Soarin Smells Sweetly

It occurred to Soarin as he followed Orange Dream through the simple wooden front door that normally, after meeting a fan and having things go so well, the two of them would have gone back to hisplace instead, a nice little fully-paid-for bachelor apartment suite in Cloudsdale, with the attire made of haphazard remnants from college days and flying victories just the way he liked it. He would know where everything was, and have an implicit sense of power, be able to offer more drinks and ogle the newcomer as they situated themselves on the couch, no doubt studying the accolades adoring the walls and getting even more hot and bothered with admiration for the Wonderbolt they were theoretically about to be boned by...

This wasn't bad, though. It was just... different.

Orange's place was quite nice, for one, a quaint little home on the outskirts of Ponyville's residential boundary. Soarin didn't spend much time on the ground, and even less just plowing through the houses of random residents, but he guessed that the place had cost a pretty pile of bits, given how well the state of it held up. Only a single story, but with nice wooden fixtures on the... was he a real estate agent all of a sudden? Well, there was a nice fluffy red couch, so he sat down on it, the same way the other pony usually did. Now was about the point he'd offer them—

"Would you like something to drink?" Orange Dream's voice drifted sweetly from the kitchen to the living room, hanging in the air with a vague melodious tone that stuck in Soarin's ear about the same as syrup. It made his legs clench together and the hair on the back of his neck stand up in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever noticed it doing so before. Like he was about to be pounced and devoured by a very large, toothy apparition in the Everfree. The thought worried him less than he imagined it ought to.

"Yes, please," he answered back. Bits of conversational script seemed to be filtering through his head in more cumbersome ways than usual. Possibly they were being gummed up by all the honey, or syrup, or whatever it was... though, wasn't that just a metaphor?

Soarin scratched his head. He was no good with metaphors. Pie was simpler.

The drink Orange Dream brought out between his hooves was bright green with a little pink umbrella sticking out of the top. Soarin inhaled deeply as he took it inbetween his own hooves, and caught a strong fragrance of mint, on top of a wispy, wavy flavour-smell he couldn't quite place. He took a sip, and felt like he'd just taken a swig of sweet-tasting, bubbly toothpaste. He took another sip, and licked his lips afterwards. As a kid, he'd always enjoyed eating the bubblegum flavoured toothpaste when his parents weren't paying attention. Sometimes, as an adult, he still caught himself putting on an extra big gob just to swish it around in his mouth.

"What is this?" Soarin asked. He took a third sip, already halfway through the drink. The umbrella bobbled cutely along the side of the glass. "It's really good." Sip. Sip.

Orange Dream smiled sweetly.

"Oh, just a little something I made myself. I call it the 'kudzu swallow'... it really creeps up on you, heh..."

Soarin smiled goofily. He was aware there had been some kind of joke made, but wasn't feeling collected enough to say he'd followed it at all.

"Heh," he said, for good measure. Just in case. Sip.

Huh. Where had his drink gone? It seemed only a few seconds ago he'd started it, now the entire thing had vanished. Just the ice was clinking around at the bottom, stained faintly with effervescent green, and the little umbrella trapped inbetween...

"Would you like another one?" Orange Dream asked. When he asked, he leaned so close that Soarin could feel hot breath on his cheek. It made him shuffle in his seat, doing his best to keep his hind legs clenched unsuspiciously together.

"Yes. I mean, uh, yes, please." Soarin offered his empty glass, and shivered when Orange Dream's hoof touched against his own during the transfer. Another thing... normally, Soarin would never find himself tongue-tied when doing a meet-and-greet—well, maybe more of a 'meat-and-greet', all things considered... the point was that fans got nervous around him, not the other way around.

Things felt heavy. It was a sentence that didn't do a good job of translating Soarin's current state of mind... his body felt heavy, when he thought of getting up from his seat, when he reached for the drink he'd forgotten wasn't there, was being refilled in the kitchen... and his head was swimming too, in a sort of familiar way that felt like a combination between alcohol buzz and the stuffy-sensing inability to process simple information that came after eating too many pies in one sitting. Soarin swooned a little on the couch, leaning against the fluffy back of it for balance. Maybe he ought to go lie down somewhere, yes, that seemed like a good idea...

"Here," Orange Dream said. He was back, with another drink in his hooves, and one for himself too. Two. That was two drinks.

Soarin smiled obliviously, staring into Orange Dream's eyes.

"Huh?" he said. He couldn't quite remember what they had been talking about.

"Here," Orange Dream said again. "Your drink." He giggled as he handed the green glass over, smiling wide as he watched Soarin indulge in a deep first draught.

"Mhm," Soarin said, wiping his mouth with his forearm, still leaving a little smear of green on the left side of his upper lip. "Did I mention this was really good?"

Orange Dream giggled again. His forearm moved surreptitiously and without notice over the back of the couch and around Soarin's torso. Pulled him close enough that the two of them were touching, legs brushing against each other on the couch.

"Yes," he said, "you may have mentioned that."

Soarin took a pause from his drink to sniff the air, pointedly and loudly. "Mmm," he said again, his eyes squeezed shut like he was savouring the smell of a freshly baked pie. Sniff. Sniff. "Is that some kind of cologne you're wearing?" Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. "I smelled it in the bar, I think." Sniff. "It smells really good."

Orange Dream just smiled.

"Oh, does it?" His face was painted in perfect innocence. "It's just something I threw on this morning... nothing fancy, in my opinion."

Soarin seemed to have forgotten about his drink. His hooves lowered it to the table as if on automatic, then returned to his sides, rubbing along the fuzzy red couch nervously, like he was trying very hard to focus on that part of his body instead of another one.

"Well," Soarin said, "it smells good. I mean, really good." Soarin noticed his tongue hanging out of his mouth, just the way it would have with pie—and, just like with a fresh pie, Soarin did nothing to correct it. He wanted to take in as many delicious molecules of the scented air as possible, the most amazing precursor to the moment when his lips finally parted and touched the crust of his delicious desire...

Woah. He'd almost fallen off the couch. Maybe... maybe he'd had too much to drink?

"Sorry," Soarin said, not apologizing for anything other than his light-headedness in particular, knowing he'd not done much of anything wrong but still would be better off saying sorry. "I'm just feeling a little... is there somewhere I could lie down for a little bit?"

Orange Dream's smile, at the corners, revealed the slightest hint of two very tiny, but very pointed little fangs.

"I think that could be arranged," he said, words slow and sinuous.

Like a single unit, the two of them got up from the couch. Soarin let himself be steered around the living room, down the unlit hallway to the open door, where Orange Dream ushered him in quietly, shutting and locking the door behind them.

Soarin's second drink remained unfinished on the living room table.