Love Parasite

Red tinged the skies as the last vestiges of the sun's light seeped into the horizon. The city of Canterlot responded in kind, the streets having lost their vibrant life as ponies retired home for the night. Windows alight, the buildings of the city seemed to glint from afar—a vision befitting the capital of Equestria.

At least, I thought so.

As an international pegasus courier stationed across the ocean east of Equestria, I've seen many wonders in distant lands: high-rising draconic spires, the mist-graced vales of griffonkind, and ancient ruins from civilizations unknown. Regardless, I admit I've always marveled at the simple majesty of Canterlot. Born and raised in nearby Cloudsdale, I came to appreciate a city at sky-level that did not depend on clouds. The fact that my latest route took me back into my homeland of Equestria was a pleasant surprise.

As I soared through the darkening skies toward Canterlot, I kept checking my saddlebags, pausing in mid-air and tightening the straps with my teeth. Thinking back, I suppose it sounds silly, but I only had to lose one package to fall into that habit.

Whatever I was delivering, it was particularly heavy for its size. I had asked my dispatch officer why they didn't bother transporting it in a load of other deliveries for convenience's sake, but a hushed word and subtle nod confirmed it for me; this was priority mail, and they needed somepony to fire it over to Canterlot posthaste.

Reaching back to secure the clasp on my saddlebags once more, I began my descent into the city. I scanned the outskirts for the nearest guard outpost before remembering that ponies don't ordinarily carry such rigid customs.

Enough time flying for a strict griffon-based delivery service will harden your expectations.

Touching down on a deserted cobblestone road, I unbuckled one of my bags and retrieved a simple street map, scanning it for the delivery address. It didn't take long; Canterlot's building planners took care to organize streets and districts by theme, it seemed. Searching for Iris Circle is easy when it's nestled between streets like Orchid Avenue and Lily Way.

As I tucked the map back into my satchel, a distant clock tower began to chime, marking the start of the evening—and the end of the delivery day. Not wanting to wait until tomorrow, I shot into the air and whistled toward my destination.

I landed in front of the building, slipped off my saddlebags, and tapped my hoof against the door. While catching my breath, I noticed Iris Circle did not look as flowery as advertised. The elegant architecture expected of Canterlot was absent; in its place stood structures of dull, cracked brick and a spartan sense of décor—the mark of the city's industrial district.

“Your business?” called a mare's muffled voice on the other side of the door.

I pulled out two small yet heavy boxes from each side of my bags, setting them on the doorstep. “Package delivery for . . .” I trailed off, squinting at the scuffed package label. “Sorry. I can't read the name.”

“That's fine. Leave it by the door.”

“Can't do that, miss,” I replied. “I need a signature.”

Silence. I rifled through my goods for a clipboard and quill. Just as I retrieved them, a magical aura took hold, yanking them from my mouth. The uninked quill scratched an unintelligible scrawl onto my delivery sheet before they slid themselves back into my satchel.

“Further business?” inquired the voice.

I warily pushed the two boxes closer to the door. “I suppose that's all, miss.”

Nothing else was spoken. The curt exchange wasn't so bad. Ponies that drag you into lengthy conversations were far worse, I reasoned.

Delivery more or less done, there was only one thing left to do: burn time until morning. And as far as I was concerned, there was one best way to do it.

I tapped the counter. “Another beer.”

The bartender withdrew my mug and cracked open another bottle. Just as he tipped it into the glass, I raised a hoof, prompting him to stop.

“Just leave the bottle,” I muttered.

Setting it down gently, he leaned against the counter with both forelegs, peering at me warily. “Ain't seen you around here before, pal.”

I lazily looked around the bar. Faint neon signs flickered erratically, casting sickly light against the room's age-worn wood paneling. Anything untouched by their glow remained dark, the murk matching the bar's odd, musty odor. Deep grooves lined the counter's surface, and most of the stools—at least the ones I could see—stood uneven.

No, I certainly didn't frequent holes like this.

“Just need a place to kill time,” I replied.

The bartender raised his hooves innocently, taking a step back. He didn't say anything, instead slowly turning around and continuing his work.

As I took a long sip, the bar's front door creaked open. A unicorn mare with an aquamarine coat stepped inside, brushing her mane with a hoof before taking a seat two stools away from me. Her lyre cutie mark caught the neon light from the wall.

“What'll it be, lady?”

The mare shot a brief look in my direction and shrugged. “Give me whatever he's having.”

“A dark lager for you too, then.” The bartender slid over to grab another bottle.

I threw a half-hearted nod toward her. She responded with a peculiar stare, eyeing me up and down.

“Something I can help you with, Miss Lyre?” I asked.

Upon hearing mention of her cutie mark, she softened; her jaunty countenance melted into a calm smile. “Just Lyra will do.”

The bartender set a bottle in front of her, but she continued tracing my body with her eyes. At last, she turned her head toward her drink with a short “hm,” giving it a quick taste.

I followed suit, and silent seconds stretched into silent minutes, each of us slowly nursing our bottles.

Her attention elsewhere, Lyra focused on the far wall, looking intently at some invisible point while taking periodic sips. Her smile had faded, and she was seemingly lost in thought; every so often, her horn glowed with faint magic, as if she was imagining some spell.

I gave her a cursory glance. Her bright coat and slender, lithe figure seemed to brighten the dreary pub—or at least make the experience more palatable.

At last, she turned toward me, holding her bottle and scrunching her eyes at the label. “What are we drinking, anyway?”

“It's just an old griffon-made lager.”

“It kinda sucks.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it's an acquired taste.”

Glancing up toward me, she shrugged. “Whatever turns you on. Cheers, then.” She held her bottle up and tilted it in my direction.

I tapped her bottle with mine. “Cheers, Lyra.”

We both took generous sips. Almost right after swallowing, she spoke once more. “So . . . gonna tell me your name?”

“Liltwhisper. Or, just Lilt, really.”

“Liltwhisper?” Lyra furrowed her brow. “That's . . . delicate. You don't look like a Liltwhisper. Anyway, isn't that more of a filly's name?”

I turned red and waved my hoof in dismissal. “Really, just Lilt is fine!”

She traced my body with her eyes once more. “Hm. Tell me, Lilt. What's a pegasus stud like you doing in Canterlot? You live around here?”

I took a quick swig before answering, letting her flattery slide off casually. “Afraid not. I actually don't live in Equestria. Just here on business.”

Her eyes wide, Lyra leaned forward. “Really, now? What business?”

“Ah, it's nothing exotic or anything. I'm a courier for a griffon-based delivery company, way east of Equestria. I'm flying back tomorrow.”

Her alert posture relaxed a bit, but her eyes stayed focused on mine. “That's too bad. Just one night in town, then? Why not spend it with friends?”

I shrugged. “None in these parts. Not that I'm chummy with the griffons back east, either.”

Lyra closed her eyes for a few seconds. A stray spark or two jumped from her horn as she curled her mouth into a devilish smile. At last, she opened her eyes. “Then tonight, I'll be your friend.” She slid her bottle over, then switched to the stool next to me. “We'll have fun together, you and me . . . Lilt.” She lightly touched my foreleg.

My heart jumped. As Lyra's hoof grazed mine, my mind spun for a reasonable reaction. After translating all the fluttering emotions rushing through me, I defaulted to taking another sip. I reached for my bottle, but she lunged for it first and pulled it toward her.

“Hmm! Not so fast . . .” she said, bringing my bottle up to her mouth. With a sultry look, she delicately licked the top of the bottle, running the tip of her tongue along its rim before passing it over to me. “Now you can drink,” she said, softly biting her lip.

“Hey, look, I think I'm getting the wrong idea here . . .”

“Oh, you're definitely getting the right idea,” she said, placing her hoof on my hind leg and rubbing it slowly. As she moved closer to my flank, my muscles grew tense. “You have shitty taste in beer,” she added, “but you're really cute.”

Idly leaning against the far wall, the bartender smirked.

“H-okay, let's take it easy,” I said, nervously jumping off my stool. “I've, uh, gotta hit the restroom real quick.”

Lyra blushed slightly. “I'll be right here, stud.”

With a jittery wave, I bid her temporary farewell and made awkward steps toward the back of the bar, slipping into the restroom. As I shut the door behind me, I took a deep breath. “Holy shit,” I whispered to myself, “this mare is insane.”

I moved up to the sink and splashed a bit of water across my face. Whatever was happening, I wasn't mentally prepared for it. Wiping grime off the mirror to get a better look, I gazed at my reflection.

“All right, Lilt,” I told myself. “A crazy hot mare is all over you. Also just crazy.” I swallowed hard and flashed a composed, if forced, grin. “Okay. I can handle this. Confidence!”

Opening the bathroom door with a firm hoof, I strolled back toward my stool and sat down with marked purpose. As I took hold of my beer, Lyra winked at me. “Why don't you give it a taste? I think you'll like the flavor now . . .” She licked her lips.

Undaunted, I took a healthy drink, all the while looking into her eyes. As I swallowed, her eyebrows seemed to lift. “That's it,” she said. “Tastes better now, right?”

“Actually, yeah,” I admitted, taking a second drink before setting the bottle down. “Much better.”

Lyra leaned off her stool, rubbing her shoulder against mine. “I'm glad,” she whispered into my ear. “Finish it.”

This brand of flirting was new to me, but I shrugged and took another few sips. As I swallowed, she reached forward to tip the bottle up, coaxing me to drink a bit more. “Keep going.”

“Hey, hey,” I said, brushing her off. “What's the rush?”

“The sooner you finish your drink, the sooner I can take you home and let you have your way with me.”

I blinked once, then immediately downed the rest of the beer. As the last of it hit my stomach, a pang of dizziness struck me, but the sensation lasted for only a second.

“That's a good boy,” she cooed, sliding the rest of her beer toward me. “Mine too. All of it.”

Without hesitation, I chugged her beer down as well. She was right; it didn't carry its usual bitter flavor. Regardless, it mattered little to me. The only thing on my mind was an image of Lyra stretched out on a bed, open, moist, and wanting.

Once the final few drops slid down my throat, I tried to set the bottle on the counter. Hazy reflexes caused me to place it on-edge, and it clattered onto its side. I picked it back up, sloppily aligning the bottle with both forehooves to keep it standing.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Lyra giggle. “What's wrong, stud? Was that a little too much drink for you?”

I thought for a moment, trying to formulate the right words. “No, I . . . no, it wasn't.” My sight grew cloudy; I rubbed my eyes in a vain effort to expunge the blurriness. “It was just . . . a couple beers . . . that's all.”

Lyra stood up from her stool and took hold of my foreleg, gently tugging. “Then let's go. I wanna have some fun. I'm ready for it . . .”

I turned to face her, but a sudden dizzy spell forced me to stop and clutch the counter. “S-Sure. Just give me . . . a second,” I said slowly. As I stood up, a rush of heat turned my cheeks flush, and the bar's walls appeared to spin. Despite the sensation, my glossy vision made me feel somewhat disconnected from everything that was happening.

“Look, lady,” said the bartender. “Do me a favor and get this guy out of here before he loses it. This place has seen enough puke.”

Look lady. Loses it. Enough puke. His voice flatly reverberated in my head, the dull echo of his speech washing over my consciousness several times before I could understand just what he was saying. I wanted to respond, but it felt so much easier not to speak. Glancing downward, I noticed the bar's floorboards looked quite comfortable and inviting at the moment. With a soft hum to myself, I slumped down and shut my heavy eyelids.

“. . . now let's make sure you're in there nice and tight.”

As I gradually regained consciousness, I felt something pull against my legs.

“Yep. You're trussed up real good, Lilty.”

With prominent effort, I forced my eyes open. My mind was still sluggish and thick with confusion; it took a moment for me to realize that I was staring at the ceiling, and another moment still to understand that I was lying face-up on somepony's bed. I tried to move my legs, but each one was held in place, bound tightly to the bed frame. I swallowed roughly and felt a collar around my neck, its chain fastened to the bed frame.

Aside from the bed, the room was barren. The walls' unadorned, age-yellowed brick did little to calm me. A single bulb hanging from above offered scant, pale light; otherwise, the room was dim and windowless. There was no sign of my saddlebags. Although my sight was still somewhat off, it was keen enough to recognize the mare standing nearby: the one from the bar.

Lyra, a wicked grin plastered across her face, sauntered up to the side of the bed next to me. “And you're awake.” Her grin faded as she brought a hoof up to my face, lightly grazing it as she traced my chin. “I caught a real winner tonight. Did you like what I slipped into your drink?”

“What the fuck is this?” I exclaimed. “What are you—mmmph—”

Lyra wrapped a thick cloth over my mouth, winding it around my head several times before tying it from behind. She shot a coy glance to the side, remarking, “Oh, I guess I lied. I'll be having my way with you instead.” She leaned into my ear and added, “Much more fun that way.”

With a quick hop onto the bed, Lyra straddled my body. I muffled complaint, but a sharp tug on the collar around my neck silenced me. “Listen, sweetie,” she said softly. “Don't try to move. Just lie there and take it.”

Unable to act, I watched helplessly as Lyra snaked further up my body and stared deeply into my eyes. Barely an inch stood between our faces, and I could feel the heat of her breath while she hovered above me. As she held her piercing gaze, her mouth gradually curled into a smile. ”I've been wanting this for a long time,” she whispered, half-moaning. “I'm cutting this one real close.”

She slid off my body and cantered to a nearby door. “You just wait right there while I fetch my toys, okay?”