... Like Cuddles and Sharing, Germs and Caring
“Yoo dough, I’d dort you’d be bedder at dis, considerding your cudie mark and all…”
Silver Spoon's teeth skimmed gently against her lip as the spoon between her forehooves listed to one side. Thick, vivid tomato soup threatened to escape over the rim, and onto the duvet beneath her, before she hastily corrected the angle. Not that there wouldn't have been benefits from such an accident of course. For one, it might have encouraged Sweetie Belle's mother to replace the horrendous magenta and brown monstrosity with something a little more chic and modern. And then burn it. Twice.
Looking back up, Silver Spoon glared at Sweetie Belle, who pouted in response and buried herself deep within the mountain of pillows and blankets from which she had made her own... burrow? Nest? With jade green eyes that seemed to shine a little too brightly, and a mad purple and pink bob of matted mane, the young mare certainly did look like some kind of feral creature that had been dragged from the Everfree. A feral creature with a serious attitude problem.
"Don'd gid me dat look," the creature protested, her voice muffled by the blankets. "Ur d'one overfilling der spoon."
"Might want to blow that muzzle of yours, darling," Silver Spoon replied curtly, directing cooling breaths towards the spoon. "You sound like the town drunk."
Sweetie Belle's brow pinched tightly into a scowl, but the young mare acquiesced, groaning as she noisily filled a tissue and dabbed gingerly at her red, sore looking muzzle. The sight of it made Silver Spoon's own feel dry and itchy, and she quickly lifted the spoon towards her marefriend. "Considering how much you take after your sister, I would have thought you'd be more appreciative of being waited on hoof and hoof," she reprimanded, ignoring the indignant expression on Sweetie Belle's face. Honestly, she could be the lamest patient at times. "Now come on," she commanded, trying to keep a smile from her lips as she bobbed the spoon back and forth. "Open your mouth for the choo-choo train!"
Sweetie Belle turned her muzzle pointedly away from the spoon and folded her forelegs in protest. "I hate tomato soup," she replied primly, sounding intelligible now that she had (temporarily) cleared her muzzle.
Silver Spoon returned the spoon to the bowl, suppressing a snort of laughter at the sight of her marefriend trying to indifferently toss her clumped, sweat-soaked mane with a hoof. A sudden breeze danced in through the open window, plucking and distributing the tangy, basil-infused aroma of the soup around the bedroom, and she heard her stomach grumble. Leaning in for a sneaky couple of laps, Silver Spoon wiped her mouth and gazed critically at her surroundings. It felt strange and disconcerting for them to be in Sweetie Belle's room as mares, it being trapped within the styles of their late fillyhood. She could understand why it had been left unchanged over the years, though—her own mother had cried for weeks in the run up to her ill-fated year at Fillydelphia University, and upon her unplanned return it had greeted her like somepony she wasn't sure she was still friends with. Had ever been friends with, in fact.
She cast off the troubling memories with a toss of her head, and looked back at the bed just in time to see Sweetie Belle definitely not casting longing glances at the soup bowl.
"Sure, you don't like tomato soup," she chided. "Look, just stop sulking and have some already. It's, like, the best thing for colds, and it's homemade."
Sweetie Belle sneezed. Loudly. "There are better things," she replied, somewhat petulantly. "Anyway, you didn't make this. I bet you got it from Crouton's."
Pricks of heat rose to Silver Spoon's cheeks. "S—so? It was still my idea, and I bought it over personally. A little appreciation would be nice; you know, there's probably some deep, dark corner of Ponyville where ponies pay to be treated like this."
Her marefriend didn't reply, but the corners of her watery eyes started to crinkle. The act was reassuring, returning some brightness to her matted coat.
"Sorry..." Sweetie Belle mumbled eventually, her elegantly curving horn aglow as the bowl floated towards her. She ate quietly for a few minutes, before looking up and smiling apologetically. "I'm being a jerk, aren't I? Colds always do that to me."
Silver Spoon smiled. "Can't say I had ever noticed before."
"Har har." Sweetie Belle groaned and flopped limply back down amongst the blankets and pillows. "Urgh, it's so frustrating though. I really wanted to go and see that movie with you today."
Silver Spoon studied her marefriend as she looked mournfully out the window, before pushing herself up towards the top end of the bed. "Come on, plague pony," she commanded, poking Sweetie Belle lightly with a hoof. "Make some room."
Sweetie Belle grunted, her chattering teeth sounding as though they were about to make a bid for freedom, and shifted sluggishly across. As she slid under the blankets, Silver Spoon felt the feverish heat trapped between layers of cotton and down hit her like a brick wall. Wrapping her forelegs around the smooth, gently curving chest of her marefriend, she tried to ignore her discomfort as she pressed against her damp coat.
"Silver!" The cold had turned Sweetie Belle's usually adorable squeak of protest into something huskier; alluring. "I'm all gross."
"You are totally gross!" Silver Spoon laughed, rubbing her hooves up and down her marefriend's barrel. "And definitely in need of a shower. But I love you dearly, so I'm just going to pretend you've already had one."
An indignant sound spluttered from Sweetie Belle's mouth, quickly turning into a low, rattling purr as Silver Spoon nestled her head into the lazy curve of her neck, feeling the cold of her marefriend's necklace press against her coat. Twisting upwards, she caressed the underside of Sweetie Belle's muzzle with her own, and released gentle, teasing breaths against her skin.
"So, better than tomato soup?" she murmured, pushing the frame of her glasses back into place.
"Better," Sweetie Belle chattered. "Oh Celestia, so much better."
Silver Spoon grinned, satisfied, and titled her head. "I swear though, if you drip anything foul onto my mane then there's going to be trouble."
"Mhm, no promises." Sweetie Belle sounded a little dazed, but the foreleg around Silver Spoon's barrel was tight as she sagged into the embrace. "I'm sorry again for being so grumpy."
Closing her eyes for a moment, Silver Spoon began to enjoy the strange, electric warmth radiating from her marefriend's body. Despite the clamminess, there was something in the contact that soothed and comforted, and although she had begun to feel small beads of perspiration on her own coat, she was desperately reluctant to roll away.
"You just need to slow down a little," she murmured. "Every time we see each other it's like this."
"It's not!"
"Really?" Silver Spoon rolled her eyes. "Take yesterday for example: you wanted to go to the water park and then straight on to ice skating, and look at you now. You unicorns have the lamest constitutions."
Sweetie Belle squeezed her a little tighter. "But we only had this weekend between me getting back from Manehatten and you going on that business trip with your father. I wanted to make it count."
Silver Spoon shifted, feeling her stomach contract painfully at the mention of the trip. Pulling herself away from the embrace, she looked across at her marefriend. Sweetie Belle was staring at nothing in particular, her eyes unfocused. Opening her mouth, Silver Spoon shook her head and then closed it again.
"How is life at the Manehatten School of Performing Arts?" she asked instead. "You know, in all the excitement yesterday I forgot to ask. You've heard back about the casting by now, right?"
"Oh! Um... yeah, kinda." Sweetie Belle's horn glinted weakly in the fuzzy, muted afternoon light as she lifted a glass of water from the bedside table to her lips. "There's another round of auditions at the MSPA after the winter break, hence—" she nodded towards the old desk, where a stack of papers sat. "Hopefully I'll be well enough by then."
"That's amazing news, Sweetie! I'm so proud of you!" Silver Spoon beamed at her marefriend, but the words had felt strange and alien in her mouth, and the smile soon grew heavy. She was being totally unfair, she knew that—how in Equestria could she not be proud of her marefriend achieving something so wonderful?—but acknowledging Sweetie's seemingly endless successes was just inviting comparison, and she couldn't do that. Not yet. Feeling a hard guilt settle uncomfortably in her stomach, she cleared her throat. "And... and don't worry, even you are still sick, there's no way you won't get the part—even if there are a hundred ponies left in the running." She looked down at her hooves as they massaged that thick, horrendous duvet. "I've always said you're my very own little Miss Jubliee Garland."
"Are you okay, Spoony?"
Silver Spoon flinched, but kept her eyes on the duvet. Only Sweetie Belle could get away with calling her that, and a smile slowly worked its way across her lips as she indulged in the memory of a stallion at work, Gold Service, making the mistake. Then a pair of dull, concerned eyes appeared within her field of vision, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.
"I'm... fine," she lied, removing her glasses to inspect them. She caught Sweetie Belle's frown for a second, before her marefriend sneezed again.
"Okaaay. So, how's work?"
Dropping back against the comforting embrace of the pillow, Silver Spoon closed her eyes. "Fine too, I guess." Sweetie Belle always had a habit of asking that question so innocently, completely unaware of all the feelings it dragged up to the surface—feelings that were always a darn sight harder to ignore whenever Sweetie Belle came back to town or sent a letter. How was it that she had managed to run out of time so quickly?
The springs in the mattress protested as Sweetie Belle settled back down beside her. "Gee, insightful, as always." Her voice was clipped, but Silver Spoon could still pick out a undercurrent of mirth in it.
"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I guess even on the good days it's not particularly... interesting." She kept her eyes shut tight against Sweetie Belle's room. In that moment it was demanding her to make too many uncomfortable comparisons. Left in time by her marefriend's successes at the MSPA, it hadn't evolved with her like Silver Spoon's had—posters of filly crushes becoming inspirational landscape paintings of mountains and forests; pink lava lamps transforming into bonsai trees; dainty furniture replaced by practical structures of chrome and glass. There was still so much unfulfilled potential and unrealised dreams in Sweetie Belle's room that it made Silver Spoon's chest ache.
Where was she going? She figured that dropping out of Fillydelphia U was a decision she was going to one day regret, but truth be told, she had no real idea what she had been doing there either. And that was what she hated the most—that everypony else seemed to know what they wanted in life, and how to get it. Diamond Tiara was flourishing at university, despite being less academically minded than Silver Spoon, and Sweetie Belle? Well, Sweetie Belle was clearly going places.
"Hey, I'm the one in need of some TLC here, remember?"
Silver Spoon laughed, despite the terrible hollowness in her stomach, and opened her eyes to see Sweetie Belle staring down at her with a mock frown on her face. Her red muzzle looked in danger of dripping again, and Silver Spoon playfully pushed the duvet in her face.
"I'm sorry. I was just thinking." She rolled over and pulled the duvet back across her body. The room felt colder now, the blankets seeming to offer less protection, and she quietly willed Sweetie Belle to move back across and share her feverish warmth.
And security.
"Uh-huh." Sweetie Belle blew into a tissue and looked sideways at her. "Well stop thinking. You think I don't know why you go like this every time you ask me about the MSPA?"
Silver Spoon grimaced, running her hooves through her long mane. "Pretty lame being that transparent, huh?"
"I don't know. I find it is pretty helpful when you're speaking to a pony who never says what's on her mind." Sweetie Belle grinned and leaned in. "I actually like that you're a working mare—it means I get to be treated. But if you aren't enjoying it..."
"This isn't university," Silver Spoon replied shortly. "Things get set in stone pretty quickly out in the real world." She regretted how terribly patronising the retort sounded, in hindsight, but Sweetie's presumption had been irritating to say the least. How were you supposed to know you didn't want something when you had no idea what it was you actually did want? Managing catering contracts for the finest events had allowed her to mingle with high society, not to mention travel to distant locations—all the things she had wanted as a filly—but it was telling how little she wanted to talk about her work to her friends. She had always imagined telling her father that there was something else she wanted to do with her life, but that something else had never really materialised, and now...
"Father's so excited for me, Sweetie," she muttered, taking one of her marefriend's forehooves in her own by way of an apology. "You should have seen him when I closed the Golden Crust contract. I think he's hoping I'll become a partner, in time."
Sweetie Belle smiled gently, and looked down at her necklace. "That's fantastic for you. You know he'd be excited whatever you do, though. He's a great dad, and he loves you very much."
"Maybe he would." Silver Spoon shrugged. That was why she never spoke about her work—it always felt as though she was describing some other pony's job for all emotional attachment she felt for it. "But this is my bed now, and if it hasn't been completely made then the duvet is at least on the bedsheet."
"Well... We could always spill some tomato soup on it," Sweetie Belle said hopefully.
Silver Spoon laughed, on impulse wrapping her hooves around her marefriend and squeezing her tightly. Oh, she loved her so very much—perhaps no more so than in moments like this, when Sweetie Belle could lift her spirits with a single word or two. Rolling onto her back, Silver Spoon looked out of the window opposite, feeling some of the tension leave her body. A moment passed, and Sweetie Belle copied her.
"Is that what this trip is for then? Y'know, becoming a partner?"
"Kind of." A bottomless purple was beginning to swirl down towards the darkening treeline, the shapes of flying birds suspended within the beautiful void. "It's just a lame training programme I could probably do in my sleep. This one's the first of several, and they're all in sequence; if I miss one I'll have to start over with the next intake. At the end I'll be qualified in contracts and events organisation, or something." Her eyes tracked from the window to Sweetie Belle as she spoke, before falling to the necklace again. The dying light danced upon the silver, the tiny bell-handled spoon shimmering in response, and a sigh escaped her lips.
Sweetie Belle followed her gaze and smiled—a soft, beautiful smile that fell like a protective coat upon Silver Spoon. "It really is lovely, you know. You're so talented. I think you should tell him—you know he would be delighted."
The laugh that fell from Silver Spoon's mouth sounded too harsh for the bedroom. "Oh sure, like 'hey dad, thanks for spending all that time and money training me, but I'm going to throw it all away and start making jewellery instead'. He'd love that!"
"You're being stupid," Sweetie Belle retorted. "That's you speaking, not your father. You're just worried that you'd be letting him down."
"That's not it at all!" Silver Spoon groaned and rubbed her mane, frustrated that Sweetie Belle was succeeding in getting her to talk about things she didn't want to talk about.
Or did she?
She exhaled and looked across at her marefriend—at those shimmering pools of jade that were telling her everything would be okay.
"I'm... annoyed at myself," she muttered, removing her glasses to give her jittery hooves something to do. It was strange, almost as though somepony else was talking to her about things that she had put to one side, but never really forgotten. Her head felt light and empty, and her eyes just couldn't seem to settle on any one thing for more than a few minutes. "Ever since I was a filly I've always known what I wanted, and I always made sure that I got it."
"Huh. Can't say I ever really noticed."
"Careful." Silver Spoon replaced her glasses and frowned. "I should have given myself more time to think about what it is I really want. All I've done is complain about not having... it—whatever it is. Maybe I really do want to design jewellery, but it could also be that I just haven't given this job a fair chance." She closed her eyes, trying to collect her fragmented thoughts. Was it really as simple as that, though? Was it really just a case of her having allowed herself to walk down a path without really taking the time to consider other options? "And now time has run out," she concluded, more to herself than Sweetie Belle. "I can't disappoint father without being certain of what it is I really want to do. Urgh, I just wish I had realised this sooner."
Sweetie Belle rolled over then, threading their tails together as she pressed in close. The movement brought a calmness to Silver Spoon, and she allowed a hind leg to drift gently across the silky mass.
"I worry about time, too," Sweetie Belle whispered. "Why do you think I want to cram so much in when I see you? It always goes by so fast."
Silver Spoon felt another small smile rise to lips as she gently tapped her marefriend on the muzzle. Sweetie Belle squeaked, and hastily summoned a tissue. "It goes so fast precisely because you try and cram so much in."
Sweetie Belle blinked. "You trying to be funny again?"
Silver Spoon gazed across at her marefriend. Despite looking unwell, Sweetie Belle's eyes were bright, and there was a challenging, intense look on her face that made Silver Spoon want to hold her tightly and smother her with kisses. She didn't though, because Sweetie Belle's muzzle made her also look quite contagious.
"Listen," she said. "Do you know what my favourite memory of us is?"
Sweetie Belle stuck her tongue out. "Well if it isn't the day that I asked you out, because you were too scared to ask me, then there's going to be trouble."
A delightful shudder rippled across Silver Spoon's body as she laughed. "Okay, fine, second favourite memory then. It's actually the day after your birthday, last year—you know, when we spent all day lying in bed eating ice cream and laughing at all those old fashion magazines and love letter columns? You had that really neat showtunes record playing."
Sweetie Belle smiled and nestled her head beneath Silver Spoon's. "Mhm, yeah that was pretty fun."
Silver Spoon lay still for a moment, inhaling the sweet, tangy scent of her marefriend's mane. "Do you know how often we've done that since?" She felt Sweetie Belle's face scrunch up in thought, and ran a hoof down her flank. "It's really easy," she added.
Sweetie Belle's head shot up, her eyes wide and with a crestfallen look on her face. "Oh! Um... yeah. But—but we get so little time together... I just want to make sure we make lots of really good memories together."
Silver Spoon snorted in mock outrage. "So you're saying that me and ice cream and a soft, warm bed aren't good enough?"
"What? No! I mean, yes!." Wide spots of red blossomed upon Sweetie Belle's pale white cheeks. "You know what I mean, Spoony. I guess... you're probably right, though. I mean, this is pretty nice right now."
"Yeah." Silver Spoon closed her eyes and allowed the warmth of her marefriend's body carry her away to a safe, wonderful place—a place where worries and fears didn't posses the same, hard forms. She rubbed Sweetie Belle's flank again and listened to the sound of her breathing lower. "Just like now."
"I wish you didn't have to go tomorrow." Sweetie Belle's voice was husky in her ear. "I miss you when you're not around."
"I miss you too, my needy mare." Silver Spoon rubbed her muzzle against Sweetie Belle's cheek, letting her mind wander. She couldn't keep burying her head in the sand about all this, it wasn't fair on Sweetie Belle. The unicorn lying beside her deserved a pony who was happy and content in life, and the only way that was going to happen was by Silver Spoon sorting herself out and deciding whether she was going to stick at this job, or pursue something else.
Because, at the end of the day, there was something that she did want, wasn't there?
Opening her eyes, she pushed her head forward and kissed Sweetie Belle. Hard. Her marefriend squeaked in surprise as her lips were parted by Silver Spoon's tongue, but then greedily returned the kiss. Whether it was from the sudden contact or the feverish heat spilling from Sweetie Belle's body, Silver Spoon couldn't be sure, but she felt a fiery desire spreading from the base of her hooves to the tips of her twitching ears. She nipped at Sweetie Belle's neck; ran a tongue up the underside of her muzzle.
Sweetie Belle made a sound, then pulled away from the embrace.
"Don't," she gasped. "You'll catch this cold. It's really contagious."
Silver Spoon regarded her marefriend and grinned, gently running a hoof across her cheek. "Perfect. You think I'll catch it before tomorrow?"
Sweetie Belle's eyes widened. "But your training trip! You mean—?"
"The next intake is in a few months time." Silver Spoon shrugged, feeling a hint of contentment corner her fears. "I'll know by then what I want. Promise."
A gentle smile slowly crept across Sweetie Belle's face as she took Silver Spoon's face between her hooves, her eyelids lowering invitingly. "Well, one kiss might be enough, I guess... But you want to make sure, right?"
Author's Note
Thanks for reading. This wasn't a planned piece of fiction, but I've recently been struck down by flu and a pretty nasty fever and I simply had to write something cute and fluffy to cheer myself up. It worked for me; hopefully you enjoyed it as well. There might be a general roughness about it, as I'm still suffering (sniff).
Also, Silver Spoon is going to be a main character in a forthcoming romantic multi-chapter story, so it was good practice writing her in a throwaway piece. SilverBelle for the win—except for, you know, in the aforementioned story.
