Warm. Soarin felt like he could have stood under the warm water all day. Nourishing, in a shameful way, not as though that made any sense. It just felt like he'd curled up under a comfy blanket the size of the entire world, and if he just slumped to the ground and let the warm wash cover him, it might rinse away everything. He wasn't sure he'd even be there to open his eyes again.

Well, that was all very immaterial. Physically, he was just standing in a shower. The 'club' shower, as he might refer to it to somepony else if he was explaining... what was it he was explaining again? Well, he wasn't explaining anything. He was just supposed to be getting clean, after practice.

That was another thing: Spitfire and Rainbow Dash and the rest of the squad had been very happy to see him. 'Relieved', was the way they'd put it. Soarin didn't personally see what all the fuss was about. It wasn't that peculiar for him to go on an unannounced vacation for a few days, was it? Besides which, he came back fine in the end. So fine, he could barely even remember why he'd felt he needed a vacation in the first place.

Soft, warm water. Soarin let out a long sigh. His hooves were running absentmindedly over his body almost of their own accord. The small amount of soap he'd cleaned himself with was long since washed away by the water, along with much else. But still, he liked the feel of hooves on his body, even if they were his own... and with his eyes closed, and the right memory's remnant of spice and cinnamon, he could barely tell the difference between his own hooves and... and...

Oh dear. He'd gotten hard in the shower. Lucky there was nopony else in there with him to see at the moment.

Soarin shivered. Why did that thought make him feel so tingly all over?

Lately he found himself thinking strange and weird thoughts, even stranger and weirder than his usual fantasies about baked goods wearing bikinis... he would look over his shoulder more often, become seized with the urge to apologize even though nopony else was there. Become gripped with the urge to masturbate, impossible to find even a slight relief of tension or ability to focus until he'd 'taken care of business', sometimes more than once...

Still... it was just a shower. He could explore a little bit, and nopony would miss him for just a few minutes. Would they?

Already, his hooves were massaging his own balls, prompting a guttural sounding groan that echoed off the tiling of the expansive team-sized shower. If somepony else had been there, it would have been impossible for them to mistake the sound of tortured relief, wrenched from the depths that only depravity and overwhelming desire could dig.

But beyond that, like a high-pitched drone cutting through a silent night, there was one voice: a strong, clear, creamsicle-colored voice that made Soarin feel more at ease than any material construct could have. It was a voice from heaven, reassuring him, taking the weight off his wings and shoulders, allowing him to slip off every earthly constraint and simply be. It was a voice that rang, simultaneously, of servitude and freedom.

Mind your manners, it said simply.

Soarin nodded and resumed showering. He finished rinsing quickly and turned off the spray, then toweled off just as curtly.

Just in time, apparently, as the sound of hoofsteps on the shower tile grew closer by the second.

"Hey Soarin," came a familiar voice, yet still one he couldn't pin on top of a name. It was a co-flier, certainly, somepony he'd met and worked with, yet for some reason could no longer remember. They were just a face, now, an opportunity for following directions. "Everything okay in there? You've been in the shower a long time."

Soarin nodded to himself as he wrapped his towel around himself. Yep, doing fine.

"Yep, doing fine," he said out loud after thinking it to himself. "Just drying off."

"Okey doke." The voice tried to sound relieved without letting on that it was worried. It was successful in neither. "Just, you know, wanted to check in on you."

"I'll be out in a second," Soarin said. He waited for the sigh of relief, followed by hoofsteps leaving on the tile. Soarin allowed himself a series of long, deep breaths, steadying in his chest, before he made his way out of the shower room, prepared to face whichever of his teammates would appear first.

Which, as it turned out to be, was Spitfire.

She gave him a familial pat on the back, maybe even a little harder than normal.

"Glad to see ya again, old buddy," Spitfire said. Spitfire was so emotional normally, it felt strange to see her couching her admissions, only letting on a little how worried she'd been in the first place. "It's not like you to just up and vanish like that."

"Not since my old pie chasing days," Soarin responded cheerfully. Somewhere, in the background, a low humming noise was beginning to grow louder, piquing his interest and challenging him to stay fixated on the conversation. But the noise was part of an equation running underneath it all, and the longer he focused, the more he could sense the vibration of the sound running through him, starting inside, making his entire body feel resonant and perfect and...

"Well, just let us know before you take off next time and we won't be so worried." Spitfire rubbed a hoof playfully through Soarin's mane, roughing him up like they used to in the old days. The touch felt simultaneously supercharged and ephemeral, like Soarin was being caressed by a ghost.

"Sure thing boss," Soarin said. The humming was so loud now, he was unsure how everypony within a five mile radius couldn't hear it. But it was his hum. His for being a good boy. His for following directions. His for doing exactly what he was supposed to do.

Through the constant, reassuring tone, Soarin found his mind's eye drifting back to a memory of the evening prior. He'd been not too far away, and yet, to his teammates, may as well have been the entire earth dislocated.

Properly, he'd been down on the floor, polishing Orange Dream's cock clean with his mouth, paying special attention with his tongue along the underside of the head, and earning an approving moan for his efforts.

In the course of less than a week, Soarin felt like he'd gone through a university-level education in sucking dick. It turned out that having been on the receiving end of the gesture the majority of his romantic career meant Soarin's oral attentions had a number of techniques yet to unlock. It felt like he'd built up enough knowledge and execution that he could have taught a course in the subject if necessary, which is more than ever could have been said for his flying abilities.

One thing he had learned, first and foremost, was to make sure his attentions were wanted and needed before administering them. As desperate and delightful as the constant simpering attention from a whimpering submissive could be, it was important to remember that, above all, the pleasure of the pony in charge came first. Pony, creature, insect... the form was immaterial. What mattered was the authority.

At first, even this tenet had been a difficulty for Soarin. His mouth was over-eager, slavering constantly for something to fill it up, and the moment he was allowed to affix his lips to Orange Dream's shaft and begin coaxing it into hardness, an invisible, impossibly-large vacancy inside him felt filled up, before he'd even taken the tip onto his tongue.

Despite constant searching, there was nothing Soarin felt he could directly compare the act to. Possibly a kitten, mewling for its mother, or a baby bird, opening its beak, eyes closed, waiting for whatever would be offered forward? Soarin did find himself closing his eyes a lot as his mouth worked, he'd keep Orange's cock in view until there were scant inches between them, and then close his eyes, lean further forward, his lips parting, shivering along his entire body the first moment skin touched against skin.

When Orange was soft, it was Soarin's job to make him hard. That was something else he couldn't find a proper comparison, he couldn't think of anything in his life that resembled the act of gently coaxing another colt's cock into readiness. Soarin could appreciate the gesture from the opposite side, recall the few times he'd not yet been hard, waiting for a groupie to fall to the floor and attend to his shaft the same way he was now doing to Orange Dream. Little gestures would encourage him, show that he was steering in the right direction, muffled moans or Orange Dream's hooves running through his mane.

Once things had started getting hard, Soarin could use his cock more. He liked to pay special attention to circling around the base of Orange's shaft, appreciating the way the cock in his mouth got harder and harder, twitching from time to time as Soarin's tongue attended to it. At this point he was usually rock hard himself, overly-sensitive, whimpering of his own accord as he attempted to keep his cock from even barely touching the insides of his legs. Usually this was a futile process, and Soarin often felt himself get erect long before the cock he was attending to had reached full hardness. That was part of the fun though—his meager attempts to keep himself from becoming overly aroused, all while bringing Orange Dream's cock to full hardness.

Master, owner, sympathetic overseer... Soarin didn't have a particular word in mind for how he felt toward Orange Dreams, the growing dominion that linked them together like an invisible thread. Already, days had gone without meaning, potentially whole lifetimes while Soarin was being steered through his training. Potentially this was an exercise that would last an entire lifetime, accompanied by Soarin's increasing obedience and a low, satisfying humming that grew louder all the time.

'Make sure to pay attention to every bit of your charge,' Orange Dream had instructed several times previous. The thought popped into the back of Soarin's head like the snippet of a melody he'd long-since forgotten, and instantly, his hooves and mouth became more intense and interested, gently caressing Orange's balls with one of his hooves while giving invested strokes along Orange's rapidly hardening shaft. Proper oral attention was more involved than any other task Soarin could recollect, minus maybe the infinitesimal corrections to wing-angle and speed he needed to attend to when flying at top speed. Possibly everything in life related to a component of that comparison, something Soarin could see in his periphery but not ever connect the lines to. Maybe a perfect blowjob was a perfect race in flight, steadying himself at the starting line, feeling the nervous twitch in his wings as his whole body began to tingle.

While Soarin's mouth was busy with its ministrations, Orange Dream liked to narrate, dictate what was working and wasn't, and where the torrid turmoil between the two of them might eventually lead, if not affixed permanently in Orange Dream's sweaty but well-decorated bedroom.

"You're doing a very good job for somepony so new," Orange Dream would say, complimenting Soarin in the softest, slightest ways, but always being rewarded with a contended sounding mewl while Soarin's lips were wrapped around his cock. Naturally, the two exchanges coupled with each other, every compliment turning into a new incentive for Soarin to follow, one good turn deserving another.

Simply, there wasn't much else Soarin wanted to occupy himself with anymore. Flying was a dream he had many years ago, and if asked by his new owner, yes, he liked that word the most, he would have stayed here for years, forever, mouth open, panting on the ground, no purpose to his existence but to provide a receptacle for Orange Dream to drain his balls into.

That was all without the narration Orange Dream had eventually provided, a storybook unfolding while Soarin's lips worked their magic, desperately content to continue until they'd drained every last drop of semen from Orange's sack.

"I want to tell you what's going to happen," Orange Dream had said once. Soarin didn't remember the day. He remembered other things, stories and commands slotting into gaps of each other like an absurd, awful jigsaw puzzle. Possibly things would have been simpler if he could have just closed his eyes and thought of clouds. But it was better to pay attention.

Soarin had looked up just then, a sad kitten's eyes and his face distraught, a constant longing for approval and reassurance.

"Don't get distracted," Orange Dream had said, and pushed Soarin's head back down into place with one of his hooves. Normally this kind of intense direction was unnecessary. Even though it indicated an underlying frustration, and therefore pushing Soarin further in the direction close to 'punishment', he couldn't help but savour the force, the way his body became a vessel for use instead of something he owned. If he could have watched himself from above, a horny, desperate mess, writhing and whimpering on the ground, ready to be used from any direction like a bunch of holes attached to a pony's body...

Soarin began to shiver intermittently and continuously as he sucked at Orange Dream's cock. His own prick had begun to twitch along with the shivers, and was dribbling a steady trickle of precum down onto the bedroom floor between Soarin's legs.

"Eventually, everypony in the world will be as happy as you," Orange Dream went on. He began to rock his hips back and forth intermittently to the motion of Soarin's bobbing head, making the bedsprings creak ever so slightly in rhythm to the obscene act. Soarin's made soft gurgling noises in his throat as he did his best not to choke on Orange Dream's oversized dong.

Soarin wanted to ask what Orange Dream meant, but his mouth was fully occupied. And so, he continued without pause.

"Anypony can be happy as long as they have a purpose... someone or something greater than them, to serve as a guide." Orange Dream ran a hoof almost-lovingly through Soarin's mane, a long moan his reward. Orange Dream, despite his air of continual composure, began to fall apart at the edges ever so slightly when he was close to cumming. The outlines of his disguise would begin to flicker, revealing black, chitinous growths and the occasional pockmarked section riddled with holes.

Sometimes, as Orange Dream was cumming, Soarin swore he could see a million ponies in the place of one, and all those in the place of a mysterious, hybrid creature, its limbs writhing and mutating as it thrashed in place.

"Swallow," Orange Dream grunted gruffly as he smashed Soarin's face down with both hooves.

There was barely room for the wing-pony to move at all, so he contented himself to miniature wiggles, making sure to apply just a slight amount of friction and force to the cock slammed down his throat.

The moment he felt a hot spurt of cum at the back of his throat, Soarin's own cock began twitching furiously, spraying a continual long stream of clear-white jizm onto the bedroom floor.

Within seconds, the load in Soarin's throat was too much. He struggled his best to make sure not a single drop escaped his lips, but within seconds that was impossible, and a torrent of sticky warm cum was pouring down his chest, getting stuck in his fur and mingling with his own fluids as they pooled below.

If it could have stayed like that... Soarin didn't know if he'd ever wake up.

"Hey, Soarin. Glad to see you back, buddy."

And where was he again?

Soarin blinked several times. The Wonderbolts' changing room came back into view. Possibly it had never vanished, though Soarin's eyes had been attuned to a different frequency, matching the one buzzing and humming inside him, somehow imperceptible to everypony else.

"Oh," Soarin said. It was Thunderlane. Thunderlane. Why did he remember to pay special attention to... "Hey, Thunderlane." Big, masculine, standing only a few feet away. Soarin felt tiny lightning trickles surging through his head, aiming at different nerve endings, only curtailed by a high, clear voice, cutting through even the constant hum.

'Be patient', it said, Orange Dream's voice buried in his subconsious, cutting through storm and cloud and delivering the hyperliminal. 'Everything will fall into place eventually.'

Soarin spent an extra long time studying his teammates physique. That was part of the beauty of consciousness—that no matter how loud the hum in the back of your head, or no matter how fierce the instructions, no matter how far away the soft taste of skin on your lips, hardening and dripping salty fluid... no, you could wait. All you had to do was listen.

"Not like you to take off like that so often anymore. Didja get up to anything exciting while you were gone?" Thunderlane asked. He was leaning against one of the changing room lockers, looking on-purpose or accidentally like a buff teenage colt ready to seduce his mark between classes.

Whether or not Soarin fit the description of a school-age filly, he still felt the chills run up his spine, the little quiver of his legs threatening to give out spontaneously.

"Naw, not really," Soarin answered back. Hum, vibrate, soft sticky honey that filled his senses with a permanent intoxicating aroma. "Just met some new friends, hung out for a little while out of town."

"Must have been some great friends to be gone for so long," Thunderlane replied with a chuckle. He seemed content to stand in place against the lockers, accidentally or on-purpose giving Soarin a perfect view of his toned physique, each muscle stretched to slight definition in the position.

Hot nights. New voices, unfamiliar, and the need to be touched, everywhere, all over, forever. To kneel and beg and feel the hum lock you into place.

"Yeah," Soarin said. "They definitely were." Soarin shut the locker he'd been standing next to and wrapped a towel around his waist. "Maybe you'd like to come hang out with us next time?"

Thunderlane's face contorted for a moment. Whether he noticed it fully, or could even place it, there would be the slight hint of sugar and cinnamon wafting under his nose about now—and, if he listened very hard, the tiniest, most almost imperceptible hum in the background...

"Sure," Thunderlane said, only just a little too quickly. "That sound's great, actually."

Soarin smiled. He'd only been back less than a day, and already, he felt like he was doing far more in the service of a greater goal than anything he could have accomplished with his wings and teammates, flapping around clouds and making a general spectacle of themselves.

All that was left was a continuation... a low hum, and patience.

Soarin felt he could have a lot of patience now.

Author's Note

A big thanks to our patrons: Sorden, carcinoGenetecist, David, infernap12, Nick, & Ariakami. Also thank you to everyone who has commented with kind thoughts during the holidays. <3