A Cold Wind Blows

Chapter 9

Dinner Date

Pretending as if nothing had happened betwixt them at all, Glacier and Amethyst both began smiling and being all giggly with one another in front of Style. They both invited the stallion into the home with open hooves, and they quickly got down to conversing with one another. The topics varied on the spectrum of Glacier’s foal-hood, to Amethyst’s own foal-hood respectively. Style never knew that Glacier had left home at the age he had, and he never knew that Glacier stayed with his dear friend Ice and her parents for some time either. It was all a rather interesting revelation that the stallion thought to be rather cool. It would be found to have peaked his interest because neither Glacier nor Amethyst had told the stallion the actual way the events went down, lest bring the outburst from earlier up in the process. So, instead, both stallions told a little fib. It wouldn’t be necessary to tell Style the truth anyhow, Glacier had no intent of bringing him up to Caneighda to visit his parents at all. What little his father knew about his life now, the better. The better for him and his wretch of a father.

“So, Glacier,” Style began, licking his lips slightly in anticipation, “what about that carrot casserole? I’ve been dying to try it all day.” The stallion giggled thereafter.

The stallion in question scratched the back of his head with a hoof and looked to his brother momentarily, before looking back into Style’s dreamy eyes, a sense of warmth and comfort flowing over himself as he did so. He quirked a little smile, though it came off as a tad bit strained, and chuckled. “Well, to be honest, Amethyst and I lost track of the time. Before we knew it, the day was gone and you were here. We got extra carrots and everything for it tonight though.” Glacier motioned over towards the kitchen as if to show Style he had indeed gotten what was needed for the night.

“Aww, that’s okay Glacy.” He smiled in return, reached out a hoof, and ruffled the stallion’s mane. It became even messier than before, if that was even possible.

“Why do you let him call you Glacy?”

Glacier looked over to his brother then, a slight appearance of annoyance on his face. “Because he is my colt-friend, doofus. Duh!”

“Ooh, I didn’t know we had labels on everything now. When did that happen?” the stallion questioned in a sing-song tone.

Glacier froze. He hadn’t caught that he himself had mentioned that Style and him both had any sort of labels for their relationship. But in fact, he had. And he could play recovery, trying to fix what he had just done, or he could accept it and move on.

“Well, I had been thinking about it these past few days, and meant to ask you about it, but hadn’t gotten around to it. I had been busy with Ice, then Amethyst, as well as dealing with my book on top of it.” The stallion scratched at the back of his neck nervously as a blush crossed his face. He then looked away and to his brother for a moment. There was a pleading there, something that looked a little like a puppy dog face. His brother has seen this before, he was used to it. And this time he wasn’t going to help him. He had enough of his own problems with his own colt-friend that he felt it better to stay out of it and let Glacier solve this little hiccup on his own. Plus, he liked to see his brother beg and suffer (just ever so slightly) sometimes. Particularly when it didn’t really involve any sort of physical torment.

“And…” Style leaned forwards towards Glacier, staring directly into his deep blue eyes, waggling his eyebrows in a pseudo-seductive manner.

“I-I was… I was wondering if…” Glacier was falling all over himself now, his words stumbling and fumbling just as badly as he seemed to be physically.

“You were wondering what?” Style growled out in a low-tone that even made Amethyst a little uncomfortable. Surely Style wasn’t trying to put on any kind of moves while he was sitting right there. Was he?

“I was wondering—“Style lifted a hoof and placed it on Glacier’s thigh and began to rub it in a slow, rhythmic fashion—“i-if y-you wanted to b-be my colt-friend. You kn-know, make it official?”

Style then got oddly serious, looking Glacier in the eyes rather sternly. “As much as I would love that Glacier, I really would, I’m not too sure of that myself. I mean, we’ve been dating for a little while now, but I would still like to get to know the real you a little bit more before I’m ready for that.” He paused as he could sense the tension rolling off Amethyst and Glacier’s own expressions. Amethyst, rather peeved-looking, possibly seething under the surface. And Glacier, a pained and uncomfortable look on his face. He looked as if Style had just threw a puppy off a cliff in front of him.

“I-It’s okay,” Glacier said, sniffling a little. “I understand, Style, I really do.” He smiled a little smile, looking to the taller stallion before him. He cocked his head to the side and continued his smile, looking into the rather deep looking pools that were Style’s eyes. The brown that he seen there, reminding him of cinnamon and ginger, and all the wonderfully tasty and delightful treats that could be made with it. He really should make Style something like that sometime. He’s sure to enjoy a treat like that.

“Thank you Glacier, sweetie. I just need a little time to decide if that’s the next step that I would like to take.” He sighed and looked to Amethyst next. The emotion that he read off of Amethyst was a little sort of anger, but it still wasn’t there quite yet. That was a saving grace at least.

“I think that I need a little explanation here,” Amethyst said through slightly gritted teeth. “Because, from the sounds of it, Glacier was pretty sure that you were gonna say yes.” Amethyst shuffled in his seat but never took his eyes off of Turn Style. “So,” he huffed, “what gives?”

“Amethyst—“

“Glacier knows perfectly well why I am not ready to make that call yet, I assure you. I’m not just saying this because I’m not interested in your brother, Amethyst, trust me.” He smirked but in a way that was far from condescending and more in a knowledge that Amethyst knew that he was telling the truth. He liked Glacier, very much so, but he wasn’t ready for labels yet. Not after Firestorm.

“Then why don’t you tell me all about what’s going on here, then?” Amethyst queried.

“Amethyst, please—“

“It’s alright Glacier,” Style said, interrupting him. He then placed a hoof on his thigh and held it there, unmoving as it were. Style looked down into Glacier’s eyes, the same level of sternness and seriousness present in his gaze. “If Amethyst wants to know about Firestorm, I’ll tell him. I’ll be okay, Glacy.”

He looked back over to Amethyst who looked more annoyed than anything right now. “It all started one night when I went down to the local gay bar, The Embassy.”

2…

“I thought that it was going to be just like any other night I had gone there: walk in, sit down, get hit on by some horribly desperate stallions, and leave just as depressed as when I had entered. But that night it was different, and it led to something I thought I was undeserving of.”

Style walked up the rather lively and brightly lit building. The bar scene wasn’t really much of the stallion’s thing, nor was looking for a quickie with some random stallion out back in the alleyway. But that didn’t stop the random stallions that perused the crowd of seemingly desperate faces that made up the clientele from hitting on anything that moved, trying to get a piece of tail for the night. This made Style queasy whenever he ever seen it happening. To think that some young colts were so eager for a quick fuck that they would stoop so low as to leave the bar with some lowly-looking stallion, decked-out in dozens of tattoos, a beard adorning their muzzle, and run the risk of catching something these dirty stallion most likely had.

The name of the establishment, illuminated in pink neon, gleamed and flashed hypnotically to the rhythm of the music as Style made his entrance. They were playing some song he didn’t really have any clue as to what it was. But the beat was good, and that’s all that really mattered when the music is essentially just an icebreaker to grind and feel all over somepony you don’t know. And usually it worked—a little too well, in some ponies’ cases. Style can recall one time that there was this one lithe, little, twink-looking colt, surrounded by as many burly and manly stallions as one could count. It was like watching tigers stalking prey but in plain sight. It made him sick. But still, he went back almost twice a week, looking for something to fill his own void. A deep, black hole that had been brooding there, growing larger everyday he went without seeing somepony next to him each morning he woke. Sometimes the pain alone was almost enough for him to consider giving up on it.

Shaking the thought from his head, Style steered clear of the dance floor, lit by dozens of little lights of red, white, and blue. Must have been a special night that Style didn’t know about, nor cared about it particular, as he had never seen those colours used at this bar in particular. But he liked it, those colours were bright, colourful, and vibrant. They stood out without being stereotypically gay. Though he didn’t hate having the stereotypes in there for the lighting either. He always loved the hue of purple they used to the light the dance floor. That, combined with the red, pink, and baby blue really tied the rainbow hue of the dance floor together. It was a cacophony of homosexuality and Style loved that. The rest of this place? Not so much.

Walking over to the bar, Style approached it with a slight wiggle in his step. It always made his stomach turn every time he walked up to the counter. He never sat there, of course, because that was far too exposed for the stallion’s liking. He much preferred to go sit in a corner booth, an ample sightline of the dance floor before him; because he sure did love to watch the young stallions shake what booty they had. Now did that make him a bad stallion? Just as bad as the burly ones that used the young colts? No, it didn’t. But that didn’t stop the thought from crossing his mind on occasion. Sometimes it crossed it more than once in a night, it really just depended. But when you are fighting a void of darkness—a void of blackness—it was hard to see betwixt the lines at times.

“A whisky,” the stallion said to a rather flamboyantly coloured stallion behind the counter. He was the colour of a lilac, a short-cut white mane and tail streaked with amethyst brought his appearance all together. That and the leather vest that he wore over his withers were the main things that Style took into account before he was slid his drink and he retired to the booth nearest the back of the establishment.

The booth sat along the same wall as that of the front door, each new member of the collection of sweaty depravity walking past the blackness that was the silhouette of the seat in front of him. There was little of anything that passed that point that really caught the stallion’s eye. And after about twenty minutes or so of waiting, he turned his attention back to the dance floor, and the cute, little stallion booties bumping and grinding all along it. He watched the bodies rock back and forth, up and down, the sweat rolling down the contours of their bodies, dripping on the patriotic floor beneath their hooves. The place smelled of sweat, when the stallion really thought about it, but when you’re distracted by attractive stallions or are intoxicated, you don’t really notice it. You tend to think with you dick more when any of these variables are taken into account.

“Hey there,” a growl of a voice called out.

This caused Style to raise his head some, looking through the darkness around him in a vain attempt to find the source of the mysterious voice. “Hello…?” the stallion questioned back over the bumping beat of the music.

“I said hey there, cutie.” All of the sudden there was another stallion sitting at the table in front of Style, although he couldn’t really see his face, the stallion still covered by the shroud that was the darkness of this part of the club.

Style squinted, trying to get a better look at the stallion, but was still struggling some. So, with the clearing of his throat, he was about to ask the stallion if he could lean a little into the light.

“Ah, right,” the stallion hummed deeply. “I should probably do this.” There was then a flick and the table was then illuminated in the brilliance of a white florescent bulb. “That’s better, now you can see me.”

“The stallion that was sitting with me was a pegasus stallion named Firestorm. He’s my ex. A mule’s ass is more of what he is, but that’s for later. Firestorm had a coat that was a deeper red colour, one that matched the lights that night. And he had a raggedy, shortly-cut mane of golden blonde that I really liked…beforehand. And he had a longer tail, like Glacier, but it was golden blonde too, just to give you a better picture. Anyways…”

“Yeah, I can,” Style said, rolling his eyes slightly. It wasn’t the first time that a stallion had tried to pick him up by calling him “cutie” or playing off their own looks so much, as if he should be absolutely honoured and floored that a stallion that looks as godly in appearance as he has any interest in him. Not that the stallion didn’t look very handsome; he most certainly did. Style thought so wholeheartedly, looking away from the stallion with a few sideways rolls of the eye. He was trying to look unimpressed, so that this muscle of stallion meat would just leave him alone and be on his way to prey on the youth that was in tonight. But the stallion didn’t leave. Instead he opted to try and have a conversation with Style, much to the stallion’s dismay.

“So, what brings a stallion like you to a place like this on a Wednesday night?” he queried.

“A stallion like me?” Style questioned back, his ear flicking a little as he could just faintly hear the sound of the stallion huffing out a little bit of air at his response.

“A stallion that isolates himself to the back of a bar like this is usually here for one of two things…”

“And what are those, may I ask?” Style responded, his brow furrowing a little. He scanned the stallion’s face over, trying to read just what he was playing at, but he couldn’t do it. There was something about the way this stallion carried himself that Style just couldn’t read. It was interesting, and Style found himself liking it little-by-little.

“One, you’re here scanning the younger colts over there, looking to see if you can score a quick fuck at your place. Or two…you’re waiting for a stallion to approach you.” The stallion leaned across the table, so close that Style could almost smell the alcoholic miasma permeating from his maw.

“Try two,” Style said coldly. “I can’t stand it when I see those stallions grinding all over those little things. They really don’t know what they want, and they are just taking advantage of them.” Style smirked next. “And I’m looking for a stallion to approach me that has some class and isn’t a cocky twat-cake. You feel me, big guy?”

Firestorm put both his hooves up, his unshorn fetlocks hanging over his light beige-coloured hooves. “Hey, I understand. I came on a little too strong. Let me correct that…” The stallion cleared his throat, straightened himself up, and looked Style dead in the eyes. “Hello there. How are you tonight?” The stallion smirked back, sticking the tip of his tongue out between his teeth.

Style chuckled in response to that. “That’s much better. You might just have a chance there, big guy.”

“Oh yeah?” Firestorm asked, a little intrigued.

“Yeah… If you play your cards right, that is.”

“And what happened after that?” Amethyst asked.

“Well, to be honest, It’s a little difficult to talk about,” Style said, looking to Amethyst with an earnest look behind his eyes.

“Hey…” Amethyst put a hoof on Style’s withers. “If it’s too much, you can stop there. I’m getting the vibe that this stallion was a hoof-full to begin with.”

Style returned the hoof and leaned a little closer to Amethyst, his voice little above a whisper now. “Thanks, but this really needs to be talked about. It’s the only way I’ll be able to move past it. If not for Glacier’s sake, then my own.” The stallion looked back to Glacier, whom nodded in response. It was then that Style steeled himself properly for the rest of the story. There really wasn’t much left to tell, now that Amethyst knew who Firestorm was. All that was left was what made him the mule’s ass that he was.

“Well why don’t you come for a little walk with me and we’ll see if I know how to deal some cards in both our favours.” Style smiled and Firestorm smiled back. They then both rose from their seats in unison, walked to the entrance and turned it into the exit as they vacated the premises and went on their little walk.

The stallions walked with one another for what felt like hours, but was approximately forty-five minutes or so, give or take a few minutes. They chatted mainly about one another, what part of town they were native too, and what their current occupations where. Firestorm, unsurprisingly, worked at the Weather Factory making clouds and the like. Style worked at The Beat Goes On. The interests were really different as well, nothing really crossed over with one another at all. Style loved musical influence in his life, and Firestorm really couldn’t really care any less if he tried. Firestorm had a love for and pride for any and all pegasi that Style just didn’t really understand. He seemed to treat it as though pegasi were God’s perfect creation in this great land of Equestria, when each and every pony was just as equal as the next. They were all needed in this world in order to make it function; no one was better than the other. Except in Firestorm’s eyes.

Now the reason Style didn’t see this as a red flag to start with is really unknown, but one could speculate that he really was caught up in the looks of this stallion. He was handsome, had a bright coat that attracted the eye, and charisma that really brought his appearance all together. And it was an appearance that Style was starting to grow comfortable with. One that made him feel safe, despite the stallion being almost a good foot shorter than him. His charismatic visage made him seem approachable with just about anything and everything.

Fast forward nine months, Firestorm and Style are both together, living in the same home. Firestorm is still working at the Weather Factory and Style is still working at The Beat Goes On. Firestorm is content with the relationship and Style thinks so too. They both come home every night, eat dinner together and listen to radio shows together and talk amongst themselves. However there were a few occasions where this was not that case. However, upon one night, a few weeks later, Style and Firestorm had both had enough of one another, and something very disgusting and unforgivable happened. Something ungodly and sickeningly terrifying. Something unforgettable…

The couple had arrived back at home pretty much in unison, like they usually do. However, Style was tired from a particularly busy day at the shop. He looked cramped from all the heavy lifting of records and magnetic tape spools, most of which is a lot heavier once you try and carry a large quantity at once. And even though he was a unicorn by nature, he was very much susceptible to straining himself in levitating heavy loads. No one ever said using magic was a free ride, though most tend to think so, and many unicorns abuse it in their favour. Style was quite the contrary to that stereotype, tending to do things the “old-fashioned” earth pony way.

Stepping into the home a few minutes before Firestorm touched down outside their front door, Style sat on the couch and sighed a breath of relief as he relaxed his tensed muscles finally. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, letting the comfort of the cushions beneath and behind him envelope his senses completely, fully. So much so that he didn’t even hear the front door open and Firestorm walk over into the common-room.

“Hey,” was all Style hear before opening his eyes lazily.

“Hi,” Style said, closing his eyes again as he attempted to relax some more.

“Why haven’t you started dinner yet? It’s 7p.m., is it not?” Firestorm countered, throwing his orange work jacket on the floor next to the coatrack.

“Could you please pick up your jacket and actually put it on the coatrack for once?”

“Why don’t you do it when you get up to make us both something to eat?” Firestorm shot back. “Fucking smartass.” The stallion slowly strode over to the couch and plopped himself down on the other end of it. He sighed and put his dirty hooves up on the coffee table Style had just cleaned this morning.

Style sighed as he could practically see the dirt falling off the bottom of Firestorm’s hooves and onto the table’s surface. He sat up a little and looked to his colt-friend, a stern look on his face. “I just cleaned the coffee table this morning.”

To which Firestorm responded, “Is that so...? You could always, I don’t know, clean it again. Couldn’t you?”

Style jumped off of the couch, pointing to the coffee table absentmindedly with a hoof. “I would rather not ‘clean it again’ right after I had already just done it, Storm.”

“So, when are you making me dinner, babe? I’m starving.” The stallion looked over to Style with the condescending smirk of a real douchebag. He was pushing the envelope a little too far. But that is how he tended to do things now. It was all so different in the beginning. He was so kind and sweet, treating Style the most important stallion in the entire world. But now, he just treated Style like he was a piece of property.

“You didn’t go and make him something to eat, did you?” Amethyst asked a little concernedly.

“Oh, but I did. As much as he treated me like garbage then, I remembered all the good times, all the times he made me feel special, alive, like I held value. It drove me to do things I’m not rather fond of admitting. Making him something to eat that night is one of them. Especially after what happened later that night…”

With Firestorm’s daffodil sandwich made and delivered, Style sat back down on the opposite end of the couch. He listened as Firestorm munched on and mused to himself in delight as he enjoyed the quick meal his colt-friend had made for him. And whilst he listened, he watched the stallion out the corner of his eye. He watched his expression as he ate—stock and emotionless—looking as though he had been struck by some sort of inner monologue of his own thoughts. It was enough to make Style sick, though he stayed with him. He felt he needed the stallion, like he was the only one that would love him the way he did.

Firestorm looked to Style and motioned towards the old Celestial Radio—the kind that bore crystalline tubes—and spoke to the stallion in question. “Turn on the radio for me. I wanna hear if they have a radio play on tonight.”

Style rose up and trotted slowly over towards the radio, the glare of Firestorm following him all the while. The stallion never really did let up at all, did he? And reaching for the radio it followed once more. Style placed his hoof upon the old, wooden knob of the machine and twisted it to the right with a violent click. A flurry of static and noise followed from a speaker beneath a golden cloth on the front of the machine before the intelligible and recognisable sound of voices filled the air. They were the voices of the two late-night news ponies from just down the way nearest Sugarcube Corner. Style could have sworn he had seen the ponies on a few rare and sporadic occasions but he wasn’t too sure. Could have been just some regular, old pony...just like him.

Returning himself to the couch, Style sat at the opposite end once more. He sighed a little sigh to himself as he watched the form of a smile grace Firestorms features. The stallion was happy once again, caught up in the shenanigans of the late-night news. Style liked when Firestorm got like this now; it reminded him of the old times, the good times. The times when the two would spend the nights together, cuddling on the couch and laughing together over all the idiotic and ridiculous things that ponies far and wide had been getting themselves into, and they cried together over the hardship and loss of others. But now—just like with all the other things Firestorm once was—this was different. And it made Style want to cry a little on the inside, the pain of yesterday following him around and shadowing him like some sort of spectre.

Time soon came into the wee early hours of the morning and the stallions chose to retire for the night, and prepped themselves for bed respectively. Firestorm showered, so did Style. Firestorm brushed his teeth for the night, and so did Style. They both climbed into bed, both turning away from one another, a pattern both have grow accustomed to. However, tonight was a little bit different when Firestorm rolled over and flicked on their bedside lamp with a wing. He pulled up into Style’s back, snuggled his chin into the stallion’s shoulder and groaned out quite loudly as he relaxed into the other body in front of him.

Style’s eyes shot open from the touch, he hadn’t been held by Style like this in over a month. He shivered and shuddered as he thought about just what was going through his colt-friend’s mind. So, inhaling sharply, Style dared to ask the stallion just what he was doing.

“What are you doing?” Style asked, a slight waver in the tone he carried. He did not at all sound confident, and, in fact, sounded a tad bit vulnerable.

“Well,” the stallion began, now gyrating his hips into the small of Style’s back, “I figured that since it’s a while since we have been a little naughty with one another, that we could be naughty tonight.”

“You can stop there,” Amethyst stated. “I don’t need to hear anymore.”

3...

“I’m assuming that you know where the rest of the story is headed, then?” Style questioned, choking back a little bit of a whimper. Amethyst nodded his head. “Very well, then.” Style cleared his throat a little and lead into Glacier’s side, whom was holding onto him the entire time that he was telling his story. “I will spare the details and give you the simple version.”

“Alright,” Amethyst said. He then looked to Glacier to see if that was indeed an alright response. And with the nod of his own head, Amethyst knew that it was truly okay.

“Well, to keep it short, Firestorm was not pleased with the fact that I was uninterested in having sex with him. So, he did was all jackassed, fuckfaces of stallions do, and he forced himself on me.” Style looked down, a single tear streaming down his cheek as he sniffled and choke back his next words. “Y-you have no idea how it feels to have your friend, your colt-friend, force you into sucking his cock as he slams a hoof into your side whenever you try to bite down on it to even attempt to defend yourself. And he was big—a big fucking brute of a stallion, that never deserves any kind of love in this world.”

Glacier clenched Style’s left foreleg harder as he began to shake and shudder in recounting his story. Amethyst extended a hoof and laid it on Style’s own right hoof. He was surrounded by two stallions that cared, and he felt that he could really let go of all the pain, all the torment, and all the anguish that had built up inside him over the years. It was the first real outlet for his pain he had been given and it was certainly helping aid him.

“And then he expects me to love him after it all! After he held me down and fucked me without consent, without any kind of lube—not even a little bit of kindness taken into the act at all! I felt used, dirty and disgusting; almost to the point of taking my own life.” Style then motioned to his left foreleg and then to his right. “And I tell you that If I didn’t have a fairly lengthy coat of fur, the scarring from failed suicide attempts would shock the ponies on the street, because I didn’t feel like I could redeem myself, like I was good enough to be loved by any-pony the way Glacier shows me he does! And our relationship is so new, and it feels so...right. But because of what the cock-sucking pile of zebra shit has done, I find it hard to call Glacier my colt-friend.” Style looked up from the couch, tears streaming down his cheeks as he choked on his very own breath. “And I hope that you can forgive me for that, Amethyst... I know that you love your brother, just as I do, but I just can’t do it. Not yet, anyways...” He looked Amethyst in the eyes, his own thoroughly bloodshot and glossed over with the trail of tears he had let loose.

Amethyst grabbed hold of Style and Glacier followed suit. They both squeezed him in an attempt to comfort him and make him feel better about it. It was truly fine, but everything and anything was prodding at the back of Style’s mind in an attempt to make him feel as if he were nothing. As if he could be nothing.

“It’s okay,” Amethyst screamed out, squeezing the stallion even harder. “That stallion is never going to touch you again, Style. Trust me, and even though I am his brother, I know Glacier would never lay a hoof on you like that. At all.”

Glacier just sat there, listening to his brother attempt to console Style, holding onto the stallion for dear life, tears streaming down his face, matting both his and Style’s own fur. And it wasn’t until Style was finally able to draw in one solid breath that he was even able to start settling down; it slowing the grinding of his gears. He peaked up and looked to Glacier and then to Style. With the anxiety lifting, the stallion felt safe there, like he didn’t have to worry at all anymore. He even cracked a bit of a smile now.

“Feeling any better?” Glacier finally asked through wiping his tears from his eyes. He looked to the stallion with a look of earnest concern. I don’t like when my handsome stallion isn’t feeling himself.”

“Yeah,” Style said with a nod, and Glacier pecked him on the cheek.

“I’m glad you do,” Glacier said with a little smile, still holding his colt-friend.

“I’m glad too,” Amethyst said, finally pulling away and wiping away a few tears of his own. “I don’t like seeing other ponies upset like that.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Style said, looking back and forth between the two with a smile that just kept on growing. Sticking out a tongue, he then said, “Now, all that crying made me even hungrier than I was when I got here...” Turning to Glacier, Style kissed him on the lips rather quickly before saying, “What are we gonna eat now, Glacy?”

“Carrots,” Glacier stated flatly before all three stallions burst out in conjoined laughter.