In an instant, I’m up on my hooves. My mind is moving slower than my body, but that’s only because it’s trying to go every which way, all at once. There’s blood on his hand, he was coughing blood, and that means something is wrong. Way wrong, so insanely wrong that I don’t even know how to respond to this. I can feel that I’m shaking, but it’s only because all my muscles are completely taut and straining to move, even though I’m stock still. My eyes are in constant motion, from the fist he’s trying to conceal, to his face that looks more guilty than genuinely concerned.

Anon holds up both his hands towards me slightly, watching me like I’m some sort of deadly animal about to pounce.

“Berry,” he says warily.

The sound of his voice snaps my mind and body into motion. Coughing up blood is a sign of serious damage or injury to the lungs. After something serious like pneumonia, coughing up blood probably means something potentially deadly. How did the hospital not catch this? Why did the doctor say he was okay to go out and about? Did he not take his medication in time? Is this somehow my fault?

He was coughing up blood.

“Oh my god,” I mutter in horror as I rush towards the basket. “We have to get you to a hospital.”

“Berry.”

Without looking back at him, I begin stacking the plastic tupperware full of sandwich ingredients and condiments. They were probably tetrissed into the basket somehow, but if I cram them in hard enough, they should fit eventually. We have to get packed up, we have to get going. Now. My hooves are shaking as they work.

“We’ll go straight to the emergency room,” I say quickly. “We’ll get you checked in, I’ll get in contact with your primary physician, make sure they know what condition you’re in. If he won’t answer, I’m sure mine will, and he’s great, I promise. We have to get there as soon as possible, I’ll carry everything myself, you relax, take it easy, make sure you breathe slow and evenly. Do you have medication that can help? I'll get it for you, just tell me where.”

“Berry.”

The containers aren’t fitting. They clack against each other as I try to make them get into the basket, and I’m fairly sure I can hear the creaking of the wicker as it strains against my shoving. I can feel my heart rate speeding as I pant hard, desperately. I can feel the panic rising, I can feel how my muscles ache with tension.

Oh god, he was coughing up blood.

“You’re right,” I grunt out and step hurriedly away from the basket. “It can stay here, it’s not important. None of this is important. We need to go right now, and without the basket, I can support more of your weight on my shoulders. Maybe I can even carry you entirely, so you don’t have to walk. Here, I’ll stand up and you can try to-”

My words cut off as I turn and he catches me sharply by one of my front legs. It stills me, but now all I can hear is my labored breathing and the pounding of my heart in my ears. My look flickers down to where he’s holding me fast, then up his body to his face. I study his eyes, and find that my vision is blurry. There are tears welling up in my eyes, damn them. I have to be the calm one, I have to be okay so I can take care of him now, do what we need to do and get him medical care. But as he looks down on me and I begin to tremble, I find that he’s completely calm, like nothing at all is wrong.

“Berry,” he says, very slowly and very clearly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“B-but you were coughing up blood,” I stutter. I can hear the tears in my voice too. “You were coughing so hard and… and… you had pneumonia so recently, so…”

“Exactly, I had pneumonia. I’m over it, but there’s still some mucous residue in my lungs and throat, and occasionally it gets jostled free and I cough it up. The irritation of coughing and the irritation in my lungs means that there’s a little mucous that has some blood in it. But it’s old blood, completely dried, and it doesn’t mean anything serious. I’m not bleeding, I’m not getting worse. I promise, I’m fine, It’s just a little cough.”

I study his face further, trying hard to see if he’s lying for my sake, but he seems to be telling the truth. He even smiles subtly, but doesn’t release my wrist yet.

“S-so, it’s nothing?” I practically squeak out. “You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

With that, I feel everything in me release, all at once, and my knees become jelly. I bite down on my lip to keep it from shaking, but I can’t keep back the tears that grow in strength to streak down my cheeks. He lets go of my leg, but I instantly move it to his shoulder, not wanting to lose contact with him. He presses my hoof to his body, his smile deepening, and he reaches out with his other arm to envelop me as I practically collapse into his embrace. I can feel sobs ripple through my back as I grasp at his shirt and chest, trying to pull myself as close as possible.

Relief, fear, an intense flood of emotions pour out as waves of shaking pass over me from ears to tail.

“Oh my god, I was so worried,” I choke out.

“That’s okay, you worry because you care.”

“I know, but I didn’t even ask, I just assumed the worst, and I freaked out and, oh my god I’m so sorry.”

I burry my face into his shirt, not caring that I’m making a big dumb wet spot there. He pats my shoulders and back and makes a soft shushing noise.

“No, don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about,” he says soothingly. “You were just looking out for me, and everything is fine. I’m not upset, and I’m not dying. Well, not yet.”

“Oh my god,” I groan out, half laughing half crying. “Really? You make that joke now.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, but I can feel him chuckling. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Well damn it, try.”

“Only if you try not to worry. I promise, everything is fine, nothing to worry about.”

“Alright, okay, I’ll try,” I mumble.

I pull back away from his shoulder, and look back up into his face. I feel like my fur is sticky and damp from my crying, and I sniff hard, trying to swallow some of the remaining tears down.

“Sorry I’m gross,” I mutter between sniffs.

But the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he doesn’t think I’m gross. His expression is so warm and so gentle, and he doesn’t seem mad or upset at all. His smile is tender, and as he reaches up to one of my cheeks, so is his touch. He runs one thumb across my cheek under my eye to wipe away the tears still clinging there, and then he leans down to kiss the area right below my temple. Literally kissing the tears away. It’s so silly and so stupidly sweet I can’t help but laugh.

“Better?” he asks softly.

“Thanks, yeah. Much better,” I scarcely more than whisper.

“Good, I wouldn’t want to let this mess up our date.”

“Oh dear Celestia, we’re on a date aren’t we!” I moan, tipping back my head. “I almost let a cough ruin our date! I really am bad at these!”

“Nothing is ruined, the date’s still on,” he says with a laugh. “Though, I have to say,I’m surprised you went all to pieces about me possibly being sick.”

“Oh right, like I wouldn’t freak out about you getting sick.”

“We went out to dinner once and I got food poisoning, and you sat by the bathroom door telling me to suck it up and try vomiting harder so I could take you home.”

“Well you were taking too long, and I’m an expert at puking in a public bathroom, so I figured I could help!”

The laughter is much stronger this time.

“Fair enough, but seriously though. It was different this time. You were different about it, you even cried, and I know you’re not much of a crier, so...”

“Yeah, and you can shut up about that part,” I say , giving him a mocking glare. “But of course it’s different this time, because we’re different. We’re a couple now, we’re not just fooling around or being companions to help each other pass the time. We’re… a real thing. We’re in love. It makes it…”

“It makes it what?”

I search for better words, a gentler way of saying things, but there’s really nothing there. Even studying the blanket below me yields no help. I gulp in air to steady myself, and I speak very quietly as I continue.

“It makes it harder to think about losing you.”

We both sit in complete silence for a moment. I can hear the soft gusts of wind as they move across the willow branches. I can hear the stirring sound of the water as leaves drag through it and fall into it behind me. And most of all, I can hear the sound of my own pulse, slower now than before but still strong and faster than it should be. I don’t hear the air moving through my lungs, because even that part of me is still. Breathless. Waiting.

At last, I hear him heave a low sigh.

“Things are different now, aren’t they,” he says quietly, and it’s not a question. “Things have changed between us.”

“They really have.”

For some reason, hearing both of us say it sound ominous, dark. The idea flashes through my mind that things were probably so much easier before. Why did we change it? Why did we decide to make this official, why oh why did I ever push for this? Things worked before, things were simple before, why did I presume that I needed more to be happy? Why did I let myself need this?

I look up at him to find him staring down at the blanket in the same way I was. Like there’s comfort there, or answers, or something of value that we can cling to. I know it’s only squares of red and white, and that he won’t find anything, so I feel compelled to reach out to him, grab him, pull him tight. But that seems wrong for now. It feel like we’ve both said something taboo and it’s still sinking in. We’ve changed. We’re different. That thing we had before it gone, and we can’t get it back.

“Hey Berry?” he says hollowly.

“Yeah.”

He’s silent again, and I see him wet his lips with his tongue briefly.

“I’m… really glad we’re a couple now,” he whispers clearly. “I’m really glad things have changed. I’ve wanted this, for a while, and having it now? Having you, really actually having you with be with me? It may make it harder on you, thinking about losing me, but please know, it also makes it harder for me to die. I’m not alone. And that gives me so much extra and new to live for. You’re not the only thing keeping me here, but you’re definitely one of the best.”

It’s so unexpected, so welcome, that it’s all I can do not to burst into tears again. The ominous clouds I felt forming are cut so briskly, it’s like an ethereal hand sliced all the darkness away has forced sunlight through into my mind again. I can breathe. I can think. He wants me, I think, just as I did when I first told him of my feelings. He actually wants me, he wants this, and we’re together. We’re in love. And that’s okay.

“I love you so much,” I say faintly.

“I love you too. Come here.”

He lets me throw my body against him, almost violently, as I clasp my hooves about his neck. I feel him kiss me cheeks, my mane, my ear, my neck, over and over again as he squeezes me tightly. With the surge of emotions in me, I feel so fragile, so delicate that I could break if he holds me too much. But I also really want him to. If I break from him holding me tightly enough, I feel like that would be an acceptable trade off. I nuzzle his neck and whimper into it.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” I say. “And I don’t care if things change as long as you’re with me and we do all the changing together.”

“Of course. And not everything has to change.”

“It doesn’t?”

I pull back to look into his face, and he takes the opportunity to plant a quick kiss on my forehead as well.

“Of course not. You’re still you, and I’m still me. And we work, in a weird morbid way, and I doubt that’s going to change any time soon, if ever.”

“Also the sex is great.”

He laughs and tousles the front of my mane with one hand before I can reach up to smoothe it back into place.

“Yes, that too.”

“Yeah, let’s not let that part change,” I say firmly, almost scolding him. “That’s a definite keeper.”

“I agree completely.”

I hesitate, suddenly reconsidering my angle on this. I could be missing an opportunity here.

“But I mean, if you don’t want to, we can change that up, do it less frequently,” I say with a resigned sigh, trying to hide my smile. “We can take a break until you’re ready, I mean, I don’t want to bother your lungs so soon after your hospital visit.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” he says patiently, even if there’s a touch of annoyance in his tone.

“You don’t have to say it, I can take a hint. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“You know I don’t.”

“No no,” I say, pulling back and setting my jaw in a determined expression. “I could never push you into something like that. We will have to wait until you have fully healed and we’ve talked about it, in detail, so we know we’re at that stage in the relationship. I understand.”

“Berry.”

“In fact, I don’t want to be too much of a temptation so why don’t I just go. Don’t worry, I can walk myself home!”

I turn from him and move to step away, daring him to tell me to stop. He’s done the same to me, he’s teased me this way, it’s only fair I do it back. When this began, I was the one in control, I was the one who surprised him, teased him, messed with his head. Things may have changed, but I can still do this much, and damned if I’m not enjoying it now, even after such a serious discussion.

That being said, he’s quiet behind me, and I slow down with my retreat. Surely he’s not going to let me just go. He knows this game, he knows he has to stop me and tell me to stay, that’s how we do this! He’ll pay me that courtesy, he has to! I’ve almost given up and feel a sinking disappointment that he’s calling my bluff, when I at long last hear him sigh in frustration. I smile smugly, ready for him to speak, but instead I feel a sharp grasp and tug on one of my shoulders. He spins me, still grinning, to face him.

“Oh, did you-” I start to say, but he cuts me up by pulling my face to his for a simple and abrupt kiss.

I emit a small squeal of surprise and delight as he kisses me, and I try not to giggle against his lips. Yes! I win! Take that Anon, who’s the tease now? I break away and beam up at him in complete satisfaction, ready to see his begrudging defeat written all over his face. But as our eyes meet, that’s not what I see there. Not at all.

He’s staring at me, eyes soft, questioning, and wanting. His look is passing over my slightly damp lips, my quickly flushing cheeks, and the sloping line of my chin and neck. Like he’s memorizing every inch of me, every contour, drinking me in with his gaze. Inexplicably, I feel exposed by this look, like he’s removing articles of clothing one by one, even though I don’t have any on. But I also feel a striking want for more.

“Oh,” I breathlessly murmur out, unable to say anything else.

Then, as I stand there awestruck in his arms, he leans down into me and kisses me again. More openly, more telling than before, and the message behind it is unmistakable. His mouth opens, and mine follows its example, mirroring the desire and urgency in his kiss. A shiver of intensity runs down my spine, in the opposite direction of his hand as he trails it up to clasp the nape of my neck. I let out an unconscious moan, and as he feels it he lets out one of his own against my lips and tongue. He jerks back away, gasping in a hasty breath of air, and we study each other for a brief instant before we come back together.

The magnetism, the compulsion, the necessity… It feels like there is nothing else we could possibly be doing right now, that anything else would be unnatural. Wrong. This is right. We’re right. And at this exact instant, we wouldn’t dare fight it.

I lean my body towards him to press my hooves against his chest, to feel the warmth of him over as much of me as possible. His arms close around me to pull me in, enveloping me and sheltering me with his body. When I moan this time, it’s very much on purpose, and I know he can feel me smiling against his kiss. I can feel a chuckle of delight in his chest under my hooves, though it never fully reaches his mouth. For an instant, my mind flits back to the food I was desperately trying to put away only a few moments earlier, wondering if it will be okay. Somehow, I’m not hungry anymore, and I suspect he isn’t either.

He breaks away from my mouth, and I feel the gentle pressure of his lips on the back of my ear, my cheek, the place where my jaw meets my neck, the collar bone. The slow, steady stream of kisses moves ever lower, over my neck and shoulders over and over again. I let my hooves slip up to run over the back of his head, through the light softness of his hair, encouraging each and every kiss.

I’m not sure if it’s a whimper or a laugh that comes out of me as his teeth graze my neck briefly. There’s a special sort of tickle that only happens when things are getting hot and heavy. Suddenly, pressure in sensitive places no longer elicits a twitch or a flinch. You can still tell it tickles, but instead, that sensation is an intense, body-shuddering pleasantness, and you want it again and again, all over you. Now, as his lips and teeth again press into my neck in a gentle bite, that sensation is even more intense and lovely.

I can hear his breathing coming harder and feel it hotter, more crisp through my fur. The desire in his hands and lips is becoming a need, a demand. It’s one I’m more than happy to oblige.

All at once, our balance sways, and he steps backwards to catch my extra weight. I give a little squeak at the unexpected shift, but the trunk of the willow helps steady us. I look up at him, checking to make sure he’s not hurt, but he’s smiling, blushing, looking a little embarrassed but mostly amused. I’m more than a little relieved that we don’t have to stop. Still, it pays to be thorough.

“You okay?” I murmur, the words almost said against his lips.

“Yeah, are you?”

“I could be better,” I say with a slowly spreading smile.

“Fair enough, let me see what I can do.”

I feel my upper half moving forward and down as he bends his knees and slides us both towards the ground. My front hooves move from his chest to find the cool grass again, back in what should be my natural position. But the distance from him feels anything but natural right now, so I too bend my legs to bring our bodies together. He uses his arms to help speed the closing of the distance between us, then moves his body to loom over me, leaning. I practically tumble backwards onto the disheveled picnic blanket, and he rises above me.

Almost naturally, out of some practiced communication, our bodies fall into a slow dance. He moves his knees, and my hind leg rises towards my stomach, to swing over to one of his sides. My other leg moves to the opposite side, starting up at his torso, then sliding down his hip and thigh in a gradual, suggestive caress. I roll my hips forward, then back to position myself lower, and my front hooves fall slowly away from his chest towards either side of my head. His hands come down beside them, close enough where he could grab and hold them down if he chose, but for now just enough to rest with barely a nudge of skin to fur contact.

The pose says it all: I surrender. You’ll get no protest from me. His pose answers back: I am in control, and you can trust me. I want you. Don’t be afraid.

Our eyes meet as we go still in this position, just observing each other in this brief snapshot of wanting. We’re alone, the dangling leaves of the willows creating a thin, hazy wall separating us from the world. No one is around, and although there’s still some exposure here, I can’t say I care. It’s even a little exciting to be like this, getting away with such lurid things where someone may see.

His gaze again searches and traces my body, and I watch him for any sign of dismay or hesitance. We both breathe open-mouthed, lips barely parted, chests moving quickly like rabbits exhausted from a chase. He wets his lips with his tongue, and gives me a half smile, like he can’t believe he’s actually here. Then, his eyes move from mine, to between my parted legs, then back again. I recognize the question there, know well the bite of his lip as he considers the idea, but wait for him to actually say it aloud.

“May I…?” he asks haltingly.

I don’t demand that he he say the actual word. I just grin back, blushing and nod. He wets his lips once more, then lower his head to the tuft of fur at my throat for a kiss. Another and another follow as he works his way down my body, to my ribs, then to my stomach, to the inner parts of my legs, and to where my hip meets my thigh. A shudder runs through my body, and I shut my eyes to allow myself to feel the sensation more acutely. I count the centimeters, then millimeters as his kisses move towards more sensitive parts.

Then, at last, there’s a soft, brief pressure against the spot where the fur ends, and I flinch involuntarily. With the spasm comes a brief but sharp groan of relief from me. He seems to take it as encouragement, for I feel his lips and tongue close in on the now twitching nub he’s focusing on. I feel the rumbling of his own moan, as his tongue caresses either side, then flicks up forward, and back. The suction is light, but enough that I’m aware of it. Almost too intense, almost enough for me to protest and push him away. But not quite.

As my body convulses again, back arching and hooves pawing at the blanket, he moves down a little with his tongue. It slides down across the opening, parting the lips for a brief moment to give him access. I feel a threat of penetration, a minor push without actual entry, before he again moves back up to play with more delicate areas. With the wet slide upwards, my moan becomes louder, and more shrill, and I feel the muscles between my legs tighten. I put my hoof to my mouth to muffle the sound a little, though I doubt he minds. I hear his voice in my memory, from times before.

“It’s okay, I like it when you’re loud.”

God, if we weren’t outside, the show I’d give him right now.

I can feel the coldness set in against the opening and exposed areas to either side as the moisture from his tongue, as well as my own wetness, meet the chill air. I shiver, mostly from the intensity rather than the actual cold, but that quickly dissolves as he reaches the top again. When he kisses me there, he sucks a little stronger this time, undulates his tongue a little stronger, and even through the back of my hoof you can hear me yelp out.

All at once, I feel an inquisitive prodding of one of his fingers. It parts the folds, then ventures inward, to warmer, wetter parts. I hear the very soft, damp noise of suction it makes as his finger slides into me, then curls upwards against the inside. My legs shake, squeezing in on his shoulders and head as my muscles contract. Then my back rises again as he draws the finger part way out before pushing it back in. My free hoof flies to hold the back of his head, not pushing down in a command, but simply entwining with his hair, as motivation. He responds by again moaning against my exposed flesh, and the vibration of it ripples into my pelvis, hips, thighs, and stomach.

His finger picks up a very slow pace, with every withdrawal being long and slow, and the insertion being slightly faster, with more depth and force behind it. Every onslaught brings a new shudder, a new sound of whimpering or yelping against my hoof. The slipping, squishing noise from between my legs begins to intensify

I could let him do this forever, and it wouldn’t be long before the pleasure overwhelmed me and pushed me beyond the edge. But this isn’t all I want from him, and there are other ways for my pleasure to grow. I’d like to offer that same courtesy to him.

With a tender but firm hoof, I push his head away from between my thighs, and he raises it a little to look at me over the hilly lines of my chest and stomach. He looks questioning at first, and I can see what he’s wondering in the movement of his eyes, and the way he licks the shine on his lips. Did he do something wrong? Is it too much? Am I okay? Then he recognizes the breathy smile and the half-closed, pleading eyes. With that realization, he smiles.

“Oh?” he says, just checking to be sure.

I nod, but he doesn’t move. Turnabout is fair play, he wants to hear my say it.

“I want you,” I say. “Please fuck me.”

It’s such a dirty word, a vulgar one, a blunt one. But when I say it now, without emphasis, without sharply punctuated consonants, it sound so much like a wilting plea, that it’s difficult to find how it could be a bad word. When we say it to each other, as we have before, it’s now just another word, a simple request rather than an expletive. It’s not talking dirty. It’s just being honest.

He sucks in a short breath to accompany his smug, relieved grin, then sighs it out again. He pulls his finger out of me, agonizingly slowly, and I can feel as each individual muscle clenches to keep him inside. I hear the sucking smack, like a distant kiss, as it exits, and I feel the muscles release, reluctant and unsatisfied. I shut my eyes again and give a breathy moan, all my want apparent in the tone. As he positions himself above and over me again, I feel his legs once more move between mine, and feel the press of something solid wrapped in cloth against me.

Now, I open my eyes to look up to him. He moves a hand down the side of my face, fingers snaking under my mane, and I can smell my own distinct scent on them. For a final time, we observe each other, hung in between action and stillness. Then he lowers his face to me and kisses me sweetly. The kiss of a boyfriend to a girlfriend, not just lovers caught up in desire. Somehow, this kind of kiss is even sweeter.

I listen to the shuffle as his free hand tugs at the waist, belt, and buttons of his pants. I hear the crinkling and shifting of fabric as the pants fall down his rear some, and feel the scrape of seams against my inner thighs. At last, his bare skin touches my legs, then the pressure of his hips moving even closer. The hard thing between my open thighs is no longer covered in cloth, and it nudges searchingly against the outside edge of my opening.

His kiss breaks away as he adjusts himself to be better positioned. There’s another prodding, slightly to the other side, then it settles in the middle, between the lips. As if nestling in, I feel his head move up, then slide down to rest exactly at the entrance. Achingly slowly, he moves his hips closer and closer, the pressure building. Still, it resists going inside, my muscles tightening in preparation. I can hardly stand it.

At last, it’s too much, and I thrust my hips up towards him, forcing him into me in a quick sharp motion. My shrill little yelp covers up the sound of his moan, as he slides in almost to the hilt. My legs squeeze, my back curves, and my hooves again fly to his chest, grasping and clutching at his shirt. He’s only still there for barely a moment before he starts to move.

We don’t have to learn each other’s rhythm at this point. It’s natural, habit, but no less exciting and enticing. As he pulls back, so do I. When he comes forward, I push up as well, bringing him as far inside me as I can possibly manage. My back legs open, then clench to hold him deep when he thrusts, telling him in no uncertain terms the pace I want. Everything is slow, nothing too strenuous or exhausting, but each thrust is firm and purposeful. With each one, I feel a sensation of snaking fingers reaching up inside my abdomen, clawing at parts of me I have no word for. It feels like I’m being pulled apart from the inside out, and I love it.

I can hear the soft, breathy gasps he makes in the back of his throat with each stroke. I feel the care he’s taking in the way he moves. I can feel the change in his angle, to hit areas inside me that are even more tender and susceptible, and I can feel his confidence grow as my body tells him he’s doing it right. Even over my own groans, sighs, and quiet cries, I can hear a distant slipping and sucking noise as his member moves in and out of me. I love the sound of our bodies in motion with each other, but my head is too overcome with ecstasy to listen for more than a moment.

His weight comes down on me a little more, and my muzzle leans into his shoulder, smelling his exertion. I hear his heart, already racing, already working so hard as his thrusts become sharper, slightly faster, but as even as ever. He moves his arms, one to keep my back arched, and the other behind my head, using his grip to move me with him, against him. It’s all I can do not to bite him as a means of muffling my noises, as they warble like the mating call of a songbird.

The deep, husky noises of his breathing and moans beside my face intensify, growing longer and louder. I can’t quite tell if he’s already reaching his limit, or if he’s just doing this to get me worked up. He knows how much I enjoy the sound of him wanting me, and if I had my faculties about me, I might call him a tease. But right now I can’t even make any words, so it’ll have to remain in my head, for another, more coherent time.

Without much warning, I feel his grip tighten on my back and head, and his weight shifts. My head rolls back, not ready to support its own weight, and I collapse into his arms as he sits back, with me facing him in his lap. I throw my front hooves around his neck to hold myself there, and also for leverage, as he pushes my body up and down across his cock. He uses my body to stroke himself in long satisfying motions, and with my hooves I try to help him keep pace. Every time I come down, he plunges so deep inside me that I’m afraid parts of me may break open, and it’s enough to leave me thrusting and heaving against his body until he draws me up again.

“God I love you,” he half-hisses into my mane and shoulder.

“I love you too.”

He hugs me tight, so tight I can scarcely breathe, and honestly I don’t want to. The pleasure is building. The way his shirt is rubbing the outside with each rise and fall, the way he submerges so completely. Every part of the feeling envelopes my sense of touch, sound, smell, and taste. Only my sense of sight remains dim, as my eyes are closed, but it just makes the other senses more powerful.

I realize I’m getting close. He’s going to make me cum like his, moving my body to ride him. I can feel the convulsions getting closer together, feel them getting more intense. It’s becoming an inevitability, insatiable. I burry my face against his neck, whimpering openly as I try to hold back for his sake, to give him a chance too. But I know it’s a losing battle. It’s too wonderful, I’m going to have to let go soon and just enjoy the fall.

“Anon, I...I’m going to…” I barely, hurriedly whisper into his hair.

“It’s okay, don’t hold back,” he says hoarsely, his voice deep.

As if to help, he increases the pace again, until the feeling is like a blur of pain and ecstasy. Only moments now, I can’t hold on. I’m going to...to…

“You’re right, it is a lovely day. Do you even see any clouds?”

We both freeze. We don’t even dare to breathe. The sound of the voice is answered by another.

“Nope, looks totally clear. The perfect day for a walk. Where to first?” says a male tone, from not too far off.

The mare answers, but I can’t hear exactly what she says over the sound my own thoughts. Where are they? How close? Who are they, do I know them? My eyes are open, searching for their shapes behind the rosy haze of the leaves. At last, I find the outline of a darker colored stallion, and a light pink mare, meandering side by side. They seem to be approaching, but not directly for the willow. Maybe they can see that there are ponies already here, even if they can’t see exactly what we’re doing. At least I hope that can’t see exactly what they’re doing.

I can still feel Anon inside me, pulsing a little with the residual pleasure of our movement, and I can still hear him breathing hard. His heart pounds against my chest, his grip never wavers. We’re just trapped there for a brief instant as we separately assess how to handle this situation.

Naturally, the thing to do is for me to subtly climb off of his lap, then we have the picnic as planned. When they go away, we can throw ourselves at each other again and finish up what we started. No, the question is how to do this without them noticing. Should I move my leg first or…

Before I can figure it out, I gradually feel him tighten his hold on me. Before I can even process what’s going on, I feel his cock begin to move again inside me, sliding just a little ways before he slowly pushes it in deep. It’s so sudden, it takes me few mental laps to realize what he’s doing.

He doesn’t want to stop.

“Anon,” I hiss incredulously.

“If we’re careful, they won’t see,” he whispers calmly. “That is, if you think you can keep quiet.”

His next thrust is a little harder, even though he manages to keep his body mostly still. It’s a message, a challenge: keep yourself from screaming and I’ll make you cum. But I’m definitely going to make it difficult for you not to scream. I smile in spite of the nerves, the discomfort, the shyness, the shame, because this is one challenge I know I can meet.

I roll my hips back against him as a response, confirmation, and his rhythm begins again. It’s slower than before, less erratic, more tempered. He’s keeping his body still, so the other ponies won’t notice, but he still wants me to feel him stabbing at my most secluded areas. He wants it to hurt to keep silent. Well, it’s a good thing I like it to hurt a little sometimes.

I can’t rise and fall anymore, but I can still buck my hips against him. With each thrust, I urge my hips forward and back, subtly riding him with a low posting trot. As I do this, the intensity that was there before, the rising pleasure begins to mount again. It’s not as strong as before, but I’m still most of the way there, not fully reset. I’m still feeling the pinpricks of cold and hot in my belly that means I’m getting close. I bite my lip so hard that I fear it might bleed, trying to keep the sounds suppressed as they threaten to rise up. Surely, he can hear the soft squeaks in the back of my throat? His breathing speeds up, and I know he’s heard.

In fact, his body feels like it’s beginning to flinch, his muscles contracting and releasing over and over again, without real intent. Like it’s building in him too. Maybe it’s the fact that other ponies are so nearby, oblivious to the fact that we’re doing things. Maybe it’s that he was close before, and I didn’t notice. Or maybe it’s the way I am trying to stifle my moans of delight. No matter the reason, I can tell that this whole situation is spurring him onwards, towards our inevitable end.

I thrust harder against him, shoving my muzzle into his shoulder hard to keep silent. It’s not doing a good enough job for me, and a quick glance tells me that the couple is still approaching. They seem to have turned to go look at the pond, but who knows how long that will last. They’re nearby, and if they really checked, they might be able to figure it out of they really peered our way, but they haven’t noticed us. Yet.

I reach my hoof up along the side of his shoulder to my mouth, then close my teeth over the back of that hoof. The pain is intense, but it’s enough to silence me as the sensation builds and builds, and I threaten to overflow. I bite harder as his strokes go deeper, come out further, and the rhythm becomes a regular drum cadence.

I feel his head turn, and his lips graze my ear.

“It’s okay, you can bite me instead if it helps.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I nuzzle that spot where his neck becomes his shoulder, and bite down on the soft flesh there. He winces, but I hear it quickly became a moan through gritted teeth. The next pounding stroke is rough, and my whimper ripples out into the part of his shoulder clamped between my lips.

I can feel heat flooding through my cheeks and mouth. I can feel the intensity as each onslaught becomes more fevered and needy. My moans slip out to be silenced by his shoulder, and they grow in volume, like the falsetto whine of a radio as it’s adjusted. I know that this is it. I’m going to cum in his lap, with another couple of ponies nearby, sinking my teeth into him to silence my cries. I can’t stop, but this time, I’m not even trying to. There are ripples of electricity spreading through my loins, moving to my hooves, arching down the curves of my back hooves. Overlapping, fracturing, then breaking like miniature waves on the shore. It won’t be long. Seconds. Instants.

His breath comes in huffs as he continues the breakneck pace. I can’t tell him this time, but I’m sure he knows I’m about to cum. Just let it happen, I tell myself. Just enjoy him, let go, let yourself lose form and shape and sense and just tumble headlong into agonizing joy. Everything clenches inside me, as a rush of satisfaction threatens to let loose.

Then, like a larger wave collecting and rising, the crest forms, and I break.

I cry his name into his shirt and shoulder, and my body convulses, inside and out. I thrust, roll my hips, shudder, and writhe against him as the orgasm pierce me again and again and again. Through the blinding ecstasy, I can feel a sudden pulse in him, and hear a strained groan beside me. His final thrust finds its mark, and I sense more than feel him emptying himself into me.

We hold each other, both breathing hard, as his seed flows into me, and out of me onto the blanket and his pants. As I am wracked by quaking fits and almost tearful whimpers of relief, I try to regain my breath. It’s only a brief moment, but it feels like we separate from the world, and live in that instant for hours, days, years.

Then, almost instinctively, I pull away from him and give him a quick brief kiss.

"S-see?" I breathe out in a shaky murmur. "T-told you I wanted our relationship to be public."

I can feel the tremble of his laughter even through the place where we're still connected. I want to hold him and never let go, but we both know we need to act quickly. There’s no sense in pushing our luck. I wiggle my hips and he drops out of me with a gush of mixed fluids, then I shift back onto the blanket. The desire to just sit there and enjoy is an intense one, even now, but I glance up, and sure enough, as if on cue, the couple is approaching the willow.

“Shit,” he hisses between panting, then grabs for a tupperware to use as cover for his still exposed nethers and his pants' very messy inseam.

I too move quickly, straightening my mane and then taking a few deep breaths to cloud the haze in my eyes and cheeks. There’s barely enough time for me to kick a napkin over the large, dark, moist stain on the blanket, then I hear the call of a voice and the rustle of leaves.

“Hello? Is someone...oh!”

The pink mare’s head ducks between the dangling branches, then looks a little surprised as she regards us. We both smile at her, as if nothing is wrong, and I pray she can’t see the way we’re both breathing hard, or the wet, crumpled part at the shoulder of Anon’s shirt.

“Hi there,” I say sweetly. “Yep, sorry, occupied.”

“Of course, of course, it’s a beautiful day, this is definitely a prime spot” the dark colored stallion says from behind her. “I do hope we didn’t disturb you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you didn’t,” Anon says, throwing me a brief wink.

It’s all I can do not to throw something at him, or throw myself into his arms to kiss him.

“Yep, I doubt too much could spoil this date,” I say with a laugh.

“Well, enjoy your date then!” the mare calls with a cheery smile. “Come on sweetie.”

I wave her a goodbye, and watch as the couple lets the willow branches close, then turns to walk away from us. It’s not until I look back to Anon to find him smiling tenderly at me, that I realize something’s changed. Something wonderful has changed. For the first time since we’ve been together, I told someone we were on a date. A smile begins to spread over my face as I search my feelings and find that I honestly don’t care if anyone knows we’re together, or what they might think of us.

For the first time since we’ve met, I’m too happy to care about anything but us.

-End-

Author's Note

Happy Valentines Day everyone.

A year ago, on Valentines Day, I released a story called When You Least Expect it. To this day, it is still my most popular and most well-loved story. I know I may be known for the gross, the weird, the violence, the fetishes, and maybe for how mean I am to others. But to tell the truth, I also have it in me to be a big softie, and I think you can see that here.

I don't just write stories about Berry and Anon because people like them, though I am very very glad they do. I actually write these because they make me happy. Through all the bittersweet, sex, sad, and death, this is, for me, one of my favorite things to write about, and I feel the proudest of these Berry stories when they're finished.

So, tomorrow, I'll go back to being my rude and distressing self. But for right now, let me tell you, sincerely, thank you for reading. And thank you for enjoying, because there's a special kind of relief and surprise you feel when other people enjoy reading what you most enjoyed writing. Please be well, and please take care of yourselves and each other.
Life is hard, but remember that you're not traveling it alone.

Love,
Pencil

...now, fuck off you pervy assholes.