The setting sun was the perfect backdrop for the big Wonderbolts finale. The cloud-laced sky burned with a thousand fiery shades. Rays of sunlight, straight as spears, pierced the dusky sky in a valiant attempt to keep the night at bay a few moments longer.
Down through the puffy clouds tore a trio of pegasi, streaking along the broadest sunbeam as if it were a wide road. In the lead, as always, flew Captain Spitfire. Flanking either side of her, hardly a nose behind, streaked Lieutenants Soarin and Fleetfoot. Gravity, combined with their own powerful wingbeats, propelled them towards the ground at maddening speed.
They hurtled earthward, aiming for the heart of Canterlot’s caelusseum, a sky-stadium built especially for aerial acrobatic displays. The stands were packed with diplomats and dignitaries, all gathered for some much-needed entertainment after a solid week of negotiations. The month-long summit was held only once every ten years, and acted as a clearinghouse for any and all affairs of state. Peace and trade treaties were brokered, grievances were constructively aired, and disputes arbitrated by neutral parties. The hundreds of politicians were themselves served and assisted by a veritable army of aides, attaches, and clerks. The caelusseum, while not the biggest of venues, was utterly packed.
As the Wonderbolts plunged toward the stands, the dignitaries leapt from their cushions, emitting gasps and oaths in a dozen languages. The three fliers fell like stones. Cries rang out, pleas to pull up, to be careful. Even for the best fliers in Equestria, this stunt was suicidal!
At the absolute last second, hardly a dozen feet from the ground, all three pegasi flared their wings wide and reared back, pulling out of the dive and soaring back up into the air. The crowd’s fear turned instantly to jubilation, and a riotous cheer boomed across the caelusseum. The trio of pegasi let gravity slow their ascent, and upon reaching the height of their parabola they lazily circled back to the ground, cheered all the way by the adoring crowd.
Still waving to the crowd, Soarin put on the aloof half-smile of the flying ace. The crowd’s roar followed him as he trotted into a tunnel built into the caelusseum’s inner wall. It was only after he’d turned the corner, and could be sure no one in the stands could see him, that he permitted himself a goofy, self-satisfied grin.
“Sweet, Tartarus, that was AWESOME!” he shouted, hopping into the air with a flutter of his wings. His chest and back ached from the performance, but it was a welcome discomfort. The thrill of pushing his body to the absolute limit, of defying death, electrified the young pegasus. Proving to the movers and shakers of nearly every nation-state of Equestria that he was worthy of his elite profession was a rush like no other.
Sure, he’d drilled for months on end for this. But muscle memory alone wasn’t enough; anything with wings could learn maneuvers and fly in formation. To be a Wonderbolt, to fly the routines they did, to perform the stunts they did, took impeccable timing and excellent teamwork. Wonderbolts had to be in perfect synchronus, keenly attuned to one another, able to read one another at a moment’s notice to make the necessary in-flight adjustments to ensure a successful execution. But above all of that, there was something else. Something mysterious, almost certainly magic. Something the Wonderbolts simply referred to as The Right Stuff.
Soarin’s mind wandered, the last fingers of adrenaline wearing off and leaving him a little loopy. He’d lost more than a few hours of sleep contemplating The Right Stuff. Supernatural skill? Fate? Luck? These thoughts he’d had before, turning them over in his mind like puzzle pieces, feeling their shapes. His hooves made little clicking noises in the dim torchlight of the stadium tunnels as he walked and thought.
“Such mysteries will have to wait, Soarin, my friend,” the young pegasus said to himself at last. “First, a trip to the showers to make sure you’re not as stiff as old glue tomorrow morning.”
“Perhaps we could be of assistance in that regard?” a female voice hummed from behind, far too close to comfort.
To Soarin’s credit he did not leap nearly as high as he felt appropriate. He camouflaged the hop with a fluttering of his wings and a dramatic mid-air spin, landing in an aggressive stance and wearing a furrowed brow. That look softened, though, when he saw who’d spoken.
A pair of mares, one unicorn, one earth pony, stood side-by-side in the corridor. The unicorn mare was a little taller, and bore a shiny grey coat with a vibrant orange mane. The earth pony was a stout, compact mare with a pearlescent green coat and a bright red mane streaked with blue.
“Oh!” the earth pony gasped, trotting back a half-step. “I’m so terribly sorry! We didn’t mean to startle you!”
“It’s fine,” Soarin said, immediately standing at attention, the mask of professional detachment sliding into place with practiced ease. “I just didn’t hear you approach. Which is… unusual.”
“Hardly, considering,” the unicorn muttered, looking away with a slight turn of her head, regarding the wall with an expression that communicated just how much more interesting it was compared to the Wonderbolt before her.
“Hush,” the earth pony rasped, checking her companion with a shoulder to the ribcage. “No sense being nasty!”
The unicorn said nothing, but scowled. First at her companion, and then at Soarin.
“My… sister is just… uh… flustered at meeting one of her heroes,” the earth pony said with a smile. There was something off about her, but Soarin was having a hard time placing it. Like her expressions didn’t quite reach her eyes. The pegasus felt the fur between his wings prickle and stand on end.
“Happens all the time,” Soarin said, standing a little straighter. He put a bit of authority into his voice, trying to give it the steely edge Spitfire used when issuing commands. “But I’m going to have to ask you two mares to leave; this is a restricted area. Wonderbolts only.”
“Oh, nonsense,” the unicorn said with a dismissive flip of her mane. It covered one of her eyes in just the right way that drew Soarin’s attention to her face. She was… gorgeous. He hadn’t noticed it before, but she was the absolute picture of beauty. Big, expressive eyes, pert little nose, high cheekbones. It was as if somepony had plucked the idea of ‘the prettiest mare one could think of’ from Soarin’s head and brought it to life. “We’re part of the diplomatic corps, we’re allowed to give our... personal regards… for such a stimulating display.”
She closed the distance between them quite quickly; it was like she moved in the moment he blinked. Faster than Soarin could think to acknowledge the fact, she was close, her muzzle inches from his. Soarin felt the heat of her face, smelled the faint perfume that clung to her like a cobweb.
“S… sis!” the earth pony blurted. “You’re going to blow our cover!” She stamped her hoof and strode forward, nudging her sister aside. Soarin got a closer look at her, and realized that she, too, was also just about as beautiful as any mare he’d ever seen. Built differently compared to her sister, yet no less perfect; she had an ideal mix of curve and softness and a heart-shaped face atop a plump neck ripe for nuzzling.
The proximity of these two beautiful mares did not escape Soarin’s attention, nor did their intoxicating scents. Beneath his fur-tight Wonderbolts uniform, between his hind legs, he felt a familiar stirring. But before so much as a cheesy one-liner could form itself in his head it was superseded by the mental image of Spitfire, lecturing his ear off and quoting some obscure regulation.
Thou shalt not seduce, flirt with, or even look too long at beautiful, adoring fans was almost certainly against one of the ten thousand rules a Wonderbolt is expected to live by. Focusing on the hell his captain would no doubt give him, Soarin found himself back in reality.
“Ladies,” he said, drawing himself up to full height and putting on his best aerial ace act. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m afraid rules are rules.”
Both mares backed away a step. They both wore looks of surprise, and a quickly exchanged a knowing glance before returning their gaze to Soarin. Once again, the strange prickly feeling at the nape of Soarin’s neck returned. They were in perfect sync.
“That’s… impressive,” the unicorn said, giving the young pegasus an appraising look. “Not many ponies can resist our pheromones.”
“Or not be completely fooled by our disguises,” the earth pony said with a little sigh. “Guess the jig is up.”
Both of the mares were suddenly wreathed in bright green flame. The lambent tongues of flame produced no heat, but wherever they passed over the two mare’s bodies, fur changed into a slick, iridescent chitin. Suddenly, each mare bore a pair of diaphanous, transparent wings. Their manes became more vibrant, taking on a jewel-like tone. Their eyes became smooth orbs of color, the deep green of sea glass, and from out their mouths peaked tiny fangs.
“Changelings?!” Soarin yelped, ducking down into a combat stance. His heart raced, adrenaline surged through his veins. He unfurled his wings, preparing to launch himself forward to bowl the two changelings over, but his aching muscles burned with exertion, causing him to pause.
After a heartbeat, both changelings began laughing.
“The look on your face!” one of them said between guffaws. The two changelings doubled over with laughter, gasping for breath.
Crestfallen and confused, Soarin stood, his face a contorted mask of disbelief.
“Uh… you’re not here to… uh… attack me?” he asked, sheepish.
This was, apparently the funniest thing either changeling had heard, causing them to laugh even harder. Soarin, unsure how to handle the situation, sat on his haunches and just watched. After a few minutes of solid belly-laughing, the two finally caught their breath.
“No… hehe… ow, my sides,” one gasped. She… it… had been the unicorn a few minutes prior. “No, we really are from the diplomatic corps.”
“I’m Eight,” the shorter one said, getting to it’s hooves and giving a little bow. “This is my sibling, Six. And we are fans, and did want to show our appreciation… but we’re also hungry.”
“So… you were going to attack me and drain me of my emotions?” Soarin asked, still not quite grasping the situation.
“Well, when you put it that way it sounds bad,” Six said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. It was still tall and slender, and still had that aloof look about it, as if the dirt beneath it’s hooves were a more fascinating conversationalist than Soarin.
“We were going to reveal ourselves to you,” Eight said, once again shoulder-checking its sibling. “We just find that ponies are more… receptive… to our requests after they’re… uh… excited.”
Soarin raised an unbelieving eyebrow.
“Look, we’re not monsters,” Eight continued, looking down at the floor. “The whole reason we’re here is to negotiate an armistice; we’re tired of being the things that go bump in the night. Some of the hives have even struck out on their own, minor queens negotiating peaceful feeding contracts with small villages on the eastern borders. It’s really quite pleasant there, actually; those colonies were what inspired the Queen to send us here.”
“And the ponies who volunteered to be our… uh… food supply have disappeared,” Six interjected. It looked at Soarin for the first time since transforming. The pegasus gave a little shiver; there was something so utterly alien about the changeling form. And yet, there was a spark within that gaze. Cold and calculating, yes, but… wanting. Hungry. And not the savage, mindless hunger of a beast, but a more refined and restrained want. “They’re fine, I’m sure; routine exposure to changeling pheromones and saliva cause increased libido. They’re probably in a nice cozy corner of the gardens enjoying one another’s company.”
“But we haven’t eaten all day,” Eight said, daring to scoot a little closer to Soarin. “And we would love to show our appreciation; we thought why not do everyone a favor? Enjoy the company of one of the best fliers in all Equestria, give him a night to remember, and quiet our aching tummies.”
“Uh… well, when you put it that way,” Soarin stammered, trying to look at both the ceiling and floor simultaneously. He tried to push aside the lewd thoughts that bubbled up from the depths of his mind. “N… no, that’s… I mean...”
“We can be anyone,” Six, said, and in a flash of green fire it was a mare again, half-turned away. Tail flicking, the heady aroma of mare-heat wafting beneath the stallion’s nostrils. “Female…”
“Male?” Eight suggested. Green fire washed over its form, becoming once again a stout earth pony, but this time with the subtle angles of a stallion. Between his legs bobbed a thick sheath and a healthy pair of heavy balls as black as midnight. “If you happen to like that sort of thing?”
Eight’s male form had a voice like honey, a deep, sweet baritone that seemed to buzz his wings in a most delightful way.
“Or something in-between?” Six said, a tongue of green flame lapping between her thighs to reveal a dainty pair of balls dangling beneath her marehood.
“A friend, or even… a coworker?” Eight asked. He was consumed in bright green, and as the flames wicked away, Captain Spitfire stood before him, uniform half-unzipped. The gentle curve of her belly split the zipper open, the soft tummy-fur peeking out between the metal teeth. “We see the way you look at her. We can give you what you want. All we ask is for just a sip of your emotions. Lust, desire, joy - a mouthful. You won’t feel a thing and it’ll leave you no worse for wear than a night spent with good friends and strong cider.”
The two changelings stepped closer. Sweat trickled down Soarin’s scalp, and his stiffening stallionhood pushed awkwardly against his uniform. This was almost certainly wrong, but pent-up desire bubbled in Soarin’s loins.
“Nnnnnnnnnnoooo,” Soarin moaned. Six had nuzzled his neck, inhaling the musky scent of his sweaty fur. Spitfire - or, rather, Eight - was bringing her muzzle dangerously close to his own. Her hot breath tickled his lips.
“No!” Soarin said with a coltish yelp, his voice cracking. He leapt straight up and spun in air, speeding down the corridor as fast as his aching wings could take him.
Into the shadowed depths of the caelusseum’s underways Soarin flew, his flight muscles protesting all the way. Had he been at peak condition, and had he not just completed the most complicated set of maneuvers he knew, escaping two changelings would have been a breeze. But exhausted, extraordinarily aroused, and more than a little frightened he proved to be a sloppy flier indeed.
Soarin skidded to a stop when he ran out of hallway, and then burst through the door of a locker room on one side. The tiled chamber was dimly lit, divided in half by a hoof-high riser that separated the lockers from a row of showers. The pegasus gulped down the warm, moist air of the shower room, trying to catch his breath. With an ominous creak, the door opened, the slightly brighter light of the hallway sconces backlighting his pursuers in stark chiaroscuro.
“Soarin?” Eight asked, having reverted to her standard mare form. Her voice was gentle and she spoke slowly. “Soarin, I’m sorry; we didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Speak for yourself, this is hilarious,” Six chortled. Soarin spared a quick glance between her thighs; the mare had yet to disperse the stallionhood between her hind legs.
“Look, we’ll go,” Eight continued, ignoring her sister’s sardonic quip. “This was… obviously a waste of everyone’s time.”
She turned, and in the half-light of the torches Soarin was struck not by her magically-perfect beauty, but by her sadness. She wore an all-too-pony look of disappointment and frustration. It struck Soarin that she believed he saw them as just a pair of hungry monsters.
“Wait,” Soarin said, his whisper echoing in the wide room. Both changelings stopped in their tracks and looked back to him. “Wait, I’m… I’m sorry.”
“You’re… you’re right, you did frighten me,” Soarin spoke, forcing himself to breathe evenly and folding his wings against his body. “But… my behavior towards you - foreign dignitaries or otherwise - has been atrocious. Conduct unbecoming of an officer of the Wonderbolts.”
He trotted over to a bench on the far side of the room and sat, never breaking eye contact with the two changelings.
“Please,” he said, clopping a hoof against either side of himself. “Sit down. I’d like to… uh… talk. I feel like we got off on the wrong hoof.”
The two siblings exchanged a quick, wordless glance once again. Six shrugged and Eight smiled, but both complied with Soarin’s request. Six sat to one side, while Eight sat on the other. They kept a polite distance, but Soarin pulled them both close with his forelegs. The two mares sat there for a long moment, enjoying the warmth and closeness of the double-hug.
“I’m sorry,” Soarin said.
“Apology accepted,” Six answered. “I’m… sorry, too.”
Eight, on the other hand, didn’t speak. She instead nuzzled into Soarin’s neck like before. The pegasus giggled at the contact, but didn’t pull away.
“By the queens, you pony stallions smell so good,” she mumbled into the coarse fur of his neck. “Each one of you is different.”
“What does he smell like, sister?” Six asked, her forehoof gently stroking Soarin’s flank.
“Like the sky after a storm,” Eight answered, taking a deep, soulful huff of Soarin’s scent. “Cloud-water and warm winds in the night.”
“Ah, but how does he taste?” Six asked, turning Soarin’s head towards her own. She kissed him, then, her soft lips touching his. It was chaste, at first, a simple meeting of their mouths. But it turned hot quickly, the two moaning and snorting through their noses as they refused to part. Six’s tongue slithered out, long and slick, to taste Soarin’s. She explored the inside of his mouth with her tongue, the sensation simultaneously unnerving and deeply intimate. Soarin found he rather liked it, and moaned as her long tongue swam towards the back of his mouth. He gulped involuntarily, swallowing some of their mingled saliva. It was warm, and made his throat tingle.
At last they broke the kiss, Six’s tongue writhing in the air as she withdrew it from his mouth in a lewd display.
“Changeling saliva,” she said as her tongue retracted enough to allow her to speak. “A mild aphrodisiac… I hope you don’t mind?”
“Only if you don’t kiss me again?” Soarin muttered, opening his mouth a little. With a quiet purr of happiness, Six complied, her long tongue leading the charge and filling the stallion’s mouth.
To Soarin’s other side, Eight had been busy. Her nimble lips had found the zipper at his throat and tugged it down, exposing the sweat-dampened fur of the pegasus’ neck and chest. She’d gotten it down to his belly before the angle made it awkward to continue. She explored the fur she could see with her muzzle. Each breath she took was against his body, drinking in his heady musk. As a conditioned athlete, he hadn’t produced a prodigious amount of sweat during his flight routine, leaving his coat with only a fine dusting of perspiration. The effect drew out his natural scent, amplifying it to a most enjoyable level. Eight purred and giggled with every noseful of Soarin-smell, acting slightly drunk
Her hooves tugged on Soarin’s uniform. Without breaking his kiss, Soarin shrugged his shoulders free, letting his wings pop through the narrow slits cut into the uniform’s back. Letting go of the stretchy garment, Eight’s hoof caressed the leading edge of the wing nearest to her. Soain stiffened and gave a little squeak, suddenly pushing Six away from their kiss. Six blinked in surprise, a slight look of worry across her face.
“Shhh,” Eight whispered. “I know how sensitive these can be. Please… let me touch them? I promise to be gentle.”
Soarin nodded after a few seconds.
“Just… yeah, be gentle,” he said, his voice thick and slightly slurred.
“I think that’s enough deep kissing for now, stud,” Six said, giving Soarin a quick peck on the cheek. “You don’t want to swallow too much or else you’ll fall asleep, and I don’t think you want to miss what we’ve got in store for you.”
The two sisters began nibbling Soarin’s shoulders, their lips tracing a little trail down the strong bands of muscle that connected wingbase to chest. Instinctively Soarin twitched his wings up and out, extending them. The way the two were moving their mouths felt familiar. He leaned forward, giving little grunts and groans as their mouths explored his feathers.
The sisters were preening him, not unlike his mother had when he was a little colt. They took their time, licking and nibbling each feather, every pinion, making sure every last snarl, snag, and fold was straight and clean. Little jolts of pleasure-lightning arced down Soarin’s spine, straight to his cock. This was a deeply intimate act, one that pegasi only rarely engaged in, and only then with partners they trusted.
Before he realized it, however, the little sparks of pleasure faded.
“All done, sweetie,” Eight said, giving Soarin a little nudge. “Did that feel good?”
“Mmmmhmmm,” the pegasus croaked, half-asleep from the combination of pleasure and comfort.
“That was delicious,” Six said with a little hiccup. “Nostalgic, familial love, mixed with intimacy and desire… that’s some high-calorie emotion.”
Soarin smiled, and then giggled. The memories and emotions the two had aroused inside of him were still there, undamaged. It was as if they’d just… sipped at an overflowing cup. The source was untouched; they’d just siphoned off the excess.
“More where that came from, girls,” he said, sitting up straighter. He gave Eight a little kiss, and then slid his muzzle against her ear. “As much as you’d like.”
Six pushed against Soarin, leaning him back against her sister. Her mouth continued Eight’s work at his zipper, and with a quick tug had it down to the lowest part of his belly. His sheath throbbed against Six’s muzzle, separated only by a thin layer of cloth.
“Let’s see where it could be hiding, hmm?” Six purred. Eight’s eyes sparkled with delight and anticipation as Soarin wiggled his hips, shifting the suit until it fell from his thighs and pooled around his hind-hooves. Both changelings let out little gasps at the sight of Soarin’s exposed stallionhood. The sheath was dark, much darker than the rest of his coat, but the cock that sprouted from it was a bright, fleshy pink. It glowed in the dim light of the locker room, and throbbed in time with the pegasus’ heartbeat.
“Wow,” Eight whispered. “It’s so…”
“Yummy,” Six purred, giving Soarin a long lick from base to tip. Soarin tried to come up with a witty retort, something along the lines of how it was nothing special, but the feel of Six’s hot, wet tongue on his member melted that part of his brain very quickly.
“This has all been an appetizer, y’know,” Eight said, nipping at Soarin’s shoulders and neck. “We want to give you a proper thank-you. Changeling magic gives us enough insight into other's minds to know what they want. Helps us with our illusions.”
Six’s form blurred and shifted, wreathed once again with heatless flame. As the tongues of fire guttered, the mare that knelt before him was quite familiar.
“C-ca-captain?” Soarin stammered, his cock jerking up as he tried to stand. A part of him knew this was just an illusion, but it was still a bit of a shock. Eight, behind him, pushed back. She felt far stronger than she had been a few minutes ago. Soarin tried to turn to look at her, but saw only the strong neck and forehoof of a powerfully-built stallion. Black fur, and a stray lock of a sky-blue mane.
“Easy there, sir,” Thunderlane rumbled into his ear. Eight had assumed the guise of the young newbie, the same stallion that made Soarin a little weak in the knees. Soarin was an equal-opportunity lover, but hadn’t worked up the guts to ask the freshman flyer out for so much as a casual lunch. And now he - or at least a perfect copy of him - sat behind him. Strong hind legs wrapped around his own waist, holding him still. And Spitfire before him, presenting her rich, golden-orange vulva for him. Her firey tail whipped back and forth, wafting the scent of her desire towards his nose.
“She’s ready, buddy,” Thunderlane said, his hoof coming down to stroke Soarin’s throbbing sex. “Give it to her, and I’ll do the same to you.”
Soarin, half-drunk with the changeling’s chemicals, tottered to his feet. He felt Eight/Thunderlane’s muzzle nudge his nuts, taking one of the delicate orbs into his mouth. At the same time Six/Spitfire spread her back legs and lowered herself to optimum mounting-height. Thunderlane helped guide Soarin’s cock to Spitfire’s pussy, and soon the syrupy heat of her marehood squished against the pegasus’ cockhead.
Soarin’s hips moved on their own, thrusting forward to sink as much of his shaft as he could into Spitfire’s depths. The pegasus mare was slighter in build than Soarin, making her quite tight. Mare and stallion groaned in unison at the penetration. Thunderlane continued his oral ministrations, giving Soarin’s nuts broad licks with his warm, wet tongue. Each lap from bottom to top strayed a bit further up Soarin’s perineum, getting dangerously close to his tight tailhole.
“Fuck me, Lieutenant,” Spitfire growled from beneath Soarin. “That’s an order! And don’t ease up on his nuts, Cadet.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Soarin and Thunderlane said in unison. Thunderlane’s hooves came up to massage the heavy, aching orbs bobbing beneath Soarin’s shaft, while his muzzle plunged between his cheeks, just beneath his tail. Thunderlane gave a little moan of delight as his tongue slipped around and against Soarin’s tight pucker.
Soarin moaned and gasped at the overwhelming sensations coming from his hindquarters. He obeyed orders, though, slowly working his hips back and forth in quickening strokes. Though vice-tight, Spitfire’s walls stretched to accept Soarin’s cock, and in a few seconds the gentle thrusting Soarin had started transitioned to a proper, hard rut. Each thrust forward pushed his flaring cockhead against Spitfire’s hot, fleshy cervix. Every pull back pushed his rump into Thunderlane’s muzzle, who’d started to probe Soarin’s tailhole with his thick tongue. At the same time, the bigger stallion’s hooves massaged and palpated Soarin’s heavy nuts.
“C-captain!” Soarin gasped. “G-getting c-close, sir!”
“Are you… nng… asking for permission to cum?” Spitfire growled through clenched teeth. This was obviously getting to her, too; Soarin’s thrusts had become quite strong. Each thrust forward sent her belly bulging as he pounded her marehood mercilessly.
“Y-yes!” Soarin yelped. He was so close. Thunderlane, detecting Soarin’s impending orgasm, switched his mouth’s duties, sucking both of the smaller pegasus’ balls into his mouth. Tugging down and back, stretching them away from his body, prolonging the moment as best he could.
“Permission granted, lieutenant,” Spitfire rasped, her own cunt clamping down on Soarin’s as she came. The pressure was too much, despite Thunderlane’s best attempts, and the cum-bloated nuts began contracting inside his mouth. Thunderlane moaned and groaned, nuzzling Soarin’s perineum with his nose, shifting gears again to help his lover’s orgasm last as long as possible.
Soarin’s cockhead flared wide, locking itself deep inside Spitfire’s vagina. Heavy blasts of seed pumped out of him, one after the other, amplified by Thunderlane’s expert sucking and nuzzling. Each pump and pulse was accompanied by a careful squeeze and nuzzle, maximizing the output of each orgasmic wave. At long last, though, Soarin’s orgasm ended, and the young stallion slumped to the floor, panting and exhausted.
In front of him stood not one, but two Spitfires. But Soarin could still feel the warmth of Thunderlane behind him.
“D-did… uuh… you change, Eight?” he asked, voice slurred and slow.
“No, Lieutenant,” one of the Spitfires said. She was wearing her officer’s uniform and trademark sunglasses, but behind those dark lenses he could see her brows cocked in amusement. “I’m the original.”
Suddenly, all the fatigue in Soarin’s body melted away. He leapt to his feet and saluted, stiff-backed as a day-one cadet. Naked. Half-hard cock still leaking cum.
He was, almost certainly, a dead pony walking.
“At ease, Lieutenant,” Spitfire said, doing her best to hold back laughter. “You’re off the clock; you’re not in trouble. Though I do wonder what the diplomatic entourage from the Queendom will say?”
Six and Eight hadn’t changed forms, and still stood, naked and aroused, to either side of Soarin. They snuggled close to their lover.
“We’re off the clock too,” Six/Spitfire said. “We were a little hungry, and the young Lieutenant selflessly volunteered his services for the evening.”
“Such valor and decorum really should be commended,” Eight/Thunderlane said, giving Soarin a little shoulder-nudge. “He has been the perfect gentlemen throughout the ordeal.”
“I see,” Spitfire said with a smile. “Then I’m sure he won’t mind some additional company? Unless he’s already had his fill of ‘me’ for the evening?”
Through the entire exchange, Soarin had no idea where to look. The ceiling, floor, and walls held nothing of import, but he’d dared not meet anypony’s gaze. And now, as calm and even as if she’d discussed the weather, his actual captain had just propositioned him.
“Uh… ma’am… sir… that is,” Soarin stammered. He felt his brain short-circuiting, refusing to make words happen. “I… uh… no. Yes! I mean, no, I’ve not had my fill of you, ma’am! HAHAWHAT AM I SAYING?!”
“At ease, Lieutenant!” Spitfire barked. Soarin complied, somehow, forcing himself to shut up and then relax, finding himself now unable to look anywhere other than Spitfire’s golden eyes. “I assure you, as a mare, I am fully capable of wanting stallions. And were we on duty, this would be against more rules than I care to think about. But I consider this to be a special case… it’s not every day you get to do this.”
Spitfire spun the changeling clone of herself around with a firm nudge from her forehoof, and then promptly gave her own vagina, currently leaking a heavy load of Soarin’s cum, a hearty, sensual lick.
“Mmmmm,” both Spitfires moaned in unison.
Soarin blinked, and then gave a little mental shrug. Today had officially gone off the deep end, and he had just run out of ruts to give. He turned to Thunderlane and fiercely kissed the bigger stallion square on the mouth.
“You’ve made me slippery, cadet,” Soarin growled, breaking away from the kiss. “Do something about it. Show me you’ve got what it takes to be a Wonderbolt.”
Thunderlane gave a silent nod, and then hopped up on Soarin’s back. The smaller pegasus vaguely remembered something about changeling saliva being magically-perfect lubricant, which was quickly proven true when Thunderlane began pushing his big, black cock straight into Soarin’s asshole. The going was slow, but to the two stallion’s delight Soarin was able to take all of Thunderlane’s cock without too much trouble.
As the two stallions rocked together, the two Spitfires watched. The original continued her feast, licking at the musky spunk that still seeped from her duplicate’s pussy, while her changeling clone gasped and moaned, enjoying her oral attention as much as the tableau before her.
Thunderlane gave Soarin an affectionate nuzzle as he finally hilted all the way.
“That was almost too easy,” Thunderlane quipped. “I think you need a bigger... challenge.”
Before Soarin could inquire, Thunderlane’s cock was pulled from his tailhole. The telltale flash of green light spoke of another transformation, but from his vantagepoint Soarin couldn’t see.
“Ooooo, good one, sis!” Six/Spitfire cheered. She turned to her original and gave her a big, messy kiss, tasting the last mouthful of Soarin-sperm the Captain had been saving.
A far larger cock pressed against Soarin’s tailhole, prompting the stallion to crane his neck. Towering above him was a big, broad stallion with a bright red coat.
“B-big Mac?!” Soarin squeaked.
“Eeee-yup!” Eight/Big Mac said cheerfully as his powerful hips pushed forward. Soarin braced himself, pushing back and locking his hips and knees to give as much resistance as possible. Big Mac was easily twice as big as Thunderlane in all dimensions, causing the stallion to grunt and gasp. Panting, Soarin squeezed his eyes shut and focused his mind on relaxing and opening his body for the doppelganger’s massive cock.
The ordeal should have been painful, or at the least uncomfortable. But the same saliva that eased passage rendered the sensation quite pleasurable. It took several minutes, but Big Mac was slow and steady, taking all the time Soarin needed to sink his massive shaft into the smaller pegasus’ tight tunnel. The flared head sent ripples of warm pleasure bouncing around Soarin’s tummy when it popped past his anal ring. An even more powerful set of waves tumbled through when Big Mac’s sizable medial ridge came through, too. His cock had a slight taper to it, and by the time it was hilted, Soain was stretched wider than he’d ever been before. The bigger stallion’s hot, heavy nuts slapped playfully against the pegasus’ smaller coinpurse, signaling the completion of initial insertion.
Both Spitfires had paused their affections to watch, cooing and cheering with each inch Soarin took. When the deed was finally done, they nuzzled up to Soarin.
“Well done, Lieutenant,” one of them said, nuzzling Soarin’s neck and kissing his throat as it heaved with his breathy gasps. He wasn’t sure if Big Mac’s cock was genuinely pressed against his diaphragm, but it certainly felt that way. The other Spitfire ducked down between his legs and gave both his sack and Big Mac’s a dusting of affectionate kisses.
“I do so love to see a pair of stallions mated like this,” she murmured, nipping at the tender flesh of Soarin’s inner thighs. “It’s just so… male. Makes me wish I had a set of these to see how it feels.”
“There are spells, you know,” her doppelganger said, still rubbing her muzzle against Soarin’s neck. “I’m sure any unicorn worth their salt-lick would be able to accommodate you.”
“Nah,” the original Spitfire said with a dismissive wave of her hoof. “Fantasies are nice. Besides, this is quite fun to watch.”
Big Mac began moving his hips, and Soarin did the same. The slick, girthy shaft buried in his ass pulled back, allowing his plump cheeks to slide back together slightly. But Big Mac reversed course, pushing his meaty thickness back into Soarin. To provide some relief, Spitfire’s kisses across Soarin’s sack grew more deliberate and passionate, and strayed closer to his unsheathed penis. Before him, Spitfire’s duplicate flickered with lambent green flame before carefully hopping up with her fore-hooves planted on Soarin’s back.
Beneath the compact body of the pegasus in front of him dangled a slender, but still impressive, cock. Obviously inspired by the original Spitfire’s wish, Six had shifted her borrowed form to include a beautiful stallionhood. It bobbed lewdly in front of Soarin’s muzzle, and the pegasus needed little more encouragement to appreciate the offered member.
As Big Mac’s hips sped up, Soarin opened his mouth and sucked the head of Spitfire’s cock into his mouth. The salty-sweet flavor caused Soarin to moan, which in turn sent shivers up and down the spine of the hermaphrodite pegasus. She bucked her hips, twitching the cock back and forth across Soarin’s tongue, grinding the flavor of her flared head into his tastebuds. Beneath him, the original Spitfire continued her oral worship. Soarin began imitating her motions as best he could, licking and sucking the cock in his mouth by mirroring Spitfire’s own attentions.
The narrow confines of the locker room rang with moans and grunts from all four participants for several long minutes, but even the heartiest of ponies can’t hold out forever. Big Mac came first, his wordless basso grunts reverberating deep in Soarin’s chest as he let loose a hot blast of seed into the pegasus’ guts. The normally athletic belly Soarin sported plumped out a bit, so great was the illusion’s load. Six/Spitfire came next, flooding Soarin’s muzzle with a smaller, but no less sticky payload. The goo quickly puffed out Soarin’s cheeks, and he moaned with delight at the flavor. He wasn’t sure if this was a true imitation of what Spitfire’s cum should taste like, or if it was just a quirk of changeling biology to render any bodily fluid delicious. But the analytical part of his brain was soon shut off for a good while by his own orgasm.
Beneath him, the original Spitfire had been carefully teasing his cock with her lips and tongue. Now that his two other lovers had paused their motions, Spitfire’s skill shone on its own. She nibbled, licked, and sucked every sensitive spot, her motions never quite repeating themselves. Just before a given stimulus became too intense for comfort, she’d switch. It was, in a word, mind-blowing.
Soarin’s cry was muffled by the elegant cock still stuffed in his muzzle, but the three ponies rutting him got the hint all the same. His hips jerked (as much as they could with Big Mac’s massive stallionhood still piercing Soarin’s tailhole) and his cock jerked in Spitfire’s mouth. A healthy load, made that much bigger by Big Mac’s merciless grinding down onto Soarin’s prostate with his own medial ring, flowed like thick honey into Spitfire’s mouth. Her throat worked, delicate muscles rippling and waving, as she swallowed mouthfuls of Soarin’s hot cum.
She vocalized her appreciation for Soarin’s efforts with low, raspy giggles. With a final great shuddering spasm, though, Soarin’s orgasm came to an end. Spitfire licked her lips, catching a few stray drops that had leaked from the corners of her mouth. Spent for the time being, Soarin felt the two changelings disengage from him, leaving his throat and ass unoccupied for the first time in what felt like forever.
“No fair!” one of the changelings huffed. “I wanted a taste!”
“Snooze you lose,” Spitfire retorted, noisily licking her chops. Soarin couldn’t help but chuckle; the Captain’s braggadocio truly was universal. “Besides, I’m sure there’s plenty more where that came from. It’s not like stallions run out or anything.”
“She’s right, sis,” Eight said. Soarin didn’t feel much like moving, but from his vantage point he could see that Eight had shifted back to her default pony form, albeit with a still-dripping cock dangling half-hard between her hind legs. “I’m sure we can get at least another one or two out of him before sunup.”
“How about you all enjoy yourselves, hmm?” Soarin said, voice thick and slow. “Give me a chance to recover? I don’t think the Captain’s been properly thanked yet for her part in the performance.”
The two changelings giggled. Eight nudged Spitfire towards the center of the room, while Six helped Soarin up onto one of the benches, and then snuggled up next to him.
“No sense in you being alone, big boy,” Six whispered as she gently pushed Soarin’s head down to the bench. She began kissing down the gentle curve of his spine, leaving little wet lip-prints across his fur. “Besides, someone needs to take care of all this spunk leaking out of you… who better than someone who’s well-acquainted with Big Mac’s jizz?”
Soarin looked back, and saw the bright orange fur and three apple cutie mark of Applejack staring back at him with a mischievous grin on her face.
“Ain’t got the hat, but I reckon that won’t matter for tonight,” Six/Applejack said, her slow drawl pitched low and sultry. “Now you just relax, flyboy, and let me clean up the mess my brother made - you enjoy the show.”
With that, Applejack’s muzzle kissed the base of Soarin’s tail, prompting the pegasus to lift it up instinctively. Her next kiss found the gaping, sore ring of his anus, now leaking the big load of cum her sibling had put there. She lapped at the flow with her tongue in patient, slow strokes, pausing to gulp down the sticky-sweet fluid. Soarin tried to protest, worrying about cleanliness, but AJ shushed him before he could speak a word.
“Changeling magic makes sure everything’s honkey-dorey,” she said. “Now, hush and let me work.”
Spitfire had been making out with Eight, kissing the stout Earth Pony. The two were trying to get the last little bits of Soarin’s cum from Spitfire’s muzzle.
“Mmmm, tastes so good,” Eight sighed in a breathy moan. “How you don’t suck him off every night I’ll never know.”
“Rules and regs,” Spitfire replied immediately, but with a softer tone than she normally said those words. “Tonight’s… special. And I’m sure I’ll be making some time for the Lieutenant for a few more over the coming months, now that I know what he can… offer.”
“Any other fantasies you’d like to indulge in?” Eight purred, nuzzling into Spitfire’s narrow chest. The flight muscles there were strong, but still bore a feminine grace to them. Eight was obviously a fan, burying her stubby muzzle into the little ruff of fur Spitfire sported there, purring.
“Hmmm… well, I’m like the Lieutenant in that I’m equal-opportunity,” Spitfire said with a smile. “I’ve always wanted to show Rainbow Dash who’s boss… how about you show me your best impersonation?”
Eight disengaged immediately and snapped to attention. As she saluted, the green flames of changeling magic engulfed her, revealing the sky-blue coat and spectral mane of Rainbow Dash.
“Oh?” Spitfire asked, slipping into the role of instructor with ease. Slowly, she circled Dash, taking her time to eye every curve and line of her body. “You prepared to obey orders, Cadet?”
“Eh, I guess so,” Dash replied with a dismissive half-shrug and a wave of her hoof. “Or you could just, I dunno, bite me.”
“Isn’t that a little… out of character?” Soarin asked dreamily; Six continued her gentle rimjob, casting little waves of pleasure up and down Soarin’s spine. “She kind of worships the ground Wonderbolts walk on.”
“Pfft,” Dash scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Not when you’re getting your ass eaten out by AJ and the Captain’s giving my flank a hungry stare.”
“Ten HUT,” Spitfire barked, putting her guts into the call. Immediately, instinctively, Dash straightened her back and stood stock-still.
“I do not think,” Spitfire continued, clipping her words apart with little clicks of her teeth. “You heard me right, Cadet. You will obey any order given to you by a superior officer. Is that clear?”
Soarin chuckled, semi-fond memories of flight camp coming to his mind. Spitfire had been a Lieutenant back then, when Soarin was himself a Cadet. It wasn’t that long ago, to be honest, but it felt a lifetime. The drill instructor had been quite the hardass, and Spitfire was liberally peppering her normal routine with that mare’s verbal mannerisms.
“Ma’am, yes ma’am!” Rainbow Dash answered, knitting her brows. A little trickle of sweat ran down the side of her face.
“Good to hear,” Spitfire said, completing her slow circuit and giving an abrupt turn, presenting her hind-quarters to the doppelganger Dash. “Eat my ass, Cadet.”
With a little quiver in her forehooves, Dash obeyed, trotting forward and nuzzling the taut haunches that hid Spitfire’s tailhole from her. The pegasus didn’t make things easy, clenching her backside and forcing Dash to nose that much harder. With a little chuckle, Spitfire relaxed suddenly, causing Dash’s muzzle to slide forward, giving her a snout-full of the underside of Spitfire’s tail. Dash grunted, but the sound was cut short as Spitfire backed up a step, shoving her asshole hard against Dash’s muzzle.
“Eat up, Cadet,” Spitfire growled. “That’s an order.”
Soarin held back a nasty laugh as Dash obeyed, closing her eyes at the humiliation of submitting, and opening her muzzle just enough to let her tongue slip through. Her stubby pink tongue could be seen in little flickers of movement as she obeyed, tracing a light outline of the thick ring of muscle beneath Spitfire’s bright orange tail. The look of consternation faded, though, as Dash continued, and before long little moans and groans of pleasure started to emerge from the smaller pegasus’ butt-muffled muzzle.
“Mmmm, yesss,” Hissed Spitfire. “Just like that, you filthy little mare. You like this, don’t you? You think you hate it, but it’s what you live for; being an obedient little ass-licker.”
Six/Applejack, having completed her own work below Soarin’s tail, snuggled up to her partner, spooning him and enjoying the show. She shifted, the hoof she wrapped around Soarin’s belly, which was slowly inching towards his hardening shaft. Her warm, strong muscles pressed into the hollow of his back, but a different kind of firmness gently poked his backside. Soarin gave a happy sigh and leaned back, still interested to see how things between the two mares in front of him would work out.
This resembled a rather perverse form of hazing, Soarin realized. The way Spitfire held herself, the way she moved, was a blend of sexual presentation and militaristic stiffness. Her barked orders and dirty talk had the same vocabulary and cadence. If changelings truly did feed off of excess emotions, then the Captain was providing quite the feast; even Soarin, inexperienced as he felt he was, could recognize how deeply and secretly this fantasy had been held within the Captain’s heart.
Dash continued her task, now taking obvious pleasure in it. Her tongue flattened against Spitfire’s asshole, giving it broad, slow licks. She was practically giving Spitfire a tongue bath. She pushed her tongue against the tight entrance, but made little progress. Soarin recalled how warm and tingly changeling saliva had felt on his own tailhole; he wondered if the Captain would hold out much longer.
As if in answer to his silent question, Soarin stifled a giggle when he caught a glimpse of Spitfire’s face. The stoic mask of authority was gone, replaced with the middle-distance stare and raised eyebrows of ecstasy. Her slack mouth hung open a bit, letting her tongue loll to one side.
“Yess, yessss, yessssss,” Spitfire hissed, lowering her shoulders and sticking her rump up and back, pushing even harder back into Rainbow Dash’s muzzle.
“More! Sweet Celestia, more,” she gasped. “I don’t care where, Cadet, just shove that tongue deep inside!”
Dash’s reply was lost in the warm, slippery mess that was Spitfire’s hind-quarters. Soarin watched as Dash’s muzzle opened a little further, her tongue disengaging from Spitfire’s asshole and then sliding down. Slipping inside Spitfire’s tight vagina, the pegasus mare grunted in surprise as her impending orgasm suddenly crested. Rainbow sank her tongue deep into her superior’s honeypot, but withdrew it for a quick clit-lashing. Spitfire writhed and moaned, her knees wobbling dangerously; Dash responded by getting beneath her, letting the bigger mare lean down on her face for support.
Dash’s tongue pushed deeper, and the little glints of green light betrayed Eight’s trickery; she was doing something to her tongue. Applejack’s hooves pulled him back suddenly, and just before he tore his eyes from the tableau in front of him he saw Dash pull back her head. Nearly a foot of thick, slimy tongue came slurping out of Spitfire’s marehood.
A similar tongue, forked and slippery, wiggled in front of his eyes. Applejack’s strong legs locked themselves around Soarin’s body, immobilizing the stallion. She’d lengthened her tongue, as well, and before Soarin could say anything she kissed him, shoving the whole thing down his throat. The thick, syrupy saliva slid down his gullet as he swallowed reflexively, taking more of the aphrodisiac into his system. He felt warmth spread through his body, and once again his cock sprang to life.
AJ was standing over him, now, lowering her body so their hard cocks were touching. The two mottled shafts slid against one another. AJ’s was velvety soft, with just the barest bit of give to its hardness. The heavy warmth of her sack pressed against Soarin’s as they frotted, and at the space between their cockheads little droplets of precum began to appear and mingle, stirred by their motions.
Soarin felt pressure against his flanks, and surfaced from the ongoing kiss to see two Spitfires flanking him. Eight had assumed Spitfire’s shape, but he couldn’t tell which one was which. He looked back and forth between the two of them, and as he looked up he saw AJ wreathed in verdant fire, only to reveal a third Spitfire, still sporting a heavy, hard cock.
“Does it matter?” one of them asked, kissing him. “This is what you want. This is what she wants. Just enjoy it.”
Soarin gave no answer, but instead kissed the nearest muzzle to his own. Hooves slipped down to caress his shaft and the changeling’s pressed against it. Slow, easy strokes of both shafts, held together, made mare and stallion alike groan and sigh.
A Spitfire stood up just long enough to lower her marehood onto Soarin’s muzzle. Bright orange fur surrounded the stallion’s face as he took his first real taste of his superior officer’s pussy. She was spicy and sweet, with a smoky aftertaste like a bonfire in autumn. He slid his tongue around the outside, taking in the shape of her plump labia, the shy little button of her clitoris. Hooves continued to stroke his cock, but the vulva pressed against his muzzle was the focus of his world.
He felt her gasp above him, saw her belly tighten when he flicked her clit side-to-side. She gurgled and gave little encouraging grunts when he pushed his tongue up into her. Soarin’s tongue found a little rough spot and he ground his tongue against it, raising the pitch of Spitfire’s squeaks by a full octave.
Space was made between his body and the Spitfire frotting him, only to be replaced by another body. The soft bristles of belly-fur brushed against his own; one of the Spitfires was straddling him, laying on top of him.
Scooting backward, hooves guided his hardness into her winking marehood. The thick, slippery labia that kissed his cockhead were completely identical to the ones he was orally pleasuring. The bareness of the contact was intoxicating, making the world spin.
The pussy pressed against his muzzle slid back and forth, practically painting his face with fragrant marecum. Above him, the moans and sighs of three Spitfires mingled, making it hard to tell where one ended and the others began. Soarin couldn’t see; the lover sitting on his face made sure of that. He could still smell, hear, taste and touch, and he felt those senses extend and deepen.
Heat all around him. Soft fur - mare’s fur - sliding against him. The smell of arousal, of pussy, cock and cum. The locker room's lingering smell of soap and shampoo. The throbbing heat of the cock nestled against his own, thudding in time with its owner’s heart.
Soft, wet folds enveloped his cock, and a familiar pressure against his tailhole caused Soarin to purr. Hooves tugged his balls up, making clear the way to his deliciously sore asshole. A mouth found it once again, lubricating it with saliva and helping wake up the ring of muscle once more. The cockhead that nudged into him was a little smaller than before, mercifully. He’d enjoyed the deep pounding Big Mac had given him earlier, but now he felt quite tender. Whoever decided to make Soarin the center of this four-way picked up on that discomfort, and opted for a slightly gentler ride this time.
The Spitfire riding Soarin’s cock moaned and writhed, pressing her hooves into the soft flesh of her belly as Soarin’s cock inched up her tight passage. Soarin felt her hooves press through her muscles and against his cock, giving him the curious feeling of someone stroking him from inside her body. Her hips swayed back and forth, describing a complex series of circles and loops. Each pass brought his cock just a bit deeper inside of her.
The slow dance of four bodies continued. Soarin didn’t attempt to keep track of who was where; all he cared to perceive was sensory data. If a cock were pressed to his muzzle, he would suck it. Similarly, if a pussy slid against his lips he gave it a lick. Hooves never stopped roaming his body. When he wasn’t buried in ass or pussy, hooves or a mouth covered his cock. Tongues found his balls, his taint, his tailhole, and worshiped each one. He returned the favor to any body part offered to him.
He hadn’t cum in what felt like ages, but that didn’t really matter to him. All Soarin cared about was feeling this good, floating as if on a cloud. But instead of the slightly soggy, cold springiness of a cloud, he was surrounded by warm mare-flesh; three (mostly) identical mares with fiery manes and bright orange coats.
His partners came inside of him. They squirted into his mouth and across his belly, making his thighs slick with strong vaginal orgasms. Sometimes when a cock was presented to him it would be close to climax, and he savored the salty-sweet splash of semen on his tongue, and the warmth that flooded down his throat when he swallowed. Once or twice the cock pounding his ass would swell and push deep, that same warmth gushing into his guts. Sometimes the pussy he ate would be full of cum, a wonderful treat as he enjoyed the mingling flavors of both gender’s love juices.
Soarin felt himself melt away, floating in a hazy, spinning sea of warmth and pleasure. There was bliss, and little more.
Soarin came to several hours later, no longer under the influence of near-perpetual arousal and changeling aphrodisiac saliva. The first thing he noticed was the form of the Captain spooned against his body. The second thing he noticed was a sudden pounding in his head.
“Aaaaahhaaaaa,” he groaned, bringing a hoof to his temple. “Nnngh… wow, yeah… that hurts.”
“She’ll be the same,” Six whispered. She’d returned to her generic pony form, and was standing a few paces away. The world bled back into perception, slowly. Eight stood as well, also back in her generic disguise, a towel looped around her neck. The air in the room was warm and wet.
“We got cleaned up,” Eight said quietly, tossing the damp towel into a hamper across the room. “Lots of meetings today, and they get started so early.”
“L-let me… escort,” Soarin stammered, trying to stand. Spitfire beside him gave out a little groan and elbowed him in the spare ribs. “Oof!”
“Hush,” Six rasped, her voice even quieter than before. “Sleep - you and the Captain will need to recover. You provided a veritable banquet for my sister and I. We were careful, but even a cautious feeding can have aftereffects.”
“Use today to heal,” Eight added. “We know you’re scheduled for some R&R.”
“How’d… y’know?” Soarin asked, fighting sleep. He’d just woken up, but a sudden wave of exhaustion loomed over him.
“We didn’t approach you randomly, y’know,” Six said with a conspiratorial wink. “We picked the best candidate for a decent meal a few days in advance. Planned this so that you’d have time to recover.”
“Clever little mares,” Soarin said, eyes mostly closed. "Your attaches were never really missing, were they?" Six winked, but neither responded to the accusation.
“Do treat your Captain well,” Eight said, giving Spitfire a farewell kiss on her forehead. “She’s got some pent up frustrations. Nothing serious; the demands of command and all that. This was the first time she’s had the chance to blow off steam in months. You should definitely keep your schedule flexible so as to accommodate her needs.”
“Yeah,” Six said, nodding vigorously. “She has got plenty of things she’d like to do to you. Outside of business hours, of course. And I wouldn’t say she’s… in love with you…”
“She just likes me, and trusts me,” Soarin said, snuggling closer to Spitfire.
“Exactly,” Eight said, smiling. “You two sleep, now. And thank you very much for the meal.”
“Any time,” Soarin muttered, waving a hoof goodbye just before his eyes closed again.
“Oh, I do hope he meant that,” Eight said as they walked down the hall, leaving Soarin and Spitfire to sleep in the locker room. “I’d love to just pop down for an evening or two with them. Maybe a long weekend?”
“We’ll see,” Six replied, gently bumping her sibling’s flank with her own. “Let me digest all of this first, and give them time to recover”
Down the corridor, towards the light of the rising sun, both changeling sisters continued their quiet familial arguing, doing their best to mask the fact that they were, most assuredly, walking bow-legged.
