Plain Old Sweater

by Packel

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Romance, Drama
Length: 1668

Fluttershy accidentally tears up her favorite sweater, and her best friend.

It's just a plain old sweater. Not especially fashionable.

Hoof-stitched and sentimental, but standard as they come. Rarity's seen dozens like it in the stores.

So then, why is it killing her? Why does it send her insane?

It's the mare who owns it—she's responsible. It's the harmless pegasus who's gone and wrecked her.

Rated "sex" for ambiguously fervent thoughts

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-07-16 04:20:01 UTC

Heavy Fabric

In the Ponyville Main Street’s Carousel Boutique, a happy little pegasus silently trotted down the stairwell.

“Thank you so much again for letting me use your, um… amenities, Rarity.”

“Please, think nothing of it,” the unicorn smiled from the store’s front desk. “I trust you had a lovely hot shower?”

Fluttershy smiled back and nodded as she reached the bottom of the stairs, retrieving her pair of saddlebags.

Rarity, lost in her filling out of forms, continued, “Honestly though, I find it simply outrageous how often your home’s plumbing gives out—is this not the third time this year?”

“Oh, my. Has it been that many already?” Fluttershy sheepishly rubbed her foreleg.

“If you ask me, it’s faulty pipework. Your home was built during the Olden Craftsmare’s Guild years, is it not?” Rarity clicked her tongue. “Absolutely no safety standards back then.”

Fluttershy simply hemmed in response. She fidgeted in place while she peered back and forth between the entrance door and the front desk.

Rarity noticed her friend’s silent lingering. She looked up from her paperwork, curious. “Erm… is there something else you need, dear?”

“Ohh…” The flighty little pegasus bit at her lip in thought. “Well, if it’s not any trouble, I was wondering if you could maybe mend something for me…” She flipped open her saddlebag and pulled out a bunch of off-white fabric. Holding it in her mouth, she displayed it to be the remnants of a turtleneck sweater. An enormous hole had been ripped through it, and the threadbare cloth threatened to fall apart. “My, um… it’s my favorite sweater.”

“My stars, dear! It looks about ready to give up the ghost. What in the world happened?”

Fluttershy smiled and dropped it to her hooves. “Have you met Barry before? He’s my Kodiak bear—I’m sure you would remember him. His hugs can sometimes get a little bit… aggressive. He’s very, very sorry about it. Although, I suppose it’s my fault, since I forgot to file his claws again…” She pawed at the ground. “Between my chiropractor expenses and now this, I’m not sure what to do…”

The poor girl deserves better. Rarity had seen her limping in and out of the massage parlor far too often, lately. Fluttershy kept insisting she’d be fine, but Rarity still worried for her. How that pegasus was still alive was a mystery sometimes.

“Honestly, Fluttershy, you really ought to find some quality time for yourself.” Rarity delicately levitated the scraps out of her friend’s hooves and set them on the counter. “Away from the animals, I mean. You’ve been so terribly busy as of late, I’ve not seen hide nor hair… so to speak.”

Fluttershy sighed. “I know… and I’m sorry.” She peeked from behind her mane. “Preparation for spring is just so exhausting, I barely had a moment to visit. I really wish I could spend more time with you, Rarity.” She paused. “And the girls.”

Rarity, now dissecting the brutalized sweater, hummed in agreement. “That would be quite nice. Say, Fluttershy, is this real wool?”

“Oh, it is,” she nodded. “From one of my sheep when I was a filly. My mother knitted it for me for my fourteenth birthday.”

Rarity stifled a laugh in spite of herself. “To tell the truth, with how often you wear it, I thought you had a wardrobe full of the things.” She traced the interweaving patterns that spiraled across the speckly-heathered turtleneck. The wool was a pleasantly dusty, ecru-eggshell white, and was thick enough to make Rarity feel warm just looking at it. The hoof-knit inlays had tragically broken and frayed where it had been torn. “Goodness. She must have been quite the crafty seamstress for it to last this long.”

“Well, it was a few sizes too big back then,” Fluttershy giggled. “You should have seen me. It looked like a blanket.”

Rarity laughed at the thought. “Well, it certainly means quite a lot to you if you kept it for so long. I daresay I’m no miracle worker—” she poked at a loose flap of fabric “—but I shall do my absolute best, darling. I’ll have it in top shape by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, thank you, Rarity, thank you!” Fluttershy’s wings flicked about about in excitement, and she held her hooves by her heart. “It really does mean a whole lot to me. I don’t know what I would do without that sweater.” She laughed softly, “I might have to share body heat with you if we went outside.”

Now that was an image that stopped Rarity cold. What in Celestia’s name would compel her to say something like that? She… she must have been thinking in terms of hibernating animals, no? Surely, she wasn’t making some sort of suggestion.

“Um… Rarity?”

She snapped back to attention. “Hmm?”

“Y-you’re staring again…” she muttered. “You, um… told me to remind you… not to do that…”

Rarity suddenly found the walls very interesting. “Ah! Er—yes, thank you, fine. It’s fine. It will be fine, I mean. Your sweaterneck. Rather, turtle. …Neck.” She swiped the clothing off the counter and sprinted upstairs. “No time like the present. See you tomorrow, Fluttershy dearest!”

Fluttershy hesitated before calling after her. “Wait—! Um, please, Rarity?”

“Yes, darling?” she echoed from the stairwell.

“I, um… oh gosh, this is so embarrassing, but…” Her ears drooped, and she chewed at her bottom lip again. “I haven’t washed that sweater all week. M-maybe you should put it through the laundry first…”

“Right, right, yes,” she dismissed. “Thank you, dear. See you tomorrow!”

Shuffling hoofsteps followed by a slamming door upstairs left Fluttershy alone. She was glad nopony else was around to see her so awkwardly trot out of the store.

Rarity sat perched on her stool before her vanity-turned-sewing station. She stared at the bundle of ecru heather. She stared for ages, learning its curves and contours. She fumbled it around in her hooves. She traced the patterns and held it in close. Its immense softness required she rub it on her cheek. It made her bury her muzzle in it and breathe deep. Her whole body tingled. It smelled so, so much like Fluttershy. Rarity wanted to curl up in the sweater and die happy. She wanted to absorb it, and to be absorbed. She wanted those downy yellow wings wrapped around her, holding her bosom tight. Over and over, she indulged herself in the pegasus’ intoxicating scent—sweet herbs and musky feathers. It made her think of heaven, and it triggered something inside of her.

She felt sick, because she recognized the feeling. Her eyes struggled to keep focus.

Lust.

Not fake, nor petty, nor manufactured lust like she sometimes put on. Real lust, with an angry hotness sweltering beneath it, desperate to claw through. It burned at her eyes and nose, and made tears. It tore at her insides with white barbs and bled her dry. Rarity slammed her hoof down hard enough to leave marks on the vanity. She jumped up from her stool, giving it a solid kick that sent it to the far wall. Feeling at wits’ end, she stomped her hoof on the floor. It felt good, so she did it again, and again, making tremors throughout the hardwood.

It was coming over her again.

Rarity’s throat constricted, and her breathing shook and shallowed. Standing was becoming difficult. Her stomach heaved, but nothing came.

They were friends. Two mares. Had she no morals?

Why was this happening to her? Was she going to die? Would she drop dead right there, festering over some pointless cloth? No, it wasn’t that damn sweater. That could burn for all she cared. It was the one who wore it. The temptress who wrapped the wool around her beautiful body and called herself an angel. A hot spike shot through Rarity as her thoughts fell deeper. Her mind fit tightly around Fluttershy, as the cloth did. It was too much. Her flittery mannerisms, her motherly cadence, the precisely gentle way she moved, and that torturous way she bit her lip…

So badly did she just want to take hold of her and have her way…

Rarity gasped for breath, trembling and panting. She tore her eyes from the floor and glared back at the vanity’s mirror. Her eyes looked ugly and bloodshot. She wanted to scream and cry out. She tried. A pitifully hushed wail was all that came. The painful sting in her eyes made her collapse into a heap and choke back sputtering sobs. In her aching hooves was still clutched the heather, at risk of being torn even further apart by her shivering vice.

A few tears hitting the floor kindly let her know that her eyeliner was ruined. She stayed on that floor until she heard the faint chirping of crickets outside.

In a cozy little cottage on the white-blanketed outskirts of Ponyville, a happy little pegasus lay curled up on the couch. Basking in the warm glow of the fire, she could have easily gone without her favorite turtleneck sweater. But she didn’t. It felt immensely soft around her, being freshly laundered and all. That, and it had that wonderful smell she loved—fabric softener and musty textiles.

She was a little worried when Rarity had to take an extra day to mend it, but she was pleasantly surprised when it showed up in a box on her doorstep. It looked good as new.

Feeling a bit thirsty, she stretched her legs and reluctantly left her spot, heading over to the kitchen. Fetching the kettle, she placed it by the sink and turned the faucet handle to “hot.” After a minute, the water was decidedly steamy enough for tea. She reached for the cabinet, and—

Something clacked to the floor next to her. She looked down and saw it was the pair of scissors she left lying on the counter. She whisked them up and put them back in their appropriate drawer, lest somepony get hurt.