Mister Manehattan

In the time that Valencia had fully prepared herself for dinner, Manehattan had been covered under a blanket of darkness. The humid warmth of summer billowed in from an open window; high up in her room, a luxurious studio apartment which took up the entirety of the top floor, the orange-haired socialite surveyed the street and its inhabitants.

Only anger—acidic, familiar, long-held anger—and spite kept the Orange woman's hands from shaking as her eyes traced the figure of the blue-haired gentleman so many floors beneath her. Fingers clicking methodically about her ear lobes—these damned clasps—her cyan blue gaze moved tirelessly as she shuffled to complete her look.

It was as if a sheet of gauze had fallen over her mind—since her once-employee turned Arch Mage appeared on her doorstep not fifteen minutes ago, the world had taken on a hazy, dreamlike quality. Everything had become surreal, to a disorienting degree.

Valencia blinked, and suddenly she was being escorted into a waiting limousine, with no recollection of how she got there. Fancy Pants released her forearm, smiling with only a hint of nervousness as he sat across from her.

The car began to move, and the Orange socialite could absently hear the crunching of the asphalt under the tires, the air flushing from the corner vents in the vehicle. Fancy Pants' lips were moving as he spoke—he had certainly filled out, Valencia was sure his black suit hid much of his bulk—but she didn't bother to listen to what was being said. Doubtless he was spewing anxious filler before addressing his main topic of interest.

The acid grew in her throat again; after years and years of small talk, Valencia had found that she had little patience for it these days.

"Why?" she asked, interrupting her partner's flow of speech. She sat up in her seat, fixing him in place with a lazy but powerful gaze.

"I beg your pardon?" Fancy Pants asked, disquieted but not offended.

Valencia crossed her legs, a motion that wasn't lost on her date. Her fingernails, painted bright white, planted themselves firmly around her purse. "Why did you come back?" She watched his face, watching for signs of dishonesty. "Tell the truth," she added, rather harshly.

The blue-haired man met her gaze comfortably, before leaning back, arms outstretched on the seat. "I came to check on you."

Manehattan's draining summer heat did nothing to improve Valencia's mood; the surreal quality of the night refused to lift, and as she crafted her response, it felt as if she were hearing another person speaking with her voice.

With detached precision, she asserted, "Why not 'check on me' earlier?" She felt she should be angrier, but already she felt too weary and apathetic to get her hackles up. "Why wait until now?" Valencia asked, almost certain she knew the answer.

Fancy Pants had the nerve to look at her as if she had asked something obvious. "You weren't divorced before now."

Valencia jerked, as if she had been struck. Blinking, she stared at Fancy Pants as a sense of clarity washed over her.

The car remained silent for several moments; she hadn't expected him to broach the topic so brazenly.

She leaned against the window, feeling the cool glass against her sweating forehead. "No," she muttered, "I wasn't."

The remainder of their drive was silent, if not mercifully short. Valencia blinked tiredly as her eyes roved over her surroundings; she hadn't bothered keeping track of whatever direction they were going. Doubtless Fancy would have chosen an high-class restaurant on the Upper East Side, likely a bistro, to give them some privacy to catch up—

She blinked again, sitting up in her seat and rubbing the sleep from her arm. "This isn't the East Side." They were still in the heart of downtown Manehattan, outside a modest diner on the corner of a busy street.

Fancy Pants smiled as he opened the door and got out. He extended a hand to her. "You were expecting an elite restaurant, I presume."

She took his hand and allowed herself to be lifted up from her seat, being sure to untangle her legs. "That was the assumption, yes."

The Arch Mage said a few quick words to the limo driver, handing him a roll of bills and waving as he drove off. "It crossed my mind earlier, going there." He shrugged, half-grinning. "But I realized that that seemed a bit...pretentious."

She accepted his hand resting comfortably above the small of her back, guiding her towards the door. "How do you mean?" she asked, squinting. The bright lights of the homely little diner were disorienting after the subtle dark of the city.

They entered. "I would have thought that, following your separation, any number of your aristocrat friends would have tried the same." Fancy Pants surveyed her as they got into a booth, facing each other. "I don't believe they were successful."

Valencia simply stared at him, poise forgotten as, once again, Fancy Pants managed to subvert her expectations. After a pregnant silence, she shifted in her seat, placing her forearms on the speckled tabletop. "It's astounding how a thing like divorce can show you how superficial people are." She stared at her partner's neckline, tracing his collarbone while she fingered her own. "Every man that I was on speaking terms with took me to dinner on the Upper East Side." She frowned. "Most wanted to 'strike while the iron was hot', as it were." She glanced at Fancy's eyes briefly before returning to his neckline; his gaze was understanding, if not unnerving.

"And the women?" Fancy asked softly.

"Gossip is a fruitful indulgence," she answered with mock-loftiness, "until you find yourself the topic. I had no idea that so many women knew my husband was a scoundrel; I wish they would've told me beforehand, might've saved myself quite the mess."

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, in the midst of which a waitress came and took their orders. When she had left, Fancy reached his hand halfway across the table, thumbing hers. By his gaze, she could tell he meant to ask her a question.

Sighing, Valencia said, "I never told them the real reason we had our marriage annulled." She felt her hand being caressed gently, and was suddenly grateful for the contact. Taking a deep breath, she returned her gaze to the tabletop. "Gardner always wanted children, you know."

She heard Fancy Pants exhale heavily, felt his grip tighten on her hand.

After a time, she asked quietly, "Aren't you going to say something?"

The Arch Mage leaned back in his seat, propping one leg on top of the other and drumming his fingers on the table. He sighed heavily. "What an ass."

Whatever Valencia had expected him to say, that wasn't it. She sat upright in her chair, having never heard Fancy curse before. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your husband of twenty-odd years, despite years of utmost devotion and presumably amazing—" Valencia raised an eyebrow, "—conversations, I was going to say conversations." Fancy sighed, adjusting his spectacle and peering at his date. "At the risk of offending your affection for dear Gardner, his decision was both inconsiderate and uncalled for, so yes, I think I am quite entitled to call the man an ass."

A sense of nervous agreement built in Valencia's chest, but she didn't voice it. "I was under the impression you used to look up to my—him," she corrected hastily.

"Don't misunderstand me," Fancy Pants said, holding up his spare hand, "I have nothing but respect for the man I knew, and I have no intentions to assassinate his character." He slightly loosened his grip on Valencia's hand, noting that she grasped his harder in return. "But...giving up on your partner of so long, for such a setback...." The Arch Mage shook his head. "Selfish."

Valencia felt the sudden urge to defend her ex-husband, only to discover, with mild bemusement, that she felt no need to do so anymore.

"Yes," she admitted softly, "I suppose it was." She smiled weakly in response to Fancy Pant's grin.

Soon afterward, their food arrived, and their dialogue began in earnest. "So," the blue-haired gentleman asked after sipping his coffee, "how are you keeping busy these days? Still holding to the champagne life?"

"Not so much as before," Valencia said, raising a glass of water to her lips. "I run the manse as a fairly inclusive bed and breakfast." She kept her eyes on her partner as she drank.

"Truly?" Fancy Pants asked mildly. At her nod, he exhaled. "Just how inclusive are you?"

The socialite placed both hands in her lap and smiled brightly. "Octavia Melody and her friend are currently rooming for the duration of their stay in Manehattan."

The Arch Mage sat up in his seat, eyes widened. "The cello player?"

"The very same." Valencia sat forward, all too eager to once again to delve into her gossiping vice. "She's enjoyed it greatly so far, and I'm sure she'll recommend it to her peers."

Fancy Pants smiled warmly, his food forgotten. "That's excellent news."

"That's not all the news," Valencia continued, nearly beaming. "I've got the Wonderbolts booked all through next week as well." By her excitement and eagerness to see his reaction, it was clear that this was the meat of her point.

Fancy Pants indulged her much-needed bragging, showing surprise and given light compliments when appropriate. As their conversation wore on, the darkness of night became steadily thicker, until the streetlights of Manehattan were all that pierced the inky blackness.

"Dear me, would you look at the time," Fancy Pants said, eyeing his wristwatch. "It's well past midnight." He grinned apologetically at his date. "Funny thing, catching up. Seems to make the hours zoom by."

"It was time well spent," Valencia said, with an emotion bordering on warmth. She sighed contentedly, rubbing her shoulder. "For such a quaint little place, I rather enjoyed dining here."

Fancy Pants only smiled wanly. After a moment, he said lightly, "You don't remember this place, then."

Valencia stared at him, startled. "Why would I remember it? I've never been here before."

"Yes, you have," the Arch Mage corrected gently. "See, over there, by the window?"

"I don't..." she started to say, before her eyes widened. She looked back to Fancy Pants, mouth slightly ajar. "This is where we met."

Fancy Pants smiled, getting up and leaving a small mound of bills to pay for their dinner. "I count myself lucky, you know." One hand held Valencia's firmly, the other on her shoulder as he helped her from the booth. "If I hadn't seen you that day, I wouldn't have been set on the path that I followed. I never would've realized my potential."

Valencia smiled at him as they walked to the door. "Hm, never is a strong word. You were always driven, I'm sure you would've found a way." She leered conspiratorially at him, curious as his arm resumed its position around her elbow. "Where are you spending the night?"

"I made reservations at a hotel not too far from here," he said, somewhat anxiously.

A moment of silence lapsed between the two of them, during which their ride appeared in the distance. Hesitantly, Valencia started to speak. "If you wanted—"

"I shouldn't," Fancy interrupted, frowning slightly. He fingered his necktie absently. "We just met back up; it would be best if we rationed out our time together."

"Of course," Valencia said immediately, nodding her head. "I understand."

The Arch Mage smiled at her beatifically. Slightly tightening his grip on her elbow, he asked, "Will you be busy tomorrow?"

Valencia shook her head. "Other than the guests that I'm expecting, I have nothing scheduled." She noted absently to clear all of her appointments for that following day.

Fancy Pants beamed. "Excellent." He reached forward, opening the car's rear door as it drove up. "I'll be by in the early afternoon."

Realizing that he didn't intend to travel with her back to her home, Valencia gave her escort a modest smile and removed her arm from his. "Until then."

As the bathroom door nearly broke down under the abuse of a rain of angry blows, Spike knew that his Wednesday would be off to a poor start.

Sighing, the green-haired youth cranked the shower to a halt, shaking droplets of water from his body as he left the small enclosure. The sound of furious pounding ceased, replaced by what appeared to be a yelling match held by two women just outside the door.

He had planned to be well on his way before his one-time partner's sister came home, but evidently, he hadn't spent his time wisely enough.

Let's get this over with, he thought.

With no small amount of apprehension, Spike pulled on his undergarments and pants—he hadn't worn a shirt that morning—before inhaling heavily and opening the painted white portal.

Immediately his eyes trained on the woman in front of him. Like Babs, she was abnormally tall and bulky for a woman, but made up for a lack of femininity with curvaceousness. It occurred to him that, if not for her ruffled lime-green hair and lack of freckles, she could have passed for a rather pale Applejack.

The green-haired woman's face was contorted in anger, before warping to one of shock. She stepped forward, lips parted as she stared at Spike's face. Hesitantly, she whispered, "Spike?"

He blinked, startled. Behind her, Babs froze, eyes widened.

As the young man scrambled to answer, the woman brightened and grasped him about the shoulders. "Why, I reckon it is you! How ya been, y'old so n' so?" She turned to Babs, smiling heartily. "Why didn't you say he was the one spending the night here?"

Babs crossed her arms, glaring at Spike. "I didn't know you two knew each other."

Seemingly unaware of the other woman's ire, Babs' sister wrapped an arm around Spike's bare shoulder. "'Course we know each other!" She nudged him on the side with her hip. "Wasn't much talking at the time, mind," she said, chuckling.

Eyes bulging, Spike turned to the woman he was very sure he hadn't met before. "Hey, uh—"

"Red Gala."

"Right, of course," Spike said, highly conscious of the woman's arm on his shoulders. "Obviously, I remember where we met, but, uh, why don't you tell Babs about it?" He caught the younger sister's malevolent eye. "Now?"

"Not much to tell," Red said, turning to face her seething sister. "Few years back we were havin' the family reunion at cousin AJ's shack, before the Summer Sun Celebration." She pointed at Spike. "This one popped up right before lunch, 'long with that purple-haired brain come from Canterlot."

Spike's eyes widened in recognition. "That's right! I thought you looked familiar!" He turned to look at Babs triumphantly.

She rolled her eyes, but looked relieved. "Whatever," she muttered, arms crossed.

Red smiled at her sister, before turning back to their guest. "Last I saw of you, you weren't much higher than my hips!" She nudged him in the side, eyeing his bare chest playfully. "You ain't wasted much time filling out, I see—"

"Hey Red, I think I smell something burning," Babs said, jerking her head towards the kitchen.

The older woman tensed, releasing her grip on Spike as she darted for the kitchen, cursing.

Babs turned to Spike, no longer upset but visibly put off. She pushed him in the chest, knocking him softly into the wall behind him. "You never told me you knew my sister, jerk." Her hands lingered on his bare chest.

"I didn't know I knew your sister, jerk," Spike replied, pushing her back. She grinned at him, leaning close. "What were you two arguing about?"

Babs shrugged, her hand circling his waist. "Red doesn't like me inviting people over without her permission, especially strangers."

"Especially handsome strangers," Spike corrected, pompously sticking out his chest.

"Yeah, whatever, handsome," the redhead snorted, smacking him with the palm of her hand. "Come on, we've got a couple minutes," she said, pulling him into her room across the hall.

Spike struggled to regain his breath from her blow. "Geez, warn me next time you do that," he wheezed, closing the door. "...like hi-fiving a gorilla."

Babs pushed her partner onto the bed, deftly undoing his belt and zipper before reaching through his boxers and grasping his length in her hand. She looked up at him rebelliously, pumping his cock in her hand and smirking. Her mouth brushed brusquely against the tip, coaxing it with the flat of her tongue, before circling his manhood and wetting it entirely with saliva. She cherished her partner's sighs as he leaned back on the bed, allowing her to work.

Babs drew back, gripping him by the base and blowing coolly onto his cock. Spike groaned, absently registering his partner's movements as the curvy young woman climbed onto the bed with him, her palm massaging him the entire time. Finally, her head was directly above his, her eyes following his as one hand rubbed his chest and the other none-too-gently fondled his crotch.

"You shoulda seen Red's face when she found out I landed ya," she said in an undertone.

Spike cracked an eye open, smirking as he sat up. "Who landed who, now?"

"You heard me," she murmured lowly. "I'm the one who took you home with me, kid."

"I just needed a place to crash for the night," Spike protested, shoving up against her. "I didn't mind putting out a little if it meant a free bed."

Babs laughed. "You say that like it's easy."

Spike simply smiled at her, blinking slowly.

The redheaded young woman stared, surprised. "I could've been an axe murderer or something, y'know."

Now it was Spike's turn to laugh. He grasped Babs under her arms, pulling her up. "You?" He patted her side patronizingly. "You were the least threatening person in that whole club! That's why I chose you, ya big softie!"

Babs frowned at her partner, shifting nervously. "Who're you calling big?"

His hands found her bottom and grasped at it roughly through her shorts. "Take a guess."

Smirking, the larger teenager lowered her head, full lips on her partner's neck. She bit down gently on his skin as her hand encircled the base of his cock, tugging slightly on his balls as she slowly jerked him off. Her heart pounded in her chest as he groaned, content to let her work. Spike's fingers found their way into her nest of strawberry hair, hugging her close as she tended to him. His groans rose in volume as the curvaceous young woman on top of him pulled at his manhood, stroking him even as her ample chest pressed into his.

"You close?" she whispered into his ear, slowing her motions.

"Yes," he hissed back, trying and failing to keep from involuntarily thrusting into her hands.

Grinning, Babs pushed herself up from the bed, retreating until she was kneeling on the floor on both of her knees. When Spike, irritated, sat up to stare at her, she spread his legs apart, and after a moment of preparation, took his cock into her waiting mouth. She ignored his moan and focused on the hurried lesson the two of them had taken part in late last night.

And so it was that Red Gala opened the door to Babs' room, found her unexpected guest balls deep in her sister's mouth, and promptly slammed the door shut.

*pop* "RED!"

"BREAKFAST IS READY GO WASH YOUR HANDS!"

The two teenagers shuffled awkwardly into the kitchen, mumbling "sorry" as they bumped into one another.

Red Gala was waiting for them, chewing on her pile of pancakes behind the counter. Her eyes narrowed upon seeing the both of them pointedly ignore her burning stare.

"How's it hanging, you two?" she asked. Spike winced, glancing up at her before returning his gaze to the table where he sat.

Both Babs and Spike remained determinedly silent.

Sighing, Red Gala turned to her sister. "I'm tired from last night, B, so I'm gonna need you to get your chores done 'fore you head out to work tonight."

"What do you need me to do," Babs asked flatly.

"Churn the butter—"

"Oh come off it!" she barked, face flushed.

But there was no stopping the older woman now. "What would the family say, knowing you got an ol' friend alone just so you could get a belly full of marrow?"

"The fuck does that mean—"

"I'm just glad Ma and Pa ain't alive to see y'alls nonsense," the green-haired woman said, near to angry tears. "Their baby girl, carryin' on, locking legs n' swappin' gravy—"

Spike slowly put his fork down, no longer interested in eating.

"The hell's your damage?" Babs asked, highly embarrassed and angry. "I'm allowed to see guys when I want!"

"Not when it means bringin' em to our home and dishin' out tongue baths you ain't!" Red retorted. "I'm your big sister—"

"Half-sister!"

"Can I—" Spike started to say, before quailing under the furious glares of the two women. "Nevermind."

"I think you should step out for a minute, Spike," Red Gala said, breathing heavily through her nose. Babs glanced at him, momentarily frowning apologetically, before turning back to her sister.

"Sure thing," he said, glad to have a reason to leave the two feuding women to themselves.

He walked about the house, careful to remain out of earshot of the two sisters; their continued yelling from earlier that day had ceased, and even he would have had to struggle to make out what they were saying now.

For the moment, he was content to wander the apartment, contemplating how his current predicament would work itself out.

Should've just stayed at a hotel, he thought sourly to himself. He knew he would have to do so eventually, as spending a week with his one-night stand was unreasonable as well as unlikely, especially given his new-found knowledge of her relation to Applejack.

He hovered near the front door, preparing to shove out for a minute of fresh air in Manehattan's late morning atmosphere. "Stepping out," he called to the women in the kitchen, before turning the handle and swinging the door on its axle.

Instead of walking across the threshold, however, he looked up at the figure across from it, tawny hand poised to knock.

SHIT.

A pair of piercing, accusatory green eyes pinned Spike in place, as their owner towered over him. After a moment of stunned silence, the young Fire Drake spoke. "I can explain."

"Ya've got five seconds 'fore I gut ya," McIntosh growled, staring down the younger man as he blocked the only exit.