Of Winter and Embers

It’s the same way every time we meet.

It’s the middle of winter. Fleetfoot, Soarin’ and I are at the bar having a drink, and at exactly two o’clock, we hear a bell ringing. I glance towards the bar, where a mocha-colored unicorn with a chestnut mane wearing half-moons is pulling at the rope that’s ringing the bell.

“Well’s dry,” he says. Most of the patrons glare at the bartender and grumble, but his gaze is arctic as the weather outside. And tonight it’s especially cold. He looks like the type that they could easily beat him to a pulp and go back to enjoying drinks. and each time I’m here, a part of me wants to see how he’d fare in a fight.

But not this time, not tonight. Tonight, they just up and go. Some of the more sober patrons wave at the bartender and say goodbye amicably. The rest (normally no more than three) are already passed out with their heads lying in a puddle of their own saliva on the bar.

“Ya mind lendin’ a hoof?”

Soarin’ looks up at the bartender, and he gestures with his eyes at the passed out patrons. There are only three tonight.

Wordlessly, Soarin’ and I each take one on our back and drag them outside, where night watchponies doing their rounds will see them, wake them and drag them to their homes or the nearest shelter for the night. I glance back at the bar and see Fleetfoot walking over to the bar area to help the tender clean up empty glasses and wipe down the counter. We might as well work here during the winters when we don’t do many shows, considering he knows us by name and when we’re not helping up clear the skies over Canterlot, we’re here cleaning up spilled alcohol, vomit, or the occasional tooth.

By the time Soarin’ and I finish dragging out the passed-out drunks, Fleetfoot has finished wiping down the counter to the tender’s satisfaction. The bartender himself has made out his secret, signature drink, a sweet little shooter served in a warmed shot glass. There are four, one for each of us. We silently toast and knock back the drink, remembering not to choke on the garnish. I smile inwardly, recalling that Soarin’ and Fleetfoot did that the first time the barkeep made it for us.

He puts our used shot glasses in the sink, saying he’ll clean them first thing once he gets there. He then starts counting his final register, and I just sit at the bar, waiting patiently.

“You good to go home?”

I turn to see Soarin’, Fleetfoot’s arm wrapped around his shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s already a little loopy, probably from all the alcohol she’s consumed.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I reply. “Get her home safe, huh?”

He chuckles and nods. “I will. You get home safe, too, okay?”

I nod, and the two of them leave, the door closing behind them. My mind begins to drift, hoping that he’s not busy tonight.

I hear him approach from the back office, and once he lays his eyes on me, he looks over his half-moon glasses with a question in his eyes. I know I have alcohol in my system, but I’m still sharper than an arrow. He knows this, but all the same, he wordlessly gives me a small vial of blue liquid. I down the contents, and in seconds, my vision is immediately less hazy and my mind is clearer than water.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

I nod.

“My place, or...?”

“Mine,” I reply. With a nod, he points with his gaze to the door, and I head towards it as he grabs his coat and switches off the lights.

I open the door and the frigid night air bites at my face like a cold, angry parasprite. I hunch my shoulders, trying to keep my arms close to my body. As he locks the door to the pub and steps out into the street, he shivers and nods at me. I start making my way down the Canterlot street, and he catches up to me easily. We don’t need to share words. We just look into each other’s eyes and we can read each other’s minds perfectly.

He’s thinking: I’m just a bartender and author. How in Tartarus did I manage to catch her eye? Why would she want to sleep with me?

He’s divining my thoughts as well. I’m thinking: I’m a Wonderbolt. I could have any pony I wanted, mare or stallion. But why him, of all ponies?

That’s how our relationship is. We’ve tried to rationalize it in the mornings after nights much like this one (most warmer, some cooler), but it got too weird, and we decided to just settle on what we have.

We reach my apartment building and I let us in. We take the stairs (despite my ability to fly, it's too damn frigid and it's only on the second floor), and we walk down the hall to my place. I unlock the door and let us in.

My place is dark, shades of cornflower blue and deep purple mixing perfectly with black, but in this darkness, our dance begins. We don’t need our eyes for this dance; we’ve done this so many times, in much darker nights than this, that we both know where everything is. The past few times we've been here, we haven't tripped over anything.

As soon as he closes the door behind him, I pin him against it, kissing him madly as I slip my coat off my shoulders. I feel his hands, cold and yet fiery underneath, slip down my arms in an attempt to help with my coat. I grab him by his upper arms and hold him fiercely against me, feeling him press against me through his clothes. It warms me to know that he’s already this excited, but we’ve not even made it to my bedroom.

I remedy that situation by parting our kiss and making my way to our destination, him close behind. As soon as we reach my room (and my bed), he is right behind me, kissing the back of my neck. I moan and whirl around, kissing him back, and pulling him down on the bed with me, my wings splayed out.

His hands aren’t idle as he hooks his fingers underneath my top and pull it up, revealing my bra. I unhook it from the front and let my breasts free, and I feel another wave of warmth through me as he teases my breasts with his hands and mouth.

I feel a small spot of coolness and look down to see that his horn his glowing, and so is the button on my jeans. The cool feeling envelops the rest of my legs as my jeans are unclasped. They slide down my legs and are tossed aside. A rush of thought makes me shiver, wondering how he’s able to control his magic while he continues to play with my breasts.

His other hand slides down my stomach and slips beneath my underwear. Two fingers slide between my nether lips and tease at my hardening nub. I hear myself moan underneath his touch, and moan again when those two fingers slide past my button and into me.

He shifts his focus to pleasing me down there, and I let him. He’s too good. Already I want to throw him onto the mattress and mount him, but I love the attention, and I know he likes giving it. We just know each other so well.

A faint bit of brown light illuminates the room, and from the zipping sound, his pants have come off. I take his momentary pause as an opportunity to turn around, go on all fours, and shake my plot at him. I don’t care that my panties are still on. From the way that he moves them aside and I feel the head of his member at my lips, I know he doesn’t care either.

He slips inside me, and we moan in concert. He starts moving at an even pace, and I go with it, loving every in-stroke, and anticipating the next one as he slides out of me. It’s too good. The feel of him is breathtaking, and his warmth is just...

It’s too much and not enough to describe the feeling. All I know is, at this moment, it’s just us.

Just when I think it couldn’t get any better, I feel his fingertips on my wings.

Oh Celestia, his fingers! He strokes with the precision of a masseur. I feel myself tighten around him, getting close, oh so close...

His hands move to the bases of my wings and start massaging them while he continues to thrust. I feel myself (or him, I don’t know at this point) get warm, but as he starts to rub the bases of my wings with his palms, I just lose it.

My vision goes white, and I feel for a moment like I’m gliding through the clouds on a spring day. My mind is clear, and I feel ecstatic.

I open my eyes, and I see the faint outlines of my furniture in my bedroom again. I’m trembling a little, partly from the cold, and partly from the afterglow.

I remember what just happened what seemed like minutes ago.

“Did...did you...?”

“No,” he replies, kissing the back of my neck.

I’m not worried. In a couple of minutes, I’ll ride him senseless, and we’ll be even.

And we’ll still have the rest of the night. And the night after that. And maybe every night after that.

At least, until Spring rolls around.