Movie Night

When Yona was younger, a pony had visited the village where the yak had grown up. It was winter — or what passed for it in Yakyakistan, where “summer” was a single bead of sweat under your hood one odd afternoon in August — and the pony thought he’d been prepared for it. A group of ice fishers had found him draped in icicles under an outcropping of rock, bluer than his fur from cold, and brought him back to town for a hot meal and a hotter fire to eat it by. It was the first time Yona had ever seen a pony. Frankly, Yona hadn’t thought that much of him.

He wasn’t rude or greedy, far from it. The only words that escaped his chattering teeth in his first hours with them were “thank you,” in a garbled tone clearly learned from a book rather than a yak’s voice, and it remained his trademark phrase over all the weeks he’d called the village home. And he’d learned more words too, as he spoke with the elders and heard the old stories and worked himself ragged helping any way he could, learning from repeated experience how nice fresh snow felt against muscles overworked from carrying oil jugs and tying nets.

But he’d also tried to teach the yaks words too — concepts, and meanings, and contexts foreign to every yak Yona had ever met. He’d meant well, and was eternally patient with intrigued and irreverent pupils alike, but Yona found him confusing nonetheless. Yona didn’t see a point to learning a new language when the one yaks already had was perfectly good, especially when that new tongue seemed so concerned with style over substance.

Ponies didn’t just have names — they had pronouns, short shared words in place of chosen distinct ones, and adjectives and idioms and countless other ways of sorting and separating themselves the moment someone met them. Not necessarily useless words, sure, but hardly necessary either. Day to day, it didn’t much matter what shape a yak had under shapeless layers of coats and skins, or what hung between a yak’s legs or from a yak’s chest when every other body part worked the same as anyone else’s.

And that was what Yona couldn’t help but think while the pony stayed in the village. Yona was Yona, not “she” or “I” or “yak a different shade of brown from another.” No pony was going to change that. Not even a friendly one who smiled when he complimented Yona’s knack for learning things quickly, and who etched into spare scraps of driftwood drawings of trees as tall as mountains and cities of sturdy houses built from their trunks — images of impossible things Yona lied awake at night staring at once the pony eventually trekked back home.

Even after the pony had sent a letter to the village in a burst of magical green fire inviting them to participate in a “Friendship School,” even after Yona had been chosen as the village’s most promising potential student, the finer points of the Equestrian language still eluded the world-trotting yak. There were more adjectives than those the pony had mentioned, more idioms, even words and phrases stolen wholesale from other languages — and above all, an expectation that Yona learn them all quickly, and stick to them, and be polite to the rare pony who stuck their nose up and grumbled over a forgotten article or preposition or, stars forbid, pronoun.

But in the end, it was worth it, because Yona had lived up to the school’s purpose and then some. Yona had blossomed beyond all expectation through Gallus’ acerbic wit, Smolder’s hardy resolve, Silverstream’s exuberance and Ocellus’ adaptability. Yona had met Sandbar, come to know his measured thoughts and pensive gaze and effortlessly kind heart, fallen for him in a way usually described only in books rather than words and motions.

And most of all, Yona had learned that sometimes it did matter what a yak or pony or any other creature had hidden under their clothes — provided, of course, they knew how to use it.

Thankfully, Yona was a fast learner. And Yona had exceptionally good taste in friends.

“Hmm?” Gallus hummed, snapping to attention as Yona’s fingers grazed the back of his neck. He hadn’t even noticed the yak approach him, hypnotized as he was by Smolder and Silver groping and rubbing against each other on the floor, sloppily swapping what remained of the cum they’d licked off Gallus and Sandbar back and forth across their tongues.

Yona couldn’t really blame him. It was a pretty hypnotizing sight. But Yona had something else for him to look at — something small and square, pressed into his palm as the yak leaned over and kissed him. He wrapped his hand around it, and Yona felt his eyelashes flutter as he blinked in recognition. The yak pulled away and stepped back, pulling the griffon up off the couch and leading him forward with a crooked smirk and just-so-angled hips.

Another bit of knowledge that Friendship School had provided: with just a bit of knowledge and a bit more practice, boys were really easy to boss around. It was Yona’s second-favorite thing about them. The first stood stiff between Gallus’ legs, bobbing left and right as he stumbled along, and between Sandbar’s legs as well where he sat on the floor waiting for his partner and friend to walk over.

As Yona knelt, Sandbar leaned back and laid flat, inviting the yak to crawl overtop of him and straddle him at the hips. Yona settled right below his waist, hands running up and down his chest, soft slick folds pressing his cockhead into the little bump of muscle and minimal fat just under his navel. He bit his lip as those folds began to slide back and forth — as Yona ground against him, warming them both up, lips curling at the corners as Sandbar’s face crumpled in pleasure.

The yak leaned forward, elbows on either side of the pony’s head, breasts dangling just far enough for the nipples capping them to brush delightfully against Sandbar’s pecs. He grabbed one in each hand, kneaded and squeezed, leaned up to plant a kiss under Yona’s chin that tingled like an electric spark — and in the same moment, he shifted his hips, angled his tip, and thrust upwards, parting Yona’s folds, slipping inside.

Yona’s hips dropped with a smack and took him to the base — then lifted — then dropped again. Sandbar let out a shaky sigh almost pitched high enough to be a moan. He might be pretty fresh off a climax, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the ride just as much as the destination.

And hopefully, the same could be said for Gallus. Still riding Sandbar’s rapidly-slickening dick, Yona leaned even farther forward, chest squashed against the pony’s, hips flared, fully exposed to anyone watching and — hopefully — waiting for a sign to jump in.

That was the sign, Gallus. Jump in already.

Sandbar’s hands shifted and clapped down on each side of Yona’s ass — and finally, Yona felt another pair of hands land just above them, squeezing gently, bracing the body attached to them as it got down in a bow-legged squat above Sandbar’s knees. After another moment, Yona felt a dollop of chilly slick liquid, and then a thumb on top of it, smearing it into the pucker just above Sandbar’s pistoning prick — and then the soft head of Gallus’ hard cock, wrapped in the condom handed to him earlier, prodding and pressing and nearly penetrating.

The yak’s head dropped — lips pressed against Sandbar’s — throat vibrated with an amorous groan as Gallus pushed forward. Yona’s backdoor opened around his head, allowed him inside, clamped down as inch after inch of his shaft stretched it wider and sunk in deeper. When he bottomed out, Sandbar did too, both boys’ hips flush against the yak’s skin, both cocks filling Yona as completely as any creature could ever want.

Yona shuddered, and clenched up, and let out the closest thing any yak had to a moan — a drawn-out sigh, and a voracious grin, and two identical glances backwards and then down that served as a silent order: “Keep going.”

So they did — slowly at first, awkwardly, sacks bumping together as their hips flexed and their cocks plunged arrhythmically in and out. Yona smirked, thinking of a joke that a surprising number of creatures didn’t realize was one: “It’s only gay if the balls touch.” Sandbar found it funny too. In fact, he chuckled each time it happened, lip clamped in his teeth again, pace slowed down seemingly just he could be definitely-not-gay with Gallus a couple more times.

Yona squeezed Gallus’ prick, and Gallus squeezed back — with his hands on Yona’s ass, and with his balls down on top of Sandbar’s. He was in on the joke too. It had taken him long enough to be, Yona thought — and that was the last thought Yona had for a bit, because the slight pause was enough for both boys to find their flow.

As Sandbar thrust in, Gallus pulled out, and with every motion their cockheads rubbed together inside Yona, separated only by thin flesh and the pulses that rocketed through Yona’s core every time it happened. The yak went from sighing to grunting to silently gritted teeth, eyes tightly shut, throat peppered with kisses from Sandbar underneath as he and Gallus thrust faster and fucked harder.

It wasn’t hard to cum like this. All Yona had to do was relax a bit and let Sandbar and Gallus do all the work, something that had once felt wholly unnatural to the yak. It had almost been a problem, even, when Yona had first started dating Sandbar — not because he was impatient, but because he desperately wanted to please his partner and worried it was his fault he couldn’t.

It wasn’t, and never had been. Yona was just used to self-containment, and at first pleasure like this had felt too much like the opposite, too much like the growing pains of leaving home and living in a place far away from it in every possible sense.

Even with a pony worth trusting completely, and a griffon too for that matter, it still took Yona a bit to work up to it. But eventually, Yona did — and the yak’s reward was a heart-skipping throb, and an avalanche of fire and ice from head down to twitching toes, and spine-arching vision-blunting bliss.

Somewhere way in the distance, Yona heard a drawn-out sigh — maybe from Sandbar, maybe a moan. There hadn’t been any rush of air from his throat, or flex of his tongue against Yona’s. Must’ve been Gallus, then. He seemed like he was enjoying himself.

Yona felt Sandbar’s lips pull away, and looked down at his blurry face. His hips slowed a bit, from thrusting to something like swaying, like grinding on a sweaty dance floor to the thumping rhythm of an overworked speaker. Gallus followed suit a moment later, and time stretched with Yona as he bottomed out, each new moment of afterglow just as overwhelming and delectable as the last. When the last shudder wriggled out of Yona’s spine, Sandbar’s lips returned — kissing, caressing, adoring.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured — and despite knowing that already, despite hearing it often from friends and lovers and all manner of other creatures, Yona blushed anyway. It was one thing to know yourself, but another entirely to feel it — to be connected to the image in your mind’s eye all the way through, instead of just superimposed on top of it.

It had taken Yona years to feel like this — years of watching smaller and differently-shaped girls from across an impassable mental gulf, of hearing lots of new words that made no sense and a few that made far too much, of feeling like there was no hope of ever measuring up to a standard no yak was ever built to meet. And there wasn’t, of course — because they had no chance of measuring up to Yona, to a body carved like stone and soft like snow in springtime, to someone Sandbar loved so much Yona couldn’t help but feel the same.

To her.

Yona used to hate that word, that expectation, that label made by foreign creatures with foreign ideas about what someone was and should and could ever possibly be. Yona still rarely thought of it, still hardly ever felt any connection to it. But with Sandbar, and good friends, and the new kind of strength they’d helped bring out to match the kind Yona already had… sometimes, it fit.

Like right now. Like when Sandbar looked up at her, and saw her inside and out, and cherished every single part of her. And she told him how she felt in the best way she knew how, pressing her forehead to his, whispering so only he could hear:

“I love you.”

He shifted his hands, slid them behind her head, held her as he kissed her and whispered back. What he said didn’t translate very easily — Yona’s native language shared little structurally or semantically with Equestrian, and as much as she appreciated his effort, Sandbar’s accent was awful. But she understood him nonetheless, what he’d said and what he meant and what, if you did translate it, was short and simple and so deep-down wonderful to hear:

“Sandbar loves Yona too.”

And that was enough. Yona shivered, moaned, and came again — soaking Sandbar’s pelvis, clenching around Gallus’ cock hard enough to make him grunt. If the griffon was uncomfortable, he got over it quickly, driving his hips against hers and his shaft deep inside her, opening her wider and lifting her just a bit higher over her peak with every steady slapping thrust, until suddenly he stopped again, every muscle tensed, hands vice-gripped around her ass.

She couldn’t feel his cum inside her — the condom saw to that, and a few other things as well — but she certainly felt him cumming, felt his shaft twitch as his seed pulsed up and out of it, sending shudders rolling down from his shoulders through his clawed hands. She gripped him as hard as she could, accentuating his pleasure, finding no small amount of it for herself, until he huffed out a satisfied sigh and withdrew, leaving her a bit emptier in one way but more than fulfilled in others.

Sandbar still hadn’t cum yet, though. In fact, Sandbar had his head tilted back away from Yona, looking upside-down at something out of view — or someone, as Yona looked up and saw for herself.

Ocellus had had her minute, and had come back to drop onto her knees before Yona, eyes wide and cheeks pink, lips parted and shaking as she took in lusty gulps of air. Arousal radiated off of her, from her transfixed expression to her hardened nipples to the in-and-out flexing of her abdomen — and most of all, the turgid, twitching shaft between her legs, a bit shorter than Gallus’ and a little thinner than Sandbar’s, protruding out over a tight sack the same periwinkle shade as the rest of her.

“H-Hi,” the changeling said in a trembling, thin voice. “Can I… I-I mean, would you, um…”

Yona and Sandbar shared a glance, then a smile, then directed both up towards Ocellus, who flushed an even deeper red. Yona knew how much Sandbar loved when Ocellus felt like this. Truthfully, Yona loved it too — and now, together, they could show her just how much.

Sandbar slotted his hand into the crook of Ocellus’ knee, gently tugging until they shuffled awkwardly forward. When they were nearly straddling his head, Yona wrapped her own hand around Ocellus’ thigh right where it started to curve up and out into their butt, pinching and poking until Ocellus had gotten close enough for their cock to bump against Yona’s lips.

She smirked, and winked up at Ocellus, and slowly extended her tongue, flicking the tip ever so delicately under the changeling’s. Ocellus jerked, and clapped their hand over their mouth, and let out a muffled squeaky moan as Yona licked them again, each stroke longer than the last, slathering their shaft in the kind of love you didn’t need to be a changeling to feel.

Yona slid her lips over Cell’s head, and Sandbar propped himself up so he could nose his muzzle into her sack, brushing his lips over and flicking his tongue between shallow ridges of soft blue skin. Together, they worked their way closer to each other, Yona sliding more of Ocellus’ cock into her mouth as Sandbar went from smooching the changeling’s balls to gently suckling on one. Ocellus did nothing but tremble, and that was just fine with Yona. When she let her free hand come to rest on — and then tightly grip — one of Yona’s horns, though, that was even better.

When Yona’s nose bumped against Cell’s pelvis, they humped forward a little, pushing their shaft a millimeter further over Yona’s tongue. They weren’t long enough to reach her throat, but that suited Yona fine too. Bigger could be better in lots of ways, but “proportional” was always best — Ocellus’ cock fit them perfectly, and fit in Yona’s mouth like it was designed to be kept there. Actually, maybe it was. They were a changeling, after all.

“Ahh… hmm… S-S-San…”

Ocellus tried to speak, and every time she did, Yona dragged her lips up and back down her shaft, lavishing her with her tongue along the way. If she wanted to ask Sandbar something, she’d have to mean it, and he’d have to feel like listening. He didn’t seem worried about it at the moment — he’d switched from one pliant little orb to the other, rolling it between his lips as he smoothed out the skin covering it with the flat of his tongue.

“S-S-Sandbar, your… can you…”

He slowed his pace enough to show Cell he’d heard them, and kept it steady enough to tell them they needed to be more specific. They did their best, even as Yona sped up — saliva trickling down Cell’s shaft from where the yak had switched from gentle swipes over the changeling’s head to loud and lecherous slurps.

“J-Just… little f-farther back… please…”

If she’d been able to, Yona would’ve smiled. Ocellus had asked so nicely for what she wanted, Sandbar couldn’t do anything but give it to her. He shifted forward a bit, rigid cock bouncing as it slid out of Yona’s pussy, and pressed his nose right where Cell’s pussy might’ve been on another night, fondling the backside of her sack with his ever-dexterous tongue.

The effect was instant. Ocellus seized up, bending at the waist and thrusting into Yona’s mouth, their breath leaving them in a shuddering rush. Yona softened her lips and curled her tongue, drawing Ocellus deeper inside, encouraging them to put her mouth to good use.

And they did — thrusting again and again, each one a little harder and faster, whining in growing rapture as they gave Yona the sloppy, indelicate face-fucking she’d been silently hoping and begging for. Sandbar couldn’t keep up for long, so he switched from caressing Cell’s nuts to kissing the insides of their thighs and hooking his hands around their butt, egging them on with smooches and squeezes in what he knew were all the best spots.

Yona could’ve stayed like this for hours, tingling from head to toe, using Ocellus for pleasure and being used by Ocellus for the same. But she knew she wouldn’t have to. Cock or pussy or both at the same time, it didn’t matter — Ocellus had always been, was now, and would probably always be a hair-trigger. It was everyone’s favorite thing about her.

At the same time, Yona felt what Sandbar saw: Ocellus’ shaft jumped in Yona’s mouth, and her balls tightened above Sandbar’s nose. Yona opened her mouth, pulled back just enough for Cell to feel fresh air around her twitching dick for a moment, then grabbed it firmly in her hand, stroking vigorously and mercilessly. She met Ocellus’ eyes right before they rolled back into the changeling’s head — then she stuck her tongue out, shut her own eyes, and felt Cell’s climax ripple through all three of them.

Thick gobs of warm cum spurted across Yona’s muzzle and into her open mouth — one, two, three, and after that Yona stopped counting. Beneath her, she could feel Sandbar repositioning again so he could catch every droplet that didn’t pool on Yona’s tongue, and so the weaker pulses from Cell’s cock as they crested the top of their peak could land closer to his own lips.

It didn’t taste sweet, like Ocellus was in all other ways. It was cum. It tasted salty and thin and a little bit chalky. But the low and unrestrained moan Ocellus let out, the feeling of their pleasure dripping down Yona’s chin, the sight she saw when she cracked her eyes open of the changeling slumped on their butt and almost comatose in front of her? That was delicious.

As Ocellus flopped spread-eagled onto her back, her dick deflating until it came to rest on her spit-soaked sack, Yona felt Sandbar’s hands wrap around her shoulders. She looked down at him, and a dollop of jizz dripped off the end of her nose, plopping down on Sandbar’s flushed cheek.

“Heh,” he chuckled, as she chuckled with him. “You look good like this.”

“Yona always looks good,” she shot back, before pausing and wiggling her hips. Sandbar was still hard, his tip poking up into her entrance at just the right angle to stretch her a bit without squeezing inside. “Feels like Sandbar wants to make her look better,” she added.

He smiled, and angled his hips, and pushed against her — a statement of intent that hit Yona’s heart like a spray of kerosene into a hot air balloon’s burner.

“I know exactly what I want,” he crooned.

Yona smiled, and squeezed him, and sighed in satisfaction as he led her onto her feet and back towards the couch. Their friends could handle themselves. For now, all she wanted was Sandbar, and all he wanted — in mind, body, and every word anyone had ever thought of — was her.