhood, bits of pre already leaking from the head. Her lips found his neck, licking, then biting.

Braeburn groaned, pulling his forehooves briefly away from her in the blinding haze of his pleasure.

Citrus bucked forcefully, forcing his touch to return. She spoke again, her warm, sweet breath and musk and scent and sweat and need enveloping him, engulfing him, more than her mouth or hooves could ever hope to do...

“I need you, Braeburn. Right now.”

When their eyes met, Citrus pulled away from his touch. Removed her forehooves from him, then switched their positions again. Laid him on his back, making sure his head met the pillow. Straddled his stomach, her slick warmth matting his fur.

Sat up on him, her tendrils of fiery-orange mane falling in cascades to her shoulders. Looked down at him, a blush and coy smile and inviting eyes asking all that she had ever wanted.

Braeburn reached up and wrapped his forehooves around her waist. Spread his hindhooves. Flattened his back. Looked up at her. Bucked his erect stallionhood against her tail and back.

“Ready, Braeburn?”

The stallion nodded.

“Ready.”

Citrus leaned down and kissed him.

Braeburn kissed back.

“I love you so much.”

“Ah love you too.”

As she pulled away, Citrus Blossom grabbed his Stetson from beside them and jammed it on her head.

Braeburn laughed. “Jus’ whaddya think yer doin’, Citrus?”

Citrus winked. “You’ll see.”

In one swift motion, Citrus lifted her hips, scooted back, and slid onto his waiting stallionhood.

Breathless, Braeburn arched his back as first his sensitive head, and then his shaft entered her, warm and wet and tight and constricting. Gripping her waist, he groaned at the most wonderful, pleasurable sensation he had ever experienced. For a moment, he laid still, closing his eyes to catch his breath and prevent himself from erupting right then and there.

Being inside the mare he loved, feeling her slide onto him, taking in every inch of him as he bottomed out within her, brought forth every morsel of love and joy and hope and fear and a thousand other emotions from within him, so much that, when he opened his eyes and looked up to see her smiling and blushing down at him, he swore that she was glowing, bathed in radiant light.

While the train churned its wheels toward Appleloosa and the dying sun set behind the mountains to the north, Citrus Blossom and Braeburn joined, two becoming one.

Citrus, sweat dripping down her forehead and neck, her mane a wild mess, took in a sharp, yet deep breath. For far too long, she had only dreamt of this, and when it finally happened, she needed a moment to take it all in.

His warm, pulsating stallionhood inside of her, filling her to the brim and stretching her wonderfully—so long it had been, and so big was he—was nothing short of nirvana, white-hot pleasure mixed with a tad of sore but welcoming pain.

Instinctively, Citrus Blossom’s hips rocked back and forth, proliferating chills traveling through her spine to his. She felt herself squeezing around him, trying to take more of him inside her.

Remaining still, Citrus threw her head back, panting. “Br… Braeburn…”

His chest and forehead glistening with sweat, Braeburn braced himself against the bed and panted in return. “Ye… yeah?”

“It’s… Mmmmf…” Biting her lip, Citrus looked down and bucked her hips again, making them both groan. “It’s… Been a while…”

Braeburn leaned up and gripped her tightly, bringing his muzzle a few inches from hers. “Are—are ya okay? We… Haah… We can stop…”

Resting her forehooves on his shoulders, Citrus shook her head. Slowly but forcefully, she began to rise back up, stroking him with her tightening marehood before sliding back down. “N-no… Just… Gimme a bit…”

Her tongue flopping out of her mouth as she rose back up, Citrus cursed under her breath. “Horseapples, you’re big…”

Holding her in place, Braeburn, his countenance crimson, muttered back, “Th-thanks?”

Citrus bit her lip. “Have you… Haah… Done this before?”

“Long time ago,” Braeburn said, groaning when she slid back to the base of his shaft.

“Okay… Just… Let me lead…”

“Ahh… Alright…”

Determined to make this as pleasurable as possible for both of them, Citrus Blossom gripped his shoulders as tightly as she could, her forehooves leaving impressions in his flesh. When Braeburn returned the gesture, squeezing her waist and drawing her closer, she took that as her signal, and pulled back up again.

On her ascent, Citrus breathed deeply, trying to relax. On her descent, she squeezed around him, using her inner walls to grant him an additional stroke. When the stallion bucked back against her, she knew she had found her rhythm.

The Stetson on her head bobbing in time with her hips, Citrus Blossom began to ride Braeburn, bucking against him for all he was worth. Her hindhooves pushed up forcefully, drawing up so that he was almost completely separated from her before she slid back down on him again.

By the third stroke, Braeburn was panting, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Citrus smirked through her own pants and squeezed his shoulders. “F-feels good?”

“Y-yeah…” Tightening his own grip on his mare, Braeburn raised his hips, thrusting further within her. “H-how ‘bout that?”

“Aaah! Y-yes…” Opening her eyes, Citrus pulled down on the brim of the Stetson. “R-ready to go… f-faster?”

Gritting his teeth, Braeburn responded by bucking as she pulled out, thrusting his hips into hers.

Citrus Blossom, letting loose a growl of pleasure, grinned and whispered hotly into his ear, “Hold on tight… Sheriff.”

With that, she slammed down on him, making him bottom out inside her. Braeburn groaned as she engulfed him, squeezing and tightening all the way. Citrus allowed her own cries of pleasure to escape as she pulled back up, then slammed back down, over and over again.

Each time she rode him out, Braeburn thrusted back in, driving them together, closer, faster. Each time she slammed back down, Citrus squeezed around him, tipping them closer to the edge.

Their coats and manes covered in thick sweat, the room filled with their respective scents, estrogen and testosterone mixing and melding into a tantalizing aroma that spurred them onwards.

Her heart leaping from her chest, Citrus leaned back and tugged at her stallion’s Stetson, panting and groaning as she continued to ride him. His flat head probed only inches away from her cervix, filling her to the utmost heights of pleasure. With each sweet thrust, Braeburn stimulated the most intimate parts of her, clearing her mind of all rational thought or action.

“Nnnnggg… Haaah… Ahhh…”

Baring down on him, Citrus squeezed, contracting her inner walls around his shaft as she rode back down. The incredible friction of him against her was driving her wild. Faster, harder she rode, lifting herself back up and down, back and forth, Braeburn rising to meet her each time.

Open-mouthed and panting, she looked down to see him staring back up at her, as breathless and enraptured as she was. His mane a wild tangle of orange and yellow, his emerald-green eyes tunneling into hers, his strong forehooves gripped on her waist tight enough to ache, she knew he was close, and began bucking and grinding back against his thrusts for all she was worth.

“C-Citrus! Ahhh! Nnng, buck!”

Pressing his forehead against the pillow, Braeburn rolled his hips, thrusting desperately at her, crying out as her marehood began to tighten and squeeze. The pleasure speeding through his veins reached his heart, taking his breath away. The great pressure building up in his loins came to a sudden edge when she clamped down on him like a vice on her third or thirtieth descent.

They gasped in unison.

“Brae, I’m—”

“—Comin’!”

This time, his bellow became a roar, a deep baritone shout of pleasure breaking free as his stallionhood flared inside her, pressing deep within. Spurt after spurt of hot seed burst into his mare, over and over again, while her strong muscles held him in place, milking him for all he was worth.

Braeburn closed his eyes as he came, breathing rapid and shallow through his nostrils, his mind a haze and blur of everything and nothing. The most intense orgasm of his life galloped through him, wiping his thoughts blank and clean.

Citrus Blossom clung to her stallion as she climaxed, her marehood keeping both of them in place. She screamed out with him, as long and loud but far higher, not caring in that moment if anypony heard, or anypony saw, just that she was his and he was hers and they were each other, together, riding rough beneath the rising moon and the space between then and now.

His warm, thick seed filling her, dripping down her thighs and onto him, stole her breath as she descended from her first assisted orgasm in almost a decade. Citrus spasmed and bucked her hips as the final remnants of her pleasure faded away.

Far better than any dream, she closed her eyes, wanting to savor this moment, commit it to memory.

Citrus opened her eyes and looked down at Braeburn, her stallion still inside her. She smiled as she found her breath along with him, and he smiled back.

A few moments after his final burst, he softened inside her, then slowly withdrew. She steadied herself with her forehooves on his shoulders, then, once he was apart from her, slumped down onto his chest.

A strong set of forehooves clung to her waist and pulled her close. Closing her eyes again, Citrus Blossom took a few deep breaths as the significance of this moment finally dawned on her.

She was his mare, and he was her stallion.

And nothing could have been more right.

Finally, once she could breathe normally, Citrus Blossom looked up at Braeburn, his Stetson still on her head.

Braeburn, his face flushed, exhaled heavily and met her gaze. “H-holy shit, Citrus.”

Citrus smiled. “Best you’ve ever had?”

Braeburn nodded. “By far.”

She slammed the hat back on his head. “Good.

“Next time, it’s your turn.”

He chuckled. “‘Next time’?”

A forehoof traced circles on his chest, its owner grinning widely. “Well… You should’ve figured it out by now, Braeburn…

“When an Orange finds somepony they love, they aren’t getting off that easily.”

“You ain’t no Orange, Citrus. Yer an Apple. Ma Apple,” Braeburn corrected, kissing her snout.

Citrus giggled. “You’re exactly right. And you’re mine.”

They shared a kiss in the growing moonlight.

“So,” Braeburn asked, adjusting his Stetson, “what do ya wanna do until we git ta Appleloosa?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Citrus said nonchalantly, resting her head under his chin. She sighed and smacked her lips. “I had a few ideas.”

“Like what?”

“Well, we could always talk.”

“‘Bout what?”

“Well…” Citrus looked up at him. “As you know… As of today, my little sister has officially married before me.”

Braeburn gulped. “Y-yes?”

Citrus smirked, returning to tracing circles on his chest. “Yes, about that…”

And She Clave Unto Her — AppleSeed

Author's Note

This scene begins at and occurs through the last two sections of Severed Roots's Epilogue.

And She Clave Unto Her — AppleSeed

And She Clave Unto Her

"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies."
—Aristotle

When Apple Bloom and Babs Seed reached the top of the stairs, the smaller mare supporting the larger with a gentle forehoof looped around her neck, they paused, taking in the moment.

The door to the room they had shared as fillies laid only a few feet away, but it may have well have been on the other side of eternity, infinite and vast.

They had entered this room far too many times beforehoof to count. Yet, never before had they entered in this way, as one rather than two. They paused, the air between them on the silent second floor pregnant with significance.

The farmhouse was completely empty but for the newlyweds. For the first time since the two had been back at home after the madness of Manehatten, they would be utterly, completely, dangerously alone tonight.

Their wedding night.

Babs found herself smiling in spite of her nerves, a light blush creeping up on her cheeks. Applejack did wink at us when she said her, Mac, an’ Granny were gonna be stayin’ wit’ the Cakes ta-night… didn’t she?

An' I swear she muttered summat ‘bout… leavin’ the barn alone…

Never before had the two violated Applejack’s long-standing rule when they were fillies, nor had they done so as mares. Even these past few months during their engagement, they dared not to cross that forbidden line—especially when both Applejack and Big Macintosh slept in the bedrooms nearby. Holding back within four walls had been an exercise in self-restraint indeed. If there was any moment Babs Seed was grateful to have been injured, it was those moments, those long nights when even if she wanted to, she couldn’t.

Though her back was still a bit stiff and reluctant, Babs Seed was, as Doc Triage had said, “a tough ol’ mare,” and wasn’t about to let a little pain stop her tonight.

Now, for the very first time in either of their entwined lives, they would be breaking that rule within the farmhouse. Within their bedroom.

As wife and wife on their wedding night.

The sensation of a familiar warmth pressing against her fur pulled Babs Seed from her thoughts. She looked down to see Apple Bloom nuzzling her neck and chest through her suit, her eyes closed. When she looked up and opened them, that perfect shade of red-orange reflecting back at her emerald-green, there was no hesitation, no fear.

Her heartbeat beginning to accelerate, Babs held back a soft whimper as Apple Bloom circled her, nuzzling and flicking her tail against her hooves in that primal display of love and desire.

Teasingly, Apple Bloom whispered to her between little kisses at her jawline, “Jus’ you an’ me, Babsy… You an’ me… In here…

“Wife an’ wife…”

Shivering, Babs Seed looked again at the door, then back at Apple Bloom when she paused beside her.

The gentle shades of Apple Bloom’s dress—red, yellow, and orange—cascaded over her lithe form, enough to cover her but not enough to hide her beauty. Her mare was beyond perfect as she stood in the dying light of the sunset and the looming rise of the harvest moon. The coy but palpable desire in her eyes shined through when she turned to face her wife.

Apple Bloom stepped towards Babs Seed, resting her head on her shoulder. Her breath warm on her cheek, she said in a needless whisper, “Whenever yer ready, sugarcube, Ah’m—eep!”

In one swift motion, Babs Seed wrapped her forehooves around Apple Bloom’s barrel and stood up on her hindhooves, holding her close to her chest. Chuckling, she looked down at the mare in her forehooves and said with a faint blush, “S-sorry. Didn’t mean ta scare ya.”

“Scare me?” Apple Bloom giggled and wrapped her forehooves around her mare’s neck. “Naw, jus’ surprised me a lil'. Didn’t expect ta be held like a princess on ma weddin’ night,” she added, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Heh, well… Youze deserve it, darlin’,” Babs said, lowering her eyelids as she gazed down at her wife, making her blush.

After returning the kiss, Babs stood as tall as she could, groaning along with protesting back. She shuffled her hooves and slowly started towards the door, holding Apple Bloom securely in her grasp.

Apple Bloom looked up to see her wife gritting her teeth. “Are ya sure ya should—“

“It’s alright. Jus’ a few mo’ steps.”

“Ya sure?” Apple Bloom asked again, hearing her mare’s breathing become heavy. “It’s alright, sugar, Ah can jus’ walk in wit’ you.”

Shaking her head, Babs Seed grasped the doorknob with her free forehoof. “Jus’... relax..."

While she pushed the door open and crossed the threshold, Babs Seed looked down at Apple Bloom, her best friend, her mare, her wife.

Her princess, her sunset, her everything.

Babs closed the door behind them with a hindhoof, then locked it. Grinning in spite of the ache in her spine, she said quietly to the princess in her forehooves, “Wasn't gonna let a little pain stop me. I’ve wanted ta do dis fo’ far too long.”

Apple Bloom smiled back and reached up to her, bringing her forehooves to her cheeks as she tenderly kissed her snout. Her blush matching her wife’s, she quietly replied to the princess holding her, “Me too, sugarcube. Me too.”

For a moment, all was silent, Babs Seed holding Apple Bloom in their room in the farmhouse, on Sweet Apple Acres, where they both belonged.

Their bed waited as it always did, perfectly made with plenty of blankets, sheets, and pillows expectant for their arrival. This time, there would be no reason to hold back, no fear or hesitation or restriction or doubt.

Tonight would be their first time anew—their first time as wife and wife.

Babs Seed took those last steps, heavy but significant, towards their bed. Apple Bloom clung tightly to her, hindhooves crossed, forehooves wrapped around her neck. She leaned in to give encouraging kisses to her mare’s jaw and neck, prompting her to tighten her grip around her waist.

Knowing that this small act of strength would all but aggravate the lingering, still-healing injury, Apple Bloom whispered into Babs Seed’s ear when they reached the bed, “Let’s go slow, okay?”

Babs smiled. “Okay.”

Then, as Babs Seed began to lower Apple Bloom onto the bed, the need for words finally passed. Only the setting sun watched them as the room filled with only the sound of their measured but anticipating breath and gradually thundering hearts.

Laying her down gently, Babs Seed then carefully climbed into bed with her mare—her wife.

The two laid on their sides and scooted closer towards each other, staring silently into the eyes of their beloved. Babs was careful to curl up in a position that was comfortable for her, mindful of her aching back, which objected to her act of tenderness.

Apple Bloom, too, considered Babs Seed's possible pain, choosing to lie very closely beside her mare. She made a mental note to be careful with her, to be slow, to be gentle, as if this was their true first time.

In many ways, it was. Their anticipation, need, and desire were palpable, pulsating like a third heartbeat between them.

Once they were close enough to feel the other’s warm breath on their necks, Babs Seed wrapped her forehooves around Apple Bloom's waist, who then wrapped her own around her mare's neck.

Like the newlyweds they were, they laid there in the thick, welcoming, wordless silence for a few minutes, or hours, studying each other with new eyes. Every curve and couture of the other mare's body was explored and considered with their new eyes, traced to memory. This was not the silence of fearful lovers, lovers testing the waters and taking their first erratic steps into the heat of passion and consummation.

No, this was the silence of love in its highest, when mere words cannot begin to eclipse the circumference of its wholeness.

They laid there, studying their reflections in each other's eyes. One mentally traced the seams and stitches of her wife's dress, while her counterpart numbered the freckles on her wife's muzzle.

Everything and anything within the time from their first, dangerous meeting to this very second passed through their minds. There was no sound but the slow rhythm of their synchronized breathing, steady and wanting, flowing in time with their erratic hearts.

The setting sun cast shadows over Apple Bloom and Babs Seed's foalhood bedroom. A gentle breeze swept through the window, left slightly ajar, which caressed their fur with a playful tickle. Both mares scooted a little closer in response to the cold, gaining another set of chills as they held each other a little tighter.

Finally, when the pain of not touching each other became greater than any possible hurt, Apple Bloom was the first to make a move, as she had done almost eight years ago, on this very same evening and on this very same bed.

Gently, she reached out and loosened Babs's bolo tie, careful not to chip or dislodge the purple shield her brother had hoof-made for her bride.

Had Big Macintosh known all those years ago that Babs Seed would wear it on this momentous day? Perhaps he did. Perhaps he had intended it all along. That humble stallion was wise in ways neither mare would ever know.

Once the tie was loosened, Apple Bloom moved to slip it up and over her wife's head. Babs complied, then raised her head when her neck was freed, smiling.

Placing the bolo tie on the nightstand, Apple Bloom moved next to the tuxedo jacket, playing with the delicate, silver buttons. Rarity had outdone herself this time. Little droplets of silver shone in the fading light of the sun, reflecting both mares' colors when they were angled at Apple Bloom's insistence.

Apple Bloom smiled as she worked, unbuttoning each pristine clasp with firm but eager forehooves. Smiling back at her, Babs Seed pulled Apple Bloom close and ran a forehoof up and down her mare's back, the soft silk of her wedding dress shimmering beneath her touch.

Babs leaned forward while her wife began to undress her, the sweet scent of her mare tempting her all the while. A mixture of perfume and her underlying scent—something akin to cinnamon and apples—filled her nostrils, making her shudder in anticipation.

Thirteen buttons later, Apple Bloom opened the jacket, then did the same for the white, long-sleeved shirt underneath. Finally, her forehoof breached the prison of cloth and made contact with Babs Seed's warm, thick fur underneath. She gently stroked her lover's chest with both forehooves, evoking a little sigh when she brushed a particularly bushy tuft of fur right above her wife's heart.

Apple Bloom paused and rested her forehoof there, noting with a smile how her pulse began to quicken at the contact. Leaning in, she planted a soft kiss on her mare’s cheek. Tilting her muzzle, Babs returned the gentle kiss on Apple Bloom's opposite cheek.

A cascade of colors followed in the silence: yellow and orange cheeks darkened to scarlet; two sets of glistening white reflected each other; and fiery-red and emerald-green asked and answered and vowed everything without needing so much as a whisper.

Together, both muzzles turned and met in a firm but tender kiss. Apple Bloom pressed her forehooves firmly against Babs's chest while Babs fumbled for the zipper on the back of her dress. Sweat began to bead on Apple Bloom’s forehead, chills running down her spine as the cool air hit her wanting skin.

Pressing into the kiss—making sure at the same time not to put too much of her weight against her mare—Apple Bloom lowered her forehooves and assisted Babs Seed's undressing of her, tilting her shoulders and arching her back when necessary.

At the same time, Apple Bloom began to fully remove her wife's tuxedo, working the sleeves out of her forehooves and revealing more of the pristine, orange fur that held her heart hostage. The musk of Babs's eager sweat drove her onwards, her nose filled with her familiar and welcome scent—a combination of citrus and apples, along with perfume.

With two opposite but equal motions, a wedding dress and a wedding tuxedo found their ways together to the floor. Each was tossed carelessly aside, as if flung by a nervous filly preparing herself for a first impression with little time and much anxiety.

Two coats brushed against each other as they began to entwine at last, all barriers broken. Two tongues peeked past their owners' mouths and discovered each other anew, joining two sets of lips, locked and loaded. Two sets of forehooves clung tightly to the object of their desire, grasping for dear life.

Feeling the rhythm of the other mare's heartbeat in sync against their own, Apple Bloom and Babs Seed closed their eyes, falling into the embrace. Neither submitted nor dominated the other in their kiss. They switched positions through the caress, wrestling and entwining and cleaving, coming together and pulling apart, then back again.

Not separate, but equal. Whole and greater than the sum of their parts—of everything.

When they finally parted for breath, coming up from the depths of their ocean, they paused only for a second before continuing. There was an understanding in the next meeting of their eyes.

With movements slow but deliberate, Apple Bloom slid a forehoof down Babs Seed's chest, while Babs's lips found her wife's neck. Crying out lightly when the stronger mare's lips, and then her teeth, found the soft skin near her throat, Apple Bloom began to stroke her wife's belly with one forehoof, holding her waist with the other.

Interspersing greedy licks of her tongue between soft kisses and forceful nibbles, Babs Seed closed her eyes while she enjoyed the contours and taste of Apple Bloom's neck and throat. Her mare responded by massaging her sensitive stomach and pulling her closer. Letting out a little moan, Babs bit down harder, leaving an impression of her jaws on her wife's soft flesh.

Apple Bloom muffled her cry in Babs's mane, chills of pleasure pulsing through her. She felt her wife's strong and careful molars mar the other side of her neck, making her cry out once more. The forehoof between them doubled its speed, tracing circles on Babs Seed's belly. Babs brushed her stomach against her wife's forehoof, throwing her mane back to groan at the new pleasure.

With a playful grin, Apple Bloom seized this opportunity and began to pepper Babs Seed's jawline, neck, and shoulder with a flurry of kisses. Babs Seed held her tightly, running a forehoof down her back to the dock of her tail and stroking teasingly around it. In the same moment that Babs squeezed Apple Bloom’s flank, clinging to her cutiemark, Apple Bloom unleashed her own set of sharp and wonderful molars, biting down on Babs’s shoulder.

Burying her bellow in tendrils of long, wavy red mane, Babs Seed leaned back and exposed more of her sensitive flesh to Apple Bloom's assault. Her wife wasted no time, marking her mare on the opposite shoulder. Babs shuddered and cried out again, unable to hold back the desire brimming in her blood.

The next morning, both mares would bear tender bruises where enamel met fur and skin—the wounds of their love, their passionate and rough and primal and gentle love.

To be marked this way was more fulfilling and meaningful than any tattoo, except for that of their hearts, beginning to beat in time.

Babs Seed held Apple Bloom tighter, feeling the smaller mare's heart thunder against hers, spurring both their beats on while the day turned to night and the fire within their chests sank down below.

With several licks of a flattened, warm tongue, Apple Bloom moved from her neck and turned her muzzle up to Babs Seed. They met in another kiss. This kiss was hungrier than the ones prior, a sense of urgency exchanged between the massaging of one tongue with the other.

Understanding this, Apple Bloom laid flush against Babs Seed, lining up her body so that her hindhooves rested directly beside her mare’s. In this position, each mare could feel the heat of the other between their hindhooves.

As Babs Seed sucked on Apple Bloom's tongue, she opened her eyes to find her wife looking at her... looking at her with her eyelids half-open, and her long eyelashes flickering slowly, and her perfect eyes tunneling straight into her.

I love you, Apple Bloom said with those eyes.

I love you and I want you.

Babs Seed broke the kiss for a moment when she felt Apple Bloom's hindhoof stroke the side of her flank. She blushed and let out a whinny of pleasure when her wife teased the other flank the same way, then pressed her body completely against her, as if she wanted to meld with her, as if she wanted to melt and lose her own colors.

As if, tonight, they would no longer be Apple Bloom and Babs Seed, but be orange and red and yellow, a sunset and a fire engulfing each other while they burned away into the atmosphere and the void.

Apple Bloom kissed her snout as she slid that hindhoof between Babs Seed's pair, resting it right above her marehood as she said with those eyes, I want you now.

Babs Seed slid her forehooves around Apple Bloom's neck and her hindhooves around her waist as she opened up to her.

Opening up once more, on this bed, on this night, eight years later.

With her eyes half-closed and a peaceful smile on her muzzle, Babs Seed replied, I love you and want you too.

Take me now.

Apple Bloom shifted herself, the smaller to the larger, and straddled Babs Seed's hips.

They gasped when they felt each other.

Far from spring, they were nonetheless warm and wet, twin furnaces needing the fuel of their contact. Apple Bloom snaked her forehooves around Babs Seed's neck for support and exhaled, her breath sweet in her wife's nostrils. She took another moment, as if preparing herself, as if she were a virgin again, nervous but wanting, but needing, giving of herself to her wife for the first time in their entwined lives.

Babs Seed, sensing this, tightened her own grip on Apple Bloom, all four hooves clinging to her and bringing her close as they laid on their sides. She, too, felt herself cease for a second, relishing the sensation of Apple Bloom against her, muzzle and chest and stomach and marehood, reminding herself of the impossible truth that the mare who laid against her, hooves and hearts entwined, was hers, and she was hers, and they were each other's.

Apple Bloom looked up again into Babs Seed's eyes, concern shining in them. Are you sure, with your back—

Babs leaned in to kiss her on the lips—a soft but yearning kiss. Yes. I'm sure.

Take me now.

Apple Bloom smiled that perfect smile of hers, the way she smiled when she was with her friends or her family, when she looked in the sunset, when a plate of apple pie was laid before her, and when she looked at Babs, spoke to Babs, spoke of her, dreamed of her, dreamed with her, and was intimate with her—mind, soul, and body.

As she pressed her body against Babs Seed's, muffling their cries that were sure to come with a deep, passionate kiss, Apple Bloom bucked her hips, brushing vulva and labia and clitoris together against the same of those she loved, against those of the mare she loved.

A little moan escaped Babs Seed’s tongue in the kiss. Apple Bloom scooped up the words as they rolled off her wife's tongue, exchanging them for her own tiny gasp of pleasure. Babs bucked back, a little harder, burrowing and tunneling into her mare as she closed her eyes and reached for Apple Bloom's tongue with her own.

Her reward was the tight but wonderful pressure of forehooves against her nape and a tongue sliding against hers. Exchanging dominance, Apple Bloom suckled the tip of Babs Seed’s tongue as she grinded her hips again, more forcefully this time.

Crying out as Apple Bloom’s clitoris met and caressed her own, Babs Seed moved her forehooves up to her wife’s mane. She tugged lightly and kept her eyes closed, letting the smaller mare explore her mouth with a warm, wonderful tongue.

Mindful of any potential pain, Apple Bloom kept her own forehooves at Babs’s neck, using her hindhooves to kept them connected below. As she caressed the larger mare’s tongue with her own, thanking her over and over for all the gifts of her love, she began to grind a little harder, a little faster.

Coats of orange and yellow moved in synchronization along with two sets of hips as they connected. Babs Seed willed her eyes to stay closed, letting herself drown into the pleasure of Apple Bloom’s most intimate parts melding and grinding with her own. If it hadn’t been for the continued kiss, she would be taking refuge in her wife’s mane, away from the intense fire building between her hindhooves.

Apple Bloom doubled her speed, bucking into her mare as she held her close. Breaking the kiss, she moved her lips to Babs Seed’s left ear, nibbling from base to tip, then licking the nick gingerly.

“Haah! Aaah-hahh…” Her mind blanked by the tingling pleasure of her wife’s tongue on one of the most sensitive parts of her, Babs Seed moved her forehooves back down over Apple Bloom’s body. She continued to grind in time with her wife’s hips, though she focused more on pressure than speed, fighting the sore ache in her spine.

With each wonderful motion of Apple Bloom moving against and with her, two sets of lips intermittently meeting and entwining with her own, Babs Seed began to forget any notion of pain.

Letting her forehooves wander over Apple Bloom’s back, Babs Seed reached her flanks and squeezed. Apple Bloom moaned hotly into her sensitive ear in response, sending warm, tingling chills through her wife’s spine.

“Nnng… Haaah… Babsy…” Apple Bloom nickered as Babs Seed gripped the dock of her tail and tugged. Arching her back at the sweet mixture of pleasure and pain, she forced herself even closer to her mare, then began thrusting furtively, pressing her swollen clitoris against her wife’s and rubbing them back and forth.

Feeling her tongue flop out of her mouth, Babs began to pant, fighting the urge to scream out at her wife’s masterful lovemaking. Each thrust sent her own pearl grinding and pressing against Apple Bloom’s treasure. “Haaah… Bloom…” She clung tightly to her tail, pulling firmly but gently against its roots while her mare’s lips found her neck and ears over and over again.

“Shhh… Haaah…” Taking the opposite ear in her mouth, Apple Bloom nibbled gently, whispering as she continued to buck, “Y-yer doin’ great, sugar… Ohhh… Jus’ like that…”

Babs swallowed, breathing hard. “I… Haaaaah!” A white-hot bolt of pleasure shot through her, rising from the epicenter of her pleasure and spreading through her veins. Apple Bloom’s strokes, coupled with her lips and tongue and teeth, were making it impossible to communicate. “I’m, I’m—“

Shushing her again, Apple Bloom leaned her flanks back against Babs’s forehoof while she clung to her barrel, grinding their bodies and marehoods together. Sweat dripping down her forehead, her eyelids half-lidded in growing rapture, she looked into her wife’s eyes and said, struggling for coherence, “Haah! S’okay, jus’… Mmmm... Don’t stop…”

Panting, her fur slick with sweat, Babs turned her muzzle to Apple Bloom’s open neck and began kissing deeply, desperately. She distracted herself from the warm, throbbing pleasure between her hindhooves with a myriad of kisses, ranging from soft to rough, on her wife’s neck. The air hung thickly with their joint pheromones, estrogen filling her nostrils with an erotic but pleasing scent.

Though her climax loomed, Babs Seed, determined to meet it in time with her wife, fought the urge to release, bucking her hips against Apple Bloom’s while she pulled on her tail. When her wife's hips began to shake, she switched to her teeth, biting down on her shoulder.

Apple Bloom let out a low moan at the sensation and thrust her muzzle against Babs Seed’s, grabbing both sides of her head and forcing their lips together. Her hips trembled as she bucked and grinded furiously, her swollen clitoris throbbing so hard it hurt. When her wife gave one more forceful tug at her tail, she finally tumbled over the edge.

Burying her final cry of pleasure in their kiss, Apple Bloom spasmed as she came, grinding herself desperately against her mare for one last sensation of ecstasy. Her nectar mixed with Babs Seed’s own slick juices, dripping down their thighs and hindhooves onto the bed. She kissed her deeply, passionately, twisting and entwining her wife’s tongue with her own as she rode out her orgasm.

A few moments later, Babs Seed released Apple Bloom’s tail and moved her forehooves up to her waist, squeezing tightly as she reached her own edge. She held back her bellow and instead settled for a series of low groans, her tongue vibrating in the other mare’s mouth while she thrust back against her.

Waves of pleasure proliferated through them, uniting and entwining them and binding them further to the hoofbands on their left forehooves, blood rushing from their hearts to where they met down below.

As her climax ebbed away, replaced with a warm but comforting satisfaction, Apple Bloom pulled away, panting. Locking eyes with her mare, she couldn’t help but grin widely, relieved to see her mare in so much pleasure, not a drop of pain tainting their first lovemaking as a married couple.

“Haaah… Mmmm… You alright, Babsy?” Apple Bloom asked as she began to come down. Lying against her mare, she snuggled against their shared warmth, blushing when she both felt their shared juices matted on her inner thighs and smelled Babs Seed’s tantalizing nectar.

Breathless, Babs simply nodded, looking back into her wife with wide-eyed wonder. Beginning her own descent away from heaven, she struggled to catch her breath. While they laid there on their sides, flush against each other, she relished the heat of her wife’s body above and below against her own, never wanting it to end.

Apple Bloom sighed and slumped against her, resting her muzzle underneath her chin. “Ah hope Ah didn’t hurt yer back,” she began, pressing a forehoof against her chest, “but that was amazin’, sugarcube.”

Once her heart rate settled, Babs wrapped her forehooves around Apple Bloom’s waist, holding her close. “I’m fine, Bloom… Heh… Mo’ than fine, actually,” she added, blushing as she closed her eyes.

They laid there in silence again for a few moments, neither shifting position away from each other. Chest-to-chest, marehood-to-marehood they rested, basking in the afterglow.

A gentle murmur forced Babs Seed’s eyes open again. “Babsy…?”

Glancing down, she found Apple Bloom looking up at her. “Yes, Bloom?”

“Are ya…” Apple Bloom swallowed, then briefly glanced away before returning her eyes to her mare. “Are ya feelin’ alright?”

Confused, Babs answered slowly, “Yes… Why? Summat wrong?” Was I too rough? Did I hurt youze? O’… maybe it wasn’t good?

“Well…” Apple Bloom cleared her throat, then adjusted herself so that she was muzzle-to-muzzle with her mare. “It’s been a while… A lil' bit o’ a long while, actually, an’…”

Babs frowned. Oh no, maybe I was too rough wit’ her…

“An’…” The blush on her muzzle darkening to crimson, Apple Bloom looked away before finishing, “There’s somethin’ Ah’ve been wantin’ ta try… If yer feelin’ alright, wit’ yer back an’ all…”

Resisting the urge to sigh in relief, Babs smiled. “Sure, Bloom. What is it?”

Apple Bloom rubbed her forehooves together, avoiding her wife’s gaze. “Well…”

“Iffa dis is ‘bout dem toys Sweetie an’ Silva gave us fer a honeymoon present, I don’t think I’m up ta it,” Babs explained, almost wincing at the thought.

Apple Bloom giggled, shaking her head. "Ah'm glad they gave that one ta us in private an' Ah put it away befo' anypony could see it! Crazy fillies, Ah swear..."

"Heh, heh... Yeah..."

Either lying on her back or on top of her mare would surely keep her in bed but out of the bedroom for at least another week or so. That she hadn’t strained herself from carrying her mare and consummating their marriage was a miracle in and of itself. Sweetie Belle and Silver Spoon’s “gifts” would have to wait for another time.

Though her blush deepened, Apple Bloom shook her head. Gently rubbing that same thick tuft of fur on her mare’s chest, she leaned in and said in a sultry, thick whisper, “No, Ah was thinkin’ maybe we could... You know… Enjoy somethin’ together…”

Babs blinked. “Huh?”

Apple Bloom leaned closer and whispered in her ear, giggling, “Heard o’ the sixty-nine, sugarcube?”

Babs Seed’s ears pricked. Blushing, she muttered, “Uh… M-m-maybe…”

Apple Bloom rested her forehoof against her wife’s heart, smiling when she felt it quicken once more at her touch. Instead of explaining, she kissed the side of her muzzle, then trailed her other forehoof down to her mare’s stomach. When Babs reflexively pressed back against the touch, she dared to trace further down, stroking her gently but teasingly.

Arching her neck when Apple Bloom’s forehoof came to rest above her clitoris, Babs involuntarily bucked her hips, a soft groan escaping her lips. Though calmed, she was more than capable of being brought back up to the edge again.

Quite capable, Apple Bloom found as she slid the tip of her forehoof up and down her slit, teasing at her entrance. Babs clenched her jaws and grunted, instinctively bucking against her mare’s forehoof.

As she brought her forehoof back up to her muzzle, Apple Bloom grinned. A thin but noticeable trail of her wife’s nectar dripped down her fetlock. Keeping eye contact with her mare, she licked her fetlock slowly, drinking in every last drop.

“W-wowza…” Biting her lip, Babs held Apple Bloom close, transfixed by her taunting tongue lapping at her juices on her forehoof. In spite of her previous strain, she felt no more pain or fatigue, flushing with desire at the thought of her mare’s tongue diving into the source of her treat…

With a few more licks, Apple Bloom was finished. When Babs opened her muzzle to speak, her mare silenced her with her lips, immediately thrusting her tongue inside her mouth.

Babs groaned at the taste of herself on Apple Bloom's tongue. Without a moment of hesitation, her forehooves flowed down her wife's sides to her flanks and pulled up towards her own, mashing their hips together again.

“Mmmm…” Opening her eyes, Apple Bloom brought her forehoof to her mare’s cheek. A trail of saliva connected their tongues for the faintest, but most precious of seconds. She then broke that connection with a sly, seductive smirk and a gentle sigh. “You always taste so damn good…”

Babs rubbed the back of her neck. “Uh, th-thanks?”

Leaning in again, Apple Bloom whispered, “If ya don’t mind, darlin’, Ah’d like ta taste ya more…”

Babs nodded, swallowing in anticipation.

Breathing hotly into her left ear, Apple Bloom added, “Because Ah think you would sure love ta taste me…”

Chills galloped down her spine once more. Moving her muzzle to Apple Bloom’s ear, Babs Seed gripped her flanks tightly as she exhaled in reply. “Y-yes, I would like dat very much…”

“Then relax an’ stay on yer side like this. Ah’ll do the rest…”

Giving her a final, soft kiss on her muzzle, Apple Bloom broke free of her wife’s grasp, then began repositioning herself on the bed. Careful not to accidentally kick her mare as she spun around, she first scooted away, then rotated on her belly.

With her face now closer to Babs Seed’s hips, Apple Bloom crawled back over, resting her muzzle on her mare’s stomach and her forehooves on her inner flanks for support. At the same time, she spread her hindhooves, slinking one of them around Babs’s neck. A pair of strong forehooves wrapped around her waist without instruction.

Inching closer to Babs’s marehood, Apple Bloom inhaled her scent, sighing in pleasure at the familiar, tantalizing aroma. Her mouth practically watered, wanting nothing more than to dive straight in and send her mare flying alongside the pegasi in the growing night.

However, she held tightly to that final bit of self-restraint and asked softly, “Ready, sugarcube?”

Thrusting her muzzle between her mare’s open hindhooves, Babs responded with a slow lick up her inner flank, close to Apple Bloom’s own dripping marehood. Closing her eyes, she moaned at the taste and lapped again, closer this time.

Apple Bloom muffled a moan. Now that the last question had been answered, there was no need for restraint. Letting that last iota of hesitation fall away, Apple Bloom began kissing her way down to her mare’s clitoris, letting her lower stomach and inner flanks experience the soft touch of her lips.

At each kiss, Babs Seed wanted to bite her forehoof or groan. For far too long, she had needed this, wanted this. Healing, combined with their joint respect for a long-standing understanding with Applejack, prevented them from exchanging more than a few kisses these past few months.

While her wife flattened her wondrous, sacred tongue and began licking tauntingly closer to her, vulva and labia and clitoris all, it was all Babs Seed could do to focus on returning the pleasure, rather than grinding against Apple Bloom’s muzzle.

Breathing heavily, she tightened her grip on her mare’s waist and forced her closer. Apple Bloom tightened her grip on her neck in response, locking Babs in place, not that she minded. Closing her eyes, Babs Seed crossed the greatest distance that could ever be and began kissing her mare, first her stomach, then her inner flanks.

Then, Babs Seed's lips found her wife’s growing pearl. Gently, she took it into her mouth, running her tongue over it as she tugged lightly at her hood.

“Mmmf!” Squeezing around her mare's neck and flanks, Apple Bloom shuddered and bucked, panting at the incredible sensation of Babs Seed engulfing the most sensitive part of her. Visions of herself bucking furiously as her mare took her further, suckling and nibbling on her most delicate of flesh, filled her mind.

For a moment, she merely pressed herself further against her mare, wanting nothing more than to experience that bolt of lightning once more. Thankfully, she regained reality and dove right back in, determined to make her wife experience the utmost form of Heaven tonight.

While Babs Seed’s thick tongue moved next to her lips, stroking them gently while the tip prodded occasionally at her entrance, Apple Bloom focused on her mare’s slit, licking up and down all the way.

When she paused at the top, brushing the sensitive hood back to flick at her throbbing clit, Babs bucked her hips hard against her tongue. Groaning, Apple Bloom rubbed at her sore chin.

“S-sorry,” Babs whispered, almost inaudibly. The powerful mare loosened her grip on Apple Bloom’s waist, pulling her muzzle away. “I… I didn’t—”

Stroking her stomach, Apple Bloom gently shushed her. “It’s alright. Ah know ya didn’t mean it. Jus’ try an’ relax, okay? Ah promise Ah’ll let you come.” With a cheeky grin, she glanced over at her and winked. “Unless ya keep bein’ a bad mare…”

Blushing a deeper shade of red than Big Macintosh would ever see in the mirror, Babs repositioned herself. Giggling a little, Apple Bloom brought her mare’s hips close to her muzzle, then gently flicked her clitoris with her tongue.

"Ahhh… B-buck…" Fighting a shudder, Babs Seed closed her eyes again and picked up where she began, using her wide, thick tongue to tease all the way down to her mare’s entrance. Apple Bloom shivered and sighed at each stroke, continuing to trace circles around her wife's clitoris with her tongue.

With her eyes closed and the entire house silent but for their breath and ministrations, Babs Seed was lost to Equestria. Her universe was the sweet scent of Apple Bloom’s pheromones and juices filling both her nostrils and mouth. Each lick rewarded her tastebuds with the finest nectar she would ever taste—the one thing she craved more than anything else. It was the taste of her mare, her love, her wife, and, with each taste, she pushed that mare closer and closer to her zenith.

If there was one thing Babs Seed loved more than Apple Bloom’s taste, it was her cries. If the Most High blessed her with the curse of hearing only one thing for the rest of her life, it would be those moans and sighs she would request without a regret.

As Apple Bloom continued to become wet and slick, more of her translucent honey dripping down her folds, Babs Seed was rewarded with both closer licks and louder moans. Her wife’s tongue tap-danced around her clit, teasing her, bringing her further to the edge but no more.

“Haaah… Ahhh!” Barely able to concentrate, Babs opted to dive straight in, gently thrusting her tongue into Apple Bloom’s waiting, wanting marehood.

From above her came a shuddering sigh and, “Oh, Babs…”

Pressing her snout against her mare’s clitoris, Babs Seed swirled her tongue around, groaning in pleasure as her inner walls tried to grab the warm, wet intruder. Apple Bloom’s marehood tightened around her tongue at the same time that the mare herself began squeezing her neck, both sensations a slight mixture of pleasure and pain.

Before too long, Babs Seed withdrew her tongue to catch her breath, then plunged back in. On her second entrance, Apple Bloom’s soft, smooth lips wrapped around her clitoris, taking her into her mouth once more. Resisting the strong temptation to buck, Babs closed her eyes and focused, beginning to find her rhythm.

Apple Bloom gasped as Babs Seed began thrusting her tongue in and out of her, eluding her tightening inner walls. Waves of pleasure rocketed through her, sending her heart galloping. She moaned with Babs’s clitoris inside her mouth, vibrating it to the tune of her mare’s own groans.

“S-sugarcube… Nnng…” Determined to climb the stairway to Heaven with her, Apple Bloom moved one of her forehooves down to Babs Seed’s entrance, then prodded the tip of her forehoof inside. At the same time, she gently engulfed her pearl, taking all of her visible clitoris into her mouth.

“Haa-aah! Mmmf!” The need to buck and grind was becoming far too strong. By the skin of her teeth, Babs Seed maintained her focus, thrusting her tongue faster. Ignoring the wonderful sensation of her mare both suckling on her button and penetrating her gently, Babs doubled her speed, pushing against Apple Bloom’s swollen clitoris with each swirl of her tongue.

Her wife’s marehood tugged desperately at her slick tongue, clamping further each time. Soon, she would be caught—a thought that kept Babs Seed from erupting right then and there, wanting, no, needing to please her mare, to make her scream her name.

Unable to stop an instinctive yet slow bucking of her hips, Apple Bloom struggled against her own reins, feeling herself pulled closer and closer to the edge. In response, she pushed the tip of her forehoof further inside her wife, feeling her tighten and squeeze around her. At the same time, she caressed her pearl, using her flattened tongue to flick and suck the throbbing nub.

Rewarded with the increasingly loud cries of her mare, Apple Bloom doubled both her speed and suction, her thoughts dissolved into the primal instincts of love and lust. Modesty cast aside, she groaned around her wife’s clitoris and began roughly bucking against her muzzle, riding her for all she was worth.

Feeling herself squeezing around Apple Bloom’s forehoof at the same time as her mare tightened around her tongue, Babs Seed knew in a brief moment of lucidity that they were close, so damn close, and all she needed to do was keep her speed, keep her pressure, keep doing the exact same thing, thrusting and licking and sucking and pressing as Apple Bloom rode her muzzle and suckled and hoofed her, and then—

Which one clamped down first, they couldn’t tell. All Babs Seed felt was her tongue being held in place. All Apple Bloom realized was that the tip of her forehoof wouldn’t budge.

And, in that brief second, they came, one after the other, their second climax as wife and wife.

Cries of ecstasy filled their foalhood bedroom, incomprehensible tongues wagging and spasming in glossolalia of the highest. Hips bucked, muzzles grinded, and hooves tightened as they galloped together to that cliff in the night sky, flying together as thick waves of bliss crashed over and under and through them.

Pleasure traversing down her spine and spreading through her nerves, Babs Seed withdrew her muzzle at last, panting heavily. She held Apple Bloom’s waist tight and secure as her wife, pleasure of her own proliferating through every cell, slid out from inside her and pulled her muzzle away.

In the silence, they caught their breath, then caught eyes with each other.

“Haah… Aaah… D-dat was…”

“Wonderful...”

Spent, Apple Bloom wiggled out of her mare’s weakened grasp. She swung around again, careful with all four hooves, before resting on her belly, then pulling herself up to Babs Seed. The larger mare, still panting, opened her forehooves to her, which were instantly accepted.

Wife and wife, mare and mare held each other, coming together for a third time that night in hoof and lip, body and soul. They shared a long, passionate kiss, exchanging tastes between them as they held each other close, lying on their sides in the bed.

When Apple Bloom opened her eyes to find Babs Seed looking at her, nothing had changed from that night eight years ago.

Though the filly in her forehooves had long become a mare—and not just any mare, but a beautiful mare, a wonderful mare, the mare who saved her life—there was still that same spark in her eyes, that same glint, that same light in those same gems that made her blush, that made her sigh, that made her feel safe and warm and loved.

If somepony would’ve told Apple Bloom eight years ago that she was going to marry that filly someday, she would have laughed them straight to Tartarus.

Here, on the other side of Heaven, there was no better place.

Apple Bloom, here with Babs Seed, was right where she needed to be.

And Apple Bloom, sighing like a furnace as she settled against her mare’s chest, couldn’t have imagined anything else.

All the aches and pains of her foalhood, of her uncertainty, her doubts, her fears—all of them dissipated into the nothingness they were as she laid there with her wife, the mare she was destined to marry.

Somewhere, Apple Bloom knew, there were two mares and a stallion smiling down at them, as were others, precious others. And while she was far from ready to meet them, the fact that they were here in this moment of love and union was enough to bring tears of joy to her eyes.

Looking up, Apple Bloom found Babs Seed smiling down at her, a pair of tears shining in her own emeralds.

Letting them fall, Apple Bloom whispered, "Ah love you so much, Babs Seed."

Letting her tears match her mare’s, Babs Seed whispered back, "I love youze too, Apple Bloom."

They wiped each other’s tears, smiling all the while.

When their eyes were dry, Apple Bloom asked, "Do ya think you can sleep on yer side?"

Babs Seed shook her head. "I... I don't think so. I think I need to be on ma stomach still."

"Alright, sugarcube."

With Apple Bloom's gentle hooves holding her, Babs flopped onto her stomach, then inched closer to her mare. Wrapping her forehooves around her neck, she leaned down, snuggling into her wife's chest and neck.

Carefully, Apple Bloom embraced her back, keeping her close, and warm, and safe, like she always had and always would, happy and eternal.

“Goodnight, Bloom,” Babs Seed whispered, willing but unable to fight a losing battle against her heavy eyelids.

Apple Bloom stroked her mane. “Goodnight, Babsy.”

Here, in the silence of their aftermath, Apple Bloom held the mare who had saved her, so long ago, and she had saved even longer ago, together at last in the eyes of the All.

When one ended, the other began, a blend no more of coats and eyes and blood, but of hearts—strong, steady, surpassing everything that had been thrown their way, with no intention of ever coming apart or ceasing to be.

It was not the end tonight, nor even the end of their beginning—it was the beginning of the beginning, starting over, tabula rasa, having been born as two and now brought into one.

And, as she began slowly slipping into sleep, Apple Bloom knew she had nothing to fear in this new beginning.

Under Luna’s unsuspecting moon, in spite of everything they had been through and would continue to fight through, in spite of the healing, and the memories, and the nightmares, Apple Bloom knew that they had friends, family, and each other.

And… love.

And love, as always, is enough.

Everythin' will be alright, Apple Bloom thought as she closed her eyes, as long as Ah have you, Babs Seed.

As long as Ah have you.