Cadence Has Horny Problems

The Wonderbolts preliminary trials.

One of the few times of the year where everypony that anypony knew as 'up and coming' in the world of flying and athleticism gathered in the same place to test their strength, speed and skill for the most coveted of prizes: a spot at the Wonderbolts flight camp.

The holiest of holies. The nirvana of pegasi. And she got to pick the five lucky stallions and fillies that made it through. Truly, it was the best time of year for her, the hype of her off-season. Truly, only the finest and the brightest would prevail through the three difficult tests before them, and end up making the camp, with the hopes of joining the wonderbolt's legendary training squad. Grandeur, skill, and ambition - she could see it all before her, the conflicting emotions of pride and nervousness plastered across the face of every hopeful young pegasi, and the glimmer of their sweat as they warmed up – not unlike the sweat they'd shed in the months of training before today, in early mornings and sleepless nights. It was sweat of fear, sweat of determination, sweat born from the rigorous training required to be the very best.

The joy of victory. The tears of defeat. The crush of disappointment. The resolve to try again next year. The thrill of competition. The burning thud of the blood in your veins as you pulled off the perfect race, or acrobatic routine. She loved it all with a passion.

Indeed, it was truly a special time for Spitfire, all-star and captain of the Wonderbolts.

So why, oh, why did this one special time of year happen to coincide with another certain special time of year?

Spitfire eyed the throng of ponies gathered in the centre of the otherwise empty stadium, and ground her teeth.

She'd tried to take a few days of sick leave from the board of directors, but they wouldn't take 'illness' for an answer. In fact, the spokestallion for the board, a brown pegasi with a mop of fair black hair, had even dared to turn the issue back on her, as if going into heat was something she could control.

“You've left it this late without some kind of replacement,” the chair-stallion had said. “We can't cancel it now. You'll just have to work through it.”

She pointed out that he was not a mare, and could not possibly understand the dilemna of wanting to either punch or mate with every suitable stallion that came within five yards. The chairstallion had coughed in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

“Ahem, well, yes. Be that as it may, there are treatments for these things. Perhaps if you had given us more notice of your intentions...”

Spitfire and the chairstallion had left the meeting ten seconds later – him rather hurriedly, with a ripped shirtfront and a bloody nose, and her restrained by security while she hurled insults at him.

She wondered whether or not that had signaled her 'intentions' clearly enough.

Back in the box, a sponsored team of young male pegasi sped past the window as part of a warmup flight around the stadium, their uniforms and jerseys all slathered with hundred thousand-bit brands. Spitfire stamped a back hoof and huffed bitterly.

It was not an unbearable sensation, she would readily admit. Like many mares, she'd simply deal with it as she'd dealt with it the Spring before - with lots and lots of cold baths. They worked for a little bit, but there was only so much cold water could do, and her proximity to a thousand sweating stallions at the peak of their physique was most certainly not helping her cope. She'd also tried a few herbal remedies to cool her off – and they too had worked, to some degree – but she still got butterflies in her stomach whenever she caught a young stallion eyeing her off.

Which, to make matters more annoying, was happening a lot lately.

Maybe it was the newly-designed skintight airsuit she was wearing. She knew it accentuated a few of her body's finer points, though she preferred not to think of dozens of colts gaping at her as she performed in front of large crowds. It gave her two equally strong urges – one to be sick everywhere, and the other to, err... well, you know. By random chance, both sets of urges put her nerves so far on edge that she felt like she was in an endless sugar crash, and both of them had something to do with the butterflies in her stomach that just wouldn't seem to go away.

Spitfire frowned thoughtfully. One day, she'd invent a cure for butterflies. She'd sell it under a name-brand and make millions. Carefully, she filed the thought under 'not bad' in her list of semi-delirious, heat ridden ideas.

While she was on the ground, she'd tried borrowing Soarin's oversized grey hoodie to try and remedy the situation with her flight suit, but that hadn't really helped either. This was because Soarin' was extremely lazy, and like all adolescent stallions between 18 and 25, he never cleaned up after himself. His thousand-bit apartment was a sty, and he didn't shower immediately after going to the gym, instead preferring to lounge around turning whatever room he was in into a sweaty, smelly bin of testosterone.

Add to that the fact that he hardly washed his clothes, and...

No sooner had Spitfire pulled the cotton hoodie over her head, then she was treated to a lungful of Soarin's utterly delicious masculine scent, and ohgoddesscelestiaohgodgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff!

Back in the box, Spitfire trembled in a mixture of delicately-balanced hormones and disgust. Yes, Soarin' was her teammate. Yes, they were good friends. But no, they had never been together, and no, for the love of Celestia, no, she had absolutely no desire to remedy that non-problem anytime soon.

For one, she was a good deal older than him. She was twenty-three, the confident wonderbolts veteran with the world at her hooves. He was just nineteen, a rookie of one season, a mere colt by comparison. In her mind, she knew she preferred stallions that had seen more of the world – like ones that took her out to nice dinners, ones that wanted something a little more than a casual rut, like love. And she was perfectly fine with that train of logic - the snide sneerings of her inner desire had always played second fiddle to rational thought.

So why did her body betray her by being so... so very naked at the merest thought of him? Just the thought of his coat touching hers, his muscled forelegs rippling with power as he held her down tightly, those keen sea-blue eyes of his penetrating her soul as he panted and - AGH!

She clenched her eyes shut, expunging the thoughts from her mind, and suppressing the overwhelming desire to be hideously ill.

She heard the door to the private box open and close, but did not turn to grant the intruder any notice. Ponies were always coming in and out of the box – organising things with the support team that were in the room next door and chatting with the senior coaches who sometimes milled around near the whiteboard, discussing the trials to come.

But they didn't approach her. Unlike the board of directors, the pegasi that worked alongside her felt enough sympathy to try and keep things out of her mane unless they absolutely had to.

“Sup, Spit?” said a youthful, chirpy voice.

Unless of course, you were Soarin'. In which case, your objective was to be as stupid as possible.

Outwardly, Spitfire sighed with exasperation. Inwardly, she struggled to contain a shudder.

“Oh, nothing,” she replied casually, rolling her eyes a little. “Just eyeing off some recruits.”

Soarin trotted up beside her. She saw his eyes flit to the binoculars about her neck, and he gave her a cheeky grin, waggling his eyebrows.

“Eying off some promising talent?” He said, laughing and giving her a gentle nudge. “Eh? Nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more?”

Usually, she enjoyed the young rookie's company, as much of a lughead as he could be. Like a Labrador dog, he was a devoted companion, and he never stopped smiling or trying to make her laugh with his best jokes and unavoidably infectious enthusiasm. Usually, she would have smiled at him, or at least cheered up at his attempt at humour, a little, gentle gift from him to her to make her working day easier.

Usually.

Today, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled, resisting the urge to strangle her teammate with her bare hooves.

“Soarin',” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “Heat.”

The stallion's grin dropped off his face like it had been roped to an anvil.

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” he mumbled, looking ashen faced. “Um... would you like me to leave you alone, then?”

She blinked in amazement, surveying the young, sky-blue pegasi and his considerate question with sizable astonishment. It came as something of a surprise to her, what with Soarin's usual capacity to be serious only slightly less than that of the carpet beneath her hooves. She eased up a little.

“Actually, you can stay and talk to me, if you want,” she offered, feeling slightly less on edge. “I guess it is pretty lonely up here. I shut myself off from unnecessary contact after this morning.”

Upon realising what she was referring to, Soarin's eyes widened, and his mouth narrowed to a small 'o'.

“Oooooooh,” he said, before sucking up a breath through his teeth. “Yikes. That would NOT have been fun for you.”

Fan photos.

She was a wonderbolt. She'd arrived with the rest of the wonderbolts. There were fans. They wanted photos. It was as simple as that. The competitors were also pretty avid enthusiasts, so for the first half an hour of that morning they'd done some mingling with the crowd of hopefuls and fanponies alike. Thankfully, most fans asked for simple things, like signatures on their photographs, or merchandise. Others got more cocky. A couple of the bolder young colts had asked for a kiss on the cheek, and she, being the legendarily attractive captain of the wonderbolts, was bound to oblige...

“Yeah. Not fun. At all.” Spitfire deadpanned, wrenching her mind off of a particularly randy buck who had turned his head at the last second, stealing a smooch on the lips. She'd played that one off well, making a great deal of fuss and laughing over his bravado, when in reality she'd been ready to tear his heart out and sacrifice it to C'thulu. In the end, she had to be satisfied with security simply full-body-tackling him to the ground.

“Well, I hope you're feeling alright now,” Soarin' replied, turning a pointed forehoof against the carpet and looking genuinely remorseful.

Again, Spitfire found herself frowning inwardly at his rather unusual compassion. He hadn't even done anything wrong, and that was just about the only time Soarin' was reticent about anything.

“Yeah, I am,” she said, offering him a light smile, the first she'd had that day. “Thanks. It'll get easier as time goes on.”

Soarin' pursed his lips and nodded sagely, and together, the two of them surveyed the field  of competitors in silence.

“Soooo,” Soarin' mused, breaking the silence. “You feeling horny right now?”

She hit him. Hard.

“Oww,” Doctor Whooves whined. “My precious cranium! And my precious rear end, too!” He plucked himself gingerly out of Twilight’s rose bushes.

Doctor Whooves was very unlucky. All his life, he’d shown a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, which always lead to him getting into trouble. He’d moved to the tiny town of Ponyville from the big city of Hoofington in order to alleviate his bad luck, but had only enjoyed moderate success in the matter.

Just a few weeks before, he’d been out for a lovely midday stroll - a perfectly harmless and innocuous activity enjoyed by the gentleman and commoner alike - when all of a sudden, he’d been savagely mugged by a ferocious young earth filly, bullying him into buying her Apples.

Then there was the time he’d taken a trip up to Canterlot for the royal wedding – god save the queen, of course –  only to spend most of it being chased by horrid bug-like changelings, intent on devouring his soul. That had been the least relaxing holiday ever.

Wait. Had that happened yet? He pondered exactly which time-line he was in as he enjoyed his midday stroll. It was more than an occasional occurrence for him to forget exactly when he was, and so he made a habit of remembering all the details of the 'now'.

No, he'd decided. That was yet to come. The physical and mental trauma on his end, however, had most certainly come and gone, and he was in need of a lovely break.

Why, today, all he’d wanted to do all morning was borrow a book from the lovely librarian! He’d taken his time, eaten a lesiurely breakfast, and walked down to the library - and then, before he could say ‘pears’, he’d been bashed into a bushel of briars by a screaming door.

Or whoever had been behind the door, anyway. He clambered to all fours and peered up and down the street, trying to identify his assailant, but there was nopony in sight.

He turned back to the door, slightly suspicious. What foreign magic was this door capable of?

Crouching low, he stalked into the library, expecting an ambush at any second. And when he saw what was inside, he knew exactly why.

The inside of the library was a disaster. Or at least, a somewhat imperfect disaster.

The shelves were immaculately clean, the furniture was polished and gleaming, and the large reading cushions were all neatly tucked into their right place on the hardwood floor. In fact, everything was in its perfect place, barring the books themselves, which appeared to have been torn from their shelves and cast into a great pile with such reckless abandon that some of them were lying face down.

He gasped at the travesty of literature before him. What pony would have done such a thing?

Nopony, that's for sure, his brain replied. Yes. NoPONY.

More by reflex and less by suspicion, he reached for the screwdriver that he kept in the little hidden pouch on his jacket-front. Withdrawing it, he advanced slowly into the library.

Of course, he hadn't taken more than a single step before he slipped on a book, dropping the sonic device. It bounced off an angled hardback and vanished underneath the sea of books on the floor.

“Oh... shit!” He muttered angrily, in a very not-British sort of way. “Err, I mean, sod it.” Quickly, he descended to ground level, panning around for it.

“Hello?” Called a meek voice, from somewhere beneath the mountain of books in front of him.

Whooves focused on the centre of the small hillock, not daring to move, still lying so flat that he was nearly prone.

“Yes, hello?” he called back cautiously. “Is anypony, uh... under there?”

In response, Twilight Sparkle's head emerged from the paper ocean, in a small eruption of hard-backed books. She blinked at him once or twice, looking slightly dazed.

“Ah! Hello, Twilight.” Whooves managed, concealing his surprise.

“Hiya,” the disembodied head of Twilight replied. “What are you doing?”

Given that the mare before him was neck-deep in a pile of books, the absurdity of the question was not lost on the Doctor. It was merely misplaced in light of the fact that he was nearly commando crawling along the floor.

“I, uh... I wanted to borrow a book,” he said half-truthfully, quickly straightening up. “Tell me, what just burst out of your library, screaming blue murder?” he inquired, as politely as he could.

“Oh, um... that was Princess Cadence. I might have scared her off.” Twilight winced, and raised herself slowly out of the pile of books. “Oops.”

“Scared her off?”

“Y-yeah, you know,” she said, shaking off an open copy of Celestia Shrugged from her rear, and coming forward to meet him. “I, err, hid behind a bookshelf and jumped out at her. Boo. Scary. And I really wish I hadn’t done that,” she said, her ears drooping. “It was pretty dumb of me. That's why, um, my books are everywhere too.”

“...Riiiight,” the Doctor replied with a fake smile.

O-kay, he thought tentatively. She’s a little weird. But you’ve always known that.

“Anyway,” he said, glancing up at the shelves as he furiously battled against the forces of awkwardness. “I was wondering if you could help me find a boo-” ,

The unicorn mare, who had been frowning at him, leaned forward and plucked a thorny stem from his mane, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“A rose? Was this for me?” she said, holding the rose in one hoof.

“Is what for you - oh!” The doctor’s mouth hung ajar for a second as he clapped eyes on the rather fortunately-placed rose. “Uh, why yes, I think it was.”

The librarian’s cheeks coloured, and she shied, looking at the wooden floor and tracing little circles upon it with a pointed forehoof.

“W-wow, really?” She said meekly. “For me?”

“Uh-huh,” the doctor replied, grinning.

“Wow,” Twilight repeated, slightly breathless. “I-I don’t think anypony’s ever given me a rose before. I mean - it’s not like stallions don’t ask me out or anything, it’s just... well, you know what I mean.” she gave him an awkward smile, blushing furiously. She did her best to hide the fact that she was almost the same shade as the rose by scrutinising it closely, which, unfortunately for the young librarian, did not help in the slightest.

Inwardly, Dr. Whooves smiled to himself. Nice thinking Whooves, you devil! You're a genius! He gave Twilight a cursory glance. And hey, she's pretty cute, too. Maybe you can play this to your advantage?

Twilight, on the other hoof, looked torn between something, like she was wracked by some hidden dilemna, or she was looking for something to say. She glanced up at him, her brow furrowed slightly, and she gnawed on her lip for a moment.

“So just sitting in my library isn't gonna work out, huh?” she mumbled quietly to herself.

“I'm sorry?” The Doctor replied, with a set of raised eyebrows.

“Oh, I was just saying that... I... I love it!” She finished, rather lamely. “It’s just like the ones in my garden.”

“Yes,” Doctor Whooves replied levelly, not giving anyway anything. “Yes it is.”

The unicorn mare looked over at him doubtfully, as if deciding on something. Then, she leaned forward and scooped him into a quick, awkard, nerdy hug.

“Well, it's very sweet of you,” she said, blushing.

The Doctor, who was too busy to notice anything except for female contact, looked up at the sky (well, the leafy roof) and performed the tiniest of hoof-pumps.

See? It wasn’t that hard, he thought happily. I bet with that trottingham accent and studly charm, you’ll have them falling over you in droves!

Midway through rejoicing, he felt something snag in his coat. Twilight immediately flinched against him, jerking her head away as though she’d been shocked.

“Ow!” she cried, looking rather alarmedly down at a foreleg. “Something poked me!...” She leant forward, narrowing her eyes to examine the offending article. “Is that..."

She paused.

"Is that a rose thorn?”

“Oh, um, yes it is,” The Doctor replied, raising the hoof in front of his face and seeing the small, brown prickle jutting from his hoof. “How did that get there, I wonder?” He chuckled and brushed it away. “Must have been from the flower,” he added, with an apologetic smile – a smile that soon faded as he felt another stinging poke in his side. “Oh, bother, there's more of them. Sorry, Twilight, just give me a second. I’m a bit horny at the moment.”

The lavender librarian unsnaked her forelegs from around him and stepped away, turning a slight shade of red.

“Yeah, you aren’t the only one,” she muttered dryly under her breath.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” The Doctor said, looking up from preening the prickles out of his legs. Twilight jumped and put a hoof to her mouth, as if she'd let something slip out.

“Ah! Uh, heh-heh...” She lowered the hoof gingerly, and set it back on the floor. “I said, um, ‘let me just go and get a vase’. Y’know, for the rose.”

“Ah. Right.” He naively leaned back down, returning to his task.

“Oh! And thanks for helping me make up my mind,” Twilight's voice said as she retreated.

The Doctor looked up again at Twilight's departing rear, slightly confused. “Making up your mind on... what, precisely?”

“Spi~ike!,” Twilight called out, as she entered the adjoining kitchenette. “You can take the rest of the afternoon off!”

“Whoopee!” Yelled Spike’s voice from the back room. Whooves heard a loud thump from somewhere nearby, followed by rapidly padding footsteps and culminating in the slam of the back door.

“Looks like someone was keen to get away before you remembered to do something,” he called to Twilight. Twilight returned to the foyer shortly afterwards, with the rose resting in a ceramic vase.

“Oh, yes!” she replied emphatically. “He always does that, and I always remember something that needs doing the minute he’s gone. It gets really annoying, trust me. But that’s doesn’t matter today,” she added, setting the vase on the library table. “I have some important research I need to be doing. And it’s, um... not exactly the kind of stuff I’d want him to see.”

“Ah.” The doctor nodded knowingly, having forgotten his own plan to retrieve his screwdriver in favour of talking about books. “Continuing your studies on the ancient evils of Equestria?”

“Actually,” she replied, her horn summoning a particularly thick and dusty textbook from atop a high shelf and setting it down on the table. “This week, I’m trying to look into astrophysics.”

The doctor frowned, torn between asking exactly why Spike would be afraid of science, and the other, more polite question. He went with the latter.

“Oh, really? What are you studying, and for what purpose?”

“Oh, it’s fairly advanced stuff,” Twilight said, looking apologetic. “Quantum theory, advanced particle physics... you know.” she gave him a meek smile. “Advanced applications of string theory. I'm reading up on it because I'm busy exploring that little incident where there was two of me in the same time, a past me, and a present me, and – ” she forcibly cut herself off, mid-rant. “Basically, time-space manipulation.”

The Doctor blinked, frowning. “Like, say, travelling along the 4th dimension via the 5th?”

He saw Twilight’s ears prick a little.

“...You know a bit about science?” she asked, her keen lavender eyes widening in what he thought was a hopeful way.

“Well actually,” he said, resisting the urge to smile smugly, “I know more than a bit. I mean, I do have a degree in Advanced Theoretical Physics.”

He saw one of Twilight’s eyebrows rise in interest.

“Oh? I thought you were a medical doctor.”

“I am,” he replied (and this time, he allowed himself the smile). I actually have a Doctorate of Medicine too.”

The other eyebrow swiftly followed, and Twilight’s muzzle opened slightly in surprise, forming a perfect ‘o’ shape.

“Really?” she said, in a voice that made the fibres on the back of his neck prickle with warmth.

“Yes. Oh, I know I don’t exactly look like I’d be old enough to have either...” He cut himself off, glancing around nervously. “But, um... that's not to brag, or anything. Let's just say I have a lot of time on my whooves. I mean hooves.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Replied Twilight, who had in fact not noticed his slip at all. “You’re so young, and...” she paused. “...knowledgeable.”

He chuckled, shying away and feeling a shy, coltish blush hit his face.

“A-heh, thanks.”

And with that, court was in session. Currently residing, the right honourable Judge Awkward. Twilight shifted on her hooves, her eyes flitting between the still-present pile of upturned books, and the thick physics textbook on the little, round table that occupied one corner of the room.

“So, um... do you... do you want to read over these notes with me?” she said quickly, colouring furiously and stepping over to the book. “That is, only if you want to - I mean, just in case I need some help understanding them or something.”

The doctor was taken slightly aback. He had wanted to borrow a book about robots, not read one with Twilight, but he nodded anyway. Books were still books, after all, and he still needed to locate his screwdriver.

“Erm, sure, I’ll have a look. It sounds fairly interesting, and I'm sure I can help you out if you need it.”

He trotted over to the book, which, being an old, handmade thing, was so big that there was more than enough room to pour over the page side-by-side, and tucked himself in next to Twilight.

“So, where were you up to?” He said, giving her a slight smile. “I’m sure I’ll catch up if you fill me in.”

He felt Twilight twitch as he spoke, as if his words had pricked her with a needle. “Oh, um, right,” she muttered. “I was just up to here...”

She began to flick through the pages, a process that took several minutes due to the book’s size and volume.

“Hehe... cosy,” Twilight murmured, distractedly.

“Yep,” he said, giving her another sly glance again. He saw her perfect amethyst eyes cruise over the book just as quickly as if she was perusing a magazine.

What a brilliant mind, he thought to himself for a second. Who said nerdiness is unattractive in fillies?

At that moment, he decided there was something so wonderfully attractive about Miss Twilight Sparkle. Maybe it was the fact that she was a young, single librarian with a taste for geeky literature, and he was merely indulging in his long-willed (and very much unfulfilled) desire to interact with mares more often. After all, they were fairly interesting creatures.

“Oooh, here we are!” Twilight said, tapping a page and breaking his train of thought. “The god particle.”

Whooves glanced down at the page. “You mean the Higgs Boson, right?”

“Yes.” The mare shuffled a little closer to him, and he could just feel the warmth of her body to his left. “Can you... can you explain it to me?”

The doctor frowned, looking at Twilight with some confusion, partly as a result of her choice to lie a little too close to him, and partly because Twilight had just asked him to explain something.

The unicorn was watching him reproachfully, her nervous eyes darting back to the book every few seconds, as if she was incapable of holding his gaze.

“You need me to explain it to you?” he said, unsurely.

“Yes, please,” she replied, slightly breathless. “That would be... wonderful.”

Twilight’s insistence was a little jarring, as he knew she was a fairly studious pony who rarely needed 'explaining' to, but he obligingly nodded and smiled anyway. After all, it was nothing he wouldn’t do for a pretty mare like her.

“...Well, alright then.”

He put his eyes to the book, and began to read, translating the complicated terminology and physics jargon into words of his own as he did so.

“Well, the Higgs Boson isn't actually a hugely complex thing. It's an elementary particle in the standard model of physics. It has been predicted to exist for dozens of years for purely theoretical reasons...”

He continued in this way for a few minutes without a fuss, until he saw Twilight shift uncomfortably next to him, from out of the corner of his eye. He cast a glance at her, and saw that her cheeks were slightly flushed.

“Is there something wrong, Twilight?” he asked inquisitively.

“No, no!” the unicorn replied, a little too quickly. "Nothing at all. Yep. I'm al-right!" she gave him a half-hearted grin.

Doctor Whooves decided not to question the matter any further. He turned back to the book.

“...Anyway," he resumed, "there are several theories to support the existance of the Higgs. One particular theory is that a field exists that has non-zero strength, even in otherwise empty space, and that it and particles would accrue mass when... interacting with one another...”

He felt Twilight fidgeting beside him, shifting herself around again on folded fours, and eventually settling side-by-side with him. Now she was touching him - their bodies were directly next to each-other, and he could feel her warmth, and the hammering of her heart, and the electrical shivers of her coat whenever he said words like 'quantum electrodynamics'.

A shame the Doctor was far too enthralled in the book and his little lecture to even notice.

“...Now,” he said, with a knowing smile, drawing his lecture to a close. “If all that is true, then we should see a matching particle appear! The smallest, but most important–”

Her hot breath upon his neck broke his concentration, and his train of thought. He glanced to his left. Twilight was staring at him unabatedly, her mouth slightly open and panting.

“Excitation,” he finished, eyeing her warily.

There was an errant pause while the two ponies surveyed eachother. He frowned at her, entirely confused by her strange and rather flirtatious behaviour. He took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to continue -

The smell hit him like a freight train travelling at the speed of light in a vacuum.

(Finally, Dr. Whooves' usually-dormant testosterone kicked in, and he was taken by a very good idea).

“Miss Sparkle,” he said, raising one eyebrow and dialling his smokiness up to '11'. “Are you hitting on me?”

The answer was more than obvious. The librarian let out a shivering, shuddering, undeniably horny breath.

“Goddess, you are so hot,” she hissed.

A full-body unicorn tackle sent the Doctor flying for the second time in ten minutes.

The stallion known as Big Macintosh was also celebrating the lovely weather, in his own curious way.

It was a Saturday, so strictly speaking, he could (and should) have taken the day off. But there'd been talk of a thunderstorm sometime within the next week among the weatherponies, and it was set to be a doozy. He'd heard from Rainbow Dash that it was even worse than the pegasus-made one they'd had two days ago, so he wasn't taking any chances, getting as much work out of the way as he could before the storm came.

The first storm had been annoying – even now, two full days of sunshine later, the ground still hadn't completely dried out – but thankfully, its arrival had coincided with the start of the weekend, and his schedule hadn't been messed up too much. For Big Mac, the much larger, upcoming storm was the real worry.

But with that said, every stormcloud has a silver lining. And in the case of Big Macintosh, he had preparation. He decided that he'd rather spend his day off applebucking in the sunshine. That way, he could avoid catching a cold from working out in the rain, and he wouldn't lose any time to the storm whenever it came.

Big Mac cocked a back leg.

Thunk! A solitary hoof collided with the thick trunk of the aging apple, causing delicious, crispy red fruit to fall from its boughs in their dozens. As the apples found their destination, the baskets below the tree filled themselves up to the brim with a rumbling thokk-thokk-thokk, with not even a single one daring to bounce out onto the grassy orchard earth.

Big Macintosh surveyed his work momentarily, allowing a satisfied smile to grace his face. Perfect, once again.

(Actually, he felt a little guilty. Being best pony almost made the job a little too easy).

He moved onto the next tree, casually trotting past the flat stump of an old oak, and not at all noticing the butter-yellow pegasus sitting atop it.

“Hi,” she said.

Big Macintosh jumped and gasped, doing a quick double-take to where the pegasus mare sat.

“Ah! O-oh, g'mornin, Fluttershy.”

“Good morning, Big Mac,” Fluttershy replied, smiling sweetly. “How are you today?”

That was weird. She never called him Big Mac. It was always 'Big Macintosh', or, more regularly, just a shy 'hello' without any name. He turned away, if only to disguise his embarrassment at the fact that she'd frightened the wits out of him.

"Ah'm alright, thanks," he replied, nodding his head reflexively. “How about you?”

"Oh, I've been fantastic lately.”

Fantastic. That was a strong word for Fluttershy. Considering that she hardly bothered with words at all, let along strong ones, he found himself cocking his head curiously.

“What happened?” he inquired.

“Well,” she replied, her usually meek face perking into a cute little grin, “I ran into Princess Cadence this morning, and she gave me an invitation to her wedding, and I've... I've just been feeling so great all morning, really!”

The big farmer whistled.

“Wow, an invitation to the Royal shindig, huh? So ah guess you've been up to Rarity's to order yer new dress?"

Fluttershy's smile faltered, and she dragged a hoof along the ground awkwardly.

“Uhm... well, after last time, I think I'll let her pick what's good for me.”

Big Macintosh tried not to chuckle, but he couldn't help himself, and it poured out of him like a miniature pall of thunder.

“Well alrighty then, that sounds good.” He turned back to the apple baskets beneath the tree.

“What about you? How's your week been?” she asked.

Fluttershy askin' me about mah week? Resisting the urge to pout his lip thoughtfully, he detailed his week in his slow, methodical way of speaking.

"Mmmm... a bit of this, a bit of that. Farm business and apple season is keepin' me pretty busy, I hafta admit. Ah got some chores that need doin – the barn door needs fixin, an the weather ain't helpin' none, either, so ah guess it's been a bit of a hard week."

“Want me to make it easier?”

His head came up so fast that he felt his neck crick awkwardly.

“A-ah'm sorry?” he stammered, ignoring the pain in his neck.

Fluttershy jumped at the sudden movement, looking like a startled rabbit.

"Um, I said, have you ever considered hiring?... You know, to make it easier."

Big Macintosh blinked twice, his eyes narrowing.

Am ah goin' crazy?... ah.... ah must be. There's no way she coulda said that. He shook his head before replying. It's Fluttershy. There ain't a bad bone in her body.

"...Ah spose I haven't, really," he said, turning away and preparing to buck another apple tree.

“Well, is there any way I can help at all?” she asked, in her usual polite way.

Thunk! The apples fell in droves from the tree, but some of the more belligerent ones had stayed up in the higher branches. Big Macintosh frowned. Getting up onto his hind legs, he rested both of his mighty forehooves onto the tree trunk, preparing to shake the tree until they came loose.

"Uhh... I suppose...” He said, still partially distracted. “How would you be intendin' to help?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I could assist you?... if that's okay with you."

Rustle, rustle, rustle. The tree creaked and groaned, and the apples tumbled to the earth.

“...Like how? Meanin' no offense, Fluttershy, but ah'm not sure yer' up to applebucking.” He clambered down off the tree.

“...Oh no, I didn't think I would be.” Her voice floated over to him from beside what used to be the old oak tree, all honesty and apology. “But you must need to rest sometime, right?”

Big Macintosh struck at the tree again, desperate to distract himself from her, but no apples were forthcoming.

“Eeyup, every night,” he said. “But Fl-”

“And you must get awfully tired after working hard allllllllll day in the orchard.”

There was an odd edge to Fluttershy's voice. It was one that he hadn't heard before from her, and for some reason, it made his heckles stand on end. Add to that she'd just cut him off mid-sentence...

He felt very justifiably uncomfortable, and a little worried about the possibility on his mind.

“Aheh... uh, eyup,” he said, kicking the tree again. Again, nothing fell.

If he didn't know any better, he'd swear that Fluttershy was hitting on him. He wasn't exactly a stranger to his little sister's friends, and while he'd been warned away from them multiple times by an overprotective (and slightly peeved) Applejack, her stern reprimand didn't stop her friends from doing exactly what they wanted. To be fair, he didn't object, and he wasn't a stranger to their flirting either – after all, that Rarity mare had wanted a piece of him ever since she'd clapped eyes on him. But this?...

It was around this time that Big Macintosh realised the tree he'd been bucking for the last minute was empty, and had been ever since he'd shaken the apples out of it.

He planted both back hooves on the ground, cursing his distraction, and he took a moment to rub the weariness from his eyes.

Maybe it's just the heat gettin' to me, he thought wearily. Yeah, that seems about right.

(In an awful, ironic twist, Big Macintosh was probably one of the few ponies in this story who the heat hadn’t gotten to.)

Big Macintosh opened his eyes, and nearly leapt out of his skin.

“GAAH!”

Sweet Celestia of Equestria, Fluttershy was close. VERY close. Through a machination of science and magic yet unknown to Ponykind, Fluttershy had somehow teleported from her comfortable seat to right behind him in complete silence, leaving her adorable little face now inches from his own.

He jerked his head away again and took an ungainly step backwards, doing his best not to scream.

Dangit, boy, he said to himself, attempting to gain control of his racing heart. Get a grip. It's Fluttershy.

“How about I give you a nice massage, hmm? Just you and me.” She closed the distance between them with a single step, and traced a cream-coloured hooftip down the centre of his muscular chest.

Ok, his mind corrected itself. Never mind getting a grip. Y'all can start freakin' out now.

“Fluttershy,” Big Mac said evenly, standing his ground. “Pardon me for sayin' so, but you're actin' a little strangely today.”

“I'm in heat,” she replied in a sultry tone, still smiling at him.

A dead weight dropped into his stomach. “Yeah, ah figured.”

“So... don't you want to do something about it?” She inquired, fanning her tail. He sniffed, and he felt his innards twitch in response.

Ho boy. She'd been keeping the scent well under wraps up until now, but now that she lifted her tail slightly, he copped a lungful of her musk.

“Eenope,” he replied, backing off a little bit more and doing his best not to gag on the smell.

The little mare snorted and flipped her pink bangs back in an annoyed huff. It would have been utterly adorable were it not for the fact that she was also frowning, which unnerved him more than words could describe.

“Why not?” she demanded.

Easy, now, inner Mac said. She doesn't know. Jus' put her down gently.

“Well, beggin' your pardon,” he said in his lowest, calmest voice, “But it'd be most ungentlecoltly of me, and ah wouldn't much enjoy takin' advantage of you like that, for more than just one reason.”

Fluttershy didn't even bat an eyelid.

“Oh, I imagine you wouldn't enjoy it,” she said, tilting her head slightly and smiling politely. “But I would.”

For a moment, the two ponies stared at eachother.

The warm breeze stopped blowing. In the tops of the unbucked trees, the apples stopped swaying. The birds on the branches froze, and looked down on the scene in muted shock.

“I'll give you a ten second head-start,” Fluttershy said, calmly.

Big Mac began to run as fast as he could towards the house.

________