You stumble through your door, kicking it shut behind you. The old building giving a solid thud as the door hits the frame. Your shoulders feel as though they sag with a great weight piled on them. Your knees are stiff and the surrounding muscles protest with every movement, threatening to seize at the slightest wrong move. You'd lock the door, but with how tired you are and so little worth stealing here, plus, your troublesome tenants —marefriends— being the stuff of local, urban legend... you're not terribly worried about intruders. More like, worried for them. Being located just outside a small town and on the way to the next largest one had its advantages, too. Not terribly many ponies come out this way. Even to rent in a semi-convenient and very scenic location. Which, is a mystery to you but a story for another time.

In the ghost light of green candles and a crackling fire in the central fireplace, you slouch and slink your way into the shared living area, utterly spent. The hard wood of the floor only broken up by the occasional rug. Too tired to walk all the way up into your room, you plop your furry rump into the nearest, too-big-for-one-body, couch. The only one in the center of the room, directly across from the fireplace. Sure, you'd had to make the effort of walking around it, but the heat from the fire is worth it. No matter how much your bed calls to you, the couch calls louder. Legs and wings spread and slack over the cushions and arms of the plush chair, your back legs draped limply over the edge. You take a few deep breaths, staring into the flames with your head propped up against the back of the couch. You exhale a third time and hear hoof-falls tapping closer and closer to you.

"Not tonight, Skitter," you sigh, "I have no more Zaps to give," you groan. Today was not a good day.

A distinctly different, non-changeling, voice answered. "She'll be sorry to hear that."

Your eyes widen. Oh, no. Your fur stands on end and you turn to see your first marefriend, Bug Bite. She walks around the side of the couch, peering over at you with her glowing, ghostly-green eyes. Her faded white mane, smooth and shiny as ever, hangs lightly to the side of her head and down across her faded-lavender shoulder. She's not looking particularly odd or excited tonight, but that doesn't mean you can let you guard down just yet.

"Oh, uh... Evening, Ghosty. How are things?"

"Fine. I think. Are you okay?" she looks at you worriedly.

"If I said 'yes' would you believe me?"

"No."

"Then, no. I'm really not okay."

"Care to talk about it?" she steps closer.

"No. Not really." You relax and sink into the chair. Not away from the ghostly-colored batmare, but more-so just sinking into the embrace of the cushions. Oh thank fuck. She's not in a mood.

"Would you like a hug?"

Your ears pop up, "Say again?"

"A hug," she repeats, "do you want a hug?" She rests her hoof over the arm of the couch, gazing at you. Her concern is quite touching, if you're being honest. Not something you're used to from her.

"I... jus... yeah," you sigh heavily, "that would be very nice right now."

She smiled an uncharacteristically —for her— sweet smile. She lifts herself up onto the couch and drapes herself over you, pinning you between her barrel and the couch. She tucks her hooves tightly against your sides and wraps her leathery wings around you as much as she can. Her warmth is almost as like the fire's, but much less overbearing.

Something happened then, in that moment, you couldn't have expressed if you weren't ready for it. Nightmare damn you, you weren't ready for it! Her fluff, right in your face. You've never had more than an appreciation for a mare's fluff, and this mare had some FLUFF on her! The sensation, though, not what you were expecting. Softer than down and smoother than silk, with a warmth you can only describe as comfortable. She must have... yeah, you can smell it, she's really taken some time to care for herself. Not that it's unusual for this bat to do so, but it always comes as a surprise to you. Maybe it's just that she doesn't seem the type. Even thinking back on it, you can only pick out a hoof-full of times she's ever looked 'rough'.

Your own fluffy chest wasn't anything to scoff at, but hers was on a whole other level. It practically sucked you in, a powerful silky texture that smelled of fruits and cooked meat. Her warmth made her fur like a summer night's breeze against your face. No cloud could have ever been this soft, no wind this gentle. Her chest was the single most unimaginably blissful experience you'd felt to date!

You pushed her up, but kept your hooves around her shoulders, not quite pushing her completely off. You stared back and forth between her eyes and her fluff. This can't be real.

"Did I do something wrong," she looked at you, worried, "I didn't step on your tail or pull a feather, did I?"

"Where has that been all my life?!" you looked pointedly at her fluff.

"W-wha—" she looked down at herself, then it clicked, "you mean... you never noticed? Not even a glance or a grope?"

"Why would I do that? I mean, I've looked, and definitely admired, but I don't think I've ever deliberately felt your fluff." You gaped. " How do you even have fluff that soft?"

"W-well... all bats have this. I don't think mine's much different. Maybe a little fuller than most, but mostly the same." She blushes, searching your face for a hint of a lie, "You mean you really had no idea? I guess that explains a lot. I expected you'd try to grope me before now. Heck, I thought you kept this relationship just for this fluff."

Ooh, that one stung a bit. Maybe you have been a little too harsh towards her. "I... I'm sorry. It's not the fluff. You're just a bit overbearing sometimes. I like my personal space. Maybe a bit too much for my own good, I guess."

"O-oh. Yeah. Sorry, Nighty. I can't help myself sometimes," she blushed, "I'll try to do better. Promise!"

Her smile and genuine apology relaxes you a touch. "So, no more watching me bathe?"

"Heck no, you sexy bird-pony! I could just lick you all over!" She grinned.

Ah, there it is. Back into the trenches, it seems. Though, the thought of her running that long, pointed tong over your -ehem!- what were you talking about before? Oh, right! Dat floof!

"A-a-anyway... all bats are this soft?" You ponder that for several seconds. "That's it," you declare, "time for a harem!" You release your hold on her shoulders and let her floof envelope your face once more.

"...Huh?"

"I need a harem of fluffy batmares!" you say, muffled in the floof, then nuzzle her chest a bit to drive in the point, "That's the single softest thing I've ever felt. A bed of batmares for your lord and master!" You say dramatically, waving a hoof in the air over her back like a decree has been made.

Bug Bite giggles, then rolls her eyes at you, "Slo-o-ow down there, buckaroo! First off, that's kinda hot. Second, no! I'm the only bat you get to nuzzle the fluff out of."

"B-but! The fluff! How am I supposed to live without being smothered in a bed of fluff that luxurious?!" You playfully pout up at her, impressive since half your face is hidden.

"Oh, don't be a foal! It's not sexy. But more to the point, I'm fluffy enough for three bats!"

Ah, well, that's more than 'a little fuller than most' for sure. You'll definitely be verifying this if the opportunity strikes.

"You?" you say, disbelieving, "You're going to let me fluff your floof? Grab you by the fluffy? You?"

"Yes!" She said, mildly annoyed at the implication. "Why is that so hard to believe?" She picks herself up, pushing on the couch around your head to hold herself. The precious floof has left your face colder than before in its absence.

"Because you don't let other ponies touch you," you pointed, "I don't think you've ever so much as accepted a hug from the Ponk or let me pull your mane."

"Yes. Other ponies. I let others touch me, if I like them. But, I want you to touch me, Night. As for the mane, well, it takes so long to get this way," she flicks her head a bit, sending a short waft through her hair.

"I— guess that makes sense now that I'm thinking about it." And think about it you do. "If that's so, then, why are you so open about bucking and what you find sexy? Why do you constantly harass others with your tentacle fetish?" You give her an odd look, "...I HOPE all you've done is harass them. I'm not bailing you out of jail for assault, by the way."

She snorts. "No, not yet. I'm the only one that gets to stuff myself with those slimy, wriggling, suctioning, probing—."

You shove a hoof to her mouth. "Ew." She bats it away.

"S-shut up. Anyway," she continues, "I'm open because I don't like hiding everything about myself. I keep lots of things to myself, but, not something I can potentially share with others. Plus, I like to tease." She looks at you lustfully, "You know you like it, too. And, I like to be teased."

"I— yeah, I guess we do share that, huh?" Your gaze trials over her fluff again. "Hey, uh, wanna switch?"

"Ooh, yes, please!" she brightens at that. You think you felt her flick her tail too, but can't see from this position.

She hops down to let you slide off the couch. She hops up, twists around to lay on her back with her chest up for you to rest on. You now find yourself reacquainted with another feature of hers. Her very well-endowed breasts are also on full display below her fluff. You can feel a hot flush in your face and a stir in your loins as you stare openly. She catches you, placing a rear-hoof on your jaw to lift your gaze. "Hey, you can play with those later," her smile is both mischievous and kind, "it's time for cuddles and fluff."

You swallow, hard, then pull yourself back onto the couch and over the batmare. She smiles and watches you eagerly. You're careful not to step on her tail, wings or mane... though that last one definitely crossed your mind. You then lower yourself onto her. Acutely aware of the increasing pressure your belly is putting on her breasts. That is, until she wraps her wings around you again, pulling you down to her, and your head reaches her furry chest. Your face seems to melt into her softness once more. You're only blissfully aware of the rest of your body and hers. You sigh deeply. The soft fluff around your face cradling you like so many tiny tufts of silky clouds. You wrap your hooves around her gently, loosely locking yourself to this mare's feature.

A hoof gently traces your mane from ears to neck. She breathes in and you feel your head rising with her. Her warmth feeling as though she's carrying you like a summer wind ascending into the upper atmosphere, only to be set back down gently as the most precious and fragile of things when she breathes out. You find yourself —or rather are forgetting yourself— slipping away like the sun setting on a summer's night. Up and down your head rises in bliss while your imagination wanders through the skies in half-dreams.

She whispers softly into your ear, "You comatose, yet?" Her warm breath tickles your fluffy ears. A light giggle escapes her lips.

You don't want to talk, much less grunt. The effort alone makes you feel as if your voice will rip you from the heavenly embrace of her fluffy bosom. Instead you opt to squeeze yourself to her just a feather tighter. Speaking of feathers, you notice your wings are drooping when the tips of your primaries touch the edges of the couch and slip over.

"I guess you're pretty stressed, huh," her voice is like warm honey in your ears, "you need to relax more, feather-brain. I worry, you know? I see you worry about everything. What ponies think of you, what they expect from you. How much you work to be good at your work. How you avoid ponies to keep yourself safe from their unreasonable, unrealistic demands. How much you're trying to hide how you feel, and, how much you're afraid of hurting your friends. How much you worry about how much you worry."

That's not helping. You think lazily, feeling the tug of reality at your bliss. Your brows knit together ever so slightly. Her honey-d tones mixed with the reminders of your stress, not a great combo.

"How your family is, dealing with their issues. I know you care. You care so much it drives you crazy, that you can't always help," she says, wrapping her hooves around your head, "but you've got to let it go for a minute. Forget everything for a while and just rest. Just for a little while."

Her hug somehow makes you aware of how much your shoulders are pushing against her, which makes you notice how tense the rest of your limbs are. Coiled, like they're holding some heavy thing intent on crushing you for the slightest mistake, or maybe you're just trying to hold yourself up under all the stress.

When did that happen?

You're so taken aback by how stiffly you're holding yourself that you can now feel the awkward position you've been laying in. Your back legs are tucked under your knees and hips. Your front legs are pressing against the couch cushions on either side of the mare beneath you. Your neck feels bunched up, and your wings aren't even laying all that loosely around you. You slowly release your grip on the invisible weights and phantoms of worry. It takes some effort and concentration, but you manage it. Every muscle —one by one, it feels like— and every limb that releases you can feel more of you touch the couch beneath. It's as if you've been holding yourself above the ground through sheer tension.

Did release always feel this good?

"That's better," she coos, breathing softly, "isn't that better?"

You nod your head slightly, the smoothness of the action surprising you at how relaxed you are. No jerky, twitchy motions from stiff muscles. Just easy, calm movements. And that fluff! Holy fuck, her fluff could be a furry cloud on a summer night floating on silken winds! Your brain tells you this sensation should be impossible, that it's too good to be anything but a dream, or you're dead and have only just realized it.

"You okay down there?"

You trust your voice now, you let out a soft, slow whisper, "Mhmm."

She giggles, your breath tickling her fur. The sensation of her chest moving beneath you and the sweet sounds coming from her mouth, breathing, and heartbeat. "Comforting" is the only word that comes to mind, and it's woefully inadequate. Like a mother attending to her child. You feel strangely safe where you are. That thought brought with it all kinds of other —lewd— thoughts. Thankfully, Bug Bite can't read minds or she just might make good on them. You're content where you are, just as you are. In her fluff, in the blissful skies of your mind.

You hear her sniff the air. "Oh, my," she giggles, "did you just have a naughty thought?"

Damn bats and their hypersensitive senses sensing your hormonal secretions! Probably didn't help that the thought of her being motherly made your dick stir a bit in its sheath.

She hums, then after a moment's thought she speaks. "Maybe later. You need to relax, mister."

You nuzzle your face against her fluff. Your hooves find their way around her barrel, tucking in even deeper between the cushions and her sides. You hope the edges aren't digging into her skin. You wrap your wings around her in one, lazy effort. The appendages going slack immediately after.

"Whoa, aren't you grabby tonight," she giggles cutely, then coos in your ear, "Shhh, there there. You've got all night. I'm not going anywhere. My fluff is all yours. Only yours. You can have it as long as you like."

You hug her tighter, feeling those warm winds of fluff caressing your face and pulling you into a warm night of calm. If there was a heaven, you hoped it was here, in this ethereal floof.

Maybe batponies had magic other races didn't. They were similar to you —pegasi— in almost every way, obvious differences aside. Who gave a shit about cloud walking if it meant you could have fluff like this! Which reminds you, you need a better pillow. Maybe if you indulged Bug Bite and her craziness more often, she'd let you use her fluff instead of your, now admittedly, very underwhelming pillow.

Screw that pillow! That thing was dead to you. Not even worth the dirt off your hooves. Bat fluff is where it's at!

Oh, wow, you're feeling drowsy. Maybe a nap. Yeah, that sounds good.

Bug Bite hums a lazy tune, feeling you drift off to sleep. Like falling into blackness, or being sucked into it, you sleep.

Author's Note

Much thanks to Shakespearacles for checking this over for me!