Smooth Operator

Smooth Operator

They sat around the foldout table the same way they always did. There were four of them — Gust, Dancer, Blitz and Effy — All girls and all pegasi. There were styrofoam cups of coffee with whiskey poured into them that sat just before them on the table, with Cultural Studies textbooks beside them. There was a small notepad in front of Gust, and she held a pen in her mouth.

“Boys who wear sunglasses at night?” Dancer asked, smiling.

Gust grinned around the pen. “Oh,” she said, slyly, “You mean the colt from Las Pegasus?”

“Mhmm,” Dancer said, her eyelids drooping, “I think he’s dreamy.”

“Eww, no.” Blitz grunted.

“I hear he’s into some really weird stuff, Dancer,” said Gust.

“How weird is weird?” Dancer asked, “Do you mean, like, anal or something?”

“Again.” Blitz sighed, “Big fat ‘Eww’ from me.”

“No, even weirder,” said Gust, “You know Stormy, right?”

“Mhmm,” Blitz said, “He sits in front of me in class. I think he’s pretty cute.”

“Cute and gay.” Dancer added, “He’s going out with that hayseed pony. Gentle Slaps or whatever his name is.”

“Is not!” Blitz shouted, “I heard he’s sleeping with his Creative Writing professor.”

“You heard wrong,” Dancer chided, “Him and Gentle Slaps have coffee at Monk’s together all the time. I’ve seen them leave parties together, too.”

“When do you ever go to parties?” Gust asked, taking a sip from her coffee/whiskey.

“I go out sometimes!” Dancer snapped, “And, okay, at The End Of The World Party I totally saw them hook up on the couch downstairs.”

“Wasn’t that the same party your boyfriend — the colt from Las Pegasus — got his ass kicked by Gentle Strokes?” Gust said with a grin across her face while she corrected Dancer.

Dancer nodded. “Yeah..”

“Well, anyway,” Gust said, tapping her pen against the table, “According to Stormy, Dancer’s wannabe boyfriend is really into auto-erotic stuff. You know, like, choking and shit...”

“Eww,” grunted the table, collectively.

Effy snickered, “I guess that explains why everyone calls him ‘Choke ‘N’ Stroke’ behind his back.”

The girls around the table giggled again.

Effy, chuckling to herself, grabbed the pen from Gust, then the notepad, and scratched a line through the name ‘The Colt From Las Pegasus’. On the paper were names of colts around Camden, all just below the words ‘Guys Who Are Hot.’

“Um, okay…” Gust said, staring at the notepad, “What about, like, guys who do drugs? Like, all the time?”

“Jagged Horn?” Blitz grinned, “Maybe if you wanted to catch a disease…”

“I think he’s hot,” Dancer said.

“I heard he fucked Crimson and Clover.” said Blitz, “You could probably get with him, Gust. It doesn’t sound like he has much in the way of standards.”

“Hah-Hah,” Gust faux-laughed. “Eat me, Blitz.”

Blitz rolled her tongue out of her mouth, blew a raspberry then snickered. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Grow up, alright?” sighed Gust.

Effy crossed a line through Jagged Horn’s name. She tapped the pen against the table, rolled her tongue across her lower lip, then smiled.

“What about Gryphons?” she asked.

“Hmm, I only know one.” said Blitz, “But… I think he might be gay? He hangs out with all those queer drama kids.”

That did sound a little bit like Vincent...

“Which ones, Blitz?” Gust asked, “This school is only, like, ninety percent gay drama kids.”

“Oh, and poetry majors too.” Dancer added.

Blitz, Gust and Effy nodded.

“I’m sure you know who I’m talking about, Gust,” Blitz said, “They’re those ponies-”

“-And Gryphon.” Dancer added,

“Right. Ponies — and Gryphon — who hang out in the back of the library?” said Gust, “There’s that really, really dumb one who tried to pick me up at The End Of The World party-”

“So, they’re not all gay?” Dancer asked.

Blitz shook her head, “I guess not.”

“Right, getting back on topic,” said Gust, “They also hang out with that Pinto, you know; the one with the really cute butt?”

Dancer nodded her head. “And that one with the white mane who looks really, really, really gay?”

“Ohhh,” Blitz nodded, “Yeah, I know who you’re talking about.”

“That Gryphon is totally into the boys, Eff.” said Gust.

“He’s not,” Effy said, “In fact, he actually asked me out today.”

“Shut up!” squealed Dancer, “He so totally didn’t!”

“He so totally did,” Effy insisted, “And his name is Vincent by the way.”

“So, liar, where are you going on this pretend date? The Hub? Nell’s?”

“He asked me to a party,” Effy said, “And, he told me I could bring my friends, but since you’re all a bunch of stuck up bitches none of you are invited.”

“Ouch,” said Blitz.

“That doesn’t sound like a date, Effy” said Dancer, “That, um… It sort of sounds like he just wants to bang you, really.”

Gust and Blitz nodded.

“Whatever,” said Effy, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her coffee, “Don’t come then?”

“Oh, no,” said Blitz, grinning, “We’ll be there just to watch when he starts making out with all the gay boys.”

Effy sighed, but still jotted down Vincent’s name on the list.

“When’s the party?” Gust asked, “If there even is one, Effy?”

“Ten.” Effy said, “I’m meeting Vincent at his place before that though.”

“Aww,” Dancer cooed, “That’s kind of sweet.”

“Kind of,” Blitz said, “It’s kind of creepy too.”

“Yeah,” Gust said, “Do you know how many sexual assaults at college happen in dorm rooms? Something like sixty-seven percent, Effy.”

“Really?” Effy begged, “You guys are really going there with this?”

“It’s just something to think about,” Blitz grinned.

“You guys are sick,” Effy snapped, “Vincent is a nice guy, and, on top of that, I think he’s absolutely stunning.”

“She’s got a point,” said Blitz, “He is kind of… hunky.”

“Oh, and that accent?” Dancer cooed, “I bet he’s an amazing singer.”

“I guess Effy’ll just have to wait and find out,” said Gust, “Right?”

“Totally,” Effy droned, rolling her eyes. She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a pack of Red Apple cigarettes, shook one loose and bit the tip.

“Ugh,” Dancer grunted, “Can you not?”

“Yeah, Effy.” Gust sighed, “The smoke from your little cancer sticks always gets in my mane and makes me smell like shit.”

“How is it any different from how you usually smell?” Blitz grinned.

Ignoring the backhooved nature of all her best friend’s complaints, Effy lit her cigarette and stared at the clock. She was due to meet said Gryphon in forty five minutes, and since she couldn’t think of any reason to stay and discuss boys, anal-sex, choking fetishes and date-rape any longer if she tried, she stood up in her seat.

“Heading out?” Dancer asked.

Effy nodded. She grabbed the pen once more, then the notepad, scribbled into it and dropped it on the table.

“That’s the address.” She said, “I have a date, which means I’ll have to see you lonely, sexually frustrated losers later.”

“Enjoy the non-consensual sex,” Gust said as Effy flew from the table, heading towards the dormitories.

***

Luck is a fickle thing. It comes and goes without any regard to who gets caught in the crosshairs. Some ponies have it in spades. Some ponies lack it entirely. And, some Gryphons who try their hardest in life to remain in the karmic good graces of the great and powerful magnet, find that suddenly luck up and goes ahead in blindsiding you with a stream of piss poor karma when you least deserve it.

Vincent was one of those Gryphons.

He sat on his bed, curling a claw along the nightstand and alternating between clicking his tongue and checking the clock. The room was clean now at least. He’d spent the better part of half an hour after he returned from Sunny Side and Honey Drop’s place to clean a mess he never made to impress a girl he wasn’t really sure would be all too impressed with the failings that weren’t his fault.

Scout and Singer were still missing, and so, was his rum as were his rolling papers. It wasn’t the end of the world that he didn’t have the rum — he could just as easily put on charm without liquor as he could with — what bothered him was the lingering thoughts he had about his roommate and his roommate’s companion.

Singer was a bitch. Really. He’d tried being nice to her for the sake of Scout, Sunny Side and Honey Drop, and she’d turned around and spat in his face. Beyond the personal affront, what bothered him the most was knowing how blindly Scout followed after where his libido led him. And, also, how neither his dick, nor his head, had much in the way of brains enough to figure out that Singer was being manipulative.

From the moment Scout showed any interest in Singer, to the moment he realized he’d been ransacked, Vincent’s only concern had been Scout’s safety. Genuinely.

Scout was… well, Scout was dumb. He was hapless, naive, self assured and confident in all the wrong ways. But, he was also innocent (at heart, at least). Anything that happened to Scout was by proxy Vincent’s fault, if only because Vincent had never taken the time to sit the pegasus down and explain to him the way the world really worked.

That was the Gryphon’s towering failure.

Now Scout was running around completely unchecked at the becoming call of Singer’s manipulations. His dick would lead and Scout would follow, and Vincent knew there was no telling where that sense of hopeless, sexually charged, tunnel vision would lead him. Only time, and, quite possibly, an article on the front page of The Camden Student Weekly would tell.

Vincent sighed and stared at the clock again.

In five minutes and thirty seconds Effy would knock on his door and he’d still be thinking about Scout, and Singer, and Sunny Side, and Honey Drop, and the rum, and the party, and…

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

Oh, good, she was early.

Punctuality was important with dating after all.

There was a saying that originated in the lowlands of Gryphon-Land about facing the music. What inspired it was a legend from the old days which insisted that the highlanders (brown feather Gryphons) would execute lowland (Those beaked creatures with black feathers) prisoners in an eccentric manner, usually with the accompaniment of drinks and live music. This, of course, was during times of skirmishes between tribes. Gryphon culture had advanced much since then and seldom an execution was still held in such high regard.

Compared to Gryphon Culture, Equestrian culture lacked almost all the thrills.

Vincent got up from the bed and shambled with drawn out steps towards the door, counting each passing moment contemplatively. He wanted to see Effy. He didn’t want Effy to see him, not while he was amongst the lowest he’d felt all semester. Regardless, when he did reach the door he spun the doorknob and opened the door to find Effy standing before him, smiling sweetly.

“Hello, Vincent.” She said.

He stared at her furry purple face and all of his concerns melted away. In the time between when he’d last seen her and now, she’d changed, entirely, outfits and mane styles. Gone were the yoga-pants, replaced with Vincent’s first glances at her bare uncovered rear and legs. And, it was certainly a thing to behold. Her cheeks took the shape of an apple, with a fair split down the middle, coated with light-purple fur, toned and muscular the same as her legs. She wore around her chest a a designer saddlebag — from Perseus.

It wasn’t until his tongue felt heavy in his mouth that Vincent realized he was staring a bit too closely to a way that very much resembled lusting. He stopped himself without any hesitation.

“Hi, Effy,” He said, “Come in.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He led and she followed. They wandered through the doorway, made it to his bed and took spots on the edge of his mattress beside the other. With a quiet hum and a studeous eye, Effy stared around the room and drank in her surroundings. She smirked, or grinned, whenever her eyes came across an item that belonged to Vincent’s roommate. She snickered when she spotted the hoof-lotion, chuckled at the box of tissues and gagged when she saw the snorkel.

Even in spirit, Scout’s Honor remained the reigning king of discomforting otherwise well adjusted mares.

And thanks so very much for that, Scout…

“This place is nice,” said Effy ending the prolonged silence in the room, “But, I think your roommate may be moonlighting as a rapist.”

She waved a hoof over to Scout’s still untouched side of the room, past his shelf — with the stacks of vintage pornography he insisted were ‘collectors items’ —, past the rubbish bin filled to the brim with balled up tissue paper, and stopped, finally, when she was pointing towards the ‘Dusk of The Trotting Dead’ poster Scout had framed and hanging above his head.

“Yeah, that’s Scout for you,” Vincent said, laughing semi-nervously, semi-not while his claw scratched at the back of his neck. “Best and worst roommate I’ve ever had.”

He stared at the poster on Scout’s side of the bedroom, at the desk and the drawers that hid an archive of back issues of Filly Fanny Fun and Moanin’ Mares. He sighed and Effy must have noticed the sour look on his face because before he knew it she was resting her hoof on his shoulder and stroking the feathers in his wing.

“You look upset,” She pointed out, “Like, seriously bummed out. What’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, though the sunken smile across his beak betrayed any notion of comfort he had.

Effy noticed this. “C’mon, Vincent. No one’s looked this upset to be on a date with me since my brother’s date stood him up for prom and I had to sub in. What gives?”

Vincent, never one to ignore a chance at conversation with mares, felt conflicted. On the one claw; he had more than a valid reason for his mood. Scout and Singer were still out in the world, causing mischief, feeding off of each other’s ignorance of social norms and fueled by a sturdy rum drunk. On the other claw; he was alone in his dorm room with Effy.

“It’s a long story,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “And a stupid one at that.”

A smirk grew long across Effy’s cheeks. “I like stupid stories,” she said, “Care to share?”

He did.

For as long as it took him to explain the backdrop of his sulken misery, Effy listened intently. She nodded along while he spoke, cracked grins at the sheer-stupidity offered by his roommate, and Singer, and Sunny Side and Honey Drop, and by the end, could hardly contain the grin spread across her purple cheeks. It startled — and intrigued — Vincent, who found his worries were better shared than self contained.

“Wow,” Effy breathed, hardly containing a giggle, “Your roommate sure is a loser.”

Vincent frowned, “He’s not, really. He’s a nice guy. He just has…”

“Intimacy issues? A mother who might have hugged him too much as a foal?” offered Effy, “A body that thinks cock first, brain second and gives no chance for the blood to catch up with him?”

With a playful sort of grin spread across his beak, Vincent nodded his head.

“You know what you need?” Effy asked.

Vincent raised a brow.

“You need some stress relief.”

Curious, Vincent cocked his head to a sideways angle and stared at the mare seated beside him. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yes.” she said, nodding, “You’re in dire need of some relaxation.”

Still grinning, Vincent leaned himself backwards onto the bed and cupped his head in between his claws. “Go on…”

Feeling ever adventurous — as was his nature — he touched with his left leg her thigh and rubbed against the soft fur. Not quite sure what to expect, he smiled to himself when she returned the favor in full force. Hoofsy. That’s the game they were playing now.

Vincent liked it quite a bit. Evidently, so did Effy, who remained rubbing the Gryphon’s leg with her own. She stopped, and, before Vincent could question it, she lifted herself up in her seat and dove towards the foot of the bed. Laying flat on her stomach, she dug her hooves into the saddlebag she’d dropped onto the floor then resurfaced a minute later clutching a silver tin case in her hooves. It was small and light, no thicker than a dime store novel and half the length.

“What’s that?”

Effy spun her head back to him. She was wearing a grin — a playful one. One that Vincent felt he would soon be sharing himself.

“Stress relief.” she said, tearing the tin open.

From his angle, he couldn’t see what was inside, but the second that the familiar, skunky aroma passed his nostrils he knew exactly who Effy was, and what she was prepared to share with him.

Vincent’s heart rate quickened.

Dope. Good dope from the smell of it.

Effy was quickly climbing the rungs of the ‘Coolest People At Camden’ ladder.

“You blaze, right?” she asked, laying back down beside the gryphon and resting the tin case on her belly. “This isn’t too… presumptuous of me?”

Vincent just grinned. “Not at all.”

He felt the fur of her face tickle the feathers on and around his throat as she turned her head against him and then lifted it up. With the practiced delicacy of a trained surgeon, she lifted out a single bone-white joint shaped the same as a punctuation mark — fat at the top, thin at the bottom. Twisted tight at the fat end and ended off with a makeshift filter.

“Good.” said Effy, clamping the tip of the joint between her lips and laying back down against the ever-impressed Gryphon. “I wouldn’t ever want to consider dating a prude.”

The mood felt right for a move. If he hadn’t been before, Vincent was quite sure of it now. Chasing the impulse, he unclasped his left claw from the supporting the back of his head and slowly — with the intention of testing the waters to see if they felt right — moved it along the bed until the tips of Effy’s mane tickled his claws. She didn’t make a move or voice any complaint at this, and he felt obligated to continue. He combed through her mane until his claw met with the back of her head and he cupped it with the delicacy of a treasure.

She nuzzled her face against his outstretched leg, until her muzzle met against his throat and she’d turned his foreleg into her own personal pillow.

“You’re one of the good ones, Just Vincent the Gryphon.” she said to him, “There aren’t a lot of guys who could have pulled that off half as smoothly as you did.”

Vincent just smiled at her. “I guess I’m just a different breed of charming?”

Effy dropped the joint out of her mouth and onto his chest. She rubbed her face into his neck, surfaced, and was wearing — once again — that perfect smile of hers. “I’d like to think so.”

With two fingers — thumb and index — of his right claw, Vincent picked the joint out of his fur, twisted it through the gaps between his fingers, then bit down on the tip.

Effy’s eyes grew wide, then fell back down into a hazed state. She raised a hoof, dropped it gently onto his chest. She traced her hoof up his chest, carving a path through both fur and feathers, until she was holding his face in her hoof.

“Let’s get weird.” Effy said.

Vincent had no desire to argue with her.

He lit the joint with a cheap plastic lighter from the convenience store on campus. His inhale was slow and methodical. Fire tore through his chest, singed his lungs and feelings of warmth, comfort and clear-mindedness washed over him. He exhaled through his nostrils. There was no coughing. That was an amateur mistake, and Vincent was years past ever being considered one of those.

He didn’t speak again. Not for a long time. Instead, without words, he passed to Effy the still burning joint and drank in the sight of her taking a drag, inhaling sharp and then after a minute, exhaling a trio of smoke rings from her pursed lips. The ‘O’ shaped rings rose into the air, reached the ceiling and then broke apart.

Silence of a comfortable nature fell onto the two, who passed the joint between them and nuzzled quite content against each other’s body. At the time that the flame burned the tip of the filter, Effy wore herself around Vincent’s proud and masculine chest like a comforter. Her left upper leg draped across his neck, her muzzle kneading into his throat and her cheek rubbing against his neck.

It was done smoothly, without ever moving his body, that Vincent grabbed the dying joint from Effy and dropped it into a half empty bottle of Coltrona. It hissed when it touched water, then died in a slowly rising trail of smoke. The room smelt of skunky narcotics and felt hazy and warm, now.

Effy rubbed her face against Vincent’s neck, up to his cheek, then broke the silence.

“What’s your story, Vincent?”

He dared not to break the embrace, but lifted his head to peer down at her. “Hmm?”

“Your story, dude,” she said, “You’re one of maybe two Gryphons I’ve seen at this school, and, well, I’d like to get to know you just a bit. That is kind of what constitutes a first date.”

The claw attached to the leg that hadn’t wrapped itself around Effy’s slim waist and held her by the soft stomach rose to his chin and stroked the feathers.

“There’s not much to say,” he admitted, “I’m from The Gryphon Kingdom. I lived in The Lowlands, before I came to Equestria. My parents are hard working folks. I’m an only child.”

Effy purred and he felt the vibrations shake through his chest. “And, how long have you lived here in our slice of paradise?”

“By myself? Just over a year.” he said, “My dad is a diplomat, and I used to live with him in Canterlot during the summers while he was on business...”

Effy stroked his chin with her hoof, “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she said, “Your parents are together still?”

Vincent nodded.

“Do you like it here?”

Vincent nodded again.

“You’re not really a talker, are you?”

Vincent shrugged. “Not much,”

“Ask me something?” Effy said.

Vincent pondered for a moment.

“What made you say ‘Yes’ when I asked you out?”

Effy grinned, “Oooh, good one.” she said, “Really good.” Her hoof touched against his chest and she flicked a clutch of feathers upright. “It’s not the ‘taboo’ of interspecies dating, if you were wondering.”

“Good,” said Vincent, “I’d like to think there’s more to me than being just another wonderfully charming, strikingly handsome and highly exotic hunk.”

“Jury’s still out on that, Vincent.” Effy chided, “But, in all seriousness? I think you’re interesting. And, I know how corny that must sound, to have a girl at a liberal arts school, call you ‘interesting’ like it has some kind of interpersonal meaning to it, but, you’re not like all the other guys at this school.” she sighed, “Every guy here thinks they can fill that vacant emptiness where a personality should go with designer clothes from Perseus and H’Armani and a borderline drug-addiction. I don’t get that from you. You seem… genuine.

“Thanks,” Vincent said. “Wanna ask me one?”

“Why did you ask me out?”

Vincent didn’t hesitate with his response.

“Turns out you had me all wrong, I thought you really knew how to rock those yoga pants is all...”

Effy snorted a laugh then slapped his stomach with the flat side of her hoof. “Fuck off,” she grunted, “I hardly have the ass to pull them off.”

Vincent chuckled, “I beg to differ…”

Effy laughed and then Vincent did.

“C’mon, I bared my soul a tiny bit.” Effy said, “What really made you want to ask me out? Beside the fact that I’m obviously something to look at in skin-tight polymer?”

“Remember the second week of classes? When the prof was giving off mandatory assigned seating? I sort of had my eye on you then.”

“Really now?”

“Oh, quite a bit. I was praying to the Big Gryphon in the sky that maybe he’d go boy/girl boy/girl, and we’d be sitting next to each other.”

“What a shame,” Effy smiled. “I’m sure I’d be doing a lot better than a ‘C-’ in that class if I had your notes to copy off of.”

Vincent chuckled. “There’s still time…”

He felt her body stir beside his. Felt the weight of herself once pressed against him lift off of him, and, before he could question it he felt her kick a leg overtop his waist and then she readjusted herself so that she was straddling him. She took her seat, with a practiced, yet casual, delicacy, on his stomach.

“There’s something I’ve always kind of wondered about Gryphons,” she said, stroking her hooves up his chest, tickling him while she did.

Vincent, cocky as it might have been, raised both brows and put on his most neutral sort of grin. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Effy purred when her hooves reached his face, “How does… kissing work with you guys? I mean, with the beaks and all... it’s gotta be kind of weird?”

Praise The Great And Powerful Karmatic Magnet, for it was a divine invention that reassured him now, more than ever, that a lifetime of being kind, considerate, polite and courteous had gifted him with this very moment.

Vincent raised a single leg up to Effy’s face and curled a claw under her chin.

“I guess I’ll just have to show you?” he pressed, “That is, if you’d like?”

Effy bat her eyelashes. “How could I dare resist such charm?”

Vincent didn’t answer. Not with words, at least. Instead, he brought her face towards his and cracked his beak open. Kissing. That was something Gryphons did well, and, in the same vein, quite awkwardly according to what filled the ‘Equestrian’ sense of the word. Open mouthed. That’s how Gryphons kissed.

Hopefully Effy would forgive him if he was too forward.

He brought her face to his, and, still with his mouth open pressed her just as open muzzle to his mouth until his tongue rolled along hers and they were engaged in the ageless tradition of the ‘open-mouthed kiss’.

So far, so good.

Effy’s tongue, slick and wet, roamed the inside of his opened beak and did battle with his own. He’d been hesitant at first, but, knowing she had no reservations, Vincent decided to push his luck. He ran both his claws through the fur of her back until they gripped the cheeks of her ass and squeezed it tightly.

He could feel her give a lustful yelp into his mouth.

She pulled away in that moment, wiped a thin trail of saliva from her chin and then stared with half-closed eyelids at him. Vincent unclamped his grip on her butt.

“Wow,” she breathed, “That was… Just…. Wow.”

There were a million and one cocky, conceited and borderline idiotically chauvanistic things he could have said in that moment. But, Vincent was much too clever and caring for that. In place of a line stolen from a bad B-Movie, he opted to share a tiny part of himself with Effy.

“I think you’re something special.” he said, and meant it. “I don’t…” he scratched at his neck, “There are a lot of things about me, and my friends, and the whim of the Great Magnet that sorta… conspire to put us all in awkward positions, but-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his thought as Effy lunged her face towards his and pressed her lips to his cheek and peppered his face with soft, gentle, butterfly kisses.

“You talk far too much, Vincent,” she said between the showering of her affection, “Just enjoy this? And, please, please, please, please, don’t throw a douche-nozzle one liner my way and ruin it?”

Vincent didn’t dare. The thousands and thousands of potentially moment-breaking phrases and quotes he’d kept tightly locked in the back of his mind he replaced with a super-zealous sense of living in the moment. Here was Effy, a wonderfully attractive, emotionally present and not at all terrible to spend time with girl who enjoyed his company.

How could he dare ruin the moment?

He cupped her jaw again and once more brought her face to his, peaking open his beak — waiting until she opened up her muzzle — and then kissed her. Tongues once more wrestled against each other, only this time he could feel Effy’s purr vibrate against his chest.

She draped her hooves from his back, to his cheeks, and held his face squarely in the cuffs of her hooves while she, once more, kissed his mouth, then his beak, cheeks and then his throat — nuzzling her face against his throat while she did.

“You’re so cute, Vincent.” she whispered into his ear, ending her sentence with a nibble of his cheek, “You don’t try-” She pressed her lips to his cheek again, “-And, well-” She licked his neck, “-That makes you so cool-”

Vincent tickled his the fingers of his right claw up her spine and fell in love with the feel of her shoulders popping.

“You’re the cool one,” he said, nipping her left ear with the sharpened edges of his beak, “I should be laying here praising you.”

She kissed his cheek, his eye, ear, then once again his mouth. She pulled away. “Maybe we’re just good for each other?”

Vincent tickled the back of her neck with his thumb and ring finger. “Maybe.”

“Goddess,” she moaned, “I… can’t see this not working out.”

In a move that all but startled the Gryphon, she kicked her legs against his waist and humped herself against him.

“Mhmm” he moaned back. “I’m with you on that one, Eff’.”

They kissed again. And, through some miraculous workings of the divine powers at work, not a single event occured that would be considered ‘bad’/’strange’ or otherwise ‘unpleasent’. Instead, ‘Just’ Vincent The Gryphon and Effy/Turbulent Flight spent a passionate, hot and heavy pre-evening together playing a very passionate game of ‘Who can suck face with the other the hardest’.

To Vincent, all his hens were thoroughly counted. This was everything he’d ever borderline fantazied it being. Laying sprawled out on his bed, making out — quite passionately — with Effy, and having the girl with the yoga pants moan into his ear semi-occasionally his own name.

Vincent, for the first time that day, was at peace and oneness with the powers that be.

Sunny Side and Honey Drop — his friends — were throwing a party in almost an hour’s time. Scout, and his newest object of fantasy, Singer, were long gone with his rum. He was reaching second base with Effy and things were looking up for him.

***

“Because, Piper, I don’t want to be the only colt there who’s under dressed.”

Piper lay on his bed, rolling his eyes, while White Mane rifled through all of his clothes in the closet. Cardigans of cashmere, satin and silk were tossed aside. Button up sweaters. Fur-tight sweaters. V-Neck shirts and half a closet’s worth of White Mane’s clothes were all tossed aside while the colt searched through the closet for the singular perfect article of clothing to wear tht night.

Piper kept busy by imagining his roommate in all of the clothes he discarded.

“White Mane,” he said, “Maybe you’re just thinking too hard about this? I mean, it’s only supposed to be a little, low-key thing tonight...”

White Mane’s head poked from the open door of the closet. He was frowning — glaring, almost — in the direction of his roommate. He sucked his lower lip overtop his upper one and, tried, to stare menacingly at Piper.

“I just want to look sharp tonight,” said White Mane, “I mean, oh gosh; Ziggy’s going to be there. And, maybe, if she sees me, looking sharp, she’ll want to talk to me? And, oh, maybe if we talk, she’ll know for sure that I’m the perfect choice to play the lead! Because, well, just between us, I don’t really think Silver Tip or Cobalt — who are perfectly decent ponies — will be much good in the lead...”

He didn’t say anything after that, instead, he ducked his head back into the closet and kept up his regime of tearing apart their combined clothes in search of the defining article of clothing that would inspire Ziggy to seek him out — above all others — as the one and only actor to take the role of the lead.

Piper found this only a bit discomforting.

In place of worry, he instead lay back in bed and nuzzled his head on his pillow. Thoughts of Ziggy/Stardust — the just recently mentioned stage manager and, also, the same mare who’d offered to share a drink with him — running all through his head.

She was sweet, and cool, and relaxed, and mature, and, fun. Definitely fun. Absolutely fun. At least, that much he’d gathered from their short meeting earlier that day.

The party was in an hour — less by the count of the clock.

He was excited.

“Mmm. Hey, Piper?”

Piper lifted his head and stared towards the closet. “Yeah?”

“Um, so… if this isn’t too weird…” White Mane called out, “Can, um, can I… try on an outfit for you? I just want to see what might, maybe, look good for the party, mmkay?”

Piper bit his lower lip. A vein pulsed in his forehead. His heart raced in his chest.

“Oh… Oh, yeah,” he mumbled, “For sure, dude...”

He heard two familiar sounds come from the closet; the first was a delighted squeal, the second was the sound of White Mane clicking his hooves together.

“Let me just get the first one on.” said his roommate. Rummaging. Stomping, and then the sound of boxes and hangers getting tossed around followed. “Oh, heck! Ugh! It’s sooo tight! I can’t get it to fit!”

Piper’s left eye twitched. Then his right one did.

“Just give me a second, kay?” White Mane begged, “It’s really, really, hard to get this silly top on!”

Piper had all the patience in the world.

After a few minutes of struggle, where White Mane kicked the floor and brushed against the walls of the closet, he finally managed to slip on whatever it was he’d decided was ‘Outfit number one’ At least, if the silence was in any way a sign.

“What do you think of this, Piper?”

White Mane trotted from the half-open door of the closet with all the dignity, grace and sensuality of a runway model, and Piper’s jaw nearly dropped. Hugged just tight enough not to cutt off the circulation of major veins and arteries, was a V-Neck sweater — green as the base colour with brown diamonds on the chest.

White Mane raised a brow and smiled softly, “How does this look?”

Piper opened his mouth to speak, but found nothing coming out. Instead, he just stared with amassed, curious — and just the slightest bit of longing — wonder in his eyes up at White Mane.

“It’s a recommendation from Trenderhoof’s ‘10 Must Own Fall Jaw Droppers’ in last month’s Cosmare,” said White Mane, giving his rear a shake, “I think it accents my chest in a nice way-” he turned to face his crimson cheek’d roommate, “What do you think, Piper?”

White Mane brushed his snow coloured bangs out of his face and then bat his eyes at Piper. He gave his rear another shake, puffed forwards his chest and then stroked a hoof along the side of his left cheek. “Too much, or...?”

Piper swallowed saliva and hesitation, felt his jaw turn spastic and chattered his teeth for longer than he was comfortable with. He locked his eyes on White Mane — standing so proudly, with the ever so wonderfully tight sweater wrapped against his chest — who kept brushing locks of his mane out of his face and rubbing his legs.

It took a lifetime of emotional regulation to stop himself from pouncing White Mane and showing — physically — the smaller, nimbler and more feminine colt how much he really enjoyed the outfit.

“It, um, looks…”

Piper took a few, quick and quiet breaths of air, exhaled then thought about Ziggy.

Cool Ziggy.

Laid back Ziggy.

Pretty little Ziggy/Stardust.

Pretty, laid back and cool Ziggy/Stardust who was, most definitely, going to be at the same party that the roommate who was innocently flaunting his curvaceous figure was also going to be at.

Ziggy/Stardust.

She was so pretty…

“That looks good on you, dude,” said Piper, smiling up at White Mane, “That… um, Trenderhoof guy has really good taste…”

White Mane’s puffy cheeks turned shades of red. He kicked at the ground by his hooves and bit his lower lip. “Thank you, Piper.”

Piper smiled at him again. “No problem.”

He stared at the clock. The party was officially in forty-five minutes. White Mane seemed to have his outfit deadlocked, and, suddenly, Piper began to wonder if he himself should afford himself some time between drinking to throw on something half-decent. If White Mane was dressing up, and, by that same train of logic, so would most of the other party goers, why shouldn’t he also?

Besides, maybe Ziggy would wear something nice too? Then they would have something to talk about…

“Hey, White Mane?”

The blonde coated stallion stole his attention from rolling the sleeves of his sweater to peer up at Piper. “Yeah?”

“Um, would… uh… Can you help me pick out something nicer to wear tonight?”

White Mane’s pupils exploded. What were once miniscule, average sized orbs in his eyes ballooned into massive baby-blue balls. His eyebrows lifted so high up his forehead they dared to break free from his face entirely.

“No-My-Gosh, Piper. You did not just ask me to help you!” cried the colt, fanning himself with his left hoof, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me to help you pick out an outfit since you wore those terrible khaki shorts the first week of class. This is going to be so great!”

White Mane squealed. There was no other word in the English language to call it. It was girlish, and flamboyant, and accented by him kicking himself off the ground and clicking his hooves together.

“Give me two seconds? I need to find September’s Cosmare. It’s got this to die for article about what straight colts need to wear to freshman parties to make a splash. I’m thinking… tweed. Yes. Lots of tweed, and, ooh, maybe an ascot? Or, hmm, maybe a kerchief?”

White Mane skipped from the closet to his bed.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun, Piper!” he yelped, “I can’t wait to get my hooves on you. I’m going to get you into something that’ll show everyone how handsome you can look.”

Piper took in a deep breath of air.

The party officially started in forty three minutes and twenty-two seconds, and, it was just in that moment that Piper realized just how much he needed that time to adequately prepare himself in mind, body and soul.

One thing was for damn sure, tonight was going to be a true and determined test of his mettle, wit, charm and guff. And, if nothing else, Piper was a pony who was chock full of guff.

Smiling to himself, he lay back in the bed and waited to see what came next in his night.