Chapters I’m always terrible on first dates.
Okay, so this isn’t exactly a first date, but it might as well be one with how we have things set up. I wait at home, he comes by my door and knocks, gives me a bouquet or something cliché like that, and then we go out together for a picnic in the shade of a willow tree by the pond. It sounds like something fillies in grade school would squeal about to their friends, something right out of a young adult teen romance novel. Nothing too stressful there, right? But for me, if I’m being honest? It’s terrifying.
It’s only been a week since I thought I might lose him. One week since I told him that what I felt wasn't just lust anymore, and he said he felt the same. We’re both still the usual, slow kind of sick, we both still have our expiration dates, but something just… kind of… shifted on that day. That confusing, tense day in the hospital when I stood crying like an idiot at his bedside, I felt things change a little. At that moment it was a rush, a high unlike any wine I’ve ever drunk, a dizziness that I felt in my chest rather than my head. And I knew that was what I wanted, made even better by the fact that he wanted me back. It was a good different, even if it was a scary different.
Now, as I stand before my mirror, trying to make myself look like a date-worthy pony, I can still feel it’s different. I feel nervous in a way I haven't before, and I'm lacking my usual heady confidence where I don't give a shit what happens. I mean, I always seem to care what others think, at least a little, whether I like it or not, but it's far more oppressive this time. And why shouldn't it be?This isn’t another trip to an inn for a late night of play and passion, and this isn’t a casual lunch together at a café, where we make fun of the poor pony moms who have screaming foals that don’t understand the word “hush.” It has a weight now, a depth that it didn’t have before.
This is our first real date as a couple. And I have no idea what to do with myself.
It’s okay, Berry. You’re a big girl now, you can do this. Maybe.
I frown at my reflection in the mirror and poke at the dark circles under my eyes. My liver failure is progressing slowly enough that I generally don't feel it, but a few of the symptoms have started to surface. I’ve lost weight, and the skin of my face has yellowed beneath the fur just enough for me to notice, and no one else. Sleeping has become more difficult, and I occasionally feel nauseated for no apparent reason. These dark circles are yet one more addition to the symptoms, and if anyone will notice them, it’s Anon. He picks up on that stuff way too quickly, and for this event, I’m inclined to try to hide my own mortality.
The idea that he may be staring into my eyes lovingly, leaning in for a kiss, then suddenly notice the discoloration, irks me, to say the least. I don't want him to bring it up, even once, and I'll try not to bring up his condition too much either. I don’t want to think about how sick he is today, or about how sick I am. Today, I just want to think about us. I want to do this right . And I can honestly say that I’ve never had a first date go right before. Ever.
Maybe if I do my hair differently? I pull it up as best I can, and turn my head one way, then the other. I don’t look bad in a ponytail, but it does make my face seem thinner somehow, perhaps too thin. Maybe a loose braid instead, even though my hooves are clumsy and it usually falls out. I blow upwards against my frustratingly long bangs, and glare at my reflection as they fluff up like the fur on a poodle.
Why didn’t I get a manecut? I told myself I should have, why didn’t I take my own advice? Already things aren't going as I'd like. I’m just going to screw this up again.
On my first date with Lucky, when he asked me out in school, I spilled a bowl of hot tomato bisque on him, and he had to go to the hospital with severe burns. When I was working at the party store, my coworker, Saddle Blanket asked me out to a bar, and I got so drunk that I danced on the bar and kicked over at least one hundred bits worth of cider. Lucky him, I’d forgotten my purse. There was not a second date. At least Caramel had the decency to stick around for a year, even after our first date involved me setting my tail on fire and then crying for an hour about how I was ugly now.
But this time, things are different, I tell myself. This time is special, we’re a special case. We already know each other, we already like each other, and we’ve even already slept together. The mystery and questions are out of the way. Things are going to go fine.
I opt for the ponytail after all, pulling one long lock of hair free to hang down against my cheek, hopefully detracting from the subtle signs of liver failure. Besides, I look coy this way, I muse, and try smiling coquettishly into the mirror. Just because this is a first date doesn’t mean I shouldn’t look sexy, and being sexy makes me feel a little more confident. Without my usual liquid courage, I need as much confidence as I can get.
It seems I’ve taken too long trying to be coy, though, for I hear a hasty knock on my front door.
“Crap, crap, crap,” I continually mutter as I dust my cheeks with blush and give a brief swipe of eye shadow across my lids.
I throw a quick glance to the mirror, decide I don’t look too much like a bathroom clown, then check the clock. To my surprise and dismay, I find that he’s actually about five minutes late, which means I'm the one dawdling and potentially slowing things down now. So yeah, this look will have to do. I look pretty. Sort of pretty. Passable. Definitely passable.
Fuck this is going to be a nightmare, isn’t it?
I trot to the door and pause in front of it to collect myself for a moment. Deep breath, Berry. You’ve got this. You’ve already told each other you love each other, you know you’re sexually compatible, and the worst thing that could happen is that one of you dies suddenly while leaning in for a kiss. Totally manageable, not nerve wracking at all. I shut my eyes, give myself one more deep breath, then put on my best smile, and pull the door open.
“Hey there,” I say, hating the way my voice cracks on the ‘hey.’
Then I take him in, and my mind stops working for a moment.
He’s wearing black pants that look perfectly creased, and a button up shirt with a turned down collar. Around the collar is a simple, well-tied blue tie, that really brings out a certain brightness in his eyes. His shoes are shined and gleaming, his shirt is tucked in, and it’s apparent that he’s taken time to do his hair. And he’s smiling, this sort of half-smile that looks almost smug and almost embarrassed, but can’t pick between the two.
He looks… impeccable. I’ve never seen him like this, certainly not when we've been out together. Before it’s always been casual, relaxed, clothing just for the sake of not being naked, until the naked parts happen. Messy hair is part of the program, especially by the end of the night, and if his pants or my fur had a smudge or a stain, it was no big deal. Hell, the last time I saw him he was in a hospital gown! But standing on my doorstep, dressed like this, smiling the way he does, he looks like a gentleman. So proper and suave, and my eye is drawn to every part of him at once. It’s almost overwhelming how good he looks, and I forget to smile, in exchange for breathing out in a short, noiseless “oh.”
He’s so eye catching that it takes me probably a full minute to notice the bouquet of roses he’s holding out to me. He looks at it, wiggles them slightly to get my attention, then watches recognition and embarrassment sweep over me. His smile broadens as I feel my cheeks get warm, and I feel the blush creep across my nose, forehead and even ears. So much for needing to pink my cheeks up with makeup. He holds out the bouquet a few inches further, maybe trying to get me to blush more deeply, and I suddenly remember that I’m staring, on top of it all. I blink quickly a few times to snap myself out of it, and glance to my ever-so-interesting hooves.
“Hey to you too,” he says, and this time the smug is palpable.
“Sorry, sorry,” I say quickly, and allow myself to glance up at him. “You just look… really nice.”
Now it’s his turn to be caught off guard.
“Thanks,” he says, and he flushes a little too. “So do you. Anyway, I brought roses, so…”
“Right, yes. Flowers. Thank you.”
I practically snatch them away from him, and again try to smile politely. Just gotta pretend I’m being normal now. Yep. Normal. This is a normal smile, this is a completely normal reaction, and I’m totally not crushing these roses in my hoof from the stress. Of course, he turns his head a little and gives me an affectionately disapproving glance.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to fake smiles for me anymore,” he says chidingly.
I sigh, and let the smile go.
“Hey, I said I wouldn’t do it for your benefit anymore.”
“And this isn’t?”
“Are you kidding?” I groan with a roll of my eyes. “This is definitely for my benefit. I’m just trying to be charming and shit.”
“Well, I already think you’re charming. And shit. So relax.”
I take a deep breath in and out, then shake my head. I can feel myself relax just a little as I try to settle back into my usual, more me, frame of mind.
“Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m just no good at this.”
“Greeting people at the door? Receiving flowers?”
I glare at him as he grins at me. He’s good at teasing me, and even now, when I’m stressed, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it a little.
“Dates, jerk. I mean dates.”
He gives a fake scoff and rolls his eyes at me.
“Oh, I see how it is, I’m a jerk. I’ll just go then.”
“No, that’s not what I meant, you know that.”
“No no, I get it, I’ll just go home and try to practice being nicer. Sorry to have disturbed you, miss.”
He exaggeratedly turns to walk away from me and, with a grumble, I reach out and catch the shoulder of his shirt. He stops and waits patiently, knowingly, for me to speak.
“Oh come on, please stay. You look great and you’re not a jerk, and I’ve been looking forward to this date since you got home from the hospital. There, happy?”
He pauses, then turns back and takes my hoof off of his shoulder. He gives it a quick squeeze as he grins down into my eyes.
“Yes, now I’m happy.”
I can’t help by smile back, and his grin widens a little as I do.
“There, now you’re not faking.”
My cheeks get warm again.
“Jerk.”
“Okay, then I’ll just-”
“No, ugh, stop,” I say as I again catch his shirt when he turns to leave. “Look, let me put the flowers in water and we can go, okay? I assume it’s still all like we planned, right? No surprises, last minute changes, weirdness, disasters, flash floods, brain hemorrhages, and so forth?”
“Yep,” he says. “The willow by the pond, like we discussed. No promises on the surprises, you never know.” I don’t like the sound of that but he goes on before I can comment. “I even packed everything we need to eat and drink, complete with a few bottles of antibiotic pills. Doctor’s orders that I take them with food.”
I glance to the ground and notice a fairly large wicker basket there with fold down lids in front and back, a checkered blanket peaking out of one side. It feels like it’s magically appeared there abruptly, right as I went to glance at it. How many other things did I not notice while staring at him? But he looks so good the way he’s dressed…
As I glance over him again, I notice that I’m pretty damn naked by comparison. Not even a necklace, earrings, bracelets, nothing. I’m only normal purple me, plain as ever. I realize suddenly that maybe I should have tried getting some nice clothes, because he’s way outshone me in the looks department today. Besides, if anything can distract from dark circles, it’s a sexy gown or skirt. I really want to be sexy today, for me and maybe for him too now.
“I’ll get my pills too, we can take them together,” I say, in probably the most unsexy way possible.
He laughs briefly.
“How romantic.”
“Oh shut up.”
He shuts his mouth and pretends to zip it shut with his fingers. I glare at him as he smiles tight-lipped back at me and shrugs.
“Now,” I say slowly. “Before we go, do I need anything? A coat?”
Silence.
“Is it cold out? Do you want anything for yourself?”
Still silence.
“Okay! Fine! Stop shutting up already!” I practically shout at him. He takes a deep breath in and out through his mouth to show he’s compiled, the smug son of a bitch. I groan as I continue. “And I’ll go put these stupid beautiful roses down and we can leave before I make this worse.”
“You’re doing fine,” he calls after me as I turn to head to the kitchen. “And your hair looks really cute!”
I scowl a little at the comment as I make my way to the cupboards. Cute is hardly sexy. Baby ducks are cute, fillies are cute, this was not what I was going for. But at least he’s telling me I look pretty, in his own way, and that’s a start. And, true, things are already feeling more natural between us.
Fuck, I hope I didn’t just jinx that.
It’s just a date, I remind myself once more. And we love each other. He’s not going to go running away in fear, and he’s not going to discover some horrible secret about you that will change his view. He knows the rules of this game, and the outcome. We’re already in love. The worst thing that can possibly happen is death. Perfect.
I set the flowers in a vase, fill it with water, and then return to him at the front door, trying not to think about how tragic that worst case scenario would be. He looks me up and down as I set the vase on the side table by the door.
“See? Look at you, all competent with putting flowers in vases. You’re a regular pro at this.”
“Oh my lord, are you really being that patronizing to me right now?”
“Someday I’ll teach you to take a compliment.”
I bite my lip to keep from retorting back. The game of verbal cat and mouse we usually play isn’t generally one I win, and I’m already feeling on edge. Maybe it’s better to calm myself down, and simply try to be sweet. And nice. And not let him rile me up the way he’s enjoying doing right now. The fight instinct begins to fade in me as I order my heart to beat slower, my lungs to fill more easily.
“Okay, all set,” I say with a sigh.
As if noticing my tone has changed, he smiles affectionately down at me and extends a hand for me to take. I look at it, then back at him, suddenly self-conscious about the idea of physical contact with him in public. We’ve always been so secretive before, never showing our affection for each other in front of other ponies. But we’re not hiding anymore now, we’re going public with our relationship, right? It doesn’t matter if ponies know we’re together, and it doesn’t matter if they talk about us. We’re a couple, a real one, and that’s no one’s business but our own, and I don’t have to justify that to anyone.
Still, old habits die hard, and my hoof resists moving towards him.
“Then shall we?” he says, prompting me, moving his hand closer.
I bite my lower lip again and gingerly place my hoof into his hand. It’s warm, and I feel a soft flow of electric sensation ripple through my body, almost like it’s the first time we’ve touched. Then I step outside with him, shut the door behind me, and pick up a slow walking pace at his side. Our feet find a rhythm, so that our bodies move up and down in unison with each stride.
It feels unnatural to be like this so openly. But I’m glad it’s finally happening.
In spite of myself, I lean my shoulder on his hip gently, liking being so physically close to him. It feels exposed, very apparent, like everyone will stare. But the rest of me doesn’t care. The rest of me feels giddy and young, like I’m a filly with a crush, and that part of me doesn’t give a damn if people see us or not. That part of me still can’t believe that he actually wants to be with me, and that’s the part of me I choose to listen to. I can feel my brain going into nervous, excited, and sentimental date mode, and not a moment too soon.
Hoof in hand, we move through town towards the pond.
——
Author's Note
Just a brief warning: if you're here for a quick clop, this is kind of a slow burn. Just so you're aware.
The streets of Ponyville are familiar ones to me, far more familiar than they are to him, to be honest. But today they feel a little foreign to me. I’m new, taking on a new role, and this new girlfriend version of Berry Punch has never been this way before. I allow Anon to navigate our way through the streets, not willing to pull him or try to nudge him either way, trusting him to get us there. I’m too busy trying not to look at every pony who passes, and trying not to stumble over my own hooves like a complete klutz.
I don’t think I see anyone really peering at us, and it’s not like we’re making out in the middle of the road or anything. But I still feel an odd tightness in my throat as I spot someone I know and quickly glance away. I feels like I’m on a secret mission, and that someone might know if I make any eye contact. It’s a stupid feeling, but I can’t shake it. Admittedly, the whole secret agent feeling is also a little exciting.
“You okay?” I hear Anon say at my side.
My chin jerks up towards him, and I nearly trip over my feet after all.
“Oh! Uh. Yeah, why do you ask?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Because you’re quiet and you’re leaning on my hip so hard it’s difficult not to fall over.”
I pull back away from him and almost bump into a passing pony. I mutter a quick obscenity mixed with an apology, then move back a step closer to Anon. He looks about ready to laugh at me.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter to him as well. “Didn’t realize I was doing it.”
“It’s okay, I swear,” he says kindly, as we turn a corner near the edge of town. “I like it.”
I glance up at him, then down, just to check that we’re both flushed a little. Me more than him, unfortunately, but that's probsbly to be expected.
“Really?”
“Yes, believe it or not I like physical contact with you.”
“Gross.”
He laughs and gives me a slight nudge with his hip. I nudge back, laughing a touch myself, simply at how good it feels to make him happy with my words.
“We’re gross, it’s fine,” he says. “But if you don’t want to lean on me…”
“I like it too,” I admit. “If it’s okay.”
“We’ve been over this, it is.”
“Fine, fine.”
I heave a sigh, as if it’s a massive inconvenience to me, and lean over to rest on him once again. This time, he slips a hand down to rest on where my shoulder meets my neck, and I feel every single hair along the back of my neck and ears lift up a little. His fingers almost tickle there, and it feels very intimate to me to be touched someplace so sensitive. As he presses down slightly, I can feel the warmth of his hand through my fur, and I can’t help but push up against it slightly with every step.
If I wasn’t walking somewhere, I’d shut my eyes and just enjoy it.
Using his hand to guide me with subtle touches to the right and left, we slip past ponies we know, playing foals, and market carts on their way to the town center. Before I’ve even realized it, we’re passing the final homes and shops on the outskirts of town. Even though my worry of others noticing us has abated some, seeing the town’s limits approaching takes a weight off of my chest. All of a sudden, I can breathe much easier. My pace slows in its rhythm, and Anon slows to match it.
I look over at him as I feel his weight shift oddly, to see him adjust the picnic basket on his arm. I’d forgotten he was carrying it, and it suddenly strikes me that it looks pretty heavy, especially to only be carrying with one arm. I nod towards it.
“Want me to get that?”
“Nah, I’ve got it,” he says with a quick shake of his head. I frown.
“I dunno, it looks heavy. You were just in the hospital and I’ve got a really sturdy back,” I say. He makes no move to give me the basket, and I roll my eyes. “Come on, let me help.”
“Nope, date etiquette dictates that I carry things for you. It’s proper that way.”
“Oh for the love of-”
“Besides, I’ll use your sturdy back for something else later.”
I let out a fakely indignant squawk and give him a shove with one hoof. It doesn't stop him from grinning.
“Such crass innuendo!” I over-enunciate every syllable. “What does date etiquette say about speaking like that to your marefriend before you’ve even sat down to lunch? Hm?”
He shrugs.
“I don’t know, you think I care about date etiquette?”
I let out a frustrated groan. Never mind that I just referred to myself as his marefriend, and that fact is giving me weird butterflies that make me feel both nauseated and thrilled.
“Fine,” I snap. “But I’ll carry the basket back. Seriously, my species is made to carry things on their backs, yours is not, so let me give you some rest.”
Anon still smiles down at me, but he lets out a little sigh.
“Berry,” he says, and as he does, he ruffles the fur on the back of my neck, sending a thrill of tingles through me again. “I’m okay, clean bill of health for now, and I can call the doctor so he'll tell you that too if you like. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Still gonna carry it.”
“We’ll see.”
“I’ll fight you for it.”
“We’ll just have to see.”
I’m about to protest further when I spot the pond up ahead of us, and that shuts me up pretty well. The sun is approaching noon, but it’s barely off center enough to bounce light off the nearly glass surface of the water. The trees by its edge glisten, as if their leaves have been dipped in gold and silver, and with every soft gust of mild wind, they dance, branch to branch, tree to tree.
Near one side of the pond, a small jutting portion of land extends inward towards the water’s center. Nestled there is a small willow tree, leaning precariously over the water, so that a few of its branches even brush the surface. It creates an odd bubble of privacy underneath, enough to mostly hide anyone who sits there, but the foliage is barely transparent enough for me to make out that it’s still vacant. In the coming autumn, the tree has begun to change its colors. There are hues if yellow, orange, and most of all a sort of pink that glow with the sun’s light. It is towards this tree that we turn our steps.
I can feel Anon give a brief sigh of relief, and I wonder whether it’s from being out of town, or that no one has swiped our spot, especially on such a beautiful day. I smile up at him.
“Well,” I say jovially. “It seems we’re the first here.”
“Yeah, and hopefully it stays that way,” he says back, voice soft, as if he’s afraid he might jinx it.
“I could do with a little solitude.”
“As long as you’re in solitude with me.”
“Well that was cheesy,” I snicker, then bump him with my hip again, lighter this time.
“You know you like it.”
As I move to draw away from the small nudge, he reaches out and catches me around the waist with one arm. I try to push him away or protest, but he swiftly pulls me against him in a side hug, and holds me there briefly as we stand by the edge of the pond. I can feel the warmth of his hand and arm through my fur, across my belly and sides, and I look away from him as the blush starts to spread. I know he’s watching me, because I feel the vibration of laughter ripple through him into me. The intimacy of it is momentarily overwhelming, though I wouldn’t lie and say it’s unwelcome.
“C-could we…” I mumble out, gesturing with the side of my head towards the willow.
“If you’re sure you wouldn’t rather be alone. Solitude and all that.”
I growl up at him, and this time the vibration of laughter is stronger.
“Oh, let me go and come on. I know I’m hungry, even if you’re not.”
“Sure, whatever excuse you need.”
He gives me a little extra squeeze, then releases me. Before I can move to the willow, he steps forward and draws the leaves back like a curtain. He holds them aside and gestures me on through, with what looks like a minor bow. It’s so damn charming that I kind of hate him for a moment, but I quickly bend my knees in a small mock-curtsy, then step through into the protection of the willow’s canopy.
The temperature change is instant, with the way the shade blocks out the bright sun. It elicits another sigh from me as I feel a slight privacy surround me with the branches. The way the leaves brush the water, they create rings that move outward, crossing each other, disrupting, and at last finding the bank of the pond like miniature waves. I hear a rustle as Anon steps in behind me, and I turn to face him with a light smile.
“Well, I feel better,” I say, and take a step towards him.
He rolls his eyes as he sets down the basket, and reaches out to accept me into his arms.
“Ah, I see, so now that no one is around to see us, you’re happy to make physical contact with m-”
I silence him by reaching up and pressing a kiss against his lips. The sound of the last word makes a rumble in his mouth still, but it fades quickly as he tightens his hold on me and kisses me back. His body leans against me, and once more I feel his warmth spreading past my fur to find the soft parts of my belly, hips, and inner legs. His lips are so soft, so smooth, and I feel a brief intrusion of his tongue against mine. I pull away before things can get to serious, smiling coyly. Not yet, real dates mean things take time, but that simply means the payoff will be all the sweeter, right? He smiles back at me.
“Ah,” he says knowingly. “So is that a ‘shut up’ or a ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ kiss?”
“It can be both.”
“I’m sure.”
“Come on, we could play that came forever. Let’s lay out the blanket and let’s have something to eat, okay?”
He releases my body and I step away to let him turn his attention to the basket, though I instantly miss his warmth spreading over me. It’s all the worse because, as he bends over, I catch a sight of the curve of his back and rear, inviting and provocative considering his formal attire. I quickly turn away before he can notice me staring, and clear my throat to hide any crack or break that might try to slip in.
“Uh, so… need any help with that?” I say, my voice cracking despite my best efforts.
He glances over at me, smiles smugly, but let’s it go.
“Well, you just spread out the blanket and sit down, I’ll get the rest of it.”
“Oh, going to pamper me like a princess? Do everything while I just sprawl out and relax and call orders?”
As I say this, I toss my head back, as if I’m a wilting, fainting, delicate flower. It feels so fake for me to act like this, it’s hard not to burst out laughing at the awkwardness of it all. Instead I bat my eyes, and heave a haughty feminine sigh of indignation and woe. He glances at me again and gives a half chuckle.
“Thinking pretty highly of yourself all of a sudden. Am I your slave today or-”
“N-no!” I quickly blurt out, quickly straightening up. “I just mean that… that…”
“Calm down, I’ll pamper you if that’s what you want.”
“But-”
“No worries your majesty, I can handle it all on my own. I know my place.”
“Just give me the damn blanket,” I growl, and snatch it from his hand as he passes it my way. I repress my urge to call him a jerk again.
With a practiced shake of my hooves, I unroll the checkered cloth and shake it into the air to help spread it out. Then, with a simple tug towards me as it falls, I settle it to the ground, keeping it flat, before it can rebound and crinkle in towards me again. I pull the edges out a bit straighter, and then sit back near one side of it with a huff.
I know I could offer to help him further, but maybe it’s better to completely avoid the teasing for a bit and let him do as he likes. He always likes to do things himself, without help, as if he has to prove he doesn’t need it. I’m somewhat the same way, which I suppose is kind of a bad mix when you stop to think about it, but I’m happy to be the one to let up at times. I don’t need it that badly, and if I’m being honest with myself it’s kind of nice to have someone else being this nice to me. Besides, I think with a cock of my head, that view certainly isn’t anything to scoff at.
He catches me staring with another glance over his shoulder, as he pulls a few containers out of the basket. This time, rather than letting myself get all shy, I simply throw a suggestive smile his way. I exaggeratedly look over his back and rear appreciatively, then back up to his eyes. I am thrilled to see him flush and look away from me. See, I can be in charge of the teasing sometimes too, I think at him.
“Anyway,” he says quickly. “I’ve packed some things for sandwiches, cheese and crackers, some fresh fruit, and-”
“I see something else pretty tasty,” I say in a low voice. “Wouldn’t mind having a bite.”
He goes motionless, then clears his throat, exactly as I had done.
“Oh. Thanks,” he says.
It’s his awkward usual response to a compliment, and it’s how I know I’ve hit home. He used to deflect them entirely, deny any sort of nicety I would offer. But he stopped that the closer we got over the months, and now he just says thank you and hopes I’ll drop it. I do drop it… sometimes.
“Hey, you're the one looking so good for me. Anytime,” I practically purr.
Another pause. Perhaps I've gone too far, or perhaps I've made him so uneasy that he'll turn actual shades of magenta. I lean forward, trying to inspect his face and ears, ready for all the awkward.
“Oh really?” he says back, in a low, smooth tone. “Any time I want?”
My ears stand up rigid with surprise. Wait, what’s this sudden change in his voice? This is not what was intended! When he turns to me, he’s smiling suggestively, and he may be blushing but the voice he’s using is one he knows gets to me. He makes full eye contact, practically daring me to make a move or turn away. Damn him, he didn’t used to be this quick on the draw! I resist the urge to growl, and back out of the game of chicken I know he’s starting. Not yet, I remind myself. That’s not how real dates work, even if it’s what we’ve always done before this.
“When is it,” I say wistfully as I break eye contact with him, “that you started to be the one in control when we flirt? I used to take the lead.”
He shrugs, and I can still feel his eyes moving over my body as I sit there on the checkered blanket. I almost want to reach to cover myself, and I again wish I’d bought clothes for this occasion.
“I don’t know,” he says, his tone still silky smooth and deep, “Maybe around the time I learned I can make you turn that shade of red just by talking? You’d think it wouldn’t be so visible through pinkish fur but… yeah, just like that.”
I reach up with my hooves to cover my warming cheeks. I want to smile and hide from him, all at once, a feeling which grows as I hear him move away from the basket and closer to me. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t find anything witty or deflecting. Even a well-placed insult doesn’t feel doable at the moment.
“It's getting worse, looks like it’s spreading. Are you sure you’re okay?” he murmurs. “Anything I can do for you?”
The sensation of warm, familiar fingers trace up my cheek, lingering across my fur and threading through dangling locks of my mane. I can’t help but glance up and I find his face close to me, far closer than I thought it would be. I feel a gasp form in my throat, but hold it back as I’m snared in his gaze. My eyes won’t move away, won’t break that contact with his, even as his face moves closer to me. I breathe in air that lingers between us, tasting sweetly of him, and swallow hard.
All at once I feel like he’s never kissed me before, like this will be the first time, like I’m a filly who’s never been this close to a boy before. All the reminding in the world that this is a real date, and that I should wait, can’t force me into pulling away. I shut my eyes and wait for what I know must come now, preparing for the soft moan of wanting I feel brewing in my chest. I just want to feel his lips, his breath, I just want to feel him him in every fathomable way.
Then, to my surprise, I feel the soft moist brush of his lips against my cheek. My eyes flicker open as I hear the quiet smack of him breaking away, and it’s all I can do not to whine with frustration and disappointment. When I again find his gaze, he’s smiling mischievously at me with a very expectant, self-satisfied look. I scowl and shove him away.
“You fucking tease!” I sputter out, feeling my entire face and ears go red. “That was pretty damn cruel of you.”
“Sorry, I just love getting you all worked up,” he says with a laugh as he tumbles away from me.
“You are not even a little sorry!”
“No, not at all,” he says, his grin spreading. “Besides, you like it.”
“To a point!” I snap.
I’m genuinely somewhat miffed now. He had me completely letting go of everything around me, leaning in, totally surrendering to him. I shift so he won’t notice that a very small spread of dampness is taking place under one of legs on the blanket. He might notice, the way he glances over me, but he doesn’t say anything about that. Instead he winces apologetically.
“Too much?”
“Just a little.”
“Okay, well, then I’m maybe ten percent sorry.”
I groan and gesticulate towards the basket.
“Just… food. Give. Now.”
He holds up his hands in a surrendering pose.
“Fine, fine, but I actually have a surprise for you first.”
“If you start undressing, I swear to god…”
“No, nothing like that,” he says hastily, then turns towards the basket. “I got you something special, nothing big, but something. I mean, this is our first date and all, so I thought it would be nice.”
I blink, and my anger is transformed into a kind of reluctant guilt.
“Oh. You didn’t have to do that. I… didn’t get you anything,” I mumble.
“I know, and that’s okay, I don’t really like gifts anyway. We can share this if you want.”
When he turns around, I see he’s holding a small, tissue-paper-wrapped cylinder. There’s a bow near the top, done somewhat sloppily in red ribbon, and I can see bits of tape holding the light pink paper together. It’s obvious he’s wrapped it himself, and my heart would be melting if I didn’t have a dreadful, sneaking suspicion about what’s in that present. I manage a grateful smile as he passes it over into my waiting hooves.
“Sure,” I say haltingly. “Thanks, let’s just see what this is.”
I pull the paper off, tearing it carefully and as slowly as I can. I don’t want to see what’s inside. I don’t want to deal with the conversation that has to follow. I don’t want to shut down that big proud smile he’s beaming at me right now. But sure enough, as the paper falls away, I see the sloping green of the glass bottle and the off-white of a spiraling, well-printed label. I swallow hard, fighting back all the feelings of dread crashing around inside. I look away from the fancy looking bottle of merlot, and shut my eyes as I try to form my thoughts into words.
“Oh… Anon…” I murmur as I set the bottle down. “It’s lovely but…”
“Look, I know you love wine and-”
“I do. I did. But you know that with my health, with the liver… I can’t,” I sort of blurt out, the words tumbling awkwardly and foreignly from me. “I don’t drink at all anymore, I thought you knew and understood that. I thought we talked, and this is really sweet but I can’t drink this and I can’t-”
“Berry, Berry!” he says quickly, catching ahold of one of my hooves. “Hold on a moment. Just take a look at the label first, okay?”
I look up at him. I’m almost angry he’s reminded me of my health, that I’ve had to have this conversation at all, and I’m definitely feeling hurt he didn’t remember. But he’s still smiling at me, and he looks expectantly to the bottle, so I pick it up. To humor him, I read over the label and…
I shut my eyes, wanting to cry and laugh at the same time.
“Oh dear lord.”
“See?” he says, a little too happily. “Non alcoholic wine! Pinkie recommended it to me, she uses it in cooking sometimes when she wants to make foal-friendly dishes that are supposed to use alcohol. She says it’s not too bad.”
“Oh. Wow. I… Anon I’m so sorry,” I put my free hoof to my head and shake it back and forth slowly as I speak. “This is so insanely kind of you, I can’t believe I thought you’d forgotten.”
“Easy mistake, don’t worry about it. I was trying to surprise you, and I guess I managed that pretty well,” he says with a laugh.
“But I was so stupidly mad and…”
“Like I said, don’t worry about it.”
He pulls me into a tight hug as he speaks, and I plant my face into the valley of his shoulder with a sigh of self-frustration. He always seems to understand when I’m about to snap or overreact, or get too hard on myself. It’s nice, but kind of disconcerting how he always somehow magically gets it. I heave a few heavy breaths against his collarbone, and the tension begins to leave my shoulders.
“Okay. Okay, I’m fine,” I mumble, muffled into his shirt.
To make my point more clear, I tap on his arm where it crosses the back of my neck and shoulder. Like tapping out of a hug. I know it’s a weird way of doing things, but it works well as a subtle communication between us, and he lets me go.
“You swear?”
“I swear,” I say with an easy sigh and a nod. “But I could damn sure use a glass of wine right now, even if it can’t get me drunk or dull the shame.”
He quickly reaches over and picks up the bottle, then holds it out to me to view, like a waiter in a restaurant.
“But of course,” he exclaims. “As long as it’s fine that it’s pretty much just pricy woody grape juice.”
“Sounds great to me,” I say, and I let out a brief laugh of relief.
He produces a corkscrew from his pocket, but he pauses briefly to look me over. A crooked smile passes over one corner of his lips.
“There, got you to laugh at least,” he says.
I gaze up into his eyes, and I remember all at once, overwhelmingly, why I love this weird, teasing man.
“I love you,” say, almost out of instinct rather than genuine thought.
“I love you too.”
The words still feel a little uncomfortable, like a pair of shoes I haven’t broken in yet. But I like them. I think I’ll keep them. He reaches back to me and wraps his fingers around one of my hooves to give it a squeeze. I press into his palm as a response, and for an instant we’re simply smiling at each other. Together. Nothing else exists. It’s not just the willow branches that are shutting out the world around us.
Then, I get sheepish and glance away with a muted chuckle.
“Uh, so the wine,” I say quickly.
“Right, right, let me get that.”
I watch as he inserts the corkscrew, struggles with it briefly, then pulls it free with a pop. I let out a satisfied soft hum at the hollow, squeaking noise it makes as it springs free of the bottle.
“God I’ve missed that sound,” I say with a sigh.
“Is that so? I can put the cork back in and take it out again if you want.”
“Oh would you?”
“What, really?”
“Of course not, pour me a damn glass of that stuff already.”
He rolls his eyes and tugs out a pair of plastic, disposable wine glasses from the basket. I watch like some sort of lecherous old man staring at a hot young mare as he pours the deep maroon liquid into the glasses. As he passes it to me, it’s all I can do not to snatch the wine away from him. Maybe even the bottle itself. Hey, can you blame a gal who's been wine-free for almost a year for being a little enthusiastic?
“You’re welcome,” he says with the raise of one eyebrow.
“Sorry, thank you,” I say quickly, then move to take a drink.
“What, not going to wait for me to do my toast?”
I pause. A toast? Well, that certainly sounds overly dramatic for our setting, but why not? I give a fake roll of my eyes in exasperation, and hold my glass aloft to wait patiently. He pours himself a glass, and follows suit.
“To us,” he says officially. “To the first date of many, and the first glass of wine we’ve shared, alcohol or no. And to how absolutely beautiful you look today.”
I don’t even care that I’m blushing this time.
“To us,” I say simply in response.
Our glasses make an artificial dink noise as we touch them together, and then I take a large sip. The instant the liquid touches my tongue, my nose wrinkles and I draw my head away, like someone has swatted me on the nose. I manage a large gulp to get it all down, then look up to find him watching me intently. He hasn’t even taken a drink yet.
“That good, huh?”
“It’s fine,” I say with a wave of one hoof. “It’s just not alcoholic, and I wasn't expecting the intensity of the flavors. It's got a real earthy, grapey flavor. Kind of… sweetish. Really unique, very interesting mouth feel.”
“Really?”
“No, it’s terrible.”
“Ah well,” he says with a sweeping shrug. “I guess it’s a shooting wine then.”
And with that he downs the entire glass all at once. I let out a short sharp laugh.
“See, this is why I love you.”
“Because I shoot wine like it’s cheap whiskey?”
I can’t stop giggling at this point, but I cover my mouth and stifle another bursting laugh at least. I shake my head no and wait to gain better control over my voice again before going on.
“No… well yes, that too. But I love you because even if the wine is bad, even if things go wrong, even if things get complicated or depressing, you’re still up for it. You’ll just… keep on going. And you’ll bring me with you. Right?”
He gazes at me affectionately, almost proudly as I finish speaking, and I can see laughter in the way the corners of his eyes crinkle.
“Of course I will,” he says as he sets down the glass and scoots closer to me. “Things are better when I bring you with me. It’s better when we’re both smiling.”
“Well, I’m certainly smiling now.”
“Me too.”
He takes the glass from my hooves and sets it down next to me. I grin as a I lean towards him and stare up into his face. His hand slides up my hip and travels over the small of my back to find the opposite side of my waist. It’s not controlling or possessive, but the grasp is firm and I can feel its intent. There’s no teasing this time, no joking. Only raw affection in the pressure of each of his individual fingers on my fur.
“So…” I say, my voice a breathy whisper.
“So,” he says back in a similar tone.
I can feel the distance closing between us, like a magnetism between our bodies that we don’t even try to fight. His arm draws us together, and my hooves move up along his stomach and chest, to press over his heart and shoulder. I feel the thudding under my hoof skip a beat as my breath comes out in a short thready moan. My lips part, ready to slide in against his with the naturalness of a puzzle piece being pressed into place.
Who cares if this is our first date? Who cares if we’re a real couple now and this isn’t how it’s done? We haven’t eaten, we haven’t even finished unpacking things, but right now I honestly don’t care at all. I just want him. More than I did before, more than I may have ever felt before. I simply want to be so close to him that I can curl up and be a part of him, here against his heart. I’m drawn into him, and I can hear him sigh as his mouth seals itself over mine, and I know he’s been wanting me too.
The relief I’m feeling right now is mirrored in his own.
I lean upwards a bit harder as I close my eyes, forcing our lips more securely together, and invite his tongue into my mouth with my own. I run my hoof up to his cheek, as his arm worms up my back to cradle the back of my head and neck. His fingers tug at the tie in my hair, and my ponytail falls free, to hang my mane limp around my shoulders. I don't even care that I spent time on it, I just enjoy his fingers as they snake through the strands to cup the place where the ponytail had been. We’re a slow, twisting mass of arms, hooves, lips, breaths, and it’s getting hard to feel where he ends and where I begin.
It’s because we’re so close that I first feel the convulsion deep in his chest. It’s like a sticky crackling rumble, and it starts so abruptly that I barely have time to register it before he pulls away. My eyes flash open, and I see him quickly draw his hand to his mouth. His shoulders wrench forward, and I hear the stifled noise of a very sharp, moist cough.
“Anon?” I ask, worry hanging heavy in my tone.
He holds up a hand to reassure me, as the one over his mouth becomes a fist. He coughs rapidly into it over and over, and I’m not sure he can stop. I reach forward to him, not sure how to help but wanting to.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he wheezes out as he waves me off.
But the coughing continues, sounding wretched and hard. I sit there, dumbfounded and helpless, waiting for it to stop or for him to allow me to offer aid. At last, he gives one more strong hack, then swallows, shaking his head, and smiling awkwardly. He wipes at his mouth, and swallows again, harder this time.
“Sorry about that, I’m sure that was pretty terrible,” he says, his voice sounding splintered by effort. “But all set, let me just take another sip of that wine and…”
He trails off as he notices I’m not looking at his face, but instead down at the knuckles of his left hand. It had been balled up in front as he’d been coughing, and he quickly jerks it away to his side, to wipe at it on the picnic blanket. It’s a pretty good attempt to hide what was there, and he almost manages it. But even then, I still have time to notice the rusty red spattering across his skin. It’s meaning takes only a moment to register in my mind.
He was coughing up blood.
——
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.
Love,
...now, fuck off you pervy assholes.
