Persona

With a great deal of effort, I raised a porous foreleg and hooked it over the ledge, straining to pull myself up and onto the flat surface at the top of the cliff. I lay there, exhausted from my climb, panting, staring at the dusty sky. I sat up with a grunt and looked over the edge, my right wing dangling uselessly against my side.

Slowly, hesitantly, I raised my eyes, looking off into the distance, into the Badlands, just barely visible on the horizon. Even then, I could almost feel the pull of—

No!

I jerked my eyes away from it. The time for looking back was over. Instead, I faced forward, getting up onto my wobbly legs. I found myself on a dirt road hugging the side of the mountain, and I followed the road with my eyes until…

There! Just at the bend there's a guard’s hut, an Equestrian flag flapping in the wind. With a grimace, I began to limp towards it, ignoring the pain in my wing. I’d come so far. Just… a little… farther…

There was movement at the hut. The border guards had spotted me. They began galloping in my direction—two of them—and then their gait slowed as they got a better look at me. Thinking quickly, I plopped down on my haunches, raising my forelegs into the air to show that I wasn’t a threat. They stared at the sorry creature before them, surrendering to them, and the two of them exchange a wary look. Then, they nodded to one another.

One of them, a pegasus, approached me, placing his hooves on my shoulders and forcing me to the ground, and I winced a bit from a jolt of pain to my injured wing. Then his unicorn companion unfurled a length of rope in the glow of his magic and bound my limbs. I lay there, restrained, weeping and smiling.

The last thing I saw was a black sack being lowered over my head.

My eyes dart open, and for a terrifying moment I don’t know where I am. The dream lingers in my mind—the sensation of being tired and afraid and filled with desperate hope, like falling out of a thundercloud. But sure enough, the fog begins to clear. The sweltering Las Pegasus heat embraces me like a dear friend, and I blink my eyes across the sparsely furnished lengths of my bedroom.

I’m home. It wasn’t just a dream.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Almost noon. I let out a small whine. A part of me has often wished that I could wake up earlier and enjoy the gilded newness of early morning, but too many late nights have set me in my nocturnal ways. For better or worse, this bird doesn’t need to wake early to get her worm.

With a groan, I roll out of bed, setting my hooves on the carpeted floor. I trot into the bathroom and look in the mirror, examining my reflection with large, pupilless blue eyes. I try not to shudder at my disheveled appearance. It’s not that I’m an especially fussy changeling, but for someone to whom looks do matter, the creature staring back at me, with her crooked crest fin and scuffed chitin, is an insult.

Oh well, I think. It could be worse. I take a moment to turn to the side and look at my right wing. Aside from a scar near where it attaches to my body, it looks as it should. I give it a small buzz, and smile.

One long soak in the tub, and I feel good as new.

I amble into my apartment’s kitchenette, humming happily as the sunlight, even sifted through the window blinds, makes my hide shine. After fetching myself a glass of water and a ramekin of pistachios, I proceed to the living room, flicking on the radio and collapsing onto the sofa as if I’d walked there across the wilderness. I munch on the pistachios—eaten for my enjoyment more than any nourishment they might provide—and listen to the music, a stirring rendition of Rimsky-Horsakov’s “Procession of the Sisters”.

The music reminds me of the dream, still fresh in my mind. It strikes me then just what my life has become. I sit here in my comfy apartment, munching on salted snacks and listening to Equestrian classical music, with a job that keeps me well fed. It’s all a far cry from what my life used to be, before I took matters into my own hooves and came to Equestria. I have a new life; a better life. And it would be downright selfish of me to ask for anything more, wouldn’t it?

The song ends, and for an instant my apartment is utterly silent, all except for a single release of breath through my nostrils.

A sudden knock on my door startles me, and I very nearly inhale a pistachio. I continue to sputter as I make my way to the door. I peak through the peep hole, seeing a familiar face on the other side, and I can’t help but grin.

I take a moment to put up my usual, off-the-clock disguise—a thoroughly ordinary earth pony mare with a beige coat, greenish eyes, and brown mane and tail. Then, I open the door, revealing a large, burgundy stallion with a deadpan expression.

“Good morning, Middleman!” I chirp.

“Hey, Naamari,” he drones. “Enjoy your day off?” His small talk, as usual, has all the warmth of a penguin’s backside.

“Sure did.” I lean to the side and look at his saddlebag. “I guess you have a job for me today, huh? I’m feeling a little peckish, if you know what I mean.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Something tells me I don’t.” He reaches his muzzle into the saddlebag and extracts a manila envelope with his teeth.

I take it in the crook of my hoof, scrutinizing it. “Anything good?”

“You know I’m not privy to details, Naamari. I’m just a messenger.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, you got my allowance for the week? I’m running low on pistachios.” I give him my toothiest grin.

He rolls his eyes before reaching back into his saddlebag and tossing me a bag of bits. “If you had any brains at all, you’d be putting that into savings. Isn’t junk food a little superfluous, all things considered?” He gestures at me with a hoof.

“Privy? Superfluous? Middleman, have you been using word-of-the-day toilet paper?”

I always enjoy seeing his glare. I’m certain glaciers have melted under lesser things.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he growls.

I blink innocently. “But I thought pestering you was my job…”

Middleman turns with a huff and trots off without another word.

“Nice talking to you!” I call with a wave of my hoof.

With a chuckle, I retreat back into my apartment, dropping my disguise and returning to the couch. I switch the radio off with an emerald flare of my magic. Turning the envelope over, I break the red wax seal bearing the Persona crest and begin poring through its contents. For now, I set aside the paper-clipped bundle containing information on the client, instead looking at my role for the evening.

A familiar face looks back at me from a glossy headshot. With a suspecting smirk, I glance at the client’s info. Yep, a pegasus, just as I’d guessed. This job will be a piece of cake. Hardly the first time I’ve played the role of this particular pony.

I begin leafing through the client’s information, committing certain key details to memory.

At the end of the day, our job at Persona Escort Services—and I suppose the same could be said for a changeling’s life in general—is acting. Granted, it’s also to give our client some companionship, whatever that might (and usually does) entail. But how well we can do that depends entirely on how well we play our part. Details are the name of the game. We have to become our characters, not just in appearance, but in behavior and personality. Any deviation from this, and the illusion may be broken.

Obviously, our clients know that we’re changelings. For legal reasons, they have to know. But so long as we’re convincing, everyone gets what they want.

Feeling confident on my grasp of the material, I return all the papers to the envelope and lay it on the coffee table, scooping a few more pistachios in my hoof while I’m there. I still have a few hours to kill before I need to get going.

I pop the pistachios into my mouth and chew, and my crunching is the only sound in the entire apartment. I fiddle with my hooves for a moment, then look at the ceiling.

It sure is hot today.

...

You know what? It’s never too early to get into character. I want to be prepared, after all. I spring from the sofa and jog over to the mirror, closing my eyes and getting a clear mental image of my role.

A flash of green fills my apartment.

Setting four yellow hooves on the spongy surface of the landing area, I raise my eyes and get an eyeful of the spectacle that is Stratopolis. The cloud resort—complete with hotel, amusement park, shops, and restaurants—floats high above the flashing neon lights of Las Pegasus. Other cloud structures dot the sky in every direction, proof of the city’s pegasine heritage.

A short trot gets me to my destination: a diner tucked away off the beaten path. A flickering sign above the door reads “Raoul’s”. I approach the door, taking a moment to adjust my sunglasses—even though it’s night—and pull my hood more tightly over my head. Then, satisfied that I look the part of a celebrity trying to fly under the radar, I enter the diner.

I immediately take a liking to the place. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s cozy, and the air is filled with idle conversation and the smell of delicious pony food. There are several other patrons, seated at the bar or in booths lining the windows, but they’re too focused on their meals or on each other to pay much attention to a straggler such as myself. Then, across the diner, I see my client. Or, I assume it’s her, if the shock of multicolored mane is any indication. She’s sitting in one of the booths, her back turned toward the door, stirring a milkshake with a hoof as she gazes out the window at the nearby amusement park. Judging by the twitching of her wings, she’s feeling antsy. Not so uncommon for our clients, really.

With a smirk, I approach the booth. She doesn’t notice my presence at first, but finally her eyes catch my reflection in the window pane. The hoof ceases its stirring, and her eyes widen. She whips her head around, finding none other than the captain of the Wonderbolts standing beside her.

Now that I see her up close, I realize that she looks oddly familiar, like I've seen her before. Try as I might, though, I can't place her. Not wanting to get distracted, I shrug off the feeling.

“Hey, Rainbow Dash,” I say in my best impersonation of Spitfire’s voice.

She gapes at me for a moment, then whispers, “Whoooaa… You look just like her.”

“Excuse me?”

“Y’know, like Spitfire!”

All movement in the diner comes to a halt, every face turning in our direction to ogle the celebrity suddenly in their midst. I facehoof; I suppose I walked right into that one. Best nip it in the bud. Turning to the other diners, putting the same commanding edge in my voice that Spitfire uses at the Academy, I say, “Do you mind?” It has the desired effect. They quickly return to whatever had occupied their attention before Rainbow’s outburst, though the occasional murmur of Spitfire’s name is audible above the din.

Sliding into the booth, I meet Rainbow’s wincing eyes and say, “Can you just be cool? I’m trying to keep a low profile here.”

She grins sheepishly. “Heh, sorry. Got kinda carried away there. It’s just… wow, you look great.”

“Why, thank you,” I say. Now that my cover is basically blown, I pull back my hood, and as I remove my sunglasses, I not-so-inconspicuously run my eyes over Rainbow’s athletic form. “You don’t look half-bad, yourself.”

She gives a small blush. “Thanks…”

The sound of hoofsteps approaching catches our attention, and there stands a stallion wearing an apron and a paper hat, his eyes mostly drawn in my direction as he grins nervously. His nametag identifies him as the diner’s namesake.

“C-can I get you two anything?” he asks.

I look at Rainbow with raised eyebrows. “We’re eating here, right?”

“Oh, definitely!” She grins, then catches herself and lowers her ears. “Heh, if you want to, that is. I know it’s not fancy, but the food’s great, and—”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, reaching for a menu. “You order first.”

“Okay, um…” She turns to Raoul. “I’ll take a hayburder with cheese, and an order of fries.”

He jots it down, then says around the pen in his teeth, “And you, Miss… S-Spitfire?”

I give him a reproachful smirk, then say, “I’ll take the same. And a milkshake, too, please.”

“Coming right up!” He takes a few steps backwards, then wheels around and darts into the kitchen. A cacophony of barked orders and rattling pans issues from behind the swinging door.

I give a long-suffering sigh, then turn to Rainbow, who’s giving me a curious look. “Do you guys really have to eat?” she asks. “Because I know you guys feed on…” She trails off and gives her head a shake. “Sorry, never mind.”

I give her a reassuring smile. “Do you only eat when you ‘have’ to?”

“I guess not, heheh.”

Raoul appears with my milkshake, and I thank him as he sets it down and returns to the kitchen. I suck a taste of it through the straw. Instantly, my faith in Rainbow’s taste in food increases dramatically.

“Celestia, that’s a pretty freakin’ good milkshake,” I say, smacking my lips.

“I know, right? I came to Las Pegasus a couple years back to watch one of the Wonderb—… er, one of your shows, and I just stumbled across this place.”

I take another sip, then get down to business. “So, what’s the plan, exactly?”

“Well, I figured we could have dinner, and maybe hang out for a bit at the amusement park. Then… whatever.”

“’Whatever’, huh?” I ask with a waggle of my eyebrows. “You looking forward to Whatever?”

I never knew a blue pony could turn so red. She looks out the window in, I assume, a bid to compose herself. I give her a moment, studying the expression on her face.

“Sorry,” she says after a while. “I have to remind myself that you’re not really her. You just… look so much like her, and it’s like I can’t stop myself.”

I reach over and place a hoof over her own. She freezes at the contact, but doesn’t recoil.

“I am Spitfire. And you wanted to see me, Rainbow Dash. That’s why I’m here. I’m guessing there’s something you’ve always wanted to say or do. Well, this is your chance.”

She meets my eyes, and I give her Spitfire’s most confident smirk—the one she uses in posters and headshots; the one that says, ‘You can be a Wonderbolt, too’.

“Yeah,” she says finally. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Our eyes linger in their contact, and I sense an opportunity. Opening up, I feel a warm glow of emotion radiating off the young pegasus. It’s more than just attraction, but it’s not quite love, either. Love needs time to grow, contrary to what the romance novels say. What Rainbow’s feeling is like a really strong crush, but laced with feelings of admiration and respect. The kind of thing that might become love someday. I take a pull of the emotions, careful not to take too much. In this business, you have to sip, not gulp, or else there might be side-effects.

It’s pretty heady stuff. Clearly, this is a passionate pony with lots of heart. But ponies don’t come to Persona unless there’s something else going on. If there weren’t, they’d be with the real thing.

Suddenly, as if catching herself, Rainbow breaks our eye contact, sitting up straighter and sweeping a hoof through her mane. I feel the emotions choke off, and raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t you worry,” she said. “Tonight’s gonna be epic!”

I study her for a moment before responding. “I can’t wait.”

With no further ado, Raoul shows up with our food, setting a couple of plates down before doffing his paper hat and ducking away. I give him a smile, then turn back to Rainbow, finding her already chowing down.

“Go ahead,” she says through a mouthful. “This is awesome.”

I look down at my burger. I’m pretty sure that if I had a normal, pony stomach, it’d be growling right about now. I may feed off emotion, but I’m a sucker for pony food. I pick the burger up and give it a big bite, then freeze, holding the bite in my mouth as I turn widening eyes to the miracle in my hooves.

“Oh, dear Celestia,” I slur. “I think my tongue just had an orgasm.”

Rainbow beams at my show of approval, and we continue to eat in companionable silence.

“So,” I eventually say between bites. “I’m curious: What makes Rainbow Dash tick? In all the times we’ve crossed paths, we’ve never really had a lot of one-on-one time. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

She gives me a cocky grin. “Alright. Well, I’m from Cloudsdale. Though, I guess you already knew that much…”

“… and Rarity and Pinkie Pie had to ride all the way back to Ponyville in a handcar!”

The two of us burst out laughing, though none of the other ponies pay us any mind. They’re mostly too involved in carnival games and food carts. Every now and then somepony points at me with whispers of ‘Spitfire!’, and once or twice an intrepid soul has approached me for an autograph—sort of iffy from a legal standpoint, though it’s not a problem as long as they don’t turn around and sell it. Otherwise, Rainbow and I have been left in peace.

“I can’t believe you just left them out in the desert,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye.

“Neither could they. Boy, I felt like a heel!”

I give one last giggle, then say, “You’re pretty funny, Rainbow Dash. Why haven’t you asked me out before now?”

Her smile dampens, but doesn’t disappear completely. “I dunno. I guess the timing was never right.”

“The timing?! We’ve seen each other tons of times!”

“Yeah, I know! But think about it. The first time we met was at the Best Young Flyer’s competition, and I acted like such a spaz.”

“And you saved my life,” I point out.

“And I saved your life,” she concedes. “But I wasn’t even thinking when I did that. It was mostly just reflex. Then you regained consciousness, and I started acting like this starstruck little filly. I mean, you’re Spitfire! You’d been my hero for years, and I… sorta, mighta had a liiiittle crush on you.”

I give her a nudge with my shoulder as we walk, and she gives me a rosy grin in return.

“When I went to the Gala, I thought I had a plan,” she continues. “I was gonna play it cool, impress you, the whole nine yards. Needless to say, that didn’t work out. Then at the Academy, there was all that drama with Lightning Dust, and then the thing with Soarin at Rainbow Falls. It just got harder and harder each time I saw you. Which sucks, because the more I get to know you, the more I want to know you better—not ‘Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts’, but… just Spitfire, you know?”

“’Just Spitfire’, huh?” I give her a playful quirk of my eyebrow.

“Well… yeah! I’ve always looked up to you as a flyer, but the more I see you, the more I respect you as a pony. You’re always so strong and in-control. And even when you screw up, like at Rainbow Falls, you own up to it and make things right.”

In unspoken agreement, we approach a bench and sit down, staring up at the rollercoaster across the way.

“Why haven’t you told me any of this before?”

“I dunno,” she says, idly kicking a hindleg. “I don’t think I’d even be saying it now if you weren’t… I mean, if Spitfire were actually… uggghhhh!” She watches as a rollercoaster car filled with screaming ponies darts past. “Look, I’m just… not good with this touchy-feely stuff, alright? It’s not easy for me to talk about my emotions and whatnot. Especially with… Spitfire,” she finishes, indicating my body.

“Why not?”

“Well, I… it’s just… look, I’m Rainbow Dash! I’m the coolest, most awesome pegasus in Ponyville! I can’t just go around acting like some lovestruck filly. I have an image to maintain!”

I give her a skeptical look. “I think you and I both know there’s more to you than just an ‘image’.”

“I guess,” she admits. “And with some ponies, like my friends, I don’t mind letting my guard down from time to time. But with the Wonderbolts? With you?”

A silence drapes itself over us for a moment or two. Another car filled with ponies races past on the rollercoaster. I catch a glimpse of their smiling faces as they whip past.

“You know,” I say, breaking the silence. “There’s a lot more to being cool than just being tough and in-control. Being a Wonderbolt takes heart. It takes passion. Not just for flying, but for… for life, I guess. It’s a mentality you have to have—to dream things, chase them, seize them out of the air. You have to find that one thing that puts the wind under your wings. If you want to get to know someone, then attack it head-on! Because it’s a lot less cool to just let things pass you by.”

She looks at me out of the corner of her eyes. “That was pretty cheesy, you know?” Nevertheless, she’s smiling.

“Maybe so,” I say with a giggle. Truth be told, I’d thought the same thing when I first heard that speech—or something like it—from a former client. “But that doesn’t make it untrue.”

She appears to consider my words for a bit, another comfortable silence surrounding us. The rollercoaster car shoots past again, and Rainbow follows it with her eyes. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head. Again, it strikes me how familiar she looks—it's on the tip of my tongue!

Finally, she looks at me and motions to the rollercoaster with her head. “Wanna go for a spin?” she asks.

I give her a smirk. “By ‘go for a spin’, do you mean the rollercoaster, or are you just feeling really confident?”

She visibly fights off a blush, then nudges my shoulder with her own. “Oh, shush. C’mon!”

She hops off the bench and leads the way to the queue. I chuckle as I follow in her wake.

A rollercoaster in a resort mostly catering to pegasi may seem a little redundant, especially when stunt flyers like Rainbow Dash or Spitfire are involved. They do things beyond the capacity of any rollercoaster on a fairly regular basis. But somehow it works. Maybe it’s the lack of control—an instinctual response to having your wings pinned to your sides as you’re hurtled through the air. Adding to the thrill is the fact that this particular rollercoaster frequently ventures beyond the edge of Stratopolis’ cloud base, leaving nothing between you and the Las Pegasus strip below except a thousand-foot drop and the sound of your own screaming.

As we bank through one such excursion into the open air, Rainbow and I throw our hooves up and shout for joy. Coming out of the turn, the car dips down before shooting upwards into a loop.

Mostly out of reflex, I reach over and grab Rainbow’s hoof, feeling her muscles tense under the instinct to pull the limb away. But she resists that instinct. When we come out of the loop, our hooves are still grasping one another. Our eyes meet, and she bites her lip for a brief moment before smiling. I take another pull of her emotions, more to gauge them than to feed, and there’s something softer there than before, like a trusting animal exposing its tender belly. We bank into another turn, and she leans against me freely.

Eventually, the cars pulls into the boarding station and the other passengers begin to disembark. Rainbow and I, however, remain seated, still holding hooves, looking at each other in silence. A final wave of conflicted feelings passes over Rainbow’s face before she closes her eyes and slowly, slowly leans in.

Our lips meet, and I feel a surge of emotion rolling off of her, growing in intensity. I wrap a foreleg around her neck, pulling her in as our kiss deepens. I feel the lightest brush of her tongue against my lips, and I part them to—

“Ahem.”

We jerk apart, blushing under the scrutiny of the ride operator, glaring at us with a raised eyebrow. Thankfully, doesn’t seem to recognize me; I could only imagine the look on Spitfire’s face if she opened the morning paper and found a story about her and another mare kissing in Las Pegasus. That doesn’t make the current situation any less awkward, though.

“Do you mind?” he asks. “I need to get the next group on, and there’s a whole city for the two of you to make out in.”

With mumbled apologies, we scramble off the ride and away from the rollercoaster.

We walk side by side under the weight of an awkward silence. It’s starting to get late, and around us the crowds are starting to thin. A calm—or, as close to a calm as ever comes to this city—descends over the Stratopolis resort. I cut my eyes in Rainbow’s direction, but she seems lost in thought, tonguing the inside of her cheek. Her emotions are again dampened, and my ears droop at the revelation.

Finally, she speaks up. “Sorry...”

I blink at her. “For what?”

“For what happened on the rollercoaster. I don’t know what came over me.”

I hold out a foreleg to stop her, then place a hoof on her shoulder. “Don’t you dare apologize, Rainbow. I liked it.”

She studies my face. “Really? You didn’t think it was lame?”

“Not at all! If anything, I’m bummed that that dude interrupted us.”

She appears to consider this, ambling her way to the edge of the cloud. I follow her and come to a stop at her side, looking down at the city below. If I squint, I can just make out my apartment building from here. But Rainbow’s not looking at the ground—she’s looking at the sky, the stars. I imagine she does that a lot.

She finally turns towards me and gives me a grin that’s clearly meant to be confident, though the cracks in it aren’t hard to see. “Wanna go for a fly?” she asks.

“Sure…” I reply with some reluctance, looking into the open air.

She spreads her blue wings—powerful, sleek—and launches into the air, and I follow her lead, swallowing deeply.

It’s not that I’m a bad flyer, per se. But my right wing never fully recovered from an injury I’d received during my… escape. I can fly well enough, but anything too strenuous makes my wing ache, even in altered form. If Rainbow starts doing any stunt flying, it might be a problem.

Thankfully, she doesn’t fly too quickly, seemingly content to glide over the flashing city below, enough so that I’m able to keep pace with her. We fly for some time in comfortable silence until Rainbow spots a small tuft of unused cloud and banks toward it, leading me.

We set down on the cloud and sit on our haunches, our flanks just barely touching. The view is incredible, the mountains to the west casting a dark scar against the starscape. We’d flown far enough that most of the city’s lights are behind us and away, and the air traffic here is low. It’s quiet—truly quiet, the kind you rarely get in Las Pegasus.

I almost give a start when Rainbow drapes her wing around my back.

I smile to myself. Good girl.

We look at each other, and I see something in her eyes, a shuddering of some internal war between excitement and hesitation.

“Should we…?” she whispers, and there’s no question about what she means.

“That’s up to you," I reply simply.

She averts her eyes for a brief moment, and I can practically see the last of her resistance melt away.

“Aw, heck,” she mutters, and in one daring move, she lunges forward and plants her lips on my own. She manages to catch me slightly off guard, but soon enough I wrap my arms around her neck and lean back, pulling the both of us down onto the cloudbank with her on top of me. I feel her body shivering, and I know it’s not from the chill of a desert night.

Her tongue pushes against my lips, and I let it in, meeting it with my own, wrestling it for dominance. Her wings lower to my sides in an embrace of feathers, and I feel a hoof slowly wander its way down my body, between us, until it arrives between my legs and, after a final pause, makes contact with my folds. I let out a tiny moan as she begins to rub in awkward, circular motions.

She breaks the kiss, instead resting her forehead against mine and watching my face as she works, her eyes glimmering with a desire for approval.

And boy, does she have it. Contrary to what one might think, changelings are, in fact, capable of sexual pleasure. Granted, sex tends to be a business-like affair for us, a means of survival, but that doesn’t mean it’s not enjoyable, much as one might enjoy food for the taste, and not merely the sustenance. And, I have to admit, it’s even better as a pony—warmer, softer. More passionate. I allow myself a moment to simply melt into the sensations.

But a good actor remains attentive.

I notice the look on Rainbow’s face. It’s almost apprehensive, even afraid—afraid that she’s doing it wrong, or that I won’t like it. Making the first move was a big step for her, but she’s still trying to impress me. It simply won’t do.

Just be yourself, I reprimand her in my mind. Just let it go.

I raise a hind leg and press it against her own slit, pressing my yellow thigh into her. She gasps, and her hoof slows its motions. While her guard is down, I roll her over and mount her, leaning my face close to hers to kiss and nip at her neck as I grind my leg into her. I feel her back arching under me, her wings stiff against the cloud. I feel moisture seeping through the fur on my thigh.

Her eyes peek open and fill with resolve. She sits up as much as I’ll let her, wrapping a foreleg around my shoulders for leverage while her other hoof darts back between my legs and continues its ministrations against my vagina.

I give a small snort of frustration. Can’t she just enjoy this?

I pull away from her, and before she has a chance to protest I place a hoof on her lips, silencing her. “Shhhh. I have an idea.”

I raise her hips off the cloud, holding onto one of her hindlegs for support and maneuvering our vaginas together. I begin to grind against her, her eyes fluttering closed as pleasure courses through her. Lacking leverage in her position, she’s unable to do much thrusting of her own, and I hope the fact that I’m getting some enjoyment out of it too will ease her mind. I lightly stroke the inside of her thigh as I rub, rub, rub our marehood’s together.

She looks up at me, blushing, surrendered, tongue lolling out as I thrust against her. I continue to soak up the emotions she’s giving off, and I drink deeply, feeling warmth inside as her attraction, her admiration, fills me, satisfying a hunger that hayburgers are helpless against.

A slight change of angle, and our clits brush against one another. Rainbow’s body jolts with a yelp. I’ve done this enough times to know when a pony is close, and I’ll be darned if I’m not right there with her. My own pleasure, set afire by her emotions whirling through me, drive me close to a release of my own. And sure enough:

Rainbow screams into the skies. As the orgasm rips through her body, her wings give involuntary flaps and the hindleg in my grasp kicks and twitches. It’s enough to send me over the edge as well, though I’m far quieter than she is as my weight slumps down on her and I shudder.

When Rainbow goes limp, I almost follow suit, instead falling to my knees and continuing to hold onto her leg. Rainbow lies there in a puddle, panting, watching my face. Even through the afterglow, I can feel something new welling up inside her, and it feels sour and wrong.

It’s like she’s afraid I’ll be mad at her, or disappointed.

I do the first thing that comes to mind: “You’re so beautiful,” I say.

That feeling evaporates, replaced with relief as she blushes, then smiles.

“Really?” Her voice is so small it breaks my heart.

“Totally.” I smile before giving her hind hoof a light kiss.

She gasps. I can tell—feel—that she wants more. And maybe now, she’s ready to let herself be vulnerable for a while.

I begin to kiss my way down her leg and across her inner thigh until I finally arrive at my destination. I wrap my arms around her thighs and press my hooves into her cutie marks, looking at her face and asking a question with my eyes.

Her lips twitch upward, and she nods.

I immediately plant a gentle kiss on her lower lips, and I feel the muscles in her legs twitching against my cheeks. These tiny responses turn to gasps and spasms when I stick my tongue out and drag a long, deep lick across the length of her slit. I feel her forehooves grab my head, holding me against her and running through my fiery mane as I continue to lick. The taste, like rainwater, fills my mouth as I eat her out, the wet sound of my licks and slurps punctuated by long moans from deep in her throat.

I decide to up the ante. I straighten my tongue and plunge it as deep inside her pussy as it can reach. Then, I cheat. Using my changeling magic, I lengthen my tongue, the green light hidden inside of her body. The slick muscle grows, slithering inward inch by quivering inch, until it reaches her cervix, piercing as deeply as any phallus could, and far more dexterous. I look up to Rainbow’s face, watching as her eyes roll back at the sensation. I proceed to wriggle and roll my tongue around, lathering every inch of her insides. Rainbow’s back arches off the cloud, tremors belting through her body as her moans reach a desperate pitch, as if the sheer amount of pleasure she’s experiencing might overwhelm her and dash her against the rocks.

I feel my tongue brush against the spongy surface of her g-spot, and Rainbow jolts with a shout. I can tell she’s teetering on the edge, so I go in for the kill. Throwing myself open to her emotions, I find her clit with my upper lip, giving it a suck as I send one last ripple of my tongue through the entire depth of her pussy.

For an instant, it’s like she’s been struck by lightning, her entire body seizing, until finally it explodes into spasms and she shrieks into the air. Her wings give a flap strong enough to lift her off the cloud altogether, but I don’t let up, continuing to writhe my tongue around and drinking the flow of her release.

Finally, Rainbow goes slack. I pull my tongue out of her still-twitching pussy and withdraw from between her legs. I sit up on my haunches, looking down at her and wiping my muzzle clean, then freeze. Rainbow’s not moving, and her eyes are closed.

Oh sweet Celestia, I’ve killed her.

I rush forward, placing an ear to her chest. A few seconds, and I sigh with relief, finding her merely passed out.

It’s hard not to feel a little cocky as I lay down beside her and wrap my forelegs around her barrel. I close my eyes, simply basking in the warmth and fullness inside of me. I’d certainly dined sufficiently. And Rainbow…

I open my eyes and look at her face. She really is beautiful, especially when she lets her guard down. Maybe, after tonight, she’ll be more willing to do so. She deserves to shine, and the world deserves to see her shine.

I give her a peck on the cheek, then snuggle against her, waiting for her to wake up.

It doesn’t take her long to regain consciousness, and the two of us spend some time just lying on the cloud, chatting and looking at the faint stars overhead. Soon enough, however, we start to stir, eventually taking wing and gliding back down to earth. Finally, we set down at Rainbow’s hotel. I walk her to her room, and we come to a stop outside the door.

“Thanks for everything,” she says. “This’s been an awesome night.” She fidgets for a moment. “You wanna come in?”

“I can if you’d like, but you do have an early train to catch.”

“Yeah, I guess…” She scuffs the floor with a hoof.

“Hey.” I put a hoof on her chin and raise her eyes to meet my own. “Promise me something?”

“Of course!”

“Drop by sometime. At the Academy, or in Canterlot—wherever you can track me down. Ask me out for a cup of coffee or something. Alright?" And please, for the love of Celestia, don't mention this night to Spitfire, I add with my eyes.

She gives me a smile, and then winks. “I promise.”

I tussle her mane. “You’re an awesome pony, Rainbow. Just don’t be afraid to show it sometimes."

“I’ll try,” she says with a chuckle.

I give her a quick hug and say, “I’d better be seeing you around, kid.”

With that, I take off into the night. I give one last glance over my shoulder, watching as Rainbow waves, turns, and disappears into her hotel room. With a contented sigh, I face forward and head towards home.

The door to my apartment opens, and I step through, still wearing Spitfire’s form. I turn on a few lamps, toss the hoodie and sunglasses onto the coffee table, and look at myself in the mirror.

I congratulate myself on another good assignment. The kind of strong crush that Rainbow has for Spitfire might not be as filling as full-blown love, but I feel satisfied nonetheless. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had fun.

With a flash of green, Spitfire’s gone, and all that’s left in my apartment is a small changeling refugee. I make my way over to the couch and collapse on it, spotting my pistachios still sitting on the coffee table. I reach over and pop a few into my mouth. My apartment is silent except for my crunching. Then I swallow, and only the silence remains.

I idly look around my apartment, eyeing the small number of possessions I’d accumulated since defecting to Equestria. Having possessions is, itself, a new experience for me. I remember when I first moved into this place—it had been so bare, so empty. Since then, I've kept searching for little things to fill it, but it barely makes a dent. I give a quiet sigh for my quiet home. If I’m going to fill all this space, I might need something a little more substantial.

Maybe a dining table.

To be continued...