It Doesn't Count

by Grimm

Rating: mature
Tags: Shining Armor, Sex, Twilight Sparkle, Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Princess Cadance, Porn
Length: 5759

Shining Armor is a good pony. Everyone always tells him so, after all, and everyone also knows good ponies don't cheat on their wives. So this must be something else. This doesn't count.

Over the years it’s become rarer and rarer for Shining and Twilight to be in the same place at the same time. Things haven’t changed, though, and whenever the family reunites it’s always just like old times. Exactly like old times, when Shining would sneak into Twilight’s room late at night and sit beside her on the bed, and then all the other things besides, trying so hard not to think about Cadance.

But it’s okay, because it doesn’t count.

Published 2019-09-26 19:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2019-09-26 19:40:02 UTC

As Long as You Don't Want It To

Shining Armor couldn’t sleep.

It was the bed, he told himself. He’d been a prince for too long; too long living in luxury with beds that felt like sleeping on clouds. Nowadays they actually were – pegasus technology had come a long way in mattress manufacture, going so far as to incorporate real clouds in their creation. Somehow. Shining wouldn’t have been surprised it was all false advertising and the clouds didn’t even do anything.

This mattress definitely didn’t have clouds in it, though, and he could feel it. Lumps, bumps, springs digging into his back. Impossible to sleep. Definitely.

But.

It had been a long time since his royal guard days, yes, but sleeping on the bunks in the barracks should have prepared him for a lifetime of uncomfortable sleeping surfaces. Had prepared him for it – this bed was practically heaven in comparison.

Not the bed, then.

It was this house, he told himself. It was too small, too noisy. Not just the soft, almost silent snores of his wife next to him (in fact, that noise always sent a little twinge of happiness through his chest, always brought a smile to his face in the dark), but the creaking wood, the crickets outside. The noises of an old house that were never present in the castle, in the cold, quiet crystal. That must be it, that must be the reason.

Except he’d spent his entire childhood in this very same house, in this very same room, although this bed was now an unfamiliar guest bed and all the posters were gone from his walls and there was nothing to remember it was the same room he’d spent his childhood in. The same room he’d given Cadance his first kiss in, too, and then a whole lot of other firsts besides.

But not all of them.

Shining didn’t know why he was trying to lie to himself. He always did this. Always told himself it would be different this time, that this time he was going to meet his family over Hearth’s Warming and stay in his room with his wife and go to sleep and that would be that. That would be everything. As it should be.

This time.

And every time he couldn’t sleep and he would lie awake and try not to glance at the curved form of the sleeping pony he loved and adored more than anything, or at the cot where Flurry lay, and instead he would tell himself that it was the bed keeping him awake. It was the house.

He definitely wasn’t waiting.

That would be wrong.

He definitely wouldn’t get out of bed, either, regardless of the reason. Not this time, because this time it was going to be different, just like all the other times it was going to be different. This time even if he couldn’t sleep because of the bed and the house and the waiting (no wait not that last one) he was going to stay firmly where he was. He was going to stay in bed and if he had to stay awake all night then so be it. He certainly wasn’t going to walk out of the room, creeping so as not to wake Cadance, and he definitely wasn’t going to sneak down the hall to where he could see the lantern light still burning beneath the door.

She always stayed up so late. Shining wondered, not for the first time, if she only stayed up for him.

He was thinking about it again. That was always how it started. He would think about it, think about her, imagine her, and before he knew it he would be standing outside her door. The orange glow creeping through the gap underneath and bathing the very bottom of his hooves in lantern light as he stared down at them, and then the last of his resistance would crumble, and he would knock ever so softly against the wood.

Better not to think about it at all. Better to lie here and focus on the lumps in the mattress and Cadance beside him. Definitely think about her, or you won’t later. Think about her and don’t think about how hot you are under these covers, don’t think about pulling them off to let the cool night air rush over your fur, don’t think about sliding out of bed and how the boards are creaking under your hooves because you’re not being quiet enough. Don’t think about shutting the door so silently behind you, one last glimpse at Cadance’s slumbering shape sending another pang of guilt through your chest. Don’t think about your parents as you slink past their room like you’re a teenager sneaking out again, except you never really did sneak out, did you? Or at least not half as much as you should have done because you were too busy doing this instead, too busy going one two three four doors down the hallway to the one at the very end. And there’s the glow, she’s awake, just like always.

And just like always, Shining hesitated as he stood in the hall and stared at the flickering orange beneath his sister’s bedroom door.

He always hesitated. Getting this far was almost autopilot. Getting this far wasn’t doing anything wrong. Maybe he just needed a drink of water, or the toilet, or to stretch his hooves. All kinds of reasons he could be up and about at this hour of the night, the morning. All kinds of reasons he could be awake while the rest of the house slept.

Except one.

But the moment he knocked on Twilight’s door, there would only be one reason. Shining couldn’t lie to himself after that, or to anyone else. Least of all to Twilight. He would know, and she would know, and the truth would be so heinously bared. And so yes, he hesitated, guilt swirling beneath the surface, because he knew that opening the door would let it rush free and drown him in it.

He hated the guilt. He hated how his heart beat a little quicker at the thought even more. Guilt was supposed to stop him, and yet it was still with that spiralling sensation of imminent regret that he softly – so quietly – tapped against Twilight’s door.

“Come in,” came the reply.

No ‘who is it’, no ‘what do you want’. No hesitation. Not any more, not after so many evenings just like this one, over so many years. Twilight didn’t need to ask those questions because she already knew the answers. She didn’t hesitate because she’d been expecting him. At this point even knocking was merely a formality. And so Shining did as she bade him and opened the door and stepped inside, and the soft click as it closed behind him sealed his fate. Her room was warm – it was always warm – and it smelled of her. Old books and dry parchment and her.

Twilight was reading.

She was always reading, her head buried in some enormous tome each and every time, but Shining couldn’t help but wonder if she was really reading, in the same way it was really the bed and the noise that kept him awake. Perhaps the book was her excuse, just like his ones. Or perhaps he only hoped that was the case, that she was waiting for him with as much inevitability as he waited for her.

“Hi, Shiny,” she said, with the warmest, most genuine smile, and his heart was dragged right out of the mire of guilt it had sunk into and up into the bright lantern light, the one that made Twilight’s fur almost seem to glow. She tilted her head a little and her unkempt mane fell down over one eye and she didn’t even move to brush it aside. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“It’s the bed,” he said, and he swore he could see Twilight’s lips moving ever so slightly with every word he spoke, almost imperceptibly mirroring them. “It’s too uncomfortable.”

“Well sorry, Prince,” she said, giggling, and the sound of her laughter sparkled. “I didn’t realise you’d gotten too good for the common ponies like us now.”

“I don’t think you get to say that anymore,” he replied, giving her wings a pointed look.

Twilight frowned, as though the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. “Oh. I suppose not.”

Her horn flared and flipped the page of the book in front of her, her attention slipping back down to the scrawls of ink.

“Cadance is asleep,” he said. It felt important.

“And so you came to bug your little sister instead?”

Bug. Was it bugging her? He didn’t think it was, never felt like it was. Such an infantile term, nothing like what these nights invariably turned into.

“I thought you’d want to hang out with your BBBFF,” he said, affecting the indignation he knew he was supposed to show. “Or are you too good for that, now that you’re a princess too?”

Another flare of magic, another turn of the page. She always did this. Always feigned disinterest, always feigned normalcy. “Of course not, Shiny. You know that.”

And he did.

Twilight finally looked up from her book again, smiling up at him as he stood by the doorway and she sprawled across the bed. She patted the covers next to her with a soft thump that still somehow seemed to ring out in the low lantern light. “Come sit down, then.”

The bed felt further away than it looked, more steps needed than it should have. Or maybe it just took longer to cross that distance than it should have. Or both. Twilight’s horn lit up again as he sank into the mattress beside her, and another page flipped.

“Better?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

He swore Twilight enjoyed the tension. Loved making him wait, loved pretending that she didn’t know why he was here, what he wanted. What he needed. And what she needed just as badly.

Pretending she didn’t know why he’d assured her Cadance was asleep.

“Good book?” he asked.

“I don’t read bad books.”

Magic. Flip.

Despite everything, despite Shining’s heart threatening to smash right out of his chest at the mere sight of his sister lounging beside him, his mind stuttered at her response. A mental double-take, expecting one thing and hearing another.

“But how do you know?” he asked.

“How do I know what?”

“How do you know if it’s a bad book before you start reading it?”

“I-”

“Surely you have to start reading the book to find out if it’s a bad book first, and then if it is you would have read a bad book!”

Twilight gave him a very withering look, but Shining knew it was worth it. He so rarely got to outplay his sister, especially nowadays, and he would take any small victory he could.

“Okay, you win,” she said, huffing. “But this is a good book.”

Magic. Flip.

“What’s it about?” he asked.

“It’s about two ponies from different, warring families who fall in love,” she replied. “It’s a bitter war with a lot of hate on both sides, and so a relationship between them would be completely unthinkable. Forbidden. Star-crossed.”

Magic. Flip.

“But they can’t help it – they’re madly in love and so they have to make a choice. Do they stay together even though it would mean running away from everything they’ve ever known, or do they give up on true love?”

Twilight’s horn lit up again, but this time the page didn’t turn. Instead, Shining felt an all-too-familiar brush against his leg, and his breath caught in his throat as her magic stroked its way upwards. Up, up, higher, higher. And then it reached his sheath, and he was already starting to lengthen ever before she wrapped around him, and his gasps were shaky and uneven.

“H-how does it end?” he asked, as her magic played so gently up and along his length.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I haven’t gotten to it yet.”

The pretence was over.

That’s all it ever was, of course, and a flimsy one at best. Shining wasn’t sure which of them it was even for at this point. Both, probably. Neither. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the sensation of Twilight’s magic caressing him with practised ease, tingling and sparkling as it stroked against his stiffening cock, better than any hoof could ever be. Better than his own magic could ever be.

He glanced over at Twilight, and she had perched her head in her hooves, watching him with unabashed interest, horn ablaze as she teased and toyed. She giggled a little when Shining shuddered at her touch, his length now fully hard already and straining against her magic’s hold.

“Someone’s excited,” she purred.

And he was. Of course he was. Had she not seen him staring, seen him admiring her flanks and trying ashamedly not to catch her eye during dinner? Of course he’d been waiting for this, for her. For her touch, for her smile, for the way she looked at him as she so effortlessly excited him, as her magic stroked him in all the right ways, as he strained and shuddered in her grip. Magic always felt so good – that slight tingle accompanying every caress – and Twilight had always been so good at it. Cadance had tried, too, more than a few times, but it had never felt like this. Had never gotten him as excited as Twilight could.

Shining blinked and tried to shake those thoughts loose. He wasn’t supposed to think about Cadance. That was against the rules. He was supposed to simply lie back and enjoy Twilight’s ministrations as she stroked and squeezed and stared, and he wasn’t supposed to think about his wife sleeping four doors down at all.

Because this was different.

It was hard to remember exactly how it had started, such a long time ago. They had both been young and curious, and one thing had led to another, and soon they were exploring each other. Together. And then Cadance had come along and Shining loved her more than anything, but he and Twilight had never stopped.

But it was okay, because it was different. Because it didn’t count. It was just magic and relief and no sex, never sex, and it didn’t count. And yes Twilight was his sister but that was okay too because it didn’t count. There was a distance between them, so carefully maintained, and as long as they never crossed it everything was good and fine and didn’t count. They never explicitly talked about it (both because that would be acknowledging it and also because how was one supposed to talk about things like this?) but the rules were there nonetheless. Ironclad.

And so they didn’t talk about it and they never stopped and every time Shining and Twilight spent the night in the same building Shining couldn’t sleep and he would seek her out as she read by lamplight and her magic would wrap around him and please him, just like always.

And oh fuck could she please him, Twilight stifling a sultry laugh as her magic reached so many sensitive spots and he gasped and clenched his teeth and dug his hooves into the bedsheets as if they would provide any respite from her toying. They did not. Instead Shining could only sink backwards and drop down to the covers as Twilight’s stroking grew more and more intense. She knew every inch of him – knew just where to touch, where to play, knew when to ease and when to push.

But it was just magic.

It didn’t count.

And as Twilight shifted and her own hoof slid down her torso and between her legs and she sighed in pleasure, Shining knew that didn’t count either. It was just relief, just sensation. Just pleasure, a colt and a filly discovering what these things felt like for the first time, exploring, experimenting. Touching. Tasting. And not stopping, never stopping, because stopping would be admitting that it did count.

No, not admitting, that was too strong. Deciding. Yes, that sounded much better to Shining. That would be deciding that it counted.

They’d decided that it didn’t.

Twilight brought her free hoof to her mouth to quiet a sudden moan. She’d always been loud, ever since the start, and they both knew it. Sometimes that was okay – times where they had the house to themselves and Shining would come to her room and she would be reading and then they would be doing very different things altogether. And she could be as loud as she wanted and Shining would enjoy every sound far more than he was supposed to.

Most nights it was not okay.

Most nights their parents were here, or Cadance, or both, and so Twilight would bite down on her hoof and only little needy whines would escape around it and even that was enough to make Shining’s stallionhood twitch in her magical hold, and she would laugh in a way that was somehow adorable and sexy all at the same time and then it would be him who had to stifle himself. Fuck, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, drinking in the curves as she lounged beside him, watching her foreleg shake and even though it was buried between her legs and he couldn’t see what she was doing he knew all the same. Could imagine all the same. And even though he wasn’t supposed to be thinking like that and for goddesses’ sakes Shining she’s your sister, it was okay. It didn’t count. They weren’t having sex, it wasn’t cheating. It was just relief.

And so when he lost himself to her touch and he imagined her rolling over and beckoning him towards her, and then imagined mounting her and pushing her down against the bed covers and burying himself so deeply inside her, feeling her welcoming him in and clenching and tightening and milking, feeling her quiver and making her bite ever harder on her hoof, and how fucking hard that thought made him, it was okay. It was okay because it wasn’t real. Just imagination. Just fantasy.

He wasn’t responsible for his imagination, after all. It wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t to blame. Intrusive thoughts. Unwelcome thoughts. Thoughts he would revisit time and time again, whenever Twily so much as popped into his head those flashes would accompany anything else, first and foremost, interspersed with the fond and familiar memories of her caress and her moans and the way she would scrunch her eyes closed and give him another squeeze whenever a particularly heady wave of pleasure rolled up from where she played with herself.

Just thoughts. Just imagination. Just memories.

His hips bucked pointlessly upwards, trying to thrust into a mare that wasn’t there. A mare with lavender fur and stars so beautifully adorning her rump, a mare that sat beside him and moaned and bucked her own hips just as much. He wondered if she was thinking the same things he was, forbidden and unwanted and not-counting thoughts of her own. Of pinning him beneath her and sinking down on top of him and letting those stifled moans fly free, ringing through the house to tell the world that she didn’t care, that they didn’t care.

But of course they cared, very much so, and so that was a fantasy and would remain nothing more, a line that would never be crossed. Because that would most certainly count.

And so instead Shining grunted and gripped the sheets and the frustration must have been apparent in his voice because for just a moment Twilight’s stroking hesitated. Her moans quieted, and though he couldn’t possibly ask her Shining couldn’t help but imagine all those same, wild thoughts running through her mind too. When her magic resumed, her careful and tender touch playing over every inch of him, working its way around his flare, teasing up and down, Shining knew it wasn’t going to be enough. It often was, but not tonight. Tonight he was going to need more.

Perhaps Twilight could sense his growing need and desire, too, because she shifted a little even before he began to move – stretching out, her hoof no longer buried between her legs but bracing herself. Ready for him, even before Shining pulled himself upright with a lustful growl, his cock so hard that it pressed insistently against his stomach, urging him to sink into a mare, rut and fuck and cum and breed. He couldn’t, though, of course not. Not tonight. Not to Twilight.

And so instead when he climbed to his hooves he didn’t mount Twilight (although his imagination refused to let go of the image) but instead turned and stood above her, pressing his so stiff length against her muzzle like a horny colt. He didn’t need to say anything, he never did.

He heard Twilight take a deep breath, filling herself with his scent, and he could smell her excitement too although that was probably too much, dangerously close to being real, and so he ignored it. And then he felt Twilight’s tongue press against him, warm and wet around him, tasting him, and his hips bucked forward immediately even though there was nowhere for him to go except to brush against Twilight’s mane.

To her credit, Twilight made nothing more than the quietest of squeaks of surprise, muffled by his length as her tongue played along it, as he shuffled impatiently and each and every lick sent a little shudder down his spine.

She was so good at this.

She hadn’t been, not at first, not when they’d first started and Twilight had stared so wide-eyed and asked him how she was ever supposed to get her mouth around it, and Shining had shrugged and told her he didn’t know, he’d never really thought about it before. It had been a lie back then, too – of course he’d thought about it, imagined moving on from the experimental stroking that was all their unions had been before then, having Twilight take him into her mouth and exactly what that would feel like. He’d imagined all of it. And at first she’d simply lapped at it and it was clumsy and nowhere close enough to make him cum no matter how pleasant it had been. Then she’d wrapped her lips around him and gagged and choked and told him it was too much, it was impossible, and she’d gone back to her magic.

But the next time she took him a little further before giving up.

And now there was almost nothing in common with that shy and unsure filly, and another pang of shame stabbed through Shining’s chest at the thought. His little sister, whom he was supposed to shield from the world, and he was the one who had taught her these things. He was the one who had shown her how to please his cock so perfectly, taught her each and every inch of him.

No, that wasn’t fair. They’d gotten this way together. It was Twilight who had started this, he was pretty sure. She’d been so curious and intrigued and then one thing had led to another. The memory was blurred and it was hard to say for sure, though, all those clumsy times together melting into one, back when they’d only watched as the other touched themselves and nothing more. And then lots more.

The sensation of Twilight’s lips closing around him dragged him out of his memories, yanked him back to now, this room. He grunted in satisfaction as her mouth enveloped him, so wet and warm and perfect – made for him – and he swore he could feel her lips curve around him as Twilight smiled at the sound. She giggled again, and the vibration tingled against him, and then she was taking him deeper and oh fuck that felt good. Not even the slightest struggle anymore, her tongue still swirling against him as she took him so deeply.

And then back, leaving a trail of her saliva behind that felt so cold even though the room seemed hot enough to burn, and when she sunk her head back down it was such a welcome return to warmth. That rising urge welling up inside him as Shining forced himself to hold back, to not thrust his hips after her when she pulled back no matter how much he wanted to, no matter the cold and frustration, no matter how much his body screamed at him to just fuck. No. Patience. Stand there and let Twilight kiss and lick and suck and don’t do anything else. Don’t do anything that would count.

Stand there, and lose yourself. And whatever you do don’t think of the pink alicorn sleeping so nearby, don’t imagine her waking up and wondering where you are, no idea that you’re busy being pleasured by your sister only a few rooms down the hall. Definitely don’t think about that.

Shining snarled low in his throat, as if he could somehow intimidate those intrusive thoughts into submission. Thankfully, Twilight seemed to take it simply as another indication of his lust, and maybe that wasn’t entirely wrong, either. Either way, it didn’t count, not even as Twilight swallowed as much of him as she could and her tongue tasted him and it took every ounce of Shining’s willpower not to plunge forward. It didn’t count and it wasn’t sex, it was never sex. As long as they never crossed that line it was okay, as long as they never crossed that line it wouldn’t count. It was just watching each other, just touching each other, just letting her take him so deeply into her mouth and did she even have a gag reflex anymore and just relief.

Just an uncomfortable bed, a noisy house, just a knock on Twilight’s door and lantern light creeping underneath.

And now the lantern was sputtering, dim and unfed, and that was fine too. Better that this happen in the dark, when Shining couldn’t see and it was just feeling. That was all this was about anyway, wasn’t it? There was nothing more to it than that. Adolescent curiosity leading to habit, and no one ever got hurt. That’s all it was.

Another growl, and Shining didn’t even know what that one was supposed to be. He didn’t know when he’d gripped Twilight’s mane so tightly in his hoof, either, although if anything it just made her own wandering hoof all the more frantic, and her horn was alight again although she wasn’t using it on him this time. Her moans sent such pleasant vibrations up his entire length, the sound muffled hopefully enough to keep it from floating down the hallway.

Who was he kidding? There was no hopefully about it. They had done this so many times, and no one had ever heard them. Not Cadance, not Velvet, not Night Light. Twilight could make all the muffled moans she wanted, and Shining could grunt and tighten his grip and his hips could buck a little and push himself deeper into her mouth and it would be fine. It was always fine.

Fine, but not enough.

Not tonight, at least, one of those nights where no matter how hard Shining tried to lose himself in the pleasure he couldn’t help but see Cadance. Or Flurry.

Or Twilight.

Because he wasn’t supposed to see Twilight on these nights, either; that wasn’t losing himself at all. That was being all too aware of everything he was doing, of the truth. That she was his sister, that his wife and daughter were four three two one doors away, and come on Shining you’re not just a horny colt anymore, you can’t blame the raging hormones and natural curiosity, and neither can Twilight. And yet still you come here, still you knock on her door and still she tells you to come in, and then she takes you in and you grunt and growl but it’s still not enough, is it? Because you know what you want. And you know you will never let yourself have it.

Ever.

And then Shining did thrust forwards, desperate to force those thoughts aside like he needed to. Twilight gave a quiet, choked moan at the sudden intrusion, but Shining barely heard it. Her throat tight around him, that was what he focused on, and as he drew back and Twilight gasped at the brief respite it was that feeling that drove him straight back in again, fucking Twilight’s mouth.

She squirmed beneath him, but he could hear how much she enjoyed it anyway, could see her hoof firmly between her legs where it belonged, and she made not even the slightest attempt to pull away or struggle in his hold. If anything, she pushed forward to meet him, helping him sink so deeply into her mouth, feeling her throat around his flare, his entire length throbbing as the rising tide of his lust threatened to overwhelm him.

Fucking her mouth just like he couldn’t fuck her. The next best thing. The thoughts this feeling was meant to dispel, haunting his imagination instead. Imagining Twilight moaning beneath him as he fucked her properly. Imagining pinning her down just like they both wanted him to. All those things that would count, spiralling through his head, things they could never do, could never admit to wanting. Instead this, and it didn’t count and it wasn’t enough, but at least Shining could thrust forward and clench his teeth tightly together in frustration and push deeper, harder, as Twilight shuddered around him and tried to please him as best she could.

It still wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Twilight squirming and shivering beneath him, and did she just cum? He thought she might have, her muffled moans growing that little bit higher in pitch, a little more frantic before petering out, her body still quivering a little. What he could see of her hoof now moving languidly instead of those frantic and needy movements from before. But still her tongue kept working his shaft, still his hips thrust forwards and she took all that he gave her, deeper and deeper.

It wasn’t enough. The smell of books and parchment and wet, exultant mare. The smell of musk and lust and sweat. The sounds of the bed creaking beneath them. Not enough. Never enough.

His thrusts getting harder, and even though he knew he should hold back he couldn’t, not anymore. Twilight would stop him if it was too much for her. She had never stopped him before. She wouldn’t tonight. Pouring his frustrations into each and every thrust, and he could feel it rising within him, building up to that inevitable crescendo. Her tongue. Her mouth. Her moans. So impossibly her.

But it wasn’t sex. It didn’t count.

And it didn’t count as with a final growl Shining pushed forwards as hard as he could and came harder than he could ever remember, letting out one last moan of satisfaction that was maybe too loud, maybe too much. Twilight gave another squeak of surprise as he buried himself down her throat and filled her, but that was probably for his benefit; as if she hadn’t felt him shuddering, pulsing in her mouth before exploding into her.

She didn’t have a choice about swallowing. She would have swallowed anyway. She always did.

And finally Shining was spent and he pulled out of her mouth, Twilight gasping for air as he collapsed down beside her and pretended it had been enough. His mane damp with sweat, his softening cock sticky with her spit. It took a long time for his breathing to calm, but not as long as Twilight’s.

“Is that better?” she asked, eventually, and her voice was rough but filled with satisfaction.

“Yes,” he said.

He didn’t know if it was.

***

Shining’s side of the bed was cold by the time he slipped back under the covers. It was only when his head dropped down to the pillow that he truly appreciated how tired he was. He always was, after, although probably not as much as Twilight.

It was always a little awkward afterwards. Not the same kind of awkward as before – the kind so thick with tension and expectation – but the same kind of awkward as waking up to find your lover from the night before attempting to sneak out without waking you up. Not that Shining had ever experienced that, but he imagined it was similar. An elephant in the room that neither wanted to talk about. Goodnights and goodbyes where Shining pretended he couldn’t see how messy Twilight’s mane was and Twilight pretended she couldn’t still taste Shining on her tongue.

And then the long walk down to his bedroom, one two three four, and he could help but turn back just in time to catch the orange glow beneath Twilight’s door vanish as she blew out her lantern. Then inside, Flurry’s cot illuminated in the moonlight knifing between the curtains, the curve of his sleeping wife under the covers, and he would crawl into bed and try not to wake them and pretend that he hadn’t been gone so long that his side of the bed was cold.

Tonight he failed, and Cadance rolled over and wrapped her hoof around him, pulling him in for a tight hug. He hoped she wouldn’t notice the sweat, or the smell. Or trail her hoof lower and feel that it was still a bit sticky.

A gentle kiss on the back of his neck, and Shining couldn’t help but wince.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she murmured, her voice husky, barely awake.

“Just needed a glass of water,” he assured her, planting a kiss of his own on the hoof that held him.

Satisfied, Cadance took one last moment to enjoy the embrace and then rolled back over, leaving Shining all to himself. Alone. The gap between them feeling so much wider than it was, and if he closed his eyes he swore he could still feel Twilight’s lips wrapped around him, his length tingling a little at the memory.

Shining Armor stared up at the ceiling, and if anything it was only harder to fall asleep than it had been before.