Femboi and Chill

“Awwwwwwwwwwwwww...!” Rarity purrs. Sliding over under the silk-sheets of her queen-sized bed, she drapes her arms around you and holds you close. “You poor, precious thing! The movie's long over, Cherish! Those big nasty-wasties with their horrid lawncare equipment can't hurt you now! They never could!”

“Mmmmm-mmmmmmm...!” You whimper, your face pressed deep in the plush recesses of one of her enormous feathery bed pillows. It's been less than half-an-hour since the movie ended... a movie that you barely watched, on account of how often you covered your face with an empty popcorn bowl while Pinkie Pie cradled you from behind. Nevertheless, in the tiny shutter-blink moments that you did catch, several bloody images have been forever engraved into your mind. “...guh... h-how can a single person have so many entrailssss?”

“It was all make-believe, darling!” Rarity's voice squeaks. You feel her gentle hand stroking the back of your hair, lingering on the pixie-short bangs above your ear. “Movie magic! Even if the cinematic wizardry was used to create scenarios of evisceration and torture... uhm... st-still!” She chortles amicably. “You must admit that the lace-white gowns those characters were wearing contrasted deeply with the crimson blood splatters that ensued—”

“Guaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...” You stuff your face even deeper into the pillow—everything about the bed is lightly-scented with the same fragrance as Rarity's perfume, and you try drowning yourself in it to wash all the gore away from your mind. “...so... much... screaming...”

“N-now now, Cherish! Just... just calm down! Please—you shan't vomit all over my bedsheets!”

You look up, sniffling slightly in the darkness. “But I'm not going to—”

“~Just come here, darling~” She sweeps you closer in alabaster arms. Rarity wears a lace blue nightie that scarcely covers her cleavage, and there're double slits in the lower half of the outfit that show off her shapely snow-white legs. Such an ensemble would drive most men into wild, drooling states. At the moment, all you can think of is how you wish you had a camisole of your own to match. Then—as she holds you close to her warm, tender chest—all you can think about is how much her perfume must cost... and if maybe you could borrow a tiny bottle of it sometime. “Oh... oh Cherish...” She strokes your shoulders before raising a finger to caress our chin. “Why must you tremble, so? It will all be okay, precious thing! ~I promise you~”

“I... uh...” You gulp, nevertheless glad to feel her closeness. You surrender to her embrace, resting your face into her shoulder—which somehow feels softer and more serene than any feather pillow. “I-I guess I just need a few minutes to forget all the stuff I saw—”

“Shhh-shhhh...” She rubs her nose against yours, smiling in the dim light of a nearby alarm clock. She's like a pale guardian angel, emerging from the shadows of her room to protect you. “You rest now. Just let me do the talking.” She cranes her neck up, facing her bedside table. “Alexa! Play Disney Princess Lullabies!”

A chime, and soft guitar and piano keys flutter through the room.

You sigh, frowning slightly. “Rarity, I'm twenty-one.”

“Uh uh uh—!” She taps your button nose, smiling down at you. “Here—in my arms—you're ageless. Besides...” She lies the both of you down lengthily with a contented sigh, rolling the blankets over and encircling her arms around your tiny figure. “...don't pretend our precious little Cherish isn't a princess in training...”

You close your delicate eyelids, remembering past conversations... past confessions... past giggles and cheek-pinches. “You're right,” you squeak... and you feel your heart skip a beat.

She feels it too. “Hmmmmm-hmmmmm...” An inward chuckle, and she gives your body the tenderest of little squeezes. “Such a little sweetheart. What ever would we do without you, dear?”

You squint into the darkness of the room. At the bottom of her doorframe, there's a thin sliver of light. The sleepover continues; the rest of the women haven't fallen asleep yet. You can still hear them chattering and chuckling away in the living room. Nevertheless, Rarity has invoked her ownership of the apartment to sweep you into her bedroom prematurely.

“These days leave me feeling so stressed out...” The fashionista continues, her humming voice vibrating through her chest to massage you, laced with that same delicious perfume that you can't stop envying. “All these commissions and deadlines and fashion shows that I have to prepare for.” Her hands run slowly through your hair, caressing and—well—cherishing. “Surely, I can't complain. I've done well for myself since graduating from CHS. I can balance a college curriculum with my freelance work and I'm moving up and up and up but...” A slight whimper, accompanied by a melodramatic sniffle. “Sometimes I feel that the Glamorous Life simply... isn't so glamorous at times!”

You nod, resting your face in the only place that's afforded to you. It turns out to be the very top of her bust, and your chin slips into the upper precipice of her cleavage. “You...” He choose your words carefully, breathing lightly so as not to sputter against her immaculate skin. “...you're an inspiration to us all, Rari—”

“What would the tabloids say?!?” she carries on, her voice lilting like an actress on a soap opera. Her fingers run deeper and faster through your hair, like she's trying to find a pearl hidden somewhere in your scalp. “How would the world react to the up-and-coming Queen of Fashion admitting that sometimes dresses and dress-making just doesn't thrill her as much as it's supposed to?”

You're silent. You just lie there, nestled in her loving arms, waiting for the monologue to continue.

And it does, striking newer and more dynamic chords: “But what they don't know is that—while the stress gets to me at times—the love of beauty never dies! It's always there... hidden... finding more and more ways to bloom. And sometimes—a lot of the times, actually—a refined lady such as myself simply needs to find real sources of beauty in this world and... and recharge.”

You know what's coming next. It both amuses and flatters you. Nevertheless, as it comes—with her loving lips kissing you platonically through your hair—you feel yourself blushing. Every time.

“Mwah! That's why I'm so lucky we found you, darling. That's why we're all so lucky. You're one of a kind, Cherish. You empower and rejuvenate us. More than any spa could ever do! And I mean that! From the bottom of my heart!”

You clear your throat... if only to hide the emotion in your voice that cracks every time. “I'm m-more than happy to be a supportive... friend, Rarity.”

“Oh, you're so much more than that, dear!”

Your heart lifts...

Rarity hums, nuzzling you again. “You're our gentle little princess!”

...and then your pulse glides back over a familiar valley of sighs.

“Heheheh...” You chuckle, bringing your voice momentarily low—something that you find harder and harder to achieve these days. “What else are boys for?” you suggest.

Rarity's voice frolics right past that. “Oh, I must make you a new ensemble, Cherish!” You feel a slight tug on the night shirt you are wearing. “Fluttershy's hand-me-down looks adorable on you, but you deserve more!”

You remember the last time you looked in the mirror. You think about the pastel yellow of Fluttershy's old high school shirt... the pink butterflies plastered along the chestline... the translucent fuchsia layers of playful lace that lined the collar, sleeves, and hem.

“But I-I like Fluttershy's hand-me-downs—”

“How about a pink flower-embroidered camisole?” Rarity muses, stroking your hair again. “Ooooh! One that flares out at the bottom in ruffled layers? Like a teeny-tiny bedtime ballgown! Eee-hee-hee! It'll be like the ones I designed for Sweetie Belle! Oh, how I would love to weave such whimsy yet again!”

Your heart catches in your throat upon imagining what she's just described. You feel a stirring deep inside your... your... well... inside something. Something soft, hidden, and fragile. You can't quite put a word to it, but you try anyways.

“That sounds...” You wheeze. “... … ...pretty?”

Rarity carries on. “Oh, what about a satin nightcap? No. Too vintage. Besides, you never ever perm your adorable Tinkerbell 'do anyways. Hmmmmmmm... A fluffy pink bedrobe? Terry-cloth with silk ribbons and sleeves? Laced with faux fur microfiber? I mean, you don't seem the bedrobe-wearing type, but maybe if you tried it you would like it, darling! Any excuse to get you in pink, after all. And slippers... yes... not bunny slippers. That's not your calling card, after all. But maybe if I embroidered adorable little tiara-as into the sandal straps? Wouldn't that just be delightful? And then...”

Rarity carries on and on, doting on all the ways she could dote on you, fashionably. It's sweeter than any song.

You smile, submerged in the fragrance of her warmth and her words. Beyond, a gentle lullaby plays over the smart speaker, and it carries you on a diamond coach into slumber, where the sequin sea of Rarity's voice envelopes you for the evening.