Sleepover at Apple Bloom's

Sweetie Belle awoke to the sounds of gentle rain outside and Apple Bloom snoring quietly in her ear. The warm evening had given way to a chilly night, and the pegasi responsible for weather had apparently herded storm clouds over Sweet Apple Acres in order to water the trees and clear out the lingering heat of the day. Sweetie Belle had been a bit sweaty and hot when she fell asleep, but now she shivered on the bed in the cool, moist breeze.

She extricated herself from her sleeping companions, hopped out of bed, and went to the large chest at the foot of the bed. Quietly, she lifted the heavy lid and grabbed three lightweight blankets that she knew were kept there. She threw one over Scootallo as best she could, for the little pegasus was sleeping on her back, wings folded under, with her four legs spread at wild angles. Apple Bloom was still snoring on her side, in a somewhat fetal position, and Sweetie Belle tucked another of the blankets around her tiny form. Then she spread out the last one—the super-soft one with the pink stripes that she liked so much—for herself.

She was just about to snuggle under the covers, when she heard a door open at the end of the hall. From the heavy hooffalls, she could tell that it was Big Macintosh, coming down the hallway from his tiny room at the end. Apparently, he was headed for the bathroom.

Sweetie Belle recalled hearing Applejack recount (with maybe a hint of jealousy?) the story of how the littlest pony in the family ended up with the biggest room, and vice-versa, how Big Mac ended up being crammed into the smallest room in the house. Originally, the tiny room had been Apple Bloom’s, but a few years ago, big brother insisted that a growing girl pony needed her own bathroom—Applejack’s room also had a small alcove with a toilet and sink—and traded places with his little sister. Sweetie Belle thought it was a really amazing thing for him to do, considering he did look a bit comical sometimes coming out of a room that wasn’t much more than a large closet.

The bathroom light was switched on, and the door closed. A minute or so later, the shower curtain was drawn, and the water was turned on in the shower, its sound merging with the rain outside. Sweetie Belle still hadn’t fully gotten back into bed yet; she was leaning up against the mattress, listening. Her imagination began to go to work, and she pictured Big Mac lathering himself up with soap—those strong arms and broad shoulders that had earlier lifted her so easily and tossed her into the outdoor washtub.

Sometimes she just couldn’t believe that the hottest young stallion in Ponyville was her best friend’s brother.

Her hoof strayed down between her legs again, and she was surprised with the urgency of the feelings she found there. After all, she had just climaxed a couple of hours ago, at most, but her little body seemed hungrier than ever.

With some excitement and a bit of trepidation, Sweetie Belle tiptoed over to the bedroom door, and turned the knob silently. She pushed the door open and peered out into the hallway. All was quiet except for the soft sounds coming out of the bathroom, and the shaft of light coming from Big Mac’s room. His door was open. She figured she probably had several minutes before he emerged from the bathroom, so she made her way down the hallway, being careful to make as little noise as possible.

Peering around the edge of the bedroom door, Sweetie Belle made sure that Big Mac wasn’t actually in his room before she entered. She took a few tentative steps and looked around. It really was a small room. The large bed took up most of the space, and the rest of his belongings and clothes were somewhat neatly stacked in two small bookcases. The only other piece of furniture was a tiny bedside table which held the lamp. Its yellowing shade cast the room in a warm glow.

Sweetie Belle had certainly looked into Big Mac’s room before, but this was the first time she had truly been in his room. Add to that the fact that it was nighttime and all of the other ponies in the house were, presumably, asleep—and she was one, excited little pony. She made her way over to the bed, which was still made, and ran her hoof over the plaid blanket. It felt like it was cotton—chosen, most likely, for its coolness in the hot summer—and it was folded over white sheets and several white pillows. Big Mac had obviously been lying on top of the covers, because Sweetie Belle could easily make out a rumpled outline on the one side of the bed. Besides, there wasn’t anywhere else to sit. There was a copy of Pony Sports Illustrated on the bed, too. It looked like it had been well-read.

Big Mac’s room had one, small window, and it was open. The sounds of the night rain and cool breeze made Sweetie Belle relax—just a little bit. She absolutely couldn’t get caught in his bedroom. Back in the hallway, she could have acted sleepy and confused, like she had gotten lost on her way to the kitchen for a glass of milk, but she doubted she could talk her way out of being in Big Mac’s room all by herself. Then something on the bedside table caught her eye.

There weren’t many things on the little table besides the lamp: a family photo (of Granny Smith, Big Mac, Applejack, and Apple Bloom) from what looked like a few years ago, a couple of books on plowing, a calendar with some planting dates and schedules marked on it, and a bracelet made of flowers.

It was the flower bracelet that had grabbed her attention. It was wilted, now, but it just had to be the one she made—when was it?—a couple of months ago, probably. It was when the Cutie Mark Crusaders had spent the whole day making things out of wildflowers. They had spent hours gathering the stalks and blooms from all corners of the farm, and passed the lazy afternoon in the clubhouse weaving colorful necklaces and bracelets and garlands and bouquets. Sweetie Belle’s best effort was a bracelet, and she had shyly presented it to Big Mac later that evening. He had put it on at the dinner table, but she had never seen him wear it since. She assumed that he had just thrown it away. Or eaten it.

But here it was, on his nightstand, next to a family photo. Sweetie Belle was floored, and realized that her mouth had been open—gaping—for some time now. She closed it. And smiled.

Without thinking, she allowed herself a dramatic swoon, and flopped face-down on Big Mac’s big bed. She easily fit within his indentation. The covers were still a little warm, and smelled heavily of the young stallion. It was nothing short of intoxicating to the little filly, and she dreamily let her hoof drift down to her inner thigh. Her tiny marehood was already wet, and she enjoyed a few delicious rubs of her swollen clitoris. Oh, heavenly hooves, this was amazing. Her head spun with desire.

And then she heard them.

Hoofsteps! In the hall. Close, and coming closer. She leapt off the bed and wiped her hoof on her flank. Who could it be? Everyone was asleep. Except for Big Mac, but he was still in the shower. Right? The sounds of running water were still coming from the bathroom, right? Or was that just the rain outside?!

She froze where she was, and waited. It was probably only a couple of seconds, but it seemed like forever. And then he was there. Big Mac. Drying his mane with a big towel. He walked into his room like a pony who didn’t expect anyone to be there, and it took him a split second to realize that one, very small unicorn was standing beside his bed, looking and acting petrified. He stopped short with a puzzled look on his face, but (not surprisingly) didn’t say anything.

Sweetie Belle opened her mouth, and searched for an explanation.

“Ummm…” was all she could come up with.

Think, Sweetie Bell, think.

“Ummm, she tried again, “I had a bad dream, and I couldn’t get back to sleep, and I saw that your light was on…” That seemed plausible, right? “…and you weren’t here, but I didn’t want to go back by myself, so I waited here for you to come back. Which you did. Come back. And here I am.” She smiled a big, cheesy smile, hoping her piecemeal explanation would suffice.

“Uh, eeyup?” said Big Mac slowly, as if he were still processing the last few seconds. The young stallion was never a pony of many words, and Sweetie Bell had learned that you could surmise a lot about what the big guy was thinking by looking into his large, green eyes. From what she could tell, his initial look of shock and surprise had been replaced with a quizzical bemusement. That figures, she thought. He probably just looked at her as his little sister’s silly friend.

“I’m sorry I came into your room without asking,” continued Sweetie Belle, “and I didn’t mean to scare you.” She paused. “Can I stay here with you? For a little while? Please?” Normally a request like this would be delivered with a syrupy pout and that whole big-eyed-cuteness thing, but she decided to play this as seriously as she could, hoping she could carry herself with some of the self-assurance that a much-older mare would most likely have. Seconds ticked by, and the little unicorn was sure that each passing moment decreased the likelihood of her getting to stay. But then the big stallion answered her with a soft chuckle.

“Eeyup,” he said sweetly, and he quietly shut the door behind him.