Thumping.
Scampering.
Clamoring hooves and panting breaths.
Rarity stumbled across her upstairs bedroom in a cold sweat. She jerked, her rear left hoof getting ensnared in a silken sheet that was peeling halfway off her bed. With a toss of her frazzled mane, the mare writhed and broke free of the tangled restraint. Her lungs squeaked through the final lunge, and at last she reached her vanity. With clumsy telekinesis, she rattled a drawer open and uncapped a bottle of pain tablets. She tossed two pills against her swollen tongue and took a liberal drink of water.
Ironically, it was then that the rush of blood through her body reacquainted her with a persistent, throbbing pain in her skull. She leaned against the vanity, inhaling and exhaling firmly as she waited for the pain depressants to kick into gear. They didn't.
She clenched her eyes shut, reeling through the sparkling stars. Her body teetered. The world spun all around.
Then—at last—she reluctantly tilted her head in the direction of her bed...
...and opened her lids.
The morning light bleeding through the windows blinded her at first. Then—one by one—rows upon rows of tiny containers materialized. Rarity saw bottles... bottles and more bottles... completely devoid of the alcoholic contents for which they had been so cautiously labeled. They led in a chaotic trail towards the edge of the bed... a bed where every blanket and duvet and sheet had been thoroughly tossed, twirled, and dampened over countless frothing hours ago.
And lying in the bed—silent, serene, and most definitely alive—was a peach-coated figure... fuzzy and still, save for the slow and tell-tale motions of slumbering lungs. As Rarity's bloodshot eyes came into focus, she made out a short silver-and-blue mane... and her peripheral vision caught a rosy hair corsage that rested on a bedside table several kilometers away.
The fashionista gulped.
Her foggy vision fell once more to the floor, blurring with each titanic pulse thundering through her veins. She spotted a pink collar lying discarded on the floor... and a loose red ribbon crumpled up a few meters away. Beside the closet, there was a pair of fake eyelashes scattered and curled up like cockroaches. Next, she saw a pair of saddlebags, their cosmetic contents spilled in a daring splash aimed towards the bathroom.
Swallowing yet another lump down her throat, Rarity limped over the empty wine bottles and—against her better judgment—approached the dreaded doorframe to the bathroom. She heard a slight hissing sound. Switching on a light, she realized that the shower faucet hadn't been turned off completely. It trickled loosely into a shower drain where Rarity spotted two half-empty bottles of fragrant ointment rolled against one another. The counters, toilet-seat, and medicine cabinet tray were all adorned with scented candles—all of which had been melted straight to the base. And then... lying crumpled on the floor, still damp with moisture and oils... was a pleated cheerleader skirt, an inside-out blouse, and two brightly-colored pom-poms.
Rarity leaned against the doorframe to avoid fainting. Sweat collected on her brow, despite it being a cool and crisp morning. With renewed shivers, she raised a dainty fetlock to her forehead to dab the perspiration away. She heard a slight rattling sound, and that's when she first realized that one half of a fuzzy pink hoofcuff was dangling off her hoof.
“Waa-haa-HAA—haaaa!” The unicorn finally screamed, flailing backwards like a living white windsock.
Fatefully, that did it. After the upper foundation of Carousel Boutique finished shaking from the terrified exclamation, Rarity heard a gentle stirring sound from deep inside her bedroom... followed by a high-pitched, breathy, squeaky yawn.
Rarity clenched her teeth. She leaned left and right, fidgeting. Her eyes darted towards the toilet... wondering if the plumbing was wide enough for her to flush herself down into the depths of septic oblivion.
But then the stirring increased from the bedroom... followed by yet another yawn... sweet and melodic.
Sucking her breath in, Rarity rushed back into her domain. She approached the bed... and the undeniably waking figure stirring beneath the tangled covers. Scuffling to a stop at bedside, she squirmed and flapped her forelimbs as if they were on fire. At last—following a nervous gulp—she leaned forward with one hoof outstretched. The dangling pink hoofcuff caught the glinting dawnlight. “Eeep!” She hid the offensive article behind her flank and reached her other limb out instead. Gently—with platonic motions—she shook the waking pony's shoulder. “Uhm... Coco... darling?” She clenched her teeth hard beneath a twitching smile. “Rise and shine... my sweet, well-mannered, totally professional business partner.”
“Mmmmmm...” Coco smiled. “Mmmmmmmm...” She smiled some more. Her cheeks turned rosy at the slightest touch of Rarity's white hoof. At last, her teal blue eyes opened, happy and glistening... soon to be happier. As soon as they reflected the frazzled fashionista looming over her, the petite earth pony hugged a crumpled pillow tightly to her velvety peach chest... beaming in the warm rays of the day. “Hiiiiiiii...”
Rarity's head throbbed. She stood upright against a tsunami of nausea. “Hello yourself, dearest.” She swallowed a desert down her esophagus. “Had a good night's sl-sleep, I trust?”
“Mmmmmmmm—you know I did,” Coco purred, hugging the pillow tighter. “You look gorgeous by the way.”
“Oh... uhm... a thousand th-thanks!” Rarity fluffed her tattered bee's nest of a morning mane. “I... ahem... most certainly try to.”
“Mmmmmmhmmmmmm...” Coco rolled over in bed. Her head swiveled, eyes locked like velvet hooks to Rarity's brow and anchoring her delirious smile in place. “You most certainly have a lot to teach me, Mistress Moonshadow.”
Rarity's heart imploded with a million razor-barbed icicles. She shattered it with a flighty laugh. “Hah hah hah! Hah hah... ohhhhhhh Coco, darling, you say some of the silliest th-things!”
“Well, it wasn't so 'silly' last night, was it? A good pet wouldn't want to be disrespectful...” Coco cooed, winking the entire time. “...unless of course... that pet wants to be punished.” A pink tongue stuck out between them, followed by a giggle and another pillow hug.
“Erm... yes. 'Good pet.' How d-delightfully worded.” Rarity's muzzle scrunched. “We are talking about Opalescence, aren't we—”
Just then, Coco stretched, tilting her neck back. In so doing, Rarity saw a black velvet collar wrapped tightly around the pony's slender neck like a choker.
“—ee—ee—eeeee—hokaaay!” Rarity wrenched her eyes away, facing the window curtains and flexing her lungs. “A-fuuu... a-fuuuuuu...”
“Mmmm?” Coco rubbed one eye. “Mistress Moonshadow?” Then the other, followed by a worried trilling sound as she sat up amidst the tangled covers. “Rarity? Is everything okay?”
“Huh? What? Oh! Most definitely, Miss Pommel!” Rarity teetered back to face her with a fractured grin. “Couldn't be more smashing!”
Coco blinked. Then she giggle-snorted, covering her adorable face with a tender hoof. “Heehee... 'Miss Pommel.' The last time you called me that was on the way back from the party in the stagecoach.”
“Yes!” Rarity boomed. “Indeed!” She boomed again. “The party!” Her eyes fell to the bottles lying around the bedroom floor. “We... made a lot of stops along the way home!” Her eyes twitched in Coco's direction as she smiled. “... ... ...didn't we?!”
“Hmmm-hmmm-hmmm...” Coco tossed her mane and leaned back at a slinky forty-five degrees, presenting her shiny chest fluff to the golden dawn. Thin eyes sliced their way heatedly towards Rarity. “We certainly nearly rocked the stagecoach off its wheels.” She giggled with foalish little squeaks. “There's one driver who will never escort us home from Twilight's Castle again!”
“It's just that...” Rarity rambled on, stroking her own bangs with her good hoof. “...I rarely ever show my face in liquor establishments. So... erm... m-my apologies if I forced you to get out your bit-bag.” She choked on something, then threw nervous puppy dog eyes at the smaller mare while the next few words squeaked out: “You... are old enough t-to buy alcohol... y-yes?”
“Snkkkt... hah hah hah hah!” Coco Pommel laughed wheezingly.
Rarity tittered. “Heheheheh...”
“Ha ha ha ha ha!”
“Hah hah hah hah!”
“Heeheehee!”
“Hahahahaha—mrmmmmmmmmfff!” Rarity's eyes crossed—for a soft pair of lips was now ensnaring her own.
Coco had thrown herself off the edge of the bed, squeezing Rarity's upper body in a velvety hug as she attacked the fashionista's muzzle in full-force. After a century of saliva, the gesture ended—but not the passion. Coco draped against Rarity's palpitating chest, her voice vibrating straight through the older mare's spine. “Heeeeeeee... I can fool a lot of ponies, but there's no fooling you, Mistress.” She gazed up with a coy smile, grinning just above the collar. “Of course... that didn't stop you from sharing that adorable little cheerleader outfit that you stitched together last summer.”
“Uhm...”
“I sure hope Sweetie Belle doesn't mind growing into something else—”
“Coco, darling, I...” Rarity grimaced, staring at all of the bottles and melted candles. “I...”
“Huh?” Coco looked up. The tiniest flicker of concern registered in the younger mare's eyes. “Rarity?”
Rarity glanced towards the distant bathroom where the shower faucet was still running. The tile floor was cold... sterile... like their relationship should have been. Geometric and pristine and respectful of the gargantuan age gap between them. There were so many winding roads trickling downhill from this moment, and all of them fraught with avalanches.
“I-I... I think...”
Coco gazed up at her. The young adult's lips trembled with sudden confusion. “Is something wrong?”
Only now did Rarity realize how disheveled the earth pony's mane had gotten. Without knowing it, she had levitated a brush over and was running it through the young mare's threads—straightening out the bangs and setting a satin framework around those imploring eyes and rosy cheeks and...
...and before long, Rarity was staring, cuddling, inhaling the incidental understudy who had squeakily hatched from the forest of her bedsheets. And somewhere between the tender breaths and the dew-glossed stare suspending that sacred moment, she felt the wild fringes of a scented evening filled with gasps, tears, and smiles. It was only a fable, of course, but it was a good one, and the moment Rarity found herself dusting the bookends off—one brushstroke at a time—she felt the tepid nausea being swiftly outwashed by waves of fuzz, butterflies, and more fuzz.
“... ... ...I just remembered something,” Rarity dripped.
Coco blinked. “Oh?” She blinked again, tilting the fuzziness aside. “What's that?”
Rarity tilted with her, and she relished the spiral with a soft, ladylike grin. “I'm famished.” She brushed the soft underside of Coco's chin. “I bet you are simply aching for a fine breakfast!”
The tips of Coco's ears fluttered, and she beamed within Rarity's embrace. “That sounds absolutely delightful!”
“Wait right here, darling.” Rarity laid Coco back before patting her chest and trotting off with a newly-discovered flounce. “I shall go and procure something scrumptious! I am in the mood for fruit! How about you?”
“Mmmmmm...” Coco stretched once more, purring towards the ceiling. “I'm afraid we used up all the strawberries last night, Mistress.”
“Yes...” Rarity gulped for one last time before descending the stairs. “...but of course.”
Author's Note
These aren't your daddy's oneshots
