Photo By Tracy Flash

by theycallmejub

Rating: mature
Tags: Other, Romance, Original Character, Sex, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 6393

Tracy Flash is a photographer. Stripe is an ex-gang member. Jetset is a wealthy stallion.

Tracy Flash is a photographer and a grifter.

Stripe is an ex-gang member and a prostitute.

Jetset is a wealthy stallion and an unfaithful husband.

And Manehattan is the lively east-coast city that brought them together for a night of violence, deceit, and unbridled passion.

WARNING: Rated M for M/M sex. You have been warned.

Art by kylieinthehouse

Published 2012-10-28 02:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-10-28 02:10:01 UTC

Chapter 1

Photo By Tracy Flash

Become a photographer for the Manehattan Post and you’re setting yourself up for a big, stupid downward spiral. I’m talking about the kind of never-ending nosedive that drives ponies batshit-on-a-kebab crazy. Why? Because you’re going to see some shit, that’s why. And not just see it, either. Everypony sees it. Cab drivers see it pass out in the backseat of carriages most every night, half dead and all the way drunk. Foals see it come home from work pissed off and watch it slap around their mothers and kid sisters. Regular working stiffs see it too. Ponies who never done nothing to no one—they see it stick crossbows out of moving carriages and hose down crowded sidewalks, all for the sake of settling some beef over who owns which meaningless slab of street.

But us photographers, we don’t just see it. We capture it. We press the button on our magic soul-stealers and trap ourselves a piece of the Manehattan’s spirit. Tons of ponies will tell you Manehattan doesn’t have a spirit, but that’s crazy talk. Every city has a spirit—Manehattan’s is just uglier than most.

It’s a little past midnight, the perfect hour for stirring up trouble. I’m crouching on the roof of an Orange Groves hotel suite. It’s one of those luxury suites with the fancy ornate skylights, not exactly penthouse material, but still well out of my price range. Bored, I stare at the glass like I’m trying to punch a hole through it with my mind, itching to get this thing started before something goes wrong. I’m uptown tonight; and while uptown is considered the “good” part of the city, I still have my reservations about tonight’s job. This is Manehattan, after all, and in Manehattan if something can go wrong, then seven days out of the week it absolutely will.

I stare into the dark room, looking at a big black nothing for what feels like hours. Then all at once the lights come on, and the room winks into existence, and I nearly jump out of my skin from the shock of it. The room is smaller than I thought it would be. Simpler, too. It’s not all gaudy and done up the way most everything this far uptown is.

Peering through the skylight, I watch Stripe saunter into the suite on legs made for strutting down runways, his hips switching as he works the school colt getup he’s got on for all it’s worth. He has Jetset in a trance as he lures the unicorn toward a bed that's shoved up against a paint-peel wall.

“Is all this for me?” Stripe’s voice comes through my earpiece all bubbly and bouncy. He looks young for his age, and he knows it. “You shouldn’t have.” He gives Jetset a smacking kiss on the cheek that turns the loser beet red. Grown ass stallion blushing like it’s his first time; I’d laugh if I didn’t find these married colt-lover types so repulsive.

Jetset mumbles something I can't make out on my end. Stripe had the room bugged this morning, and judging by the sound quality I’m guessing he hired Tools to do the job. Tools is an ace at hiding mics, but he’s a cheap bastard who never buys decent equipment. I have to crank the volume to near max in order to hear anything.

Lying flat on my stomach, I adjust the portable receiver strapped to my belt and peek through the camera’s viewfinder, praying Jetset doesn’t look up and spot me before the show starts.

“You seem nervous, Daddy, something wrong?” Stripe is already starting with that ‘Daddy’ crap of his. It drives me nuts.

“No,” Jetset says a little too quickly. He takes a moment to settle down before saying, “There’s nothing wrong. I’ve just… never been with a zebra before.” The word ‘zebra’ comes out sounding all kinds of dirty. Given his line of work, Stripe is used to being treated like a sub-equine piece of meat by rich jerks in sweater vests. Still, for a second I worry he might snap on Jetset. Stripe is an ex-Daughter of Discord (a notorious gang of cross-dressing hooligans) with a short fuse and a history of violence longer than my tail. And while watching Jetset’s face get put through a window would be fun, it would also cost me a lot of money.

Lucky for me Stripe manages to keep his shit together.

“Then you’ve never lived, Daddy,” he says. “Come here…”

He bites the collar of Jetset’s green polo and leads the hapless unicorn to the edge of the bed. Then he’s all boyish giggles and batting eyelashes as he falls backwards onto the mattress. He lies on his back and folds his forelegs behind his head, showing off that all-business physique nature blessed him with. Stripe has never worked out a day in his life. The guy lives on a diet of sugar and designer drugs, but he has the kind of trim, lightly muscled body that would put most models to shame.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he purrs, slowly unzipping the fly of his shorts. He he kicks off his shoes and glides out of the shorts nice and slow, teasing Jetset, feeding him an eyeful of hips and thighs. I zoom in close and snap a gorgeous shot of the bulge showing under Stripe’s way-too-tight briefs.

The sight of zebra cock stretching navy blue fabric grab's Jetset’s attention. Mine too. I go to snap another pic of the goods, but Jetset's tail flounces into the frame. He crawls into bed, eyes half-lidded, and then shut as he mashes his mouth against Stripe’s with a lewd smacking sound. It’s less a kiss and more an attempt to suck the black off the zebra’s face.

Stripe loves it. He lets Jetset’s amateur tongue explore his mouth. Rich Boy sucks Stripe’s bottom lip, then his tongue, then his neck, bathing the zebra in stringy saliva. It’s all pretty sloppy, but sloppy is good. Sloppy is how Stripe likes it. He pulls Jetset closer, stroking his mane and whispering dirty nothings that barely make it through the earpiece. Then they stop a moment and stare at each other, like each is seeing the other for the first time.

There’s fire in the kiss that follows, a slow, lecherous tongue-over-tongue burning that sears away any lingering inhibitions. Eventually the unicorn finds his way on top and I’m stuck staring at the back of Jetset’s head as they make out. Jetset trails kisses down Stripe’s neck, I think, stopping at the collar of his button-down shirt.

“Undress me.” Stripe’s purr comes out so low I barely hear it through the earpiece. A dim light covers Jetset’s horn, a tiny, effortless spell. “No magic. Use your mouth, daddy. You’re so good with your mouth.”

I crawl closer to the edge of the skylight so I’m not stuck looking down at Jetset’s back. From my new semi-top-down, semi-profile view I watch him unbutton Stripe’s shirt with his teeth. After undoing each button he plants a kiss on the zebra’s pelt, like a stamp, or a period at the end of a sentence. Stripe lets out a few coos at just the right volume, being careful not to overdo it too soon. The sounds are low and sensual as they pass his lips, and hearing them lights a fire under Jetset’s ass. He’s already breathing hard by the time he wiggles Stripe out of his shirt.

I get a few nice shots of pink flesh gliding across black and white fur as Jetset licks Stripe’s chest, then his stomach, working his way down to the swell in the zebra’s underwear. When he reaches the bulge, he plants a kiss on it that has Stripe shuddering like it’s his first time. I watch Jetset nose, lick, and nip at Stripe’s cock through the spandex, torturing him with teases. Then, wearing the zebra’s thighs like a scarf, he lifts Stripe’s lower back up off the bed and buries his face in the throbbing cock, kissing it the way he kissed Stripe’s mouth.

Stripe blushes. Moans. Squirms. I smile big as he fidgets helplessly under the barrage of taunts and feigns. He begs for more, keeping up the act for Jetset’s sake, but if I know Stripe he’s fuming on the inside right now. He hates being teased. Played with. I snap off a few of the best photos I’ve ever taken, capturing the sweet, sweet agony hiding behind the blush in my lover's cheeks.

Jetset bites the zebra’s briefs and tugs them down just far enough to free Stripe’s erection. He and I lick our lips at the sight of it, long and thick and already spewing trickles of pre. Shouldering Stripe’s thighs, he starts at the head and trails his lips down the shaft, licking the base, nipping at the ball sack, still teasing, still taunting.

Stripe pouts and bucks his hips, trying to force himself inside Jetset’s mouth.

“Beg for it,” breathes the unicron, eyes half-lidded, and aglow with quiet mischief.

Stripe squirms again. Struggles. He’s pissed now, and not making any attempt to hide it. He reaches forward, trying to grab Jetset by the mane. Jetset responds by lifting Stripe’s lower back even higher off the bed, then folding the zebra, rounding his back and splaying his hind legs before pinning them to the mattress. Cruel lips brush Stripe’s balls, his shaft. A mean pair of hooves stroke his naked thighs. He fidgets, trying to get up, but Jetset keeps him pinned.

“I said beg.” There’s more bass in his voice when he repeats the command. I laugh aloud, snapping photos as I watch Stripe struggle to get the words out.

“Please… daddy.” It takes everything he has, but Stripe manages to push the words past his lips. Jetset pulls the his hind legs off the mattress, throwing them around his neck again.

I feel the first trickles of moisture begin pooling between my thighs as Jetset takes Stripe’s cock in his mouth. He starts with a slow, even head bob. But things heat up quick and pretty soon Jetset is bracing Stripe’s thighs more firmly against his shoulders and really going to town on the cock in his mouth. He must have Stripe off his game because it ends quick. Pissed off, Stripe gives with a frustrated groan and creams less than a minute into the blowjob, filling Jetset’s mouth with a thick load of the white stuff.

He hides his shame from Jetset—as the unicorn cocks his head, leans over the edge of the bed, and hacks up a wad of jizz—but he can’t hide it from me. He's is crazy embarrassed. He knows I’m up here laughing at him and taking pictures, and after that sad display he also knows he won’t be living this down anytime soon.

And if that weren’t bad enough, Jetset, the nasty jerk, is feeling good and comfortable now. Comfortable enough to wrestle Stripe to his back and resume sucking face. Stripe gets a taste of his own bitter medicine that makes him grimace. He shoves Jetset away, nearly pushing him off the bed. For an moment I worry Stripe is about to lose his shit after all—and he does, but in a different, less brutal way than I’d imagined. He pounces on the unicorn and kisses him back, mouth full of his own spunk be damned. It’s nasty, yeah, but nasty is how Stripe likes it.

And it’s not just nasty anymore. It’s angry too. Violent. They wrestle on the bed, struggling for dominance, groping and kissing and biting each other hard enough to leave marks.

They go at it like they mean to hurt each other until all the anger and the bullshit male bravado burns away. I expect that kind of posturing from Stripe, but I have to say, Jetset’s little display surprises me. Rich Boy has some serious pent up aggression he needs to work through.

A more playful power struggle ensues, one that Stripe purposely lets Jetset win. The unicorn straddles Stripe’s stomach and pins the zebra’s fore hooves on either side of his head.

Jetset hangs, letting strands of his mane fall on the zebra’s face, partially hiding it from my camera. Lucky for me, a second later he uses his magic to brush the hair behind his ear. Then he leans forward like he means to kiss Stripe, but they end up nuzzling noses instead. I zoom in close and snap an almost romantic picture of their eyes meeting. I mean, they were looking at each other before, but not like this. It’s a hell of a freeze frame. Two strangers from opposite ends of the earth caught up in a moment that isn’t really happening, each searching the others gaze for something they already know isn’t there. Love, compassion, connection—whatever it is they get lost trying to find it. I might shed a freaking tear if I weren’t so jaded from years of failing to find it myself. Somepony should tell them it isn’t real. Not here, anyway. Not in the big city.

Still, it’s a hell of a freeze frame. There’s no love or whatever in it, but there’s something just as good. Something us big city photographers are always looking for. Yeah, that’s it all right, showing on their faces clear as a spring morning. There it is. There she is. Manehattan, the old heartbreaker. I press the shutter release and with a small click, a flash and few moving parts I steal myself a nice fat slice of her soul.

Like I said, it’s a hell of a freeze frame. I’d try to snap off another, if I believed moments like that ever happened more than once.

The sappy stuff doesn’t last long—and thank Celestia because watching Stripe make goo-goo eyes at this asshole stings a lot worse than watching them swap spit. He breaks Jetset’s pin. He sits upright so the two of them are chest-to-chest with their cocks touching and their legs scissoring like a couple of dykes rubbing their twats together.

Stripe repays the blowjob by stamping rough kisses on Jetset’s horn. I have to stifle a laugh as he suckles the tip, turning the unicorn to putty in his hooves. I’ve never been with a male unicorn before, but I hear their horns are apparently more sensitive then there dicks. Sounds like bullshit, I know, but watching Jetset melt as Stripe licks the base of his horn makes a believer out of me.

He leans into Stripe, and with the mushy crap done the two of them get back to drowning their loneliness in kisses and slurps and long empty caresses—and watching them have at it is half the reason I’m perched up here like the world’s best equipped peeping-tom.

After a short bout of kisses, Stripe takes the full length of the horn in his mouth. He starts slow, bobbing his head, working the horn in and out of his mouth. I give the zoom lens a twist, closing in on the action till I can see Stripe’s tongue lap at every individual groove in Jetset’s spiraled horn. Suddenly I can’t keep my hoof off the shutter release. I snap dozens of careless shots, wanting to capture every lewd suck, every sloppy string of drool, every subtle bob of Stripe’s head.

Jetset moans. His eyelids flutter, then shut as he runs a hoof along his erection, clopping himself off. A second later he works his hips into it, rocking them in time with his strokes. Stripe picks up the tempo like a pro. He bobs his head a beat faster, syncing up with both Jetset’s steady rhythm. I slip a hoof between my legs and try to do the same, but lying on my stomach while keeping the camera at my face makes it tricky. I end up sandwiching my hoof between my snatch and the glass, humping the skylight like I’m riding an invisible cock and probably looking like a grade-A asshole doing it.

I’m thinking I should’ve brought my dildo when I see Stripe look up and shoot me a cocky wink. He knows how I like to watch, and he also knows how jealous I can get. The smug punk, he gets off on driving me stir crazy. I set the camera on the glass and mouth the words “fuck you,” hoping the bastard reads my lips loud and clear.

He grins around the horn in his mouth, then shuts his eyes and places a hoof over Jetset’s, helping the unicorn beat off. The tempo picks up and Jetset lets out some of the hottest breathless whimpers I’ve ever heard. He bucks his hips with new urgency, working his shaft between his and Stripe’s hooves and even poking the zebra in the stomach. He lasts way longer than Stripe did, but eventually blows his load all over the slut’s stomach.

Jetset grunts. His cock pulses as he empties himself adding a new sticky shade of white to Stripe’s coat. The zebra doesn’t give the mess a second thought. It’s nasty, but nasty is how Stripe likes it. He frees Jetset’s horn and pulls him into another kiss that drives me right up the freaking wall.

Jetset mumbles something about going to the bathroom to clean up before continuing. He gets up, but Stripe bites his tail, playfully, and gives it a yank that sends Jetset dropping back onto the bed.

“Where you going, Daddy?” Stripe says sweetly as he turns away from Jetset and lies on his stomach. “You don’t really want it clean, do you?” He rests his chin on his front hooves and feeds Rich Boy an eyeful of his firm ass. “You don’t come all the way to a city like Manehattan and shack up with a zebra like me because you want it clean. This ain’t Canterlot, and I ain’t your wife.”

“Let’s not mention my wife,” says Jetset with a weak laugh. He lies down beside Stripe and takes a moment to catch his breath. To my surprise, and to my lover's as well, he turns the zebra over and spoons him. He cuddles with him, kisses the nape of his neck, sniffs the back of his mane.

Stripe gets comfortable. I stop clopping off and roll my eyes as I watch him kiss the hoof Jetset has slung around his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare, Stripe,” I think aloud, fighting a strong urge to bang against the glass.

“Trouble with the Mrs., Mmm?” Stripe asks.

“Asshole!” I don’t shout it but it comes out with just as much venom. “Don’t pillow talk with the—ugghh, I’m not finished getting off yet!”

“It’s just…” Jetset starts. “I don’t know what makes her happy anymore.”

“You mean…” Stripe reaches behind his back and grabs Jetset’s limp dick, making him flinch.

“Oh,” Jetset says with a start, “no, it’s nothing like that. Well, that isn’t the only thing, I suppose. It’s everything. We don’t fit together like we used to.”

“Oh for crying out loud,” I grumble, smacking myself in the face.

“It could be a trust issue,” says Stripe, earning a weak, self-conscious laugh from Jetset.

“Obviously,” he responds. “Truth be told, she has been pressuring me into things. She wants a baby. A family.”

“And what do you want, daddy?”

I’ll tell you what I want!

“I don’t know. Freedom. My youth.” Jetset nibbles Stripe’s ear. “I must sound rather immature… Honestly I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“Neither do I,” I mumble aloud, growing impatient.

“Connection,” Stripe says plainly.

“Hmm?”

“It’s what you’re looking for, daddy. It’s what we’re all looking for. All the time. Sorry, I can’t give you that.” Stripe rolls onto his stomach and gives his tail a beckoning wiggle. “But I can give you next best thing, daddy.”

I almost clap my hooves together as Jetset crawls positions himself behind Stripe’s ass. He doesn’t move eagerly like he has been all night. There’s reluctance in his limbs and something like sadness showing in his grey-blue eyes. I snap a picture. I’m not sure why, but I adjust the zoom lens and take a picture of Jetset’s sad expression. It doesn’t come out right. I can’t see the freeze frame anywhere but in my mind, but somehow I know it didn’t come out right. I didn’t capture it. The sadness. The authentic emotion born of a fabricated moment. I missed it. Manehattan’s soul—damn it, I missed it…

I start to take another photo but I’m too late. Jetset is already leaning forward and kissing Stripe’s ass, nuzzling him and breathing in a lungful of that too-sexy musky stink I know is clinging to the zebra’s fur right now. I close my eyes and try to call those grey-blue eyes back to memory, but I’m too late again. It’s gone. I missed it. Hell of a freeze frame and I missed it.

I keep my eyes closed for a few moments and listen to Stripe’s moaning and his dirty talk. I give up on trying to recall Jetset’s sad gaze and think about Stripe’s musky scent instead. It’s a smell I’m very familiar with. I slip a hoof between my legs again, only now instead of humping my hoof like a horny retard I settle into a sitting position. With my hind legs spread, I lean on my left foreleg for balance while my right hoof gets to working on me like it has a mind of its own.

“Oh, daddy, don’t tease me,” Stripe whimpers.

I let my head hang back and rock my hips against my hoof, wishing it was me Stripe was moaning for. “Haven’t I been good to you all night? I’ve been a good little colt, so why you teasing me, daddy?”

They’re both breathing heavy now, and so am I. Suddenly the camera hanging from my neck feels heavy—and a little voice in the back of my head reminds me that I’m supposed to be taking pictures. I don’t listen to it. I keep my head back and my eyes shut and I listen to the panting stallions, masturbating and imagining myself in Jetset’s place.

“Don’t be a tease, daddy. Let me have it.”

“Wait…I just need to…”

“Hurry up, daddy. I can’t stand you teasing me. Hurry up and slide inside me.”

“…Give me a minute…I can’t…”

“Oh! Don’t force it, daddy. Don’t go in dry.”

“But I didn’t bring any…”

“Use your mouth. You’re so good with your mouth, daddy…”

“…Let me just…hold on, hold on…”

“That ain’t enough, daddy. Give it here.”

“…Wait…”

“Just give it here.”

“But I almost…”

“That ain’t the way. Just give it here, daddy.”

The hell are these assholes doing, I think, losing my concentration. My eyes flick open just in time to catch an eyeful of Stripe spitting a fat wad of saliva onto Jetset’s cock.

“Ugghh, what the hell Stripe!” I say aloud.

The unicorn has a similar reaction at first. Then he shakes off the mild disgust and sticks his muzzle between Stripe’s ass cheeks, licking him, warming up his hole for the main event.

I fumbled with the camera like a dumb drunk.

Jetset grunts as he pushes his cock into the zebra’s saliva-wet pucker.

Stripe moans. Quivers. Bites his lip.

The camera chatters in my hooves. I snap off at least five shots before the base of Jetset’s cock even meets Stripe’s backside. The unicorn’s hooves come down hard on Stripe’s flanks, making him squeal with delight. Then he grabs the zebra and drags him to the end of the bed, so that both his and Stripe’s hind hooves are planted firmly on the carpet.

“Not so rough, daddy” Stripe trills, his voice going all high and boyish.

I nearly slip on a slick front hoof as I scramble across the glass, trying to get a better angle of the action. When I find a good enough spot, I zoom in tight and take about a dozen pics of Jetset’s shaft sliding in and out of Stripe’s tight hole. The overzealous clown practically pulls his dick all the way out every time his hips draw back. It only takes a few humps for his rhythm to go all spastic and his breathing all short and frantic.

“Mmmm, pant for me sweetheart,” I think aloud as I resume playing with myself. Jetset’s voice is annoying, but he makes the hottest panting sounds. “Easy, killer, don’t come too quick now… Come on, Stripe, slow him down.”

“Relax, daddy.” Stripe says, as if answering my request. “I’m not going anywhere. Take it slow. You got me all night.”

Stripe rocks his body in time with the unicorn, and together they cut the frantic pace in half. The strokes become long and even. Jetset reaches underneath Stripe and takes the zebra’s cock in his hoof. I watch the hoof slide to the base of Stripe’s shaft. He fondles the zebra’s balls, making Stripe bite his bottom lip and push out a long, sensual, “Mmmmmmm…”

“You like that?” says Jetset, running his hoof along the length of Stripe’s cock as he pounds the zebra’s rear, bumping and grinding and grinning stupidly.

“You have no idea,” I answer for Stripe, happy to watch but wishing I was in there with them. Wishing I were sandwiched between those throbbing erections, one in my ass and one in my snatch or shoved down my throat. That little punk Stripe gets to have all the fun.

“You know I do.” Stripe goes nuts. He kicks up the pace, slamming his behind into Jetset and moaning like he’s going for the academy award. I take a picture of him making the dumbest I’m-getting-my-brains-fucked-out face and worry he might bite through his bottom lip if he doesn’t come soon. “Oh…Oh, mmm, daddyyyyyyyy…”

I’d be on cloud nine if not for Stripe and his gross, freaking ‘daddy’ shit. ‘Daddy’ this and ‘daddy’ that. He thinks he’s so hot with his bullshit little colt routine, drives me crazy.

Jetset loves it, though, the nasty fuck. “You like that?” he says again, pushing the words out alongside that sexy pant of his. He was a bit timid at the start of this, but Stripe’s cracked his shell and has him fucking like a porn star. He’s really into it now. Like really freaking into it. He’s been holding back an orgasm for several strokes, trying to make it last. Trust me, I’ve watched Stripe do this enough times to tell when a pony wants to blow his load—and right now the scrunched look of concentration furrowing Jetset’s brow is telling me he’s right on the brink. I’m right there with him, only a little ways away from coming myself. This should be a good one. Got to time it just right.

“You like that, do you, you dirty little savage,” he says, getting a little too into it.

“Easy, daddy…” Stripe rocks his hips faster.

Jetset grabs the back of Stripe’s mohawk and yanks his head back. I snap a pick of him giving the zebra’s flank a hard smack, and I see the old mischief sneak back into his eyes.

Stripe lets out a whine, upset that his cock isn’t getting any more attention. Jetset picks up on the cue, but instead of stroking he teases Stripe with light touches, making him groan with more irritation than pleasure.

“Come on, daddy, don’t tease me.” Stripe’s a good sport about Jetset suddenly going asshole on him. He keeps up the act. Doesn’t lose his temper.

But Jetset doesn’t ease off. He gets worse, pushing Stripe, seeing how far he can take this thing. “I love that voice of yours,” he pants, his voice a breathless rasp he rocks against Stripe’s body. “Say something dirty. Say it in that tongue you savages call a language.”

Stripe’s temper flares. Without breaking stride, he looks at Jetset from over his shoulder and strings together a slew of curses in his native tongue. My Zebrican isn’t great, but I definitely heard the words, “Racist kiddy-fucking pile of dogshit,” and something about pulling the unicorn’s spine out of his ass and wringing his neck with it. Jetset—the ignorant jerk—he probably thinks Stripe just told him he’s the best lay he’s ever had.

I zoom out and make sure I have the both of them in a full-body shot. What happens next should be interesting, and I don’t want to miss any of the messy details.

“Delicious… Say something else… Say…Oh…ohhh…”

He rams Stripe, just one or two pumps away now. The idiot might be spare himself some grief if he would just shut up, ride out the last few humps, and enjoy filling Stripe’s ass with spunk.

“Beg me to finish inside you…Tell me you want it, you filthy…savage. Say it…say it in Zebrican…”

Stripe gives up. He submits. He begs Jetset to fill him up. Even says it Zebrican just like the bastard asks.

I’d laugh if the whole thing wasn’t so sad.

“Mmmm, Say it again, you filthy animal. Say it so I can understand it. Ohhh…make it rhyme for me…”

“Holy freaking horse apples!” I say aloud. With the mood officially no longer with us, I stop clopping. “Oh, boy, oh boy—here we go.”

Jetset screws his eyes shut, lets out a breathless noise that’s all satisfaction and creams in Stripe’s ass. His body seizes up. He groans in pleasure.

A second later he’s groaning in pain as Stripe throws his head back and smashes the unicorn’s muzzle. Rich boy’s dick slides out of Stripe’s hole as he falls backwards, clutching his busted face. He hits the carpet, already mumbling apologies as he scoots away from Stripe on his rear.

“How’s this for a fucking rhyme,” Stripe growls, marching toward the retreating unicorn. “Roses are red—”

Jetset squeals like a bitch as Stripe’s hoof comes down on his crotch. He rolls over on his side, whimpering and clutching his crushed balls. A second blow sinks into his barrel. A third rattles his jaw.

Shaking my head, I peek through the viewfinder and snap off the second to last picture left on my roll of film. It’s a freeze frame of an angry zebra stomping a stupid unicorn, each of them crying in their own way over a severed connection that was never meant to be. There it is again—rule of three I guess. When I snap the pic I know I’ll be taking home one more piece of Manehattan’s soul with me. I missed my second chance. The sadness trapped in those lonely grey-blues. I missed the second one but I didn’t miss the first one, and I didn’t miss the this one. I guess two out of three ain’t bad.

I flap a pair of wings that need stretching and float into the suite through an open window. Stripe stops kicking Jetset when he notices I’ve landed beside him.

“You okay?” I ask. Stripe nods but I can tell he’s not.

“W-w-who are you?” asks Jetset, his voice shaking as he looks up at me.

I shoot him a glare that tells him to shut up and stay put, then turn my attention to Stripe

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” I say. “How are we supposed to fleece this clown if you crack his skull open.”

“He told me to rhyme for him. What the hell do you want from me?”

“I have you rhyme for me all the time.”

“Yeah, but it’s cute when you do it, baby,” he says sweetly, roping a foreleg around my neck and pulling me close. He closes one eye while he nuzzles my cheek. I can smell Jetset on him.

“We are going to talk about this later,” I say before pecking him on the cheek.

“Talk about what?”

“The kiss. The kissing. All of it.”

“What? That was nothing.” He tries to laugh it off, the jerk. “That was part of the show. I thought you’d like that, baby.”

“You know I don’t—!” I take a breath and slow down. “You know I don’t like you getting to intimate with—”

“Um…excuse me,” says Jetset, still lying on the floor, peering at us through one good eye. The other is swollen and already starting to change color. “May I go?”

Stripe and I look down at Jetset, then back to each other. “You want to handle the explanation or should I?” I ask.

“Go ahead, sweetness, I did the last one. And I know how much you enjoy heckling the clients.”

“Yeah, well, don’t think this gets you off the hook.”

Jetset watches me closely as I take a few steps and stand over him. He starts to get up, but thinks twice when he feels my hoof slam into his chest.

“I say you could get up?” I say.

Jetset goes pale. He cowers. “Please,” he whines, “what do you want?”

I kneel down so that I’m eye-level with Jetset. “First, let me ask you a question: does your wife know what you do during your ‘business trips’ to Manehattan?”

He gives me this stupefied look like I’m speaking a foreign language or something. I love the married ones. I mean, the politicians and the athletes and the celebrities are fun too, and they usually have more to lose by being exposed: their careers, their reputations. But the married ones are the best. It’s so personal for them. You can see it in their eyes. It’s in Jetset’s eyes right now. He’s looking up at me, watching in shocked confusion as I tear his whole world apart.

Stripe lets out a snicker, then tells me he’s going to the bathroom to wash up. He tells me not to be too hard on Jetset. I tell him I’ll try.

“Well, judging by your silence, I’d say that’s a no. See, your wife hired us to spy on you all weekend. Well, she hired me, anyway. The guy who just walked off—the zebra whose ass you were pounding—your wife didn’t hire him. He’s with me, helps me lure assholes like you into doing regrettable things.”

Jetset shakes his head, not wanting to believe me.

“I can’t imagine why, but your wife thinks you’re cheating on her. She looked me up and asked that I tail you for a while. You know, make sure you weren’t cheating on her. And lookie here,” I say, gesturing toward the camera hanging from my neck, “now I’ve got a camera full of pictures of you ass-fucking a zebra. Isn’t that something?

“I can double it!” Jetset shouts suddenly.

“Huh? What was that?” I say, twisting my head and theatrically cupping my ear.

“Whatever my wife is paying you, I can double it. Please, she can’t know about this.”

“Double, huh? I don’t know; Upper Crust only offered me a grand for this job. Two thousand to get rid of all these photos would be such a waste. I mean, these are some great photos. The compositions are just—wow—they really are stunning. This is storytelling, Jetset. This is high art.” I stand up straight and stroke my chin, making him wait for my offer. “No, no, no, I can’t part with these for two thousand bits. I’m sorry, but I can’t do it.”

“Just tell me what you want. I’ll pay any price,” he says. The desperation in his voice tells me he means it.

I take a deep breath and push out a long sigh. “Ah, I don’t know, let’s do like, fifty thousand?” I say, shrugging. Jetset starts to leap to his hooves, apparently infuriated that I’m demanding so much money.

“What did I say about standing?” I shout, stomping his chest again and thinking I should have asked for more.

Jetset nods.

“Okay then. Shake on it?” I say. I let him up. We shake. His hoof is clammy and trembling slightly. I give him my winning-est smirk, one that Stripe would be proud of.

“Well Mr. Jetset, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Wait,” he says nervously. “How and when will I be giving you the money.”

“Easy. Tonight you get yourself a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow morning I contact you, we meet at a location of my choosing, and you fork over the goods. Understand?”

“And you swear you’ll discard the photos.”

“Come on, Jetset,” I say, smirking, “is this the face of an untrustworthy pony?”

Jetset’s mouth turns upward in a nervous smile. He dabs beads of sweat from his brow with a dainty hoof, then lets his gaze drop to the floor in defeat.

Stripe comes strolling out of the bathroom, fully dressed again. He heads for the door, actively avoiding Jetset’s gaze.

“Wait,” says Jetset, calling after Stripe. Poor bastard, he’s a glutton for punishment. “I’m sorry. It’s scary, isn’t it? Being so close.”

“Connecting…” Stripe says plainly.

“Yes, connecting... Apologies, I don’t believe I ever asked your name.”

“Stripe.”

“Fitting,” says Jetset with a wistful smile. He runs a hoof through his wavy black mane.

They move toward one another. They don’t kiss, just nuzzle each other’s noses. There’s something innocent about it—something sweet that makes my stomach churn.

Suddenly the moment doesn’t seem so fake. Without thinking, my limbs moving all on their own, I lift the camera and peek at the two of them through the view finder. They smile and nuzzle and whisper sad little nothings—and my heart shatters in my chest and the broken shards sprinkle down into my gut, settling there.

I watch them enjoy their fleeting moment of intimacy. Their connection. It won’t last long. Tonight Stripe and I will go back to my apartment and we’ll have some celebratory drinks and we’ll fuck like the sun isn’t coming up tomorrow, but none of it will matter. I’ll never have this. In all the dozens of nights I’m sure I’ll spend with Stripe, I’ll never find what Jetset found tonight.

I peer at the them through the viewfinder. That’s it right there. That’s Manehattan’s soul.

I take the picture and then take off, flying through the window and out into darkness. It’s a good one. Best photo I’ve taken in months.