In which Scootaloo was mounted by Thunderlane in the gym shower

Thunderlane loved having Rainbow Dash as a best mare friend. She'd won ownership of his favorite gym in a game of poker against a very drunk Soarin' (and consoled him with a roll in the hay afterwards), and ever since, if she liked you, she'd let you use the facility after hours. You simply had to clean up after yourself, turn the lights off, straighten up the weight room, etc, make sure the place was tidy for tomorrow. And, being a responsible stallion, that's what he did every night he asked to do so.

I have to pay you back, Dash, he thought as he exited the stallions' locker room and strode across the gym lobby, headed for the weight room, clad in T-shirt and sweatpants and with water bottle in hand. I just don't know what you'd want... Well, what ELSE you'd want.

In all actuality, Rainbow had outright told him what he could do to repay her, but for a stallion as... willing, as he, he'd refused. He'd had to lie to her to cover his concern about catching something from her. The mare had the libido of a flock of dragons in permanent mating season (which is to say, furious), and exercised it liberally. With only a few buck-buddies, but still.

"The things I do for love... ugh." he groused as he trotted towards the free weight rack and set his water bottle down. He hummed to himself as he let his fingers choose which weight pair he'd pick up and was moderately pleased when his fingers stopped on the seventies. Or, rather, the lone seventy pound dumbbell. Thunderlane snorted as he glared at the empty socket next to the loner seventy like though it had insulted his mother.*

"Shit."

When Rainbow came by in the morning and noticed it, she'd take it out on him. Sourly, he glared around the room. He found it, certainly... being tossed in the air.

"Are you done with that seventy, Scoots?"

"Well, 'hi' to you, too, Thunder." Scootaloo snarked from across the room, her face red with strain. Scootaloo was working on a wing work-out she'd concocted: She was tossing a gargantuan seventy-pound weight (the missing one, if you've not figgered by now) up in the air as high as she could manage with one wing, then catching it, doing ten sets of twenty reps with that same wing, then doing fifty wing-ups with that same wing, and then doing fifty chin-ups on a nearby bar using that same wing before switching wings and repeating the whole process again. She did ten of these each day. For a seventeen-year-old filly she had muscle and balls; he'd be crying like a newborn foal with broken wings if he attempted that. So admire, much proud.

...Maybe the forties would work for him?

"'Sup, Scootaloser. Fly yet?"

"'Sup, Thunderlame. Found a marefriend yet?"

"Well. Nice to know somepony loves me."

"Who'd love you? Your mane's an albino."

"Mmm. Right in my mitt." Thunderlane feigned heart pains at the orange filly's jab as he abandoned the seventy-pounder and headed instead for the bench press. This verbal jousting was something they did whenever they encountered each other in the gym. Puts an edge on each other's attempt to outdo the other. Friendly competition. Foreplay, if you will, for Thunderlane's iron. He snickered to himself as he loaded the bench with two forty-fivers.

"Ninety? Hah!" Scootaloo called, grunting with the effort of her workout. Sweat poured down the filly's pretty face, matting her fur and giving her a mildly spiked appearance. Not to mention drawing Thunderlane's attention to her sweaty white T-shirt...

Damn! Distraction, he thought. She's trying to distract me... Problem is, it's working. Let's see... Thunderlane slid the forty-fives off the bench and back onto the rack, and grabbed two ninety-pounders and racked them on the bar, then slid under the bench and gripped the bar. One hundred and eighty pounds plus the bar's twenty-five pounds equals-

"Two hundred five?" Scootaloo asked, not nearly as confident as before. Indeed, she caught the airborne seventy, set it on the ground and set to watch the black stallion.

"Two hundred five," he confirmed. "I was in the Equestrian Special Forces for five years. Gotta be strong for that." Thunderlane exhaled sharply, then inhaled and lifted the bar until his arms locked, then back down in a rep. He did ten of these. "Can you do ten of these, little orange?" he smirked.

"Don't call me that," Scootaloo hissed.

The wrestling match ended with Scootaloo laying on top of Thunderlane, literally nose-to-nose. They both blushed,  she darkening to a reddish-orange, he to a darker black. To Thunderlane's horror, some part of him reacted to having her close quarters in such close quarters to his own close quarters. He had to get her off him, NOW. So, he gently pushed her off

he flexed in front of the mirror nude.

"Mm-mm. Mare-killer." He snorted, amused. he knew he was not by any means handsome. Meh. Looks count not for everything, and he himself could attest to that.

Thunderlane threw the hot water, and the showerhead spat down torrents of it upon him, letting off great motes of steam. The hot water streamed down his body, easing some of the soreness he'd pumped himself into. He loved the showers at the gym; they got so much hotter than the one he shared with Rumble at home. He really should get clean. After all, he had work tomorrow... But first... He looked down at himself. Lil' Thunder was even more agitated than before. Stupid, sexy Scootaloo... Damn it.

He tried. He really, really did. For about a minute he ignored the urgent, pulsing need of his stiffening stallionhood, electing to instead shampoo his mane and tail. Now, shortly after she'd won the place, Rainbow Dash had installed fancy new showerheads with detatchable nozzles that one could use to spray one's undercarriage with. And Thunderlane's thunder was rather sensitive. Seriously, even hot water from a shower could turn him on, or aggravate any pre-existing, ah, conditions. Indeed, during an impromptu cleanliness inspection Rainbow Dash herself found that out and promptly took enjoyable advantage of it, enticing him to fuck her into the tile floor and getting herself stuffed full of thunder and pumped full of white lightning. Fortunately, there had been no little Thunderlanes running about. Unfortunately, the steamy-hot water had the second effect on him now. He groaned, sat on the built-in bench every shower stall had and took his mottled, pale black length in his hand.

"Ooh, Scootaloo," he breathed, picturing the orange filly handling him, and soaking up the pleasure he recieved from stimulating himself. He leaned back against the wall, his fur bristling and his ears flattening in pleasure. He was suddenly glad he'd decided to bring the fake vagina his cousin had sent him as a birthday prank. Stroking himself once more, he stood, faced the curtain and dashed it aside so he could march out like a champ, retrieve his toy from his bag, scuttle back into the shower and go ham on it. However, in his lust-addled state he'd failed to pay attention to the sounds of the locker room door opening, or the sounds of clothing being lightly flung against a locker door, and so he came face-to-face with a fully naked Scootaloo.

"Oh shit!" He squealed, immediately drawing the shower curtain across himself, shielding himself from Scootaloo's view. His face flushed. Had his coat color been white, he'd have just turned redder than Big Mac.

"...Um, hi...?" Scootaloo queried, cocking her head, spreading a slow smile on her lips.

"S-s-scootaloo! Um... I can... explain...uh..." Thunderlane trailed off. Did he really want to explain to her that he was just now fantasizing about sexing with her?

Come on, Lane, think of something! he thought frantically. "Um... So, like, um..."

''Want some help with that?" Scootaloo asked abruptly, pulling the curtain away from the stallion and pointing at the newly-uncovered, nicely-sized phallus that greeted her. Thunderlane squealed like a filly and snatched the curtain back. Scootaloo simply cocked an eyebrow and smiled knowingly. She knew he'd been whispering her name as he played with himself; she'd heard it herself.

Thunderlane, already hobbled in his speech, now utterly stumbled over his words. "...W-w-w-why are you... Y-y-you're... naked...." he stuttered.

"You, duh. And yeah, I'm naked." Scootaloo answered, jumping ahead of his question and moving forward, pushing Thunderlane back into the spray and advancing on him so the tip of his shaft was actually touching her belly. "Now, are you gonna fuck me or not?"

"Huh?!" Thunderlane went slack-jawed for a moment, then recovered. "I... If you want me to."

"Good. Sit down." she ordered. "I've never done this before..."

"Thunder...? What... Did you just cum in me?"

*Brother, actually; he didn't have any love for the mare that had bred and abandoned him and his baby brother.*

Adult Thunderlane on and inside underage Scootaloo...It's basically textual statutory rape.

...No shame found. No fucks given.