“Another cup,” Pound Cake said. “Extra spice.”
Joland—the young, sour-faced mare behind the counter—nodded and headed back towards the percolators, and Pound stepped back as he cast another idle glance around Pony Joe’s Joe and Jonuts. The large and tastefully-decorated coffeehouse was half-full of ponies sitting in booths or talking quietly around tables, chuckling demurely, lost in conversation or literature or cups of rich, dark brew. Even the ponies by themselves looked as if they were there for a reason: deliberately here for the coffee, deliberately here to read or study, deliberately doing as they wished, without desire for interruption. Closed off from strangers and conversations. Not for him.
Not that there should have been anypony there for him. Expecting that would have been silly.
The sharp clink of ceramic on laminate brought Pound Cake back to his senses. Joland stared at him with her hooves resting on the counter, carefully framing the large, white mug in between them. The color of its contents was hidden by a thick layer of whipped cream, but the dusting of spices on top was unmistakably meant for him: cinnamon, nutmeg, anise…
...and something that had been out of season for two months. Pound grinned as he stared up at Joland again. “Thanks, Jo.”
Joland said nothing, but fixed him with her third nicest expression: long-suffering tolerance of his presence. Without another word, Pound Cake tilted his head, grabbed the cup’s handle with his teeth and trotted off towards an unattended table.
The winter temperatures might have chilled whatever ponies wandered about outside, but the atmosphere in the coffeehouse was as warm as it was welcoming. Even without company, Pound didn’t mind keeping the place as a temporary refuge. He had coffee. Good coffee. And if anypony wanted to stop by and keep him company, well, that was fine.
Pound Cake sipped his coffee and waited, watching the hubbub of the ponies around him.
Pound Cake drank his coffee some more, waiting, watching as some ponies left and others entered, bringing fresh gusts of chill air in their wake.
Pound Cake gulped down his coffee, thoughts wandering.
Pound Cake went to take another sip, only to discover that his cup was empty. Idly, he toyed with the rim, and the idea of going up and asking for a refill drifted through his head.
“She isn’t coming, you know.”
Pound Cake looked up. Joland stared impassively back at him, counter completely unattended.
“Oh! Joland! I didn’t know you were on your break!” Pound Cake sputtered.
“I’m not.” Joland heaved a sigh of eternal patience and immeasurable ennui. “Why are you here? She isn’t going to show up.”
Pound Cake blinked. “I mean, I...are you talking about Red Velvet?”
Joland stared back at Pound as if he’d told her that two plus two equaled five.
“...She could still be here.” Pound Cake stared back at his cup. “She didn’t say that she wasn’t going to show up.”
“Did she tell you that she was?”
Pound Cake didn’t respond.
“You know that things weren’t going to work out as well as anypony else, you know.” Joland sniffed. “Stop punishing yourself.”
“I’m not.” Pound Cake gripped the handle of his mug a little tighter.
“Then why are you here?”
Silence.
“I’m not the boss. Pony Joe isn’t going to like it if I tell customers not to buy something. But seriously, go home.” Joland sighed. “You’re not going to enjoy anything you’d buy at this point.”
Pound Cake straightened up and stared at Joland. “I like the coffee here.”
“Normally, yeah. But I know you. You only think you like the coffee here right now. Just like you only think you like the idea of that redhead’s smile or her laughter—”
“That isn’t true,” Pound Cake replied.
“I’m not trying to be mean,” Joland said flatly. “There’s no profit in being mean. I’m trying to talk some sense into you. Stop acting like I’m trying to antagonize you and listen.”
“If you’re going to talk to me like you know something, then why do you think you know her better than I do?” Pound Cake fired back. “She barely even—”
“I don’t. I barely know her at all, other than that she has garbage taste in coffee. A Peach flavor shot in a peppermint mocha is a better recipe for chemical warfare than it is for anything edible. Maybe she was really into you. More power to her if she was. But I’m not talking about her.” Joland jabbed a hoof at Pound Cake. “I’m talking about you.”
“Me?” Pound Cake replied, eyebrows raising in incredulity.
“I know how you talk about other ponies. How you phrase things when you like somepony, when you don’t like somepony, whatever. You’re an open book. And I know you talked to her like you liked her, but I know there’s somepony else you talk about that’s on an entirely different level.”
Pound Cake stared at Joland for a couple seconds more, before dropping his gaze to the floor.
“I know who you think about. I know how your eyes light up when you talk about her. I know how it’s almost like a song when you describe her, like you’re singing her praises instead of describing her. Like you’re building a melody instead of a description. Like every happy moment you spend with her is a moment that takes your breath away.”
Pound Cake blinked a little harder than was necessary.
“You’re in love,” Joland concluded.
Pound Cake didn’t reply.
“You’re allowed to be in love.”
“Bull.”
“Have you tried not giving a damn about what everyone else thinks?”
“I dunno, have you tried looking at what you’re saying?” Pound Cake snapped. “Even if what you’re implying is actually true, then do you realize exactly how bad that is?”
Joland arched an eyebrow. “And who says it’s bad?”
“Oh, I dunno, how about society? How about basically everypony throughout history?”
“You wanna know what I think about society?” Joland leaned over the table, resting her foreleg at the table as she stared blankly at Pound Cake. “I think that every time I come here, I see at least one pickup artist trying to pass themselves off as a well-mannered and well-intentioned businesspony so he can get in a quick shag for the evening. I see at least three ponies waiting quietly while desperately hoping that they’ll be picked up, regardless of how bad their partner is, just so they won’t be alone. I see couples walk in here and try to rekindle a spark between them that guttered out months ago. I see crusty old ponies trying to feel young while buying old drinks and silently waiting for the day they die. Every day’s a reminder that the world probably sees the role of a barista and assistant manager as a glamorous one that lets a savvy pony keep up-to-date on all the latest trends, and every day’s a reminder that ponies are desperate, hopeless and as far from glamour as dragons are from humility.”
A half-formed objection died somewhere on the way up Pound Cake’s throat, leaving him with his mouth hanging open like an idiot.
“That includes you, by the way. Most days. The bad days.” Joland straightened up again. “The way your smile’s so obviously desperate and the way your banter’s so exaggeratedly animated. Most of the time I see you here, company or no, you’re clearly trying way too hard to be happy.” Joland sighed. “But not all the time. And the fact that you’re not like that all the time is why I don’t feel like talking to you is a waste of time.”
“So when I’m with—”
“It feels like summer in here. It feels like I walked into the middle of a romance novel that didn’t suck. It makes me believe that ‘true love’ actually exists for a second when the two of you laugh and joke around with each other. You’re like something out of one of those extravagant paintings from centuries ago, and when you’re not pining for something or another I actually look forward to having you in my coffeehouse for reasons besides a paycheck. That’s rare.” Joland stepped away and stretched out one of her hindlegs dangerously close to a passing customer. “The two of you should come here more often.”
“I mean, it’s...it’s nice, being with her.” Pound Cake sighed. “You’re probably right. I should go home and see if she’s around—”
“She’s not going to be. I sent Mr. Cobblecane with a note to Sugarcube Corner telling your sister that you were being mopey and ineffectual and asked her to come pick you up. That was about fifteen minutes ago, so…”
Pound Cake sputtered, almost knocking over his coffee mug. “Wait, you what?”
“It’s not like it was for free. I offered him a couple of shortbread biscuits for his trouble. I should charge you for those, honestly, given that I’m doing this for your sake.”
“If you were worried about me, the worst thing you could do was—”
A gust of cold, snowy air kicked its way into the coffeehouse with the force of a buckball to the face.
There, smack in the middle of the wide-opened double doors to the coffeehouse, was Pumpkin Cake. The little blue ribbon on her wavy orange mane was absolutely adorable. The expression on her face was anything but.
“Pounder, have you seriously been moping in here for the past forty-five minutes?”
Pound’s ears flicked back. “I thought—”
“Yeah, I know what you were thinking.” Pumpkin stormed over to Pound’s table, snorting in annoyance as she gave Joland a sideways glance. “How much?”
“Have him pay me back next time he shows up. I’d rather start up a tab than have you two start fussing before you even leave.”
“Fair,” Pumpkin replied. “C’mon, Pound. No fussing.”
Before Pound could reply, Pumpkin reached over, grabbed him in a headlock and dragged him three-legged out of the room.
“You didn’t have to physically drag me outside,” Pound Cake groused as he readjusted his hat.
Pumpkin Cake pulled her scarf down. “And you didn’t have to act like you were on a hot date that never showed up.”
“I wasn’t acting. She never cancelled.”
“Did she ever tell you that there was going to be another one?”
The two of them walked in silence. A sudden gust of wind kicked up a spray of snow into Pound’s face, and he stopped to brush away a bevy of errant snowflakes from his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Pound mumbled.
Pumpkin’s tail swished. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what?”
“I know why you lied, Pounder. I know that you wanted to pretend it was going to work out this time. I know that it never works out for you, so I’m kind of okay with that. But this is, what, the fifth mare you’ve tried dating in the past couple of months?”
Pound jogged forward and caught back up with Pumpkin. “Yeah.”
“And it never lasts longer than a couple dates, does it?”
“So?”
“So it feels like you’re forcing these things. Getting all excited about stuff that you know isn’t going to work out. And every time I see you getting ready for Red Velvet or Brownie Batter or whatever mare you’re meeting up with this time, part of me tries to get comfortable with the fact that it’s probably going to work out just as well as it did last time. So if it all feels pointless, then why do you keep doing it?”
“I want to find somepony that can make me happy.”
Pumpkin Cake stopped. “...Don’t I make you happy?”
Pound looked back.
It wasn’t the first time he had seen his twin sister, far from it. It wasn’t even the first time he had seen her like this: a beautiful mare in a tasteful scarf with a bow and mane that advertised sweetness and spunkiness in equal measure. But normally when he saw her, her face looked fiery and impetuous; she was a roaring blaze in a humble fireplace, a geyser full of magma instead of water, a jack-o’-lantern holding back a towering inferno.
But for the first time that year, she looked fragile. A porcelain doll about to crack.
Pound stopped, then turned around. The wind sent another gust of snow kicking up into the air as he trotted back to his sister, dotting her orange mane with flecks of white. As he drew even with her, Pound thought he could see Pumpkin’s lower lip tremble.
“Always.” Pound slid his foreleg around the back of Pumpkin Cake’s neck and pulled her into a hug. “Always and forever.”
“I don’t understand,” Pumpkin mumbled. “Why…?”
Pound Cake opened his mouth to deflect the question, but the truth came tumbling out instead.
“Because we’re not supposed to.”
“Oh.”
Pumpkin pulled herself away and stared at Pound Cake. Seconds of snowy silence fell, one by one, until Pound turned away.
“We should get going.” Pound coughed and started walking again. “Dad’s probably going to want us to help with dinner, so—”
“Pounder?”
Pound Cake turned around. “Ye—”
The snow hit him right in the eyes. Sputtering, Pound stepped backwards, wiping his eyes. “Gah! Pumpkin, wha—”
The kiss came out of nowhere to take his breath away.
Warmth without formality. Pressure without ceremony. He had forgotten this. He had forgotten the soft lips wrapped around his, the hoof sliding around his shoulder, the faint aroma of spices that hadn’t tickled his nose in two months. Pound’s body remembered all at once, and he melted: eyelids fluttering closed as he leaned into the embrace, hoof reaching up to slide around her shoulder in a perfect mirror as his tongue slid out of his mouth and brushed against hers. Her tongue flicked back, and the hairs on Pound’s coat stood on end as a shiver ran down his spine. Tongue to tongue, lips to lips, body to body—for a scant smattering of moments, the world fell out of focus, leaving only the two of them left.
Pumpkin pulled away, leaving Pound to gasp for air as she tilted her head. “How did that feel?”
Still wheezing faintly, Pound grinned. “That felt incredible.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
The wind whistled, filling the pause between them with a steady breeze and spray of snow.
Pound opened his mouth to downplay a response, but the truth came tumbling out instead.
“It felt real.”
“Real.”
“Natural. Like it was supposed to happen. Just, like...a thing that didn’t need to justify that it existed.”
“Has any mare made you feel like that?”
A rosy tinge started creeping over Pound’s cheeks. “You.”
“And?”
“...and nopony else. I think I know what you’re getting at.”
“Finally! Thank Celestia!” Pumpkin rolled her eyes, then reached over and—before Pound could respond—yanked his hat down over his eyes. “Clearly, I’ve been a massive idiot for asking for anything this Hearth’s Warming besides ‘make my brother stop being a complete moron.’ ”
“It’s a legitimate worry, okay?” Pound yanked his hat back up and stared at Pumpkin, only to find her staring back at him as if she was trying to punch a hole in the back of his skull with her eyes. The big blue eyes framed by her wavy orange mane were normally adorable. The gaze she fixed him with was anything but.
“Very legitimate,” Pumpkin drawled. “It’s not important for you to spend time with your family. I don’t mean just me, but also mom and dad and everypony else. It’s not important that you waste tons of free time setting yourself up for dates that mysteriously never seem to pan out. It’s not important that you have to do dumb things like moon around in coffeehouses alone, by yourself, waiting for stuff to happen that’s never going to happen! This is all very important, clearly.”
“Stop making light of it.” Pound’s voice wavered. “Seriously.”
“I know you want to take your life seriously. I’m not making fun of you, Pounder, I’m really not.” Pumpkin’s gaze softened, and Pound exhaled a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realized he was holding in. “I know you want to believe that the preconceptions you assume exist in the vaguely-described group of ponies referred to as ‘society’ are good preconceptions that exist for good reasons and which will make life good.”
Pound was about to open his mouth to reply when Pumpkin pressed a hoof up to his lips.
“Shh. You can tell me that’s a good thing all you want, but what I know is that there are a couple of ponies who were made for each other. You can feel it, I can feel it, everypony can feel it. It’s as natural as snow being wet or winter being cold. But society’s telling you it shouldn’t be a thing, that this bond is supposed to be bad, because ‘it just is.’ You’re not supposed to question it, or talk about it, or whatever. You’re just supposed to waste your life in coffeehouses and setting up dates that go nowhere while ignoring your family and your own happiness because that’s what society thinks is good.”
Pumpkin pulled her hoof away from Pound’s mouth.
There wasn’t any need. Pound couldn’t think of anything to say. He blinked, waiting for the words to come, waiting for Pumpkin to continue. Waiting for an answer.
Finally, dropping her voice to a whisper as she leaned in closer, Pumpkin broke the silence. “I don’t know if I can change your mind. But I can tell you what I think, Pounder. Would you like to hear my thoughts?”
Pumpkin’s muzzle brushed past Pound’s cheek. Her mane tickled his muzzle, filling his nose with her warm, spicy scent, and his brain filled itself with static.
“Yes,” Pound whispered as Pumpkin’s muzzle brushed against his ear.
“Fuck society, love.”
The sentiment lingered in Pound’s ear, soft as an infant’s blanket and rich as a kiss. Logically speaking, it was an absurd statement, the sort of thing he should flat-out ignore and pretend never happened. But what spoke to Pound wasn’t logical, and in that moment something very small in the pit of his stomach shifted. “Okay.”
“Do you love me?”
“I do.”
“Have you always loved me?”
“I have. And I always will.”
Pumpkin’s tail swished as she gently nibbled Pound’s ear, and Pound felt himself start to go weak in the legs.
“We should, uh…”
“Mmm?”
“We should probably head home first, though.”
Pumpkin pulled away. “Are you serious? Didn’t you just say—”
“Home is warmer. And I have a bed.”
Pumpkin blinked. Then her eyes went half-lidded as her lips curled into a smile. “Good point.”
“I like to believe I have good ideas sometimes.” Pound kissed Pumpkin on the cheek and turned back towards the road home.
“This is a bad idea,” Pumpkin hissed as Pound opened the front door.
“If they see us sneaking in, it’ll be worse.” Pound turned back towards Pumpkin as he stepped inside Sugarcube Corner. “Besides, it’s not like there’s anything to be scared of.”
“I’d sure hope I’m not scary.”
A little jolt ran through Pound’s spine as he turned back towards Sugarcube Corner’s front counter. “Oh! Hey, dad. Aren’t we closed for customers?”
Carrot Cake pulled a hoof away from the cutting board on the counter, readjusted his spectacles and smiled. “Well, of course we are, but there are always some ponies who don’t know how to accept a clock, a notice posted on the door and an upcoming blizzard as an answer. How was your date?”
“Peachy,” Pumpkin cut in as she pushed past Pound and walked inside. “Where’s mom?”
Carrot’s smile dimmed slightly. “Over at the friendship academy, helping the stay-over students practice making desserts for the Hearth’s Warming banquet this year. We told you this, honey.”
“Eh.” Pumpkin shrugged as she pulled off her scarf. “Sounds like an all-nighter.”
“She’ll be back tomorrow. It shouldn’t be so bad for her, though. Professor Ambrosia from the Generosity department’s done an excellent job of teaching the students how to cook, and I think the students were supposed to prepare a ‘surprise’ dinner for you mother.” Carrot sighed, his smile returning in full force. “I’ve heard that one adorable little dragon...Spark, or something?...I heard that she’s one of the students staying over, and you know how wonderful she is to everypony.”
“Super wonderful, yeah.” Pumpkin tugged her boots off. “Listen, It’s super cold up there. Pounder and I are gonna shower and get warmed up, okay?”
“One at a time, you mean?” Carrot glanced down at his cutting board. “I was hoping that one of you could finish chopping vegetables while I prepared the bread dough.”
“Or we could both go at once,” Pumpkin replied. “Saves water.”
Carrot stared at his daughter, smile dimming for good. Pumpkin stared back.
“You’re home from your date early, son” Carrot said, not taking his eyes off of his daughter.
“She ditched,” Pumpkin replied.
“Is that so?”
Pound hung up his hat and started taking off his boots. “I mean, I guess I didn’t know for sure that—”
“They weren’t into each other,” Pumpkin cut in. “Seriously. It was so obvious last time.”
“I mean—”
Carrot arched an eyebrow. “So you dragged him away from where his date was.”
“Supposed to be.” Pumpkin jabbed a hoof at her dad. “She ditched. Besides, it’s not like Pounder was going to bring himself home. The way he was mooning about—”
“Likely meant that he was still interested in her.” Carrot rubbed his eyes. “Pumpkin, could you try letting your brother have his own life?”
“What, by making himself miserable?” Pumpkin rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to make him happy! But I guess you and mom don’t care about that, huh?”
“That is enough.” Carrot jabbed a hoof upstairs. “Go to your room. Your mother and I are going to have a talk with you tomorrow about—”
“Dad?”
Carrot and Pumpkin turned towards Pound.
“I, uh…” Pound gulped. “I think Pumpkin’s right. Red Velvet didn’t show up, and I wasn’t doing anything but waiting around and feeling like an idiot. I guess the idea of leaving just felt too embarrassing.”
“Oh.” Carrot lowered his hoof. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, dad. I know you wanted this to work out.”
Carrot didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Finally, he sighed, looking years older. “...It’s okay, son. I can’t force anypony to love one pony over another.”
“Maybe not, but love isn’t something you force. It just kind of happens, you know?”
Pound trotted up to the counter, leaned over and wrapped his father up in a hug, ignoring the surprise on Carrot’s face.
“Like you, dad. I’ll always love you. That’s just how it is.”
Carrot froze for a second or two. Then, with a small smile, he patted Pound on the head. “I’ll always love you too, son. No matter who you date or fall in love with.”
“Thanks, dad.” Pound grinned as he detached himself.
“You’re just lucky that your mother isn’t around. I know she’d want to give her two bits if she was here.” Carrot gestured at the cutting board. “Any chance you could give your dad a hoof with the vegetables when you’re done?”
“Sure. And, uh, I’ll try not to use up all the hot water.” Pound chuckled.
“No promises, though” Pumpkin added.
Carrot’s grin widened as he shook his head. “You crazy kids will be the death of us, I swear. Go ahead.”
Pound waved, then turned and followed his sister up the stairs. Briefly, the size of the staircase struck him as strange. Not that it was small, but he could remember running up and down it with Pumpkin since they were very young; back then, it seemed gigantic. It was almost startling to think of how much some things had changed, despite the essentials staying the same.
Then he made the mistake of looking straight ahead, right at Pumpkin’s curvaceous ass.
Her lithe, supple ass, swaying just so as she climbed the steps. There was no way that it wasn’t deliberate, but Pound didn’t care. He watched every step, every subtle shift in her hips and faint bounce in her rear as she reached the upper landing, casually strolled down the hallway and swung their bedroom door open. Pound followed as she disappeared through the door, oblivious to the world around him as he stepped inside.
Then Pumpkin’s slender hoof reached around him and pushed the door shut.
Her lips came after.
Before Pound realized what was going on, he was pinned—a muffled thump marking his back’s introduction to the door as Pumpkin pressed up against him. This time, it wasn’t just their muzzles that made contact - it was their forelegs, chests, abdomens, bodies fully intertwined as the kiss broke the barrier between them. Once again, Pumpkin’s tongue slid out, brushing lightly against Pound’s teeth before dragging over his tongue. Another shiver ran through Pound’s spine as he pushed back, tongue eagerly brushing back against Pumpkin’s as his forelegs squeezed her back. Judging by Pumpkin’s moan, it was the right move.
Pumpkin followed the squeeze, grinding up eagerly against Pound’s body. Her tongue flitted in and out of his mouth as she pressed herself against him, until he could feel her chest rise and fall with every breath. Every time, soft coat and warm skin pressed against him, rubbing him, tickling him, enkindling every nerve down his torso, towards his waist, past—
Oh.
Ohhhhhhhhh.
Pumpkin broke the kiss, lips curved in a ravenous smile. “Hard already, huh? Have you really gone without this for two months?”
“H-hey, I was trying to be good, okay?” Pound chuckled, staring down. “I wanted the next time to be…”
“Wanted it to be fun, yeah. I can see that,” Pumpkin replied as she followed his gaze.
The proof was there - every massive, swollen, rigid inch of it, jutting up into the air and pressing unsubtly against Pumpkin’s belly. It was the sort of rapid response that a young stallion like Pound could only achieve after having gone without sex for way, way too long.
Three days without fucking Pumpkin might be considered too long. A whole week was definitely too long.
Two months was torture.
“I bet you haven’t even touched yourself, huh?” Pumpkin muttered, snaking her forehoof down and wrapping it around the base of his shaft. Fireworks exploded in Pound’s skull as he moaned, and a large dollop of pre spurted out of his shaft and splattered against Pumpkin’s belly.
“Oh, no. Nope. Slow down, Pounder.” Pumpkin removed her hoof and started wriggling out of Pound’s grasp. “I know you’ve got to make up for two months’ time, but you’re going to be making up for it inside me, okay? Not on.”
Pound’s eyes refocused just in time to watch Pumpkin turn around again, her perfect flanks swaying with every step as she sashayed over to Pound’s bed. Her mane fell in elegant locks down her shoulders as she looked back at him, and he found his body standing up and following her on its own.
“Right in me.” Pumpkin moaned as she sprawled her top half over Pound’s bed, leaving her hindquarters jutting out into the air. Every step brought Pound closer to her supple cheeks, her tight little hole and that perfect, slick slit. Waiting for him.
“Right in my poor old body. It’s been hungry for so long without your—”
Pound practically threw himself on top of her, grinding her body into the bed as his cock jabbed eagerly against her sex. A less experienced stallion might have fumbled about from his vantage point while trying to find the right hole, but months and months of practice lead to Pound shifting his hips with practiced ease around Pumpkin’s, grinding his broad, flat head against her tantalizing slit within seconds.
Then Pound flexed his hips and pushed, and Pumpkin yelped as he started to stuff his way inside.
This was how sex should feel. This snugness, this warmth that squeezed around his dick like a glove as he filled Pumpkin inch by inch—this was where his cock was supposed to go. This was the pussy he was supposed to claim. This was the mare that he was supposed to fuck, every day, whenever the mood struck. Every delighted whimper out of Pumpkin as he stuffed her fuller and fuller with his fat, throbbing dick was a reminder that it wasn’t just their minds that were made for each other. Their bodies were meant to do this, too. Over and over and over…
“F-fuck, Pounder!” Pumpkin gasped as he squeezed his medial ring against her engorged slit. “You really do need it bad, huh…?”
Pound’s answer was another thrust, slamming his hips against her harder than before. Pumpkin’s response as that thick medial ring popped inside of her was a delighted squeal. A rhythm sprung up organically: With every moan, a thrust. With every thrust, a moan. It took under a minute for Pumpkin to be reduced to a mewling mess as Pound buried himself up to the hilt and hammered into her again and again and a…
Again, and…
And…
Oh, fuck.
Without warning, Pound erupted. A groan poured out of his lips as load after sticky load poured into Pumpkin’s pussy. His eyes glazed over and a blush tinged his cheeks as he kept cumming, and he barely even noticed that he’d filled her so full of his seed that some of it was starting to dribble out again.
“Ffffhhhhhh...Pounder, I...fffffff…” Pumpkin panted.
Pound’s vision was starting to come back into focus. “Hffff...that...hfff...H-how was…?”
“Nhh...need…” Pumpkin chuckled weakly and wriggled, sending another pleasant twinge through Pound’s cock. “I need more. You were...fuck, that was fast…”
“Two months...hff...Two months’ll do that to you.” Pound chuckled, trying to relax his . “Okay. Right. So, uh…”
But Pumpkin was moving again, pulling herself forward inch by inch across the bed. Pound tried to relax, tried to think of the most boring things possible - anything to get him soft enough to make his sister’s pullout easier. One tug, two—and finally the medial ring came free of her passage, eliciting another whimper of delight out of Pound as Pumpkin crawled free. Slowly, Pumpkin changed tack and crawled up near the head of Pound’s bed, before turning over on her back with a sigh, staring up at him like she was about to ask for a bedtime story.
“F-felt good? To take me like an animal?” Pumpkin huffed.
Pound nodded.
“How about…” Pumpkin giggled. “How about taking me like a pony this time? Face to face. You and me.”
Pound started to hoist himself onto the bed. “Lover to lover?”
Pumpkin’s cheeks went a little more pink as her hind legs twitched. “Lover to lover.”
Pound pulled himself on top of her, chests almost touching, his cock full mast again and mere inches from her slit. Blushing as his muzzle hovered right over hers. “Brother and sister.”
Pumpkin giggled. “I love it when you say that.”
Pound’s cockhead bumped gently against Pumpkin’s entrance. “Brother and sister.”
“Like we were made for each other.”
“We were meant to be together,” Pound confirmed as he pushed a little harder. It felt almost like he was slipping inside of her this time as he squeezed into her seed-slicked passage with a satisfying squelch.
Pumpkin whimpered in delight as he slit stretched to accommodate its new guest. “Always and forever. You’re the best early Hearth’s Warming present ever, you know that?”
Pound’s blush grew as he slowly began to refill Pumpkin’s pussy. “Should I have waited a few days?”
“If you try to make this some sort of messed-up hearth’s warming present, I’m gonna tie your dick in a bow and throw you under a tree in the middle of the Everfree Forest. Fair warning.”
“Fair.” Pound squeezed his way inside his sister’s jizz-soaked pussy until his medial ring mashed against her slit once more. “Ready?”
“Ready for anything you can throw at mmmMMMMM…”
With a wet, satisfying pop, Pound thrusted, fitting the entire ring inside her in one go. Pumpkin whimpered, face screwed up in arousal and delight as pound continued to feed her overstuffed pussy with his thick, veiny cock, stretching her marehood wider and wider as he shoved himself inside.
“Pound, I…” Pumpkin moaned. “I…!”
Pound pushed himself in up to the hilt, and Pumpkin came. Words, even basic sounds failed her as she spasmed, flooding Pound’s dick with even more warmth as her juices squirted out of her gaping sex, dribbling down Pound’s swollen shaft and onto the bed.
Slowly, Pound pulled back, then pushed forward again. Back, forward. Back, forward. Pumpkin shuddered and twitched with every thrust, still leaking her juices onto the bed, slowly coming back from ecstatic oblivion.
“That…” Pumpkin whimpered.
“Two months in the making, huh?” Pound huffed, grinning as he thrusted again.
“Hey, I’m the only one allowed to tease.” The corner of Pumpkin’s mouth twisted, and her passage abruptly contracted, squeezing even more snugly around Pound’s engorged member. Pound groaned, feeling a now-familiar churning tingle from his balls to his base as Pumpkin gasped for breath.
“Hah. Hff. You…?” Pumpkin huffed, squeezing again.
Pound’s face screwed up with desire as he hammered her even faster. “Y-yeah. Close again.”
“Same.” Pumpkin’s body began twitching, reflexively squeezing and relaxing around Pound’s cock as he pushed harder and harder. The churning tingle in his balls grew more intense, more, more…
“I’m—”
They came as one.
In that moment of climax, they were interwoven; in coitus, their bond became a bond as old as biodiversity itself. Love spurted out of Pound and into Pumpkin; Love squirted out of pumpkin and onto the bed and Pound’s nethers. Orgasm hit with the force of a hurricane, and the world outside of it faded into oblivion.
As it was meant to be, always and forever.
***************
“Wow.”
Pound had no idea how much time had passed. He wasn’t sure he had any idea what time it was supposed to be. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know whether he wanted to know the time or not.
If he knew the time, it would mean having to turn around. It would mean having to take his eyes off of Pumpkin’s beautiful face, or to stop cradling her head and pull his hoof out of the tangle of her lush locks of mane, or to pry his body off of her and sever their bond.
“Wow...what?” Pumpkin giggled, reaching a hoof up to stroke her cheek.
“Just amazed. Surprised I forgot how essential that felt.”
“I’m not sure I’d know many other ponies that’d use the word essential.” A gentle smile flitted onto Pumpkin’s cheek as she let her forehoof linger.
“I’m not sure many other ponies would have a bond like this,” Pumpkin replied. “Or, y’know…”
“Not sure they’d love like this?”
Pound’s gentle smile matched Pumpkin’s. “Yeah.”
“I’m not sure they would, either.” Pumpkin pulled her hoof away. “I missed you.”
“Me, too.”
Silence settled.
Abruptly, looking somewhat sheepish, Pumpkin broke the silence. “Not that I don’t love this, but, uh...I figured you’d be the one telling me we need to shower.”
“We...oh, fuck, you’re right.” Groaning in annoyance, Pound pushed himself off of Pumpkin and slowly began to pull backward. “Hopefully dad won’t get annoyed.”
Pumpkin smirked. “Fuck dad, Pounder. Not literally, I mean, but.”
“C’mon, don’t say that.” Pound grunted as he continued to extricate himself. “He really does—”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t blame him. He’s definitely cooler than mom about this.” Pumpkin sighed. “Doesn’t mean it sucks any less that we have to deal with their kind of blather.”
“I guess that’s fair.” With a wet, sticky noise, Pound finally popped free. “Ugh. Yeah, I definitely need to do laundry. My bed’s an utter mess.”
“Hey, I’m not taking all the blame on that one.” Pumpkin poked her tongue out at Pound. “Bleh. Anyway, it’s gonna have to wait until after dinner and the shower.”
Pound stared down at Pumpkin. Pumpkin stared back at Pound.
Abruptly, the two of them broke out into the exact same smirk.
“You know, you did say we should save water…” Pound drawled.
“We’ve definitely got some time left.” Pumpkin arched an eyebrow. “Up for another round?”
“I wouldn’t mind.” Pumpkin grinned. “Let’s make it extra spicy.”
