Heat Season

Anon woke to a tickling itch at his nose. Blinking his eyes open, he saw a tangled mass of pink curls. Pinkie fidgeted in her sleep, her back to him. She mumbled something or other, twitching and whatnot, making little jerking motions with her head that tickled Anon's nose further. It seemed he'd spooned her sometime during the night.

He chalked up her fidgeting to a dream. Or maybe she was simply restless and full of energy even in sleep? It honestly wouldn't surprise him. Regardless, her fidgeting did not stop. In fact, it progressively grew more restless. She tossed and turned, kicking with her hind legs, brow knitted to a frown, her mutterings growing louder, but no more coherent. It got to the point he backed away so as to not get headbutted, or kicked with those hooves.

Pinkie practically vibrated. It got to the point he seriously considered shaking her awake. Indeed, he reached out with a hand with the intention to do so, when the pink mare jumped into the air. Pinkie somehow held the position. Both hooves shot to her head, eyes popped open, mouth open to let out a horrified gasp.

"OHMYGOSH, OHMYGOSH! I'm so late!"

Without even glancing at Anon, Pinkie became a pink blur and all but flew out the door. Anon heard the stomping of hooves down the stairs.

Anon stood, all traces of sleep gone now. He picked up his scattered clothes. After dressing, he trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen. Already hard at work, Pinkie moved with such speed there appeared to be three of her at any given time.

“Pinkie?” Anon said, stepping inside and with nary an idea of which apparition to address. “What are you...”

“No time. Here!”

Next he knew, he stood before a large mixing bowl. Beside it, a cardboard box, filled to the brim with eggs; twenty dozen, according to the label. Figuring he’d best go along with it for now, Anon said,

“How many do you—”

“All of them!”

He considered giving some bland platitudes, something along the lines of ‘everything okay?’ or ‘what’s the hurry?’. Probably not the time though. Pinkie looked harried enough as is. The clock on the nearby wall declared it a little past 6:15.

Ahh, there it is.

Sugarcube Corner opened late on the weekends and closed early as well. Pinkie normally operated the shop by herself on these days, being the slowest, to give the Cakes some off-time; something they desperately needed with the arrival of their twins. In exchange Pinkie largely got free rein on which days she’d be needing off, be it to throw a party, spend time with her friends, visit her family or go on some friendship adventure or the like.

Figuring nothing else needed to be said, Anon got cracking. Might as well. Probably his fault she even woke up late to begin with. Pinkie was a veritable maelstrom of nervous energy, working with such speed and efficiency to put even the most hardened professional bakers to shame. The previously ordered, spotless kitchen quickly devolved into messy, organized chaos. Anon watched in astonishment as Pinkie poured a jug of cream into a bowl before taking the whisk to it; her leg becoming little more than a blur, specks of cream flying off in every direction, she whipped it up to a fluffy consistency in mere seconds.

“Jeez,” Anon muttered.

He pitched in where he could and at Pinkie’s direction, but she pulled the brunt of the work. After well over an hour of frantic activity, various doughs and batters came and went from the oven; frostings, icings and various toppings were all laid out on large bowls atop the counter, as were piping bags, rolling pins, cookie cutters and more. The delicious smell of buttery, fresh baked pastries saturated the room as the baked goods all rested on cooling racks. At last, an exhausted Pinkie declared they were caught up, and the shop ready to open at its designated time.

“Thanks,” she panted, her coat and mane splattered with various splotches of batter, ganache, powdered sugar and frosting. “For the help.” She swallowed and breathed out, panting still.

“No problem,” Anon said, his clothes in marginally better condition.

Pinkie chuckled. “We just... hoo-whee... we just keep making a mess, huh?”

Anon laughed. “Looks like, yeah.” He glanced at the clock again. Half an hour till opening time. “You gonna clean yourself up?”

Pinkie bit her lip. “I dunno,” she mumbled. “Not sure I got the time.” She nodded to the oven. “Lotsa goods are gonna be coming out soon.”

“Oh. Well, why don’t I keep an eye on it? You go and do... whatever you need to.”

“Wha... really?”

“Sure, why not. You can’t exactly open up the shop looking like,” he gestured with a hand. “Well, like that.”

Pinkie stared at him. Anon couldn’t quite place her expression. The corner of her mouth trembled. A tiny sigh left her lips. Next he knew, Pinkie leapt up and grabbed onto him. Startled, Anon barely caught her barrel in his hands. He couldn’t get a word in edgewise as Pinkie captured his lips in a fierce, passionate kiss.

“Whoa,” he muttered, dazed, once she broke it and pulled out of his grasp. “That’s some gratitude.”

“That’s not gratitude,” Pinkie said, fiddling with his pants. “This is. Come on, sit.”

Anon hesitated. The long, restful sleep had fully restored his energy. His dick certainly seemed to appreciate Pinkie’s attempted gesture.

“Are you sure? Don’t you need to...”

Pinkie shook her head bullishly. “We’ll be quick. Come on, hurry.”

He needed no further prompting and sat on the floor. Pinkie pounced, undoing the button and zipper of his pants, nearly tearing the fabric as she pulled it down, exposing his manhood. He barely got a word in as Pinkie leaned forward and swallowed him whole.

Anon stumbled out of Sugarcube Corner, basket in hand. Pinkie gave it to him not moments ago.

“Here,” she said, presenting the basket. “I filled it up with all kinds of goodies for you to eat up. It’s got donuts and fresh cinnamon rolls and little quiches, and some turnovers and I think some pie and those salted caramel cookies that you like.”

She spoke a mile a minute, as there were still some things to do before the shop’s opening. No sooner did Anon take the proffered basket when Pinkie leapt up again, shoved her tongue down his throat and promptly ushered him out the back of the building. Glancing back, he saw her blow him a little kiss, waved one last time and slammed the door shut.

Anon chuckled, shaking his head. Quite a character, that mare.

He strolled leisurely past the mostly empty streets. Not many ponies up and about. Sundays were for rest and most of the town’s services shut down for the day. A certain pony dominated his thoughts, and the things the two of them got up to the previous day. Hell, even today Pinkie lost none of her boundless energy, thoroughly sucking him dry. Mouth like a vacuum, that one.

Anon sat down in one of the many benches scattered around town, content to merely watch the ponies as they went about their business. The first of the sun’s rays had broken past the distant mountain peaks now, softly casting a dim, warm light.

A particular pony caught his eye. Vinyl Scratch trotted up the street, set to pass him. Behind her and enveloped in her aura traveled a set of blocky, unwieldy cases on wheels; likely her subwoofers and other DJ equipment. She made her way down from the train station. Anon figured she likely just came back from an all-night gig in Canterlot or some other city. Her yawn and somewhat sluggish gait supported this.

Can she even see in those shades?

Despite the break of dawn, the streets weren’t exactly bathed in light. It didn’t seem to deter Vinyl. She didn’t even seem to register his presence, even as she slowly trotted past him.

He yawned and stretched; his arms up high to work last traces of sleep from him. A gentle breeze blew then, barely perceptible to the stretching Anon. Across the distance and slightly ahead of him, Vinyl halted in her tracks. She stared slightly upward, her head cocked to the side. She looked left, then right and locked eyes with Anon. At least he assumed so. He couldn’t tell with those shades.

As if reading his mind, Vinyl pulled them upward. The two stared at each other. Surprise and something else he couldn't quite place lined her muzzle. Anon slowly raised a hand, waving. Vinyl blinked and hesitantly returned the gesture; lips quirked to a small, uncertain smile. Deliberately, she adjusted her shades again and carried on, trotting ahead. She chanced one more look back at Anon and continued on her way.

“Well, that was weird,” he muttered.

“There you are!”

A harried-looking Lyra cantered toward him. Bags lined her eyes, her mane unkempt.

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “You didn’t come home last night. Bonnie and I were worried sick! Where in Tartarus did you even get to? Where... where did...”

She stopped abruptly a short distance from him, as if she ran into an invisible wall. Her eyes went wide, pupils shrunk to pinpricks. Her nostrils flared once, twice, sniffing. She brought a hoof up to her nose.

“Eugh, scratch that. Who did you get into? What is that? Who... who did you...?” Her eyes zeroed in on the basket and the logo on its side. “Mrs. Cake?” she said in astonishment.

“...No?”

Lyra’s eyes grew wider still. “Mr. Cake?”

“Wha... no! It was,” Anon lowered his voice. “Pinkie. It was Pinkie Pie, okay?”

“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” Her anger and annoyance seemingly forgotten, Lyra lowered her hoof. She regarded Anon strangely. “So, that’s where you’ve been?”

He smiled wanly. “Yeah. Uh, sorry.”

Lyra opened her mouth, then closed it. Still she regarded him strangely. She went over and hopped on the opposite side of the bench. Her nostrils flared again.

“So,” she said. “Pinkie’s a freak, huh?”

Anon snorted. “Yes, she is,” he said fondly.

Lyra hummed, unsmiling. “So you’re a pair now? Are the two of you together?”

“Uhh.” Anon rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t think so, no.”

“Are you sure?”

“...Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re sure?” Before he could answer, she said. “Her scent, it’s all over you.”

Anon looked taken aback. “You can tell?”

“That it’s her? No. I mean,” she took another tentative sniff. “Well, I know she didn’t bring a partner. Still...” she trailed off. “You’re absolutely sure you’re not together?”

Anon fidgeted. “Again, yes. Why?”

“Anon,” she said tiredly. “She’s all over you. You spent the night with her. Practically marked you with her scent. How can you not smell it?” She waved a hoof. “No, nevermind that. I know you can’t pick up things with it.”

“I mean, I took a shower last night. After we... you know.”

Her nostrils flared again. “Not long enough,” she muttered. “And, and...” She looked down to his crotch. The zipper of his pants was open, the area around it flecked with various spots of white. “Is that frosting?”

Anon hastily zipped it back up. “N-no. Just, uh...”

“The two of you did something, didn’t you? Just now?”

Anon cleared his throat. “She called it a thank you. For, ah, helping her in the shop.”

Lyra sighed. “It’s too early for this. I... I haven’t had my sleep. I haven’t even had my coffee. And you. It’s like...” she sighed. “Of course you wouldn’t know.” She looked up at him. “And clearly Pinkie didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Lyra sighed again. “I’m not doing this. Not here.” She yawned. “I need sleep. You need a shower. A long, hot shower. And... and have you just been walking around with... her scent all over you?”

Anon shrugged helplessly.

Lyra groaned. “Nope. Not here. We should go. You clearly need a crash course on etiquette, courtship... relationships, maybe and, and...” she closed her eyes, sighing blissfully. Anon scratched behind her ears. Lyra melted, leaning into him. “That’s cheating,” she mumbled.

“Sorry,” he said. “For making you worry. I guess I kinda disappeared on you guys. In my defense, I didn’t plan on getting laid. It just sort of... happened?”

“I guess I understand.” She chuckled. “Must have been nice, getting some after all this time.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Lyra hummed. “Does that mean you’re... ooh, yeah... that you’re in the market for a marefriend?”

“Why? You offering?”

She scoffed. “In your dreams, monkey. I’m taken. Got a wonderful, beautiful marefriend waiting for me.”

Anon chuckled. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. The marefriend part. Everything happened so suddenly and, uh...”

“Ahh, I see. You want to play the field. Sow your oats like all the other stallions.”

Anon coughed. “L-like I said, very suddenly. Don’t want to, uh, rush into anything.”

Lyra giggled. “Figures. You stallions and your ‘freedom’. Well, I guess it’s fair you get to...” Lyra froze, eyes snapped open. She pulled away from Anon’s fingers.

“Anon?”

“Yeah?”

“You said you had some... fun with Pinkie just now, right?”

“Right.”

She looked to his hand, then to him.

“Did you wash that thing?”

“What are you talking about? Of course I, um...” he lowered it. “Oh.”

“Ugh!” Lyra groaned in disgust, hopping off the bench. “Seriously, let’s go home. You need a shower with soap. Lots of soap. Hay, take a bubble bath. Use one of mine. And get that frosting off your pants.”

“I said it’s not frosting,” Anon snapped. He looked away and muttered, “It’s cream cheese icing.”

Lyra rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You need to get clean, ‘cause honestly?” She scrunched up her muzzle. “You stink.”